As we edge our way into the league, it's time to get poetic about some of the beautiful hockey we've seen so far.

"""
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the "Chertsey Thames Valley" of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
I'll go 1 at the shortie!” Jack said.
Into the "Chertsey Thames Valley" of Death
Rode the six hundred.

“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though that Rohan knew
Someone had blundered. (Ashford defence, at this point in our poem Valley have snatched a 2-0 lead)
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the "Chertsey Thames Valley" of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Goal to right of them,
Goal to left of them,
Goal in front of them
Volleyed and thundered; (2-2, Ashforf Pull it back)
Stormed at with shot and shell, (3-2 Valley!)
Boldly they played and well,
Into the D of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air, (chances go begging for both sides, but Valley keep their slender lead)
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wondered.
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the sabre stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Goal to right of them,
Goal to left of them,
Goal behind them
Volleyed and thundered; (3-3, Ashford pull it back level)
Stormed at with shot and shell, (3-4, Ashford get ahead)
While horse and hero fell. (Hero of the Match - Ved for his calm defensive efforts)
They that had fought so well
Came through the D of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
"""

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!