Words by Jack Clayton | Photos by Lucy Pratt and Jack Clayton.
It’s the morning after the night before. Across the land, well, across the posh bits of Clapham at least, people are waking up bleary-eyed and with sorrow in their hearts. England’s rugby team have been booted out of their own World Cup tournament before it’s even really got going, after suffering a humiliating and one-sided defeat to Australia. Any Englishman who’d found themselves temporarily struck down by World Cup fever suddenly finds themselves with a sporting void in their lives; a void that needs filling.
And so, it was with this cloud hanging over the flag of St George that Mpora went down to Sussex to find a new and alternative national sport for the green and pleasant England that we call home. Football? Suck at it. Cricket? Occasionally good at it, suck at it the rest of the time. Rugby? We’ve been over this. What England really needed, and this was clear as soon as the final whistle went against Australia, was a sport to call our own; a thing to be good at, a thing we could repeatedly beat other countries over the head with.