And we finally made it to that time of the year.
When all the fans go the extra mile for getting a spot on the Quidditch Stadium, just to see their favourite team play the special game of the season, after everyone has filled their bellies with Christmas Dinner the previous day.
This Boxing Day brought us to the Bodmin Moor Millenium Stadium in Cornwall, where the Wimbourne Wasps will face Puddlemere United.
As usual, brooms, quaffles, bludgers, golden snitches, players giving their everything, fans shouting from the bottom of their lungs -amplifying charm included- and the biggest question of them all: who will conquer victory in this last game of 2032?
If you weren’t on the grades, worry not! Calista Earnshaw and Edward Callbeck have you covered.
Enjoy!
Wimbourne Wasps V Puddlemere United – 600 – 880
The cold air filled the Bodmin Moor Millenium Stadium, as the sun graced us with its presence for about an hour before the match started, and another one after the teams went out onto the pitch.
Wixen from all over the UK joined us to celebrate Boxing Day with their favourite team, as small gusts of wind made the premise of the match interesting -mostly when it came to catching the snitch. Luckily for both teams, no rain was in sight, even though dark clouds threatened to ruin the party.
Holiday-themed hits like‘Accio Christmas’, ‘Nothing like a Holiday Spell’, and ‘My Baby Game me a Hippogriff for Christmas’ could be heard around the stadium, as the Quidditch Hour approached.
As quarter to eleven struck the clock, both teams stepped onto the pitch; yellow and black stripes to one side, and the classic navy blue with gold on the other side. With both captains exchanging pleasantries and giving last words of advice to their teams, the referee started the game at exactly eleven o’clock.
And how did that game go?
Two words: un-believable.
Who would have thought? Puddlemere United, winning its second game in the season, jumped from eleventh place to ninth in the league.
Is this… The real life? Or is this just a fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality?
For Puddlemere, it surely felt real.
So real, the whole stadium held its breath back until the very last second.
The Wimbourne Wasps thought this game would be ‘easy’ at the very least, and the first thirty minutes of the match seemed to go according to their predictions. Chasers Layne Peacock and Robyn McKowen worked together alongside Tryphena Beetlegleam to put their team in the lead. Peacock scored, McKowen assisted, and Beetlegleam stole, a technique that left them with forty points of advantage during that brief first part of the game. Keeper Kjersti Nathalie thought the quaffle would roam more on the other side of the pitch than hers, and perhaps overconfidence was her mistake.
As if possessed by some sort of Old Puddlemere United Quidditch Legend, Chaser Sora McKellan began to twirl in her broom up to perfection, dodging any bludgers sent her way. Not only that, but she also managed to enlist fellow chasers, Jack Jones and Ariadne Massey, in a Hawkshead Attacking Formation, forcing the Wasps’ players aside and thus controlling the narrative of the quaffle, which enabled her team to reach a formidable score of 400 to 450.
Things continued to get heated on both sides of the pitch, and whilst the Wasps’ Beaters tried their best to keep Puddlemere in their place, United gave them a kind reply: not today.
Almost six hours of game and a few points later, the Seeker battle began. Relentless moves, calculated moves, and an end that would surprise everyone -and especially the team from the River Piddle.
With Puddlemere’s Seeker McClarken catching the snitch, the win was sealed, 880-600 for his team.
Fans roared, confetti rained, and in the grades, everybody remembered the lyrics to Celestina Warbeck’s anthem, as they rejoiced as if it were Christmas morning after opening the presents.
But let’s be honest, the real entertainment didn’t happen until after the final whistle. While players swapped sweaty hugs and reporters chased quotes, who else would be creeping toward the VIP exit but Mr Algernon Fletch? Yes, that Algernon. And yes, we’re all shocked he’s still walking freely after the domestic disagreement incident three weeks ago.
There he was, head down, cloak drawn tight, pretending to blend in like a suspiciously wealthy shadow, singing along with the other fans ‘Beat back those Bludgers, boys, and chuck that Quaffle here. No team can ever best the best of Puddlemere!’. Probably already calculating whatever payout or secret bonus he gets whenever Puddlemere wins. Reward tokens cling to that man like Nifflers to gold.
He almost escaped, too. Almost. But fate and a random gaze through some Omnioculars had other plans. Suddenly, with great definition, Algernon’s face appeared in my sight with all the grace of a toddler reaching for forbidden biscuits. The audience gasped. Security pivoted. I opened my mouth to shout a question…
…and Fletch took off. I swear he moved like someone who’d just heard the Aurors shout, “freeze or we’ll petrify you”. Clicking heels, wild sprint, full panic mode activated.
Wait, was that the shadow of a woman lurking behind Fletch?
Eh, well, the world may never know. What we do know, however, is that today was a performance of a lifetime from Puddlemere, one that we will probably never see again. No, really, the team’s performance isn’t completely satisfactory this season -but neither was the previous, nor the previous one to the previous…
That being said, one thing is certain: any game involving Puddlemere is entertaining to watch, both for the players and the ‘adoring’ fans.
“Job done.”
-Callum McClarken, Puddlemere United’ Seeker and Man of Not Many Words.
“We went into this game not sure what the result would be. It was tough at first. We were fumbling quite a bit. But once we banded together and we put our minds to it there was no stopping us. I’m so proud of my team mates. The Wasps fought valiantly, but we just managed to get that edge in and claim the victory for ourselves.”
-Sora McKellan, Puddlemere United’s Chaser and Woman of Fair Words.