Charlie Ball

Ladies and gentlemen, it is that time of year once again. Time to don our sacred black ivy ties, wear all of our finest attire, and perch and be put on trial upon the rock of justice for the most important decision of all of our lives. With years of dedication to this club, I have experienced this sacred ritual many a time — along with drinking from a certain watering can. Yet somehow, rumours persist that I only “spawned in” this year. This may well be due to Toby occupying half the bus’s maximum weight capacity, but who am I to say.

After a generation perfomance at bottle, which will be remembered for centuries to come (some even called it the 'Ben Carlin' but with more showers and thankfully less northern), the men's team has been decimated by the reality of having to get J*bs. Next year, we must seek a new specimen to row this most dishevelled of ships. Gary has informed me it would be “inappropriate” for him to take the helm, given his… history… with certain members of the club. So it appears I must answer the call.

With next year’s Bottle likely already etched into the IC calendar, I pledge to deliver the four-peat — alongside tactics that transcend even the mighty “Brexit Ball” doctrine I once proposed. Let us keep this the greatest club at Imperial.

Charlie

(Pub)