Mud, sweat and beers at Britain´s maddest football match

If Premier League football ever seems too polished and pompous, then Britain’s maddest match — a no-nonsense free-for-all that ends up in a river — is the perfect antidote.

A quirky slice of British heritage, the Royal Shrovetide Football match is an adrenaline-fuelled tradition dating back to at least the 17th century, and the game has changed little since then.

Once a year, the quaint rural town of Ashbourne in Derbyshire, central England, splits into Up’ards and Down’ards — those born north and south of the River Henmore — for a blood-and-thunder ruck that rampages through the streets and surrounding fields.

Pride and a place in history is at stake.

The riverbank goals are millstones three miles (five kilometres) apart and the few rules are straight and simple — in short, no killing, no hiding the ball, and stay out of the churchyard.

Played every Shrove Tuesday and Ash Wednesday — which signal the start of the Christian season of Lent — this feisty game could not be further from the fancy flicks and feigned injuries of the English Premier League.

“It’s rough. Really rough,” said Peter Rowbowtham, a member of the 10-strong committee, who estimated that 2,000 to 3,000 people take part.

“There’s broken ankles, bust ribs. There’s no quarter given or taken, but there is integrity. If somebody goes down in the hug (the giant rolling ruck), they will pick them up,” the 73-year-old, who played for four decades, told AFP.

“You need a big pair of strong boots and plenty of resilience.

“The ball can go anywhere. Last night it went through a pub, in the front door and out the back.

“There’s an honour to playing this game. People train from Christmas to get ready. It’s the heritage of Derbyshire. We have to fight all the time to keep it going.

“It makes you proud to be British.”

The specially-painted ball, made of leather and stuffed with cork to keep it afloat, is rarely kicked and is mostly held in the hug. The ball is “turned-up” — hurled into the crowd — to start the game.

Anyone who “goals” the ball — by tapping the ball three times on their team’s millstone — gets to keep it, and is carried shoulder-high into the Green Man pub.

Goaling is “every man’s dream,” explained Green Man barmaid Steph.

Shops board up their windows for protection and paramedics are on standby.

The game earned the royal moniker after the prince of Wales, later king Edward VIII, “turned-up” in 1928. Prince Charles, the current prince of Wales and a staunch supporter of rural traditions, “turned-up” in 2003.

The fun begins at 2:00pm. Shaw Croft car park swells with players, who are reminded of the rules. Parents with pushchairs are warned to steer clear.

After the singing of “Auld Lang Syne” and “God Save the Queen”, local resident Sean Griffin, 88, started the Ash Wednesday game turning-up from the starting plinth into the heaving throng.

If the ball is not goaled, play must end by 10:00pm.

Inside the hug is a hot tangle of bodies, a tight crush of straining men, heavy with the smell of breath, evaporating sweat and muddy river water.

The game rolled round the flats and west through the town centre in the Down’ards’ favour, then over a Jeep parked in an unfortunate spot, before breaking out east into the fields.

Sam Ratcliffe, an 18-year-old Up’ard, staggered out of the hug for a restorative pint and a smoke.

“I’ll take it easy in the first half of the day and go in harder later,” he told AFP, showing off cuts on his hands from a barbed wire fence encountered in Shrove Tuesday’s game.

One player fell off a wall, straining an ankle but defiantly told paramedics: “I’m fine, I’m going back in.”

At 7:23pm, in pitch darkness at Sturston Mill, a group of Up’ards burst through the crowds packed on the muddy river bank slope and plunged in.

Local man Robyn Wright goaled the ball to huge cheers. Battered, soaked, exhausted and exhilarated, the 29-year-old became an instant Ashbourne hero.

“I can’t believe it. It’s the best day of my life. I’ve got two kids and it’s as good as that,” he told AFP as he processed back into town, hugging his ball.

“It’s the one thing since you were a kid that you want. It’s your only real ambition in Ashbourne is to score a shrovetide goal. It’s a dream come true.”