Peterborough 5–0 AFC Wimbledon
It’s the end of the world as we know it
Some say the world will end in fire. Others in ice. AFC Wimbledon chose neither. We chose Peterborough away.
Prelude to the Apocalypse
Last weekend we fell to Gateshead. This weekend, we detonated entirely. The Dons turned up at the home of the bottom club and left having accelerated their hosts’ promotion campaign, reignited their fanbase, and rebooted the East Anglian economy.
Peterborough were bottom. Read it again. Bottom. As in “the team everyone else beats by accident.” Their fans had stopped booing and started knitting. Then we arrived, swinging the flaming torch of generosity.
The Team Sheet of Doom:
Notable absences: McCoy-Splatt again. If he doesn’t get a start in the next league game after the last few weeks we should just release him and save the wages to buy fire wood and supplies for when the electricity station next to PL also fails.
The First Half: The 45 Minutes That Broke Time
Ten minutes in, Peter Kioso swung in a cross. Harry Leonard tapped it home. The scoreboard operator started grinning; he knew business was about to boom.
We tried to respond. Sasu bombed forward, earning a corner. Then down the other end Ogundere tripped Leonard, who doubled both the score and the existential dread from twelve yards.
At 2–0 down to the team bottom of the league, it stopped being football and became performance art. A tragic ballet set to the soundtrack of travelling fans groaning in unison.
Then Lisbie waltzed through four defenders to win a corner and not long after was able to make it three. Somewhere, the Mayan calendar clicked forward.
Half-time: Peterborough 3, Wimbledon nil, and the sky visibly dimmed.
The Second Half: The End of Days
Bugiel struck one wide in defiance of physics. Bishop saved us from sixteen separate humiliations before the 60th minute. Then the substitutes came on for Peterborough, fresh horsemen of the apocalypse. Peterborough’s own JJ: Jimmy-Jay Morgan crossed, Gustav Lindgren scored.
When the fifth went in, the Weston Homes PA read out “goal” in a tone used by priests conducting last rites.
Fan Reaction: Revelations, Chapter Wimbledon
Facebook: “We’ve reached a new low. If this was the Titanic, we’d have fired torpedoes into the rescue boats.”
WhatsApp: “Delete club. Reinstall from 2002 save file.”
One WombleWorld source swears he saw the Four Horsemen galloping past the A1, each wearing a half-and-half scarf.
Womble of the Week:
Omar Bugiel. The lone survivor trudging through the ashes, shouting at teammates, shouting at himself, shouting at the concept of football. A man who refuses to perish quietly.
The Bigger Picture (if any picture remains)
Peterborough were bottom. They are now reborn. After the game, their chairman probably turned to Luke Williams and whispered, “We might go up.”
Meanwhile, back home, the club has updated the debenture terms and conditions. A bold plan in conjunction with the playing staff that apparently solves everything by ensuring nobody ever wants to attend again.
Problem: attendance. Solution: existential despair.
The DTB meanwhile were too busy releasing their draft new constitution. We can confirm it was a more enjoyable read than watching today’s match.
Closing Thoughts: After the Fire
This was not just a defeat. This was the launch of the apocalypse, or perhaps not.
We’re not broken. Just briefly haunted. On another day, half those tackles connect, half those passes stick, and we leave Peterborough muttering about our press instead of planning an open-top bus parade. The players looked human. That’s fine. Humans recover. Especially ones managed by Johnnie Jackson and frightened by Terry Skiverton.
No league match next Saturday. Thank whatever gods remain. We’ll spend the week picking through the wreckage, talking about “character” and “response,” and hoping we can turn the tide against Bromley away in the Trophy and postpone the apocalypse.
WombleWorld
Ashley Bayes attempted to cleanse the stadium with essential oils. Terry Skiverton confiscated them, poured them into the team coach’s fuel tank, and set off to find vengeance.