St. Anne’s 3rds travelled across town to battle against Magdalen 2nds in a game that had more ghouls than sense. Yet despite the match ending 10-4, the contest will be best remembered for Anne’s hauntingly accurate rendition of Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ during the pre-match warm-up. One spectator described it as “More blood-curdlingly terrifying than the Haka” whilst a petrified old man walking his dog added that he ‘could have sworn MJ himself was leading the dance”.

Unfortunately for Anne’s, they were unable to transform from their zombie-like forms and carried the horror show with them onto the pitch, finding their defence slashed to pieces in the early stages.

Magdalen’s elusive Tarquin netted five ghouls before the break, before Anne’s Captain Ollie Waring tricked his own defence and treated the opposition with a frighteningly well finished sixth. Chris Lim spooked Magdalen with a spine-tingling consolation, before celebrating by running around in a soon-to-be typical fashion with a pumpkin helmet on his head.

Yet despite being dead, buried and 6-1 down at half time, St. Anne’s refused to give in, rising from the grave and resurrecting their previous form throughout the second half. Under the dim light of the full moon, the 3rds transformed from an uncoordinated bunch of boys to werewolf beasts in a matter of minutes.

Bone-crunching tackles flew in across the pitch, transmogrifying the Magdalen players from vampire lords to rattling skeletons of their former selves as the 3rds started to dominate. The immortal spirit of Matt Waller haunted the park, adding two ghouls; the pick of the bunch being a decapitating strike which almost sent the ghoulkeeper into the afterlife.

Mutated into a forward role, Dan ‘Voodoo’ Nichol injected all the pins, mummifying the Magdalen defence before slicing them apart with scything through balls. A series of bewitching passes then allowed Alex Cavell to ghost through the Magdalen back line, unleashing a daemon calcitration into the top corner for Anne’s fourth.

Anne’s passionate spectres were in great voice on the sideline, ‘wheeey-ing’ every pass Anne’s made, successful or not. Chants as gutsy as ‘8-4 and you still won’t sing’ and the infamous ‘Big Bang’s on the shirt’ provided unerring motivation to the 3rds’ players, whilst sounding more like a banshee’s wail to the dispirited Magdalen faithful.

Yet despite camping in Magdalen’s half, Anne’s defensive nightmare continued, with Howard Jones and Matt Prior burning themselves at the stake with two more well taken own ghouls.

The match ended 10-4, yet despite the scoreline it was the Anne’s players who left the park with their heads held high and a spring in their step. Magdalen, the dominant team for much of the match, were demoralised and disconsolate by the end, as if the grim reaper himself was following them back into the changing room. From start to finish, Anne’s personified everything the fourth reserve league exemplifies: fun, humour, passion and a never-give-up attitude, whilst at the same time providing everyone who wanted to play with the opportunity to. Magdalen may have walked away with a 10-4 statistic in their favour, but Anne’s claimed just about every other victory possible.

On Friday of fourth week, the latest installment of JCR Football Cuppers – one of the oldest knock-out football tournaments in the world – kicked off in earnest. For 90 minutes college footballers across Oxford were able to escape their humdrum lives of lectures, labs and libraries with one shared aspiration: a place in the final and in the history books.

At the end of Hilary term the finalists will battle it out on the carpet of Iffley Road in front of hundreds of spectators. This is an alluring prospect for players normally watched by an old man and his dog. The final of Cuppers is the pinnacle of an college football career, and as such all teams will strive to emulate the achievements of Worcester and New from last season.

Cuppers is a great leveller. Like the FA Cup it can pit the lowliest third division side against Premier League big dogs. The Havant and Waterloovilles of college sport, used to competing on pitches more resemblant of marshland, who play a form of the game closer to a combination of pinball and tennis, and for whom kicking the shins of their opposition is a legitimate tackle, can line up against the Manchester Uniteds of this collegiate system. If the favoured side don’t fancy it, the underdog will exploit this.

