The forecast promised misery. Sheets of rain. Bone-deep cold. One of those days.

So naturally, The Mighty Sevens had a quiet word with the Norse gods. Nothing dramatic, just a polite request for no rain that soaks you through please (Peter Kay reference for the youngsters reading).

For once, the gods listened.

The Sevens arrived slightly light of personnel, missing their resident tumbling boulder, Pricey. But this was no time for excuses. This was a time for standing tall, digging in, and most importantly living up to the confident opinions recently shared on social media.

Game on.

From the first whistle, it was one of those matches where everyone simply did their job. No fuss. No panic. Just a group of hockey veterans quietly going about their business like they’d done it a thousand times before. Because, frankly, they had.

At the back, Milk Tray stood in goal: largely untroubled, mildly bored, but vocally invested throughout. In front of him, The Crab set about building a defensive wall strong enough to keep out invading armies, while OG defended like a man who’d seen it all and still wasn’t impressed. HB floated somewhere between defence and midfield, twinkle-toed and tireless, while Bonzio covered enough ground for two players, pausing only briefly to acknowledge that his foot hurt before carrying on regardless.
Luce, meanwhile, opted less for man-marking and more for roaming protection, covering danger wherever it dared appear.

The breakthrough came courtesy of something altogether more dramatic.

A thunderous Mjolnir of a pass split the defence, and Gizmo, fully committed launched into a diving sweep that sent the ball screaming into the roof of the net. Clean. Decisive. Very Sevens.

If that was power, the second goal was pure mischief.

Messy sprinkled the play with a touch of glittery sea air, dazzling the visitors just long enough for the legend to TikTok his way into the circle. One step. One strike. A rocket of a finish.

In midfield, the engine room never stopped. Dave Reed, newly 18 and clearly running on birthday energy, was absolutely everywhere. MVG tore around like a man fuelled entirely by Red Bull and ambition, finding space and passes that had no right to exist. J-Lo quietly ticked every box, once again doing everything asked of him and patiently waiting for his inevitable call-up to the forward line.

Up front, Carter was sharp and dangerous throughout, perhaps too eager to add to the scoresheet himself but always a threat. Borris put in a standout performance, combining smart, strategic passes with something rarely witnessed: being the loudest man on the pitch.

And then there was Captain Dan. Not so much running as cantering, but somehow always exactly where he needed to be. Supporting, organising, encouraging, leading in the way only a seasoned Sevens captain can.

When the final whistle went, it felt less like a victory forged in chaos and more like one built on calm assurance. A reminder that while the Sevens may be a rag-tag bunch of veterans, the old guard still know exactly how to get the job done.
No rain. No panic. Just hockey. Done properly.