Turtle Name	Goals For	Own Goals	Assists	MoMs	TiTs
Wilkinson, G	1	0	0	0	0
Watson, A	0	0	1	0	0
Law, S	0	0	1	0	0
Langridge, S	0	0	0	0	0
Kyne, P	0	0	0	0	0
Kinsella, R	0	0	0	0	0
Johnson, D	0	0	0	0	0
Holden, M	0	0	0	0	1
Hills, T	0	0	0	0	0
Guthrie, D	1	0	0	0	0
Dixon, L	0	0	0	0	0
Davidson, G	1	0	0	1	0
Coppersmith, M	0	0	0	0	0
Calcott, G	0	0	0	0	0
Bevan, Neil	0	0	1	0	0

Samantha Fox, eighties’ Page Three Superstar, closed the door behind her, dropped her Turtles shirt to the floor and stepped into the showers at Ben Burn. “These need a good wash, Glenn, and it looks like that thing of yours needs a good vigorous soaping as well”.

To understand how this unlikely event came about, we need to go back a couple of weeks, to the filming of that ill-fated Parkinson episode in London. Turtle captain Snout was a guest on the show, along with our beloved former patron, and later they met up at the bar at the BBC complex in Shepherds Bush.

“Some show, eh, Snout?”

“Fucking hell, Sammy, what a madhouse.”

“So are you heading home tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I was just over to help Richard Branson set up a Hooters franchise, and I’ve got to get back for the next Turtles game. They badly miss me when I’m not there to lead them.”

“I’m worried about the lads, Snout. From what I hear, the team may not last much longer. It breaks my heart, it really does.”

“Where is your heart exactly, Sammy.”

“In under here.”

“Oh yes, I see.”

“I think I’ll come out in a week or so, see what I can do to lift morale. And I’d like to talk to the current patron, Vanda, is it? She’s clearly not doing her job properly.”

“That’d be awesome, Sammy. Now, where’s that girlfriend of yours?”

“Home in bed, Snouter dear, where I’ll be soon enough.”

“No chance of a blowjob for old time’s sake, then?”

 “Sorry, Snouter honey, but I play on the other team now. Seeya in Wellington.”

Two weeks later, Sammy was shown into Snouter’s sumptuous Terrace office by his equally sumptuous PA, Candy.

“Thanks Candy, can you get us a couple of coffees please. Hi Sammy, welcome to Wellington. You’ve met Candy.”

“Yeah, hi Snouter. You can sure pick ‘em, she’s a cracker.”

“And very efficient, in many ways. Now, I’m sorry I’ve got to rush, but I’ve got a partner’s meeting in five minutes. Here’s Candy now to sort you out. I’ll be back in an hour.”

Snout returned later to find Sammy sitting on the couch doing up her blouse, and Candy picking things up off the floor and putting them back on Snout’s desk.

“Er, has Candy being looking after you, Sammy?”

“Oh, yeah, Candy has been very hospitable, thanks Snout. Now, I’m off up north to see this Patron of yours.”

“OK Sammy, see you later,” said Snout and Candy together, longingly.

Three hours later, Sammy was sitting in the kitchen of the Taylor residence, just outside Palmerston North, drinking black tea.

“You have a lovely home here, Vanda. What does your husband do?”

“Oh, he’s very big in the LTSA. At the moment he’s working on this big project that will…”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now, The Turtles. What the hell is going on there?”

“I don’t know, Sammy. They’re just getting too old, I think. Not enough new blood coming through.”

“Definitely a problem.  That Rohan, seemed to be the goods last year, and Garry, but now we have Lance coming back, for fuck sake. And Boy. Next they’ll be dragging out Bobby.”

“And CJ too….”

“Come on, this is serious. And frankly, I blame you, Vanda. In my years as patron we trampled all before us, but now…”

“Hey, come on, Sammy. I performed in the match reports last year.”

“Yes, well, I’ll give you that. Some pretty good stuff there. But you’ve slipped completely out of sight this year.”

“Well, although I was flattered by all that girl-on-girl action, it wasn’t really me.”

‘Shame. Still, the lads need a figurehead, one who they can look up to and go ‘whoooaaarrr’.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“OK, Vanda, that’s all we can ask, I suppose. I’ll talk to the lads on Saturday. Thanks for the tea, I’d better be going.”

Just then, Vanda’s daughter Christy walked in, and shyly said ‘Hi’ before heading through to her room.

“My god, what a gorgeous girl.”

“Yes, CJ and I are very proud of the way she’s grown up. And so is her father.”

Back at the Duxton in Wellington later that night, Sammy’s settled in for a quiet night with a movie, and ordered room service. But when her dinner was delivered by Carletta, a Spanish housemaid working nights to put herself through flamenco dance school, thoughts of a quiet night went out the window. Sammy invited Carletta to stay and share her dessert, a hot fudge sundae. Carletta was delighted to accept the invitation, and skilfully used herself as a plate.

The next morning, Sammy’s fruit salad breakfast was also delivered by Carletta, and this time she was accompanied by her boyfriend Juan, who made sure Sammy got a well-balanced start to the day.

Later, full and satisfied, Sammy strolled out into the crisp Wellington morning determined to sort out the Turtles problems. After a taxi ride to Kilbirnie, she entered a nondescript building and climbed the steps to the offices of the WSA.