Worcester are overwhelming favourites for this year, having experienced glory last year and with a team consisting of about nine Blues. They also received a suspicious bye through to the second round. Look out for the likes of last season’s beaten finalists New and other Premier League contenders such as Teddy Hall too.

Worcester should not pop the champagne corks just yet however. Knock-out football can still produce some magic. A lesser team can park the proverbial bus in front of their goal and nick a cheeky winner in injury time. They can hang on for the lottery of the penalty shootout. In the first round Balliol, of the third tier, mauled a Merton-Mansfield side supposedly two leagues above them. For JCR teams who are better than their league position suggests, Cuppers is an opportunity to make a statement.

The teams left in the competition can dare to dream. Win the next round and it’s quarter-final time. A few more and you’re in the final with hundreds of adoring fans chanting your name. A scrappy final with few chances ensues. It’s 0-0 and you step up to take the decisive penalty…

College footballers can dream of this, but lets face it, Worcester will probably win it again. 

Unbeknownst to most, every Monday evening at Iffley Road sports centre an elite group of martial artists come together to practice the ancient teachings of Taijiquan, which are believed to have originated from the Taoist monasteries of the Wudang mountains in central China. Putting aside my fears that it would be just be me and a couple of over-spiritual monks prancing around, I decided it might be fun to see what all this ying and yang stuff is really about.

My first impressions were different from what I had expected; there were no slow, rhythmical movements, deep breathing exercises or reference to ethereal beings. Instead I was greeted by instructor Dave Baker, who was closer in image to the Worlds Strongest Man than the robed Buddhist I had envisaged. 

Without any introduction to the session we were told to pair up and perform a warm up exercise which consisted of pushing your partner in the shoulder in order to knock them over. Obviously this was great fun, but it also had a relevant aim: to develop flexibility and the ability to absorb the blows from your opponent without moving your feet. Tai Chi involves physical bouts as well as the individual movements one can observe people doing in public parks.

After the warm up, we moved on to an activity known as Pushing Hands. Face-to-face with my opponent we put both feet forward and attempted to make the other person move. Those who were experienced gave me some pointers and in just a short space of time I felt myself improving significantly. 

Unfortunately, as I learned by visiting the Oxford University Taijiquan website (the offical title of Tai Chi), my instructor is actually a previous World Champion of Pushing Hands (yes there is really a worldwide competition for it). If his immense physical presence wasn’t enough to put me off, he also had this accolade and seemed able to simply push me over on a whim. This same exercise must’ve have gone on for at least 45 minutes and being continually pushed over does wear a bit thin.

Finally, we got to the good stuff. Channelling your ‘force’ – moving in with the yin, then shifting your weight and going out with the yang ( to quote my instructor himself). We learned 30 seconds of a routine known as the ‘hand form’, in which you basically imagine you are in fight and practise the moves in painstaking detail. You must place your weight in the appropriate position at all times and you must have no tension apart from when striking. It was much more difficult than expected and it took 20 minutes to learn about 30 seconds of the routine. 

All in all it was an entertaining way to spend an evening. Tai Chi combines martial skills and mental control in a way which could be useful. There is something strangely appealing about the potential of attaining inner peace whilst also being able to floor anyone who gives you a funny look in the street.

Two hours, 23 minutes and 12 seconds is a very long time. It seems even longer if you imagine having to spend all of it continuously running. In marathon terms though, this is seriously quick. This time is the personal best of Mara Yamauchi, St Anne’s College alumnus, now Commonwealth Bronze medallist and the second fastest female British Marathon runner of all time.

Things could have turned out so differently. Like so many Oxford graduates Yamauchi jumped straight from the academic treadmill into employment, getting a job in the Foreign Office. She moved quickly up the ranks and that could have been it: another Oxbridge civil servant quietly working behind the scenes to make sure society ticks along as normal, a complete non-story. No medals, no stardom and most importantly, no interview with Cherwell Sport. Thankfully, for the benefit of British athletics, Yamauchi did not opt for a normal life.

