5-2 loss maybe?
MOM RH and another ? maybe TK?

The sound of the waves of discontent that crashed upon the APISC shore could still be heard from the sparsely furnished Preston Girls mezzanine. Previous woes buffeting the ears of proud brown men like the autumn winds that chased the leaves in their new Northern home. But how proud they were, and strong, and resolute, protective of the fragile leather that lay between them like spent love between the sheets.

And sing the good song of Harmony these brown men did. The drum of unity driving the melody of individual flair, a symphony in motion. The mid point met us with all things equal, a game balanced on the tip, who would crumble?, who would lose their nerve?

But who is this? Surely not? The old enemy from within? Conflict, Abuse disharmony. The once proud men drop the metaphoric ball before the real one has time to reach them.

Loss

The taste of winning too rich for those used to lapping at the pool of humiliation. A game lost rather than a team beaten.

Lesson: defeat rides the thermals of hot men losing their cool