*TOP OF THE LEAGUEEEEE.*

The 12:30pm meet was largely adhered to—even skipper Andy Walls was so excited he turned up on time. Shirts and ties were the order of the day, mostly respected, with the notable exception of Jimmins, who rocked up in an Ashford town centre grey tracksuit. Some players got creative with their kit choices—Tom Jones in particular looked like he’d got dressed in the dark, and Tom Nicholls seemed more prepared to pilot an easyJet flight to Benidorm than play hockey.

Coach George, the absolute legend, made it back from his own away game at Cliftonville just in time to make the fun bus. The journey was largely uneventful, apart from Coach Herd reminiscing about his days coaching the great Archie Bates, who had schooled the 1st XI earlier in the day. First XI coach Norval may rethink putting George up front again anytime soon.

*Game time.*

There was a nervous energy in the ranks—excitement, anxiety. Top of the league vs. bottom of the league—surely we couldn’t mess this up? Surely? But doubts crept in as the game began in a frustrating fashion. BBHC, a side with 3 points and a goal difference of minus 70 something, were gifting chances like it was Christmas, yet Folkestone squandered them. Open play strikes from Phil King, Jude File, and Jack Timmins were all comfortably dealt with by the BBHC goalkeeper. Penalty corners came and went. Still 0-0. *How?!*

Then, finally, the breakthrough. 27 minutes in, Wishart stepped up to a penalty corner and rifled it into the top bins. Folkestone were off the mark. *1-0.*

With the nerves settled, the second half was a different story.

Jack Timmins doubled the lead with a tap-in after good work from the young guns. Then Ali Sutton saw yellow for a ruthless tackle—no surprises there. Next, young Harry Rowe produced a moment of magic, winding up from an impossible angle along the baseline and thundering a tomahawk into the bottom corner.

“Don’t shoot from there!” yelled Coach George. Bullet. *3-0.*

Tails up, Folkestone were hungry for more. Theo Coombs, running on a motor Adrian Newey would be proud of, drove into the D along the baseline and squared it to Jude File, who ruthlessly punished the logged BBHC keeper by smashing the ball into the roof of the net. *4-0.*

The final goal came from the classic German corner routine—except it broke down. No matter. Wishy spun and flicked it back post for Wardy to tap in. **5-0.**

Final whistle. The Optimists, victorious.

League champions, with an unassailable goal difference over Marden and just one game remaining.

Euphoria. Nosecco bottles fizzing in the showers like an F1 podium celebration. Folkestone’s title charge was complete. Back to back promotions, and team of the season a distinct possibility.

Man of the Match: *Theo Coombs*—a relentless engine powering the midfield all game long. The only youngster to know how to tie a double-windsor too.

Shirts, ties, Chelsea boots, and aviators—the champions roll on to Ashford next week for their victory parade at home.

*These are the good old days.*

Remember them young lads, because they don’t come often enough. I've played hockey for 35 years, this is my second league title. This is why we play. Love you boys.