‘When I was 29 I decided to follow my dream of being a professional athlete’, she told us. And so she did. Within a few years she had won a bronze medal in the Commonwealth Games in Melbourne in 2006.  This story should provide motivation to all aspiring athletes or sportspeople who have had to put their dreams on ice for a few years. I for one shall not give up on my dream of being a Premiership football until at least the age of 30. To decide to ditch normality whilst nearing middle age is a testament to Yamauchi’s character and resolve – qualities we see in her during her long distance running.

Furthermore, Yamauchi’s relationship with the marathon took some time to develop, and it was far from love at first sight. Initially ‘to be honest I had absolutely no interest in it, it just seemed too far’. At Oxford the furthest distance she had run was three kilometres, as cross-country with its shorter races over tougher terrain was her first love. The older Yamauchi got, the further she started to run.When one discusses female British marathon runners, most people immediately think of women’s world-record holder and multiple Olympian Paula Radcliffe. Radcliffe and Yamauchi share more than just their sport – for both the marathon is a family affair, with their husbands influential both in training and in off the road elements such as nutrition. Yamauchi’s husband left his job in 2007 to become her coach: ‘It’s a big credit to him with no real background in athletics to coach someone to 6th in the Olympics. But I think it also shows that marathon running doesn’t have to be rocket science, anyone can pick it up and learn if you want to.’

 Athletics often goes hand in hand with obsession, with many of the true greats being perfectionists to near the point of self-destruction, but in this regard Yamauchi seems remarkably pragmatic. For her the pursuit is one of simplicity, and an escape from running is of paramount importance: ‘Even now I still think it would sometimes be better if I was working part time as I tend to become slightly obsessed with training, so I think having something else in your life, for example studying for a degree, is really valuable”. Yamauchi clearly sees life beyond athletics, and has aspirations for her future outside of the sport. This said, just the one day off every nine days seems like a pretty brutal schedule.

An obvious point of conversation was Yamauchi’s time at Oxford. She sings the praises of St Anne’s: ‘I loved every minute of it. My time at Anne’s was really nice, it’s a very big college with a good atmosphere and seemed to me to be really tolerant and neither elitist nor snooty.’ She also did some writing for Cherwell, which is perhaps why she agreed to give us the interview. Yamauchi somehow managed to fit everything in on top of the demanding schedule of a PPE degree, but this was mainly because athletics was never a chore: ‘I found running refreshing. It makes you organised and you value your time with friends more.’ It is easy to see how a run offers an escape from the daily pressures of Oxford life.

It is ironic that had Yamauchi ran her personal best at the Beijing Olympics she would have won the gold medal. However, as she explained to me, marathon running is quite an enigmatic discipline. Over the course of two hours tiny factors can make a huge difference, be they weather conditions, the pacing of the other runners around you or the course itself, and these combine to be the difference between a spot on the podium or merely top 20 anonymity. 

On form, if Yamauchi can peak at the right time next year, avoid injury, and work out how to perfect the mysteries of the marathon an Olympic medal in front of her home crowd would not be out of the question. Then she can finally retire and get a real job again.

Monday night saw the return of the most anticipated home fixture of the season, as the upstarts from Headington way congregated on Iffley Road to take on OURFC’s Greyhounds. This meeting had extra spice as it was also the first round of the Oxfordshire Cup, and although Brookes had given up their home fixture to have the match played at the larger Iffley, the huge numbers they had brought with them removed all possible element of home advantage.

