Just when you thought the Old Riponians game couldn’t be topped by a further Rugby extravaganza to see out 2025 with a bang, who’d have believed that a simple “dads and lads” match concept, would grow legs, then wings and finally fly. A fitting end to the season played out in front of a near capacity crowd at “Stadio Mallorio”, leaving Chairman Bruce shaking his head in regret that the gate hadn’t been staffed to charge admission fees.

On a day when the weather was as unpredictable as a bouncing rugby ball, two teams—each a blend of fathers and sons—took to the field in a contest destined for the family history books. The teams, decked out in the Club’s kit of away red and home blue, were carefully selected to ensure that every dad had the pleasure (or terror) of playing against their own offspring. The only thing more mixed than the teams was the collection of knee supports, energy gels, and questionable pre-match breakfasts. No doubt about the post-match recovery medication though. Shares in Johnson & Johnson will have rocketed, with pre-match applications of Elastoplast, K-tape and even horse liniment, enough to hold a small army together for a week. Thank heavens Quiggy and Barks chose not to play, or there certainly wouldn’t have been enough to go round.
Talking of “going round”, isn’t it amazing how one gets used to seeing people in their normal clothes and imagine the surprise and bubble-bursting moments when the players of all shapes and sizes tried on the current Club kit. Definitely designed for the more athletically shaped amongst us and not at all flattering for those who’ve let themselves go a tad.

Some sensitive fathers and “vulnerable children”, sporting dazzling yellow bibs, were granted diplomatic immunity from making or receiving tackles—either for reasons of wisdom, age, or simply because nobody wanted to explain a sprained ankle to mum. These bibbed legends glided across the pitch, distributing passes and dad jokes and dancing at times, in equal measure, while the rest of the players tried to remember which team they were actually on.

From the first whistle, it was clear this was no ordinary match. There were sidesteps that defied physics, line out leaps that defied gravity, wicked offloads that defied logic, and at least one attempted drop goal that defied all known laws of rugby. The sons brought youthful energy and questionable haircuts; the fathers countered with experience, tactical nous, and a suspicious number of “accidental” knock-ons, high tackles and forward passes. At the end of the day, Rugby was the winner, playful family rivalries put to bed and the end of a few “father knows best” allegations.

“Honest Mike” Ford, the impartial and unbiased referee, armed with a whistle and the patience of a saint, kept proceedings in check with a firm but fair hand. Any disputes were quickly settled with a reminder that “it’s just for fun”—a phrase repeated most often by those trailing on the scoreboard. Whilst no precise details of the score or order in which events unfolded, the following is a rough synopsis of what played out before a chilled, but enthusiastic crowd.

Played over four fifteen minute quarters; to allow adequate time for toilet breaks, re-oxygenation and therapeutic massages, the match was fiercely competed from the outset and even though the game contained uncontested scrums, was not for the faint-hearted.

• The glory of Hooley Snr being the only player capable for catching and tackling Hooley Jnr. We wish Mark well while he awaits his heart and lung transplant.
• A spectacular try from a dad who shall remain anonymous, who immediately requested a five-minute breather and a commemorative photo – before releasing the ball for the conversion.
• The titanic struggle between “Old L-B” and “Young L-B” proving that size really does matter.
• Laser precision passing from Marzi Snr, showing the young pretenders, Drane, Mini-Marzi and Borchard, how things are done around here. Drane Snr watching on and suddenly realising that there is more to the Scrum Half game than dummying, side-stepping and going it alone.
• Smithy Jnr infuriating Smithy Snr with his side-step, goose-step and even a quick-step at times.
• The yellow-bibbed contingent orchestrating play like rugby’s answer to chess grandmasters—albeit with more wheezing and not very “matey”.
• Robbo’s attempted match rigging from early on by both influencing the referee to make less than impartial decisions and abusing the privileges associated with the yellow bib. Once a player coach, always a player coach and once an “ALF, always an “ALF”.
• The massive frustration of “Big Clarky”, despite nearly busting a blood vessel to savage anything that moved, or stood still long enough for him to catch; of failing to get anywhere near “Little Clarky”.
• The Drane boys falling out about whoever played with Owen was his favourite son forever.
• Great to see both the Reeses coming out to play, Evan showing he’s still got it and Mark proving he never had it.
• Encouraged by son Austin’s adult debut this season, Sam Webster gave his all and despite being a “bibber”, had no fear of putting his face on the line when it came to charging down kicks.
• Credit also to the Kendals, the Borchards, the Kirbys, the Cloughs, the Whitelys, the Garretts and a magnificent solo effort from Nik Hill. Your families must be very proud of you for putting in the efforts, particularly in donning the kit and playing whilst holding stomachs in manfully.
• Credit also to all the dads, who have been involved in coaching at all ages, in showing off their incredible skills, particularly in terms of running and breathing at the same time.
• The “piece de resistance” had to be Head Coach Adam Scott Paul’s magnificent solo try scoring effort, charging through the defence like a demented Rhino; crowned with as nonchalant a drop goal conversion as you’ll ever see.

With fifteen tries in total and no notebook on this occasion, apologies if any players’ outstanding contributions to the match have been left unreported. There will be plenty of photographic evidence to prove everyone was there and of course, the stories of how the events unfolded, will grow in incredibility as the months go by. As the final whistle blew, the score was declared “fun to all, glory to none.”

Both teams left the field with smiles, muddy kit, and enough stories to last until next year’s rematch. The only real losers were the grass and the referee’s vocal cords.
Thankfully, all survived the event relatively unscathed, though there are likely to be significant episodes of cramp, joint pain and indigestion, perhaps on a biblical scale for some. Not exactly “Rolling around in the mud and the blood and the beer”, but a finely balanced match in which thankfully none of the boys were named “Sue”.

There are many traditions enjoyed by people in general around Christmas time and few celebrated by The Rips as a Club. This fixture surely must become indelibly embedded in the Club’s social and playing calendar to be repeated for time immemorial. What better way to blow off steam, shake off a few seasonal cobwebs and let our children show us why it was sensible to retire when we did.

And finally… one of the underlying motivations behind this game was to raise awareness and funds for the men’s mental health and wellbeing charity “Manup”. At the time of publication, the amount raised topped the £500 mark. All donations for this important resources gratefully received. Details of how to make contributions can be found on the Ripon RUFC website.

Hopefully this will hit the appropriate media before the final official club event of the season – Fletch’s 60th Birthday Party on New Year’s Eve. If not, to all our members, supporters, casual readers, fellow Riponians and beyond. Thanks for the ongoing feedback and encouragement and a happy and prosperous new year to all.