In the very dim & distant past, I used to play rugby. I was a prop forward for our college team.
There was an occasion when the D. Telegraph covered one of our games. I think they had an attitude to sport, a bit like this thread, in which they would delve into the lower echelons just for the fun of it. The week they covered our game, we lost 108 - 0, the try being only 3 points. I don't recall who the opposition was, and I wasn't in the team that week.
The following week we played Preston Polytechnic at Preston Grasshopper's ground, and we lost 66 - 0. That was perhaps the least painful game I have ever played. I didn't have to do much. The opposition's scrum wasn't very big, but they were very fit and tight-knit. We never got the ball and they didn't cheat. Their wings and centres were fit and fast. They just scored whenever they wanted, which was at almost a point a minute.
I don't mention this out of sheer arrogance, despite my presence in the team making a difference of 42 points. It was more down to the pies. As we lay back, luxuriating in a traditional rugby club's communal bath, some old guy hobbled round with a huge tray of delicious hot pies. Whether they were sourced from Accrington I cannot say, but they were most welcome. One wag in our team asked, deadpan, "What are these made of? Last week's opponents?"