Local derbies are always cagey affairs, often punctuated more by mistakes than free-flowing play, and this game was no exception. The Greyhounds were the first side to falter, as a ruck infringement handed Brookes a kickable penalty in the middle of the park. The Brookes 10 had been laughably bad when warming up his place-kicking boot before the match, but he struck this one well enough – just wide. Poor hands in the midfield and a faltering lineout meant the Greyhounds spent most of the next 15 minutes in their own half, allowing Brookes fly-half Rory Davis to put his side on the scoreboard, one penalty kicked and one more missed leaving it 3-0 midway through the first half.

Then came the first moment of quality in the match. A poorly chased box kick gave the Brookes right wing plenty of space to launch a counter attack on the halfway line, and good hands released his left wing counterpart down the touchline, neatly stepping the Greyhounds full back in the corner. Against all the odds, Davis kicked the conversion to give Brookes a 10-0 lead, and when the Greyhounds restart went straight into touch, the situation was beginning to look a little worrying for them.

One of the only real positives for Oxford was their scrum, with the strong front row of Andrew Grounds, Sean Brassill and John Direen really getting on top of their opposite numbers. The only real negative was the consistently dodgy handling in the loose from the Greyhounds who gave them so many opportunities to show their superiority. Indeed, the remainder of the first half was dominated by a rash of knock-ons and breakdown penalties.

Rory Davis’ kicking from hand had been the antithesis of his from the tee, putting the Greyhounds back three under all sorts of pressure, and from a Brookes lineout deep in Oxford territory a delightful grubber through saw three Brookes backs converge on the ball, their number 11 being the first in the queue to touch it down under the posts.  17-0  at half time then, and the Brookes supporters in ecstasy. The person responsible for deciding that Frosty Jack’s was to be the default alcohol on sale was clearly in need of a serious head examination as the sea of pink that was the main stand was getting pretty feisty, the chants more boisterous and the atmosphere as the teams returned to the pitch even more intimidating for a Greyhounds side facing a serious test to get anything from the match.

They appeared to emerge with renewed resolve and a new game plan, keeping it tight among the forwards to try and gain yards and momentum with one particularly effective driving maul drawing the ire of the Brookes fans and yells of support from the few Dark Blue fans who had dared attend. However, the errors were still too prevalent and the first 15 minutes were an arm-wrestle in the centre of the pitch punctuated by flaring tempers. Bullocking prop Andrew Grounds was at the centre of the still-dominant Greyhounds scrum, making their insistence on kicking to touch and allowing the ineffective lineout to lose the ball even more bizarre and infuriating.

However, the Greyhounds keeping the ball tight was causing Brookes to concede a few too many penalties at the ruck, and after a clever kick put them under pressure on their own line their No 8 was guilty once too often, receiving ten minutes in the sin bin for his trouble. The Greyhounds finally took a scrum from the resulting penalty, and Number 8 and captain Dugald MacDonald, who had carried strongly all evening, picked up from the base before releasing scrum half Ruari O’Donovan to barge over in the corner. Fly half Guillaume Bourda, in the middle of a difficult night, missed the conversion, but at least the ‘Hounds now had a toehold in the match.

Unfortunately, for the last ten minutes of what should have been a tense finale, the crowd, by now universally absolutely smashed, took centre stage. It was only a matter of time before the first streaker appeared, and the only surprise when it happened was her gender, one particularly classy Brookes girl deciding to follow the advice of the rabid crowd and ‘get her tits out for the lads’. She was collared by the stewards before making it onto the pitch, but the two guys who swiftly followed her were much more successful, one of them even leaving and then returning five minutes later to take up station at outside centre for Brookes in their back line before being dragged away.

As it was, not much else happened on the pitch up until the final minute, when a Brookes breakaway appeared to lead to a try in the corner. However, I confess to not having had a clue what was going on as at this moment the entire main stand stormed the pitch, forcing the referee to abandon the match. It was a pity for it to end this way, and the half full cans being hurled everywhere were a slightly sour sight (as far as I’m aware, no-one got hit in any serious way) but that is part and parcel of this fixture, and the atmosphere and sheer amount of money Brookes bring in to OURFC mean we can look forward to this fixture again next year, where hopefully the Greyhounds will make a slightly better fist of it.

