Next week our overseas player finally arrives at the Villas, one month late but with high hopes from many and a bit of trepidation from some of us, old enough to remember past ventures down this rocky road.
As nominated landlord for the next four months, I have taken on yet another nickname, that of “Rigsby”. Sure enough I have the moth eaten woollens though no resident Ms Jones but if he brings in any nubile young women then the peep holes are already bored.
Coming from warmer climes this may be a bit of a culture shock and should the poor lad want the heating, on he can piss off home; neither am I taking on any responsibility for beer or curry intake.
Our “pro” David is 21 and comes from South Africa. Responsibilities for cultural development during his stay have been passed to 1st team skipper Joe with the caveat that this is not an invite for him to de-camp to my house and make all his mum’s dreams come true.
I do not wish my house to become a drop-in centre for twenty-something down and outs; should my spare bedroom become stuffed to the rafters with empty pizza boxes and beer cans, I shall hunt Joe down like a wounded fox, again, with his mother’s blessing.
Over the years we have had a patchy record with overseas players, so much so that most years we’ve simply not bothered. Finding an overseas cricketer that could actually play cricket has seemed to stretch us.
Our first venture found us a half-blind Indian more interested in a Bollywood career than scoring runs. Had he had as good an eye with the bat as for the ladies we would have won the league; as it was we finished bottom but I believe his calendar sold well.
In hope we sought out an Aussie who turned out to be totally useless at cricket proving we were perhaps not suited to this or the unluckiest club on the planet. Blake was a leg spinner but my Mum’s old washing machine spun it more.
He was so crap that had we had a 3rd team he would have been a regular – just – and the only maidens he bowled all summer were the waitresses at the local pub he worked at. He must have cost them a fortune in dropped plates.
We then had a season with a fake pastry chef from South Africa who was the best of the bunch in a cricketing sense but could never play because of work at a local hotel despite the fact that he could not scramble an egg.
So off we went down the Antipodean route again; g’day Kyle!Flip Flop Brooksey was a great lad who spent a rain-soaked British summer in one pair of rotten sandals. There was a suspicion we had got a preacher not a cricketer but he turned out to be great crack.
His only flaw was his insistence on sledging the opposition weekly making us the most hated team in the division and turning every game into a war.
Finally, way back in 2008, we were offered Big Shrey and he turned out to be a hugely popular lad too.
Once he had recovered from the shock of his first game on the hills of Halifax in 4 degree winds – just another summer’s day at Illingworth CC – the day after leaving Mumbai he was an entertaining addition to the side.
He could not bat for toffee but “Shutty, put me up the order Sir” was his weekly plea and somehow it all came right one day when he smashed six sixes in an over against Ilkley.
We hope David has a great stay at the Villas and for the next four months the door to the spare room is shut; Lord knows what living or dying creatures – big Joe included – await come September.
More on George
Classic stuff from the latest edition of Private Eye (1392) under the headline “George Galloway to sue everyone who didn’t vote for him”.
George Galloway, the former MP for Bradford West, has announced his intention to sue for damages every member of the constituency who did not vote for his party…
“This is a shameful betrayal of the Lion of Bradford” he said. “My constituents have been most unwise here. Most unwise. They will be receiving a visit from me. My lawyers will find them. Their actions are highly regrettable.”
Life is already looking dull without you George.
Censorship?
Comrade Green does not want you and I to know what’s going on as he and his cronies allow the wholesale sell off of parts of our city.
New rules are being considered that will forbid the public from discovering just what a bunch of idiots sit in City Hall.
What would you be hiding from Dave?
How To Destroy A Brand
Honesty costs as little as saying “sorry”. Hiding behind cowardly and spineless corporate spin to save a few quid looks like it will cost the anonymous suits at Thomas Cook much more than money…which is not the point given two young kids lost their lives.
A tale on modern day morality?
Over To You Son!
The old man dropped some tomato plants in the other day with instructions that it was time I learnt how to grow these properly – unassisted – before he ventures off to the great greenhouse in the sky.
And so this great knowledge will be passed down one more generation, only to hit a grinding halt with yours truly thanks, in the main, to Dr Khan’s snippers.
I shall try my best to pinch out the correct side shoots, feed them regularly and well (just like the overseas pro) and sit patiently as the night skies darken to share a few moments.
Some sons inherit great wealth, some dark secrets, some nothing at all; on balance three fledgling tomato plants with the parting shot of “…yer Aunt Lillian can grow these and she’s bloody clueless…” are a fair deal and I shall do my best to produce for once.
Leave a Reply