“Hi there, I’m Sammy, and I’d like to sort out some problems in the Masters Grade this year.”

“Sure love, what can I do to, I mean, for, you,” said the fat, sweaty sleazebag behind the pokey little desk.

“It is clear to me that Masters One is terribly lop-sided. I want the bottom three teams to be dropped back down to Masters Two immediately.”

“Oh yeah, and what makes you think I’d do that for you.”

“Because if you do, these puppies here will be very, very grateful.”

Sammy opened her jacket, and gave the sweaty administrator a sneak look at her famous baps. A leer appeared on the face of the repulsive man behind the desk, and Sammy was disgusted even further when his sweating increased, and one hand disappeared swiftly below the desk. “Well, my love, when you put it like that, I may be able to help you out. And believe me, I could really make you happy.”

Fighting back some bile, Sammy kept her game face on. “So, will you change the grade?”

“Well, honey, it’s a bit late for that just now, but come and sit here on my lap and we’ll try and work something else out.”

Sammy shuddered, and swallowed hard, so different from the way Juan had made her swallow just an hour earlier. “Look, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got other people to see, so how about this – you force some of the other teams to include more fat and slow players.”

This suggestion slowly gained a hold of the admin man’s brain, the look on his face showing similarities with a simple primate trying to put a square peg in a round hole.

“Er, I guess I could do that.”

“Good. Now, I’ll be going to watch the Turtles play North Wellington this Saturday, and if it looks like you’ve succeeded, then I’ll be back in here next week to show you how much I appreciate it.” With this, Sammy stepped closer to the desk, and, fighting revulsion, put her hands down on the desk, and gave the heaving blob behind it the full show of her magnificent cleavage. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yaaaa mmmmm aaaa…..” was all the administrator could manage.

“OK, bye,” said Sammy, who rushed out of the office, and just made it down the steps to the street before barfing up her breakfast on the footpath.

Come Saturday, it looked like Sammy had got her way, as Nth Welly did indeed seem older, fatter and slower than previous years. And after just four minutes, Wal swung over a perfect corner to the far post and Gordie nodded in for a shock lead to the Turtles.

Sammy, on the sideline with the subs, jumped up and down with excitement, seriously straining her sweater.

The Turtles were playing some good stuff, Don, Glen and Garry in the middle competing and passing nicely, and Gordie holding it up front. Of course the oppo were threatening, but Si and Dodge were coping. The equaliser, after about 20 minutes, was a bit unfortunate, Garry finding himself too far back, and not coping, and then Terry was unable to clear as the ball came across him, and Matt Cantwell tapped it in past Snouter.

Sammy paced around looking distraught on the sideline, but five minutes later the Turts were back in front. Neil had not been on long, and was soon advancing up the right, and put in a precise and low cross. In a carbon copy of his goal from two weeks ago, Don charged bravely in, and got to the ball first to nod it past the keeper.

The rest of the half was a tight struggle, notable for Gordie dropping back to keep an eye on Matt Cantwell, a ploy that worked well.

At halftime, Sammy gave a stirring talk to the lads, harking back to some of the heroics of previous Turtle teams, in the era when she was patron. And as an added incentive, she promised to shower with the scorer of the winning goal if the Turtles managed to win. At that stage it would have been Don, and, suitably barred up, he charged into his work as the second half began.

With the slope, a slight breeze, and the slanting sun at their backs, the oppo were always going to press, and the Turts settled back for long stints of siege. With Gordie tight on Matt though, the threat from there was lessened, the main danger coming from numerous precise corners. Si and Gordie, with good challenging from everyone else, repelled most of these safely. Up field, the Turts were struggling to get over halfway. Glen, with help from PK, Garry and Lance, did manage some forward work, but couldn’t work any chances. As the main threat, Glen was targeted by Big Ken (No. 3) for some appalling tackles.

Finally, with about 15 minutes to go, the pressure of the corners told, as another precise delivery couldn’t be dealt with, and it unluckily hit one of their forwards to rebound in.

At 2-2, Sammy feared the worst, and didn’t think she’d be showering with anyone later on. The oppo were still pressing, and had a reasonable penalty shout turned down by Tel, who was giving Davey J a break from reffing, and didn’t see the incident.

As the clock ticked down, it seemed that the Turts may just hang on for the draw. Si was cleaning up in front of the back four (which now included Gordie fulltime), and Snout dealt safely with the long-range efforts that came in. Don, resigned to missing out on showering with Sammy, came to the sideline to try and talk her into some other kind of water-based activity. But with just seconds to go, Marty took a throw in on the right, and found Neil. The fresh recruit dribbled purposefully forward, and squared it to Si. The oppo defence, not quite believing the audacity of this move, stood still as Si threaded through a perfect pass into the path of a charging Glen. The keeper advanced, but Glen calmly slipped it to the left of him for a historic winner. Blood rushing to his groin, Glen rushed away yelling, ‘that’s for you, No. 3’.

Davey J let the oppo kick-off before blowing fulltime, a classy final touch.

So, Sammy duly delivered on her promise in the Ben Burn showers, and flew out of Wellington later that night, her work done.