Proposition – Caspar ‘Casparnova’ Eliot – New College Full-back

I love sport, and what with football being sport I do enjoy it very much (and hate it occasionally, being a long-suffering Spurs fan). But it has always irritated me that football has managed to obtain status as the global sport when it is clearly inferior to rugby, and here’s why.

I’m going to start with a personal bugbear. Both sports are meant to be man’s games. Why then, do we see the constant image of footballers writhing around on the ground in apparent agony upon receiving the merest hint of physical contact. I also find the hounding of referees and brandishing of imaginary cards abhorrent. With rugby, there is no hiding. Any sign of weakness is an opportunity for the opponent to exploit, so there is no simulation. Also, respect for the referee (or ‘sir’) is paramount, and you will never see a rugby team crowd around the ref shoving and bellowing a descision in their favour.

Rugby is known as ‘a game for all shapes-and-sizes’, and this maxim still holds true. Physique of a human cube? You could make an excellent front-rower. Beanpole? The lineout is your calling. Vertically challenged but nippy? You’d slot in nicely at scrum-half. Compared to football, where unless you’re reasonably tall and fast you’re going to struggle at a decent level, this come-one-come-all nature is one of the game’s greatest features (and for those of you doubting this holds at the highest levels, watching Wales v. France in the 2010 Six Nations you could have witnessed Marc Andreu – 5 ft 5 and 11 stone – tackling Luke Charteris – 6 ft 10 and 20 stone).

Three years ago I had the pleasure of watching New College AFC 2nd XI defeat Keble to gloriously win Cuppers and it was one of the worst spectacles I’ve ever witnessed. Neither team was capable of stringing more than two passes together, the ball spent most of the time fired into the air around the centre circle and the only part that bore any similarity to a professional match was when one of our midfielders got booked for diving. And therein lies a major problem. At the top level I won’t deny that football is a (I’ll withhold the definite article) beautiful game, but that bears little or no resemblance to what happens on sports grounds around Oxford on a weekday afternoon as deficiencies in first touch and technical ability put paid to all attempts to do what you can see in your mind, or on the FIFA screen.

With rugby, on the other hand, it is perfectly possible to watch the All Blacks perform some magical set-piece move on the weekend, and then give it a go next time you train or play. The speed of the game may be lower, the skill levels slightly less and the contacts not quite as terrifyingly brutal, but fundamentally it is the same at whatever level, with any wing capable of that scything run, or any forward that bone-shuddering hit.

I could also mention how rugby has managed to utilise technology to eradicate (for the most part) ridiculously contentious decisions that can ruin one’s enjoyment of an entire match. I could mention how rugby is a generally higher scoring game, with much less of an opportunity for one team to turn up and park their bus in front of the goal/try line. The arguments are innumerable.In the end, to settle the debate,  we could simply follow the Harry Hill method to decide which is better, but I fear that upon the shout of ‘FIGHT’ all the footballers would lie on the ground feigning injury. Says it all, really.

Opposition – Adam Fellows – Blues Left-back

Every single schoolboy dreams of being a footballer. And why wouldn’t he? They want what the pros have – the glory, the adoration, the exhilaration, the fame, the fast cars the beautiful women. 

They play our sport on every playground and on every blade of grass in an endless pursuit of perfection for one very simple reason. The better you are at football, the more popular you are – this is an irrefutable fact. 

Unfortunately at a stage in early adolescence the weak minded ones turn to the dark side. The frail, shy yet cumbersome children who feel intimidated and belittled by the dominant footballers turn to steroids to bulk themselves up . The rugby players do their lifts, their curls and their presses until they feel confident enough to stand up to football’s superior species. 

After their inevitable rejection to rejoin our game they steal the conventional spherical ball in a fit of growth hormone-induced petulance and sit on it with all their considerable weight. Thus, the misshapen egg that is the rugby ball is born. 

