It all went horribly wrong....

Tonight was quiz night.

For some years I have played in a quiz league on Tuesday nights during the winter. I am now in my third team and all bar one have been cheerfully second division, mid table no-hopers.

A lot of people take their quizzes very seriously.

We don't.

It's an excuse for a bunch of old farts to nip out to a series of pubs we wouldn't normally go to and meet a bunch of other old farts we wouldn't normally meet. For us the quiz is a way of maintaining a workable thirst between pints.

Except that this year our performance was so pitiful that at the end of the regular season our team was awarded a humongous bonus handicap for the knock-out cup competition. And thus, armed with a fabulous score before we even sat down to face our first challenge, and aided with a modicum of general knowledge, we set out on our campaign.

And lo. Week after week, we triumphed - sometimes mightily, sometimes squeakily. But march on we did.

Until it all went horribly wrong.

For tonight, our humongous handicap was faced off and beated soundly by a gargantuan handicap. We would have won had there been no extra points factored in, but alas, it was not to be.

So now, having got to the quarter finals, it's all over for another year.

On the other hand, we shovelled back truly sphincter-squeaking quantities of Real Ale.

So it wasn't a total waste of time, oh, no, matey.

Next week we play a friendly in another pub and after a short break over the summer we will get some strenuous trainingdrinking in for next season.

You see, next season we will be playing a relegated team who feature among their number the League President a man who lives for quizzes (honestly). He doesn't do drunk and rowdy.

We do.

Ker-ching.

Points in the bag.

It all went horribly wrong....

Tonight was quiz night.

For some years I have played in a quiz league on Tuesday nights during the winter. I am now in my third team and all bar one have been cheerfully second division, mid table no-hopers.

A lot of people take their quizzes very seriously.

We don't.

It's an excuse for a bunch of old farts to nip out to a series of pubs we wouldn't normally go to and meet a bunch of other old farts we wouldn't normally meet. For us the quiz is a way of maintaining a workable thirst between pints.

Except that this year our performance was so pitiful that at the end of the regular season our team was awarded a humongous bonus handicap for the knock-out cup competition. And thus, armed with a fabulous score before we even sat down to face our first challenge, and aided with a modicum of general knowledge, we set out on our campaign.

And lo. Week after week, we triumphed - sometimes mightily, sometimes squeakily. But march on we did.

Until it all went horribly wrong.

For tonight, our humongous handicap was faced off and beated soundly by a gargantuan handicap. We would have won had there been no extra points factored in, but alas, it was not to be.

So now, having got to the quarter finals, it's all over for another year.

On the other hand, we shovelled back truly sphincter-squeaking quantities of Real Ale.

So it wasn't a total waste of time, oh, no, matey.

Next week we play a friendly in another pub and after a short break over the summer we will get some strenuous trainingdrinking in for next season.

You see, next season we will be playing a relegated team who feature among their number the League President a man who lives for quizzes (honestly). He doesn't do drunk and rowdy.

We do.

Ker-ching.

Points in the bag.