Many years ago, I was lucky to be invited on several trips down to Lords Cricket Ground in the company of our “rivals” Haworth Road CC.
Amongst a small band of dedicated guys at The Road, stands “Lord Les” as we fondly know him and I’m grateful for the wonderful trips he organised.
8 – ON TOUR WITH LORD LES
“The Games are just a nice, positive way to build friendships, camaraderie and, of course, self-esteem. Plus, the Games are a great opportunity for people to participate in sports who normally wouldn’t.” Greg Louganis
The Road and Villas squared up many times over the years but off the field they were always great company and quick with the beers. If we had played them at drinking it would have been sensible simply to concede the points.
Games against them were always amongst the hardest of the season and often contained a bit of an edge because some of us were playing against mates. One game probably summed it up as well as any could.
Villas were batting second and we were never really in the hunt so we had settled on grinding out a consolation point, gained by concluding our innings without being bowled out, boring the pants off the opposition in the process as well as delaying their entry to the bar.
Never Leave The Straight One
We had the right man for the job as our safety was entrusted with our skipper David “Tatts” Tattersall, an intense character and often a bit at odds with the more carefree, beer lovers of The Road.
The wicket at The Road was far from a batter’s paradise and suited the home bowling attack, especially the round-armed Mick Holmes who tottered in off a few paces, on a pair of dodgy ankles and knees.
It was nagging, accurate stuff; he was a master of a form of mental disintegration. However, this particular day Tatts had dug in, copping a bit of the verbals in an effort to upset his concentration.
He grafted away regardless, holding off the opposition until the final ball of the day when, having only to block another straight one, inexplicably he shouldered arms expecting the ball to pass harmlessly as it crashed into the stumps. A few words – sledges – we generously offered by The Road.
You Are Cordially Invited
With a genuine camaraderie between the teams, some of us were “rewarded” with an invitation from Lord Les to the annual road trip to cricket’s Mecca…Lords!
There are thousands of characters like Lord Les, keeping clubs alive. Typically one-club men, generally far from the best player and often willing to dip into their own pockets when times get really tough, fulfilling many other roles to ensure survival often on a shoestring.
The coach set off from Bradford Interchange at an ungodly hour for the first Lords Test match of the summer. The trip cost somewhere near a family holiday in the Caribbean after including sundry costs such as beer, curry and gambling but nobody would have been anywhere else.
Lord Les was rumoured to be on first name terms with the then all powerful Secretary of the MCC, Colonel Stephenson. So he had no trouble each year in securing forty tickets.
Virgin Soldiers
It was Thursday June 16th 1988 and we were barely out of Bradford Interchange when all of a sudden it was musical chairs on the bus, out came the cards and a symphony of the opening of multiple beer cans began at five thirty in the morning. I looked across at Duck, himself a tour virgin, and we both knew we were doomed.
Mistake number one – we had opted for a box of wine each in order to cram two days worth of butties into our cool boxes, clearly believing that London prices of sandwiches would bankrupt us and not fearing food poisoning.
Mistake number two – believing that a foil wrapped butty made on a Wednesday evening would somehow be palatable by the Friday afternoon.
Mistake number three – thinking that we would be eating at all
Try as we might there never seemed to be an end to the boxes and just when you thought you had got to the end of one yet more emerged from an air pocket and out came another glass full.
Big Al
A tour regular was Big Al – anything for a beer – who lived in mortal fear of two people: Lord Les and, to a lesser degree, his wife. On our first morning we were sat in front of the old Tavern Stand Bar and he needed a refill.
Rather than ask the whole row to sit up he decided to leg it over the back barrier but somehow fell from grace. There was a cry, a thud and as we all peered over the edge, he was laying flat on the ground in his dream burial place, a bar. Having recovered from his attempt to bungee jump into the Tavern Bar, I began to see why Big Al loved this trip.
Most of the lads loved a flutter and there were regular card games and sweepstakes, the most bizarre of all being how many pigeons would land on the playing arena in the two hour morning session.
There were constant cries of “fly over”, “don’t land there” and “shoot it!” as the end to the morning session approached, those still in the hunt for the £80 plus jackpot excitable over the comings and goings of pigeons.
Sing Along With Molly
In later years several other Villas lads were invited by Lord Les onto the trip including Stuart “Abdul” Harris and Martin “Molly” Molyneux.
Molly’s finest hour was reserved for Lords on one particularly dull afternoon with several merciful interruptions by rain from cricket so tedious it made you wonder why we loved the game so much. One such rain break saw the players trying to continue in the drizzle as the umpires got tetchy and looked towards the dressing rooms, clearly bored and seeking a cuppa.
He decided to lead the crowd in a rendition of “Singing in the Rain” aided and abetted by a forty strong male voice choir from Bradford, all duly pissed.
To our amazement the entire covered stand joined in. Largely due to the acoustics, but also Molly’s promptings, the noise began to attract the attention of the players. Soon most of the ground was itching to join in, even the stuffed shirts in the sponsored boxes.
On our return my Mum asked me “was that you silly buggers singing?” as even the legendary commentator, Richie Benaud, had commented on the rotund tenor in a flat cap leading the crowd in song.
Ring, Ring
The funniest moment of all the trips took place one Friday morning in the new Compton Stand as we sat and nursed our hangovers, before peering into our cool boxes to find yet more beer and soggy sandwiches.
Big Stan Kasnowski, another stalwart of The Road, was tucking into the previous night’s untouched and well-preserved, chicken madras. The crowd was just beginning to swell as the late stragglers found their seats for the day.
At Lords the stewards were officious and took a particularly dim view of mobile phones. Very early in the morning session, off went a phone and off went the steward in pursuit of the offender who duly apologised.
A few minutes later and off went the phone again to several jeers; once again the steward administered a solemn warning and the shamed culprit offered to switch his phone off.
A few minutes passed, Stan found a bonus – extra naan bread – and heads slumped in unison as sleep was sought…and then…ring ring ring!
This time the steward was incredulous, his face puce as he stomped down the stairs dismissing protests that the phone was switched off and threatening to eject the offender from the ground.
It was at this point that word spread that it was not the phone ringing but an amazing impression of one from a guy a few seats back. After a tense moment or two, not helped by constructive chants of “off with his head!” peace was restored.
And then…ring ring ring…even louder to massive cheers. Down he came again, incandescent, grabbing hold of the poor culprit he started hauling him out of his seat despite howls of protests from all around aided by the victim wrenching the battery from the offending phone.
Surely this would be the end of it? But we all knew what was coming and I swear the stand began to shake with laughter. Off it went again as the steward hauled a by now defeated innocent man from his seat. We were in pieces as the steward held the phone bewildered as it rang again minus the battery.
An innocent man was freed to loud cheers.
Homeward Bound
Friday evenings were always marvellous fun as we boarded our coach for the journey back up North rolling out of London. Toddington village was our regular destination en route back home; the coach would park on the village green. Aything during the course of the next few hours could happen.
One year Duck was stripped completely naked and abandoned on Toddington Green. A group of the lads then decided to throw him into the village pond only for a local to point out that several locals had drowned in there.
We set the record for the most number of people in a Chinese takeaway frightening the staff to death with endless renditions of “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling”.
And each year we would leave our very last pub with everybody on their knees walking out singing “Hi-Ho!”.
Cricket, like many sports, is founded on friendships. When I try to counsel kids entering their teenage years, their early enthusiasm confused by the discoveries of wine, women and song, I try to remind them of this unique prize in later life.
So many stop playing sport far too young, either because its gets a bit tougher for a while, or they fail to understand that sport gives you it all; exercise, physical challenge and friendships for life.
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