Rugby players change the rules so that they can carry the ball in the air in order to stare at each other’s sculpted pecs and inflated arms (not to mention the overhanging rolls of flab in the middle). 

Having failed at the notion of kicking the ball into a net they decide to kick it over the net into an infinitely bigger area. This takes much less skill, perhaps the crucial strength of football. In rugby points are scored when one falls over the opponents’ line. In football a goal requires evasion, a cool head and the ability to beat the goalkeeper. 

This is just one example of an endless list where association football has the edge on that other posh-boy, meat-headed excuse for a sport. There’s so much more finesse – a footballer has technique, precision, tactics and fitness in addition to strength and force. Rather than just mindlessly bashing skulls together in the scrum (which I’m fairly sure is just an excuse for everyone to fondle each other’s genitals) footballers pass, move and work together. 

Whilst the men of the “hard-man’s” game afterwards moan about their vegetable ears until they have to resort to protective headgear, the footballer takes the knee high lunge and gets on with the game.

Whilst I must admit that a lot of what the media says about football is true – there is corruption, disappointment on an international level and the excessive spending of money domestically. Despite this football covers both the front and back pages of the newspapers. Why? Because people care about it. It is the heart and soul of millions whilst rugby articles end up in the editors’ shredding pile because, frankly. nobody is really that bothered.

The media criticse the boozing and the disappointment that our national team provides. At least the England rugby team didn’t go on a ridiculous bender in the middle of a World Cup and lose what may have been their tournament. Oh wait…

When I was traveling across Australia a few years ago (yeah, gap yah story, deal with it), a helpful Antipodean tried his best to explain the madness that was occuring on the television in front of me. It looked like 36 angry men in coloured wife beaters charging around a cricket pitch with four vertical posts at each end. There was a ball, but it seemed merely incidental. This was my introduction to Aussie Rules football, and a visit to a local derby at the Melbourne Cricket Ground (capacity: 100,000, atmosphere: second to none) later, I was hooked.

It is hard to appreciate just how massive Aussie rules is in Australia when one barely ever hears about it over here. The AFL has a higher average attendance than the Premier League. It is like rugby, both in ball shape and general handling and tackling, and played on a large egg-shaped pitch. The object is to kick the “footie” through the sets of four posts at the end of the pitch to score points, and a few other minor rules aside, that’s pretty much it.

I turned up to the training along with seemingly every Aussie in Oxford. The Rhodes Scholarship and its emphasis on academic and athletic excellence ensures a constant supply of players, and means the annual Varsity match with Cambridge is now in its 91st year. We started off with some drills, designed to get newcomers used to some of the peculiarities of the game. Rather than passing as in rugby, you punch the ball out of your hand with your other fist, in what is known as a handpass. There is also a lot of kicking, and if you catch a kick on the full it is known as a ‘mark’ and is the only time in an incredibly frantic game where you cannot be touched as you are allowed to make the next kick for free, unchallenged.

Training finished with a proper game of eight-on-eight footie. This was chaos, but also great fun. It was incredibly physical, and as, unlike in both rugby codes, there are no offside lines, things can and do happen from any and every direction. You can think you’re clean through and ready to kick a glorious six-pointer (kicks between the two central posts are worth six, others are worth one), when suddenly you’re flattened by an opponent you had no idea was there. 

The ball spent a lot of the time being scrapped over on the ground, making the satisfaction of taking a mark, and being afforded the few seconds’ peace that offers, even greater. There were nuances to the game I didn’t pick up (what I thought were excellent ‘cheeky offloads’ were all immediately pinged for being passes, not handballs), but in terms up of being easy to pick up and play, it was a revelation.

If any rugby players are looking for something a little different, or if you just fancy playing a sport where a team beer after training is not merely encouraged but mandatory, I can’t recommend it enough.