There’s a certain magic in Non League football that you just don’t get under the sterile, antiseptic lights of the Premier League. It’s a little more Ted Lasso, a little less Pep Guardiola. Blood, mud, bruised shins, and the kind of stories you tell over a pint for the next 20 years. Saturday at Hartpury College & University is shaping up to be another one of those: Hartpury University, sixth but just three points shy of Exmouth in third, with both sides quietly circling the top of the table, waiting for their moment to strike like the shark in Jaws. Only here, the beach is a rain-drenched football field and the lifeguards are wearing mismatched kits.

Let’s set the scene like it’s the start of a great heist film. Hartpury have had a season that looks like one of those rollercoaster montages: big, dominant wins splattered alongside messy defeats and the occasional frustrating draw. Five wins, one draw, three losses from nine matches. They’re a team living dangerously—scoring in bunches one week, then coming up empty the next. They just flattened Mousehole 3-0, and in this league, flattening anyone is like spotting a unicorn on the motorway. But just a fortnight before, Larkhall Athletic handed them their teeth with a 3-1 defeat. You don’t know if Hartpury are Bruce Banner or The Hulk until the whistle blows.

Meanwhile, Exmouth have been playing with all the confidence of a poker player on a heater—five straight wins, all types of victories sprinkled in. Grinding out 1-0s, coming from behind, even dropping a four-spot on Brixham for fun. It’s like they’ve found their cheat code and can’t stop hitting the A button. The vibes? Immaculate. The stats? Cold, hard proof that this squad can adapt to anything the division throws at them.

So what’s at stake? Everything and nothing, all at once. It’s still only October, but you know spinal tap’s going to eleven with these points. Three points here and Hartpury leapfrog half the table, grabbing a little piece of title race pie. Exmouth wins and they start making noises about the kind of campaign that gets hung in the clubhouse for the next decade. It’s not quite Game of Thrones for the throne, but it’s about as close as you get in Gloucestershire in autumn.

The real story, though, is in the matchups. Hartpury loves to play with width, stretching defenses until something snaps. Their wingers are like John McClane in Die Hard—always crashing the party from the flanks, never saying die. When they get space, they punish you. But here’s the problem: Exmouth’s defensive record over this win streak has been stingier than the bouncer at an exclusive club—just three goals allowed in five matches. They defend compact, close space, and make you play through them. It’s irresistible force meets immovable object, and you can practically hear the tactical cogs whirring already.

Watch for Hartpury’s top creator—call him their own local James Maddison—a clever midfielder pulling the strings, spraying passes like an air-traffic controller. He’ll be up against Exmouth’s old-school, hard-nosed holding mid, the kind of guy who you’d cast as a 1980s movie villain but actually just wants to ruin your afternoon and go home for a roast. That one-on-one? It might decide the afternoon.

Up front, Hartpury have a forward who is equal parts bulldozer and ballerina. He’s either bundling through defenders and slotting home, or pirouetting on the ball, leaving three defenders chasing shadows. If he gets a sniff, he’ll bury it. Exmouth have a fox-in-the-box striker, too—lethal on quick breaks and one of those guys who always seems to be in the right place at the right time, even when you’re not sure how he got there.

Then there’s the intangibles, the things that don’t show up on the stat sheet—composure, grit, the “how the hell did he block that?” moments. Hartpury still have something to prove after last year’s mid-table fadeout. Exmouth may quietly be nursing memories of promotion pushes gone awry. Both sides are hungry, and the scent of the top spot is more intoxicating than any halftime pie.

If the past couple of weeks are any indication, expect 90 minutes of the kind of “will-they-won’t-they” drama that ships entire TV shows. Hartpury have the home advantage, and in this league, that’s like giving them the Infinity Gauntlet—most days. Exmouth, though, are coming in hot, playing football that feels predestined. The old cliché is “something’s gotta give.” This time, don’t be surprised if both teams just keep pushing until the final whistle, with one mistake or flash of brilliance deciding it all.

Prediction? Look, picking against a team on a five-game streak is like betting against Tom Brady in a playoff game. But Hartpury at home, with the bit between their teeth and a statement win on their mind—that’s not a minor subplot. Call it: 2-2, with chaos, drama, and enough bite to remind everyone why Non League football is the greatest unscripted show running.

Bring popcorn, and if you’re lucky enough to be at Hartpury on Saturday, buy a program—because this one is appointment viewing in the truest sense.