The Villas veterans – dusty, burnt and sweaty – hobbled victoriously like battle scarred troops from the desert sun into the semi-finals of the Grey Fox Over 50s Trophy last weekend and now await their next opponents on Sunday August 18th at the famous old test arena, Headingley cricket ground.
This magnificent arena has seen some classic test matches and witnessed moments lodged into the history of the game including Botham’s famous test, where England came back from the brink against Australia, plus Geoffrey Boycott scoring his hundredth hundred again against the old enemy when I did my paper round in a record 19 minutes just to watch this.
In little over a month it will witness a bunch of old crocks limping around the vast outfield, hoping not to have to chase the ball so far as to need a golf buggy to bring it back and one game away from the final at Scarborough.
On a sun drenched Sunday afternoon, we travelled to Thorp Arch & Boston Spa CC (TABS) with a keen following of genuine supporters and one or two – young Lawrence and Marsden – simply sensing a good day on the piss and a chance to mercilessly barrack a few old timers, safe in the knowledge that by the time they hit 50 too, most of those playing will be ashes of another kind and nobody will ever have heard of cricket.
With the high drama of the Ashes test match being played out as we took the field, amidst all the controversy of several umpiring decisions there, would our game pass without incident? Rumours that young Lawrence intended emulating Erika Roe were thankfully wide of the mark.
In charge out in the middle again was our very own Club Chairman, Martin “Molly” Molyneux, taking the field with the opposition umpire, described rather unkindly by a supporter later as “an over sized Super Mario lookalike”. Both men you sensed could sniff a beer from ten miles away and whilst our Chairman was sartorial elegance personified, Super Mario’s jump suit looked a size or two smaller than required and in need of a super wash.
Out in the middle, Captain Lawrence Snr, having disclaimed all knowledge of Junior’s presence, lost the toss and so it was out into the desert to bowl first under the searing mid-afternoon sun. The captain took his first tactical gamble of the day choosing yours truly for the “new” ball; the fact that the ball was far from new and looked liked it had been chewed by a bull terrier for a week hardly seemed to diminish the honour bestowed.
Opening the bowling would be 63 year old Iain Copping, a legend of old foes Bingley Congs CC and one of our two “overseas” recruits for the day. It was back in 1991 that Captain Lawrence last entrusted yours truly with the new ball in the Bradford Central League Waddilove Cup Final against Congs; we got stuffed that day with the old boy prominent for the victors. How time does, indeed, fly as did most of my bowling that day around much of the old Bradford Park Avenue ground.
Hoping for much better all these years on, I marked my run up out nervously, the same one still etched into the concrete of my parents driveway. Twelve short paces that have offered so much and delivered so little over the years, at least if you discount the number of wickets I claimed against Our Kid with the garage door a reliable slip cordon and DRS (Decision Review System) never heard of.
The captain had a theory that I could swing it with the stiff breeze; soon the ball dipped into the batter’s pads, so plumb even Stevie Wonder would have given it out and, once my theatrical, squeaking, near hysterical appeal had subsided, all awaited the finger of doom from Umpire Molly.
“Not out” he proclaimed to looks of bewilderment from all, including the batter who had almost started to walk. Had he taken a bung from a dodgy Indian bookmaker? Was the batter in charge of the beer tent?
Conscious that calling the umpire a “blind old twat” would not do much for the harmony of the day, nor our long friendship, I trudged back to my mark still wicketless as Molly sniggered uncontrollably.
Wickets fell at regular intervals although TABS kept up a decent run-rate as the crowd basked in the sunshine. The competition is being sponsored by Yorkshire Building Society and, rather bizarrely, there was free curry provided at the interval by the sponsors, which was fine if you could sleep for the rest of the day but not much of a tonic for running around in the sun.
A superb array of cakes and tea were also provided free by the TABS club, served by fine young ladies in floral summer frocks; there was also a singer on acoustic guitar, serenading the growing crowd with an array of tunes. A sunny day in a far flung village, my dear old thing, this really was England my England!
Tubbs Taylor had been posted to the boundary edge – a position known as the sweeper and generally demanding one fleet of foot and not someone with a turn of pace marginally better than Umpire Molly. However, Captain Lawrence had several occasions to have to stop the legendary lothario from his distracted and wayward gazes at the girls in the YBS tent, eventually deciding that his only option was to get the great man on to bowl.
This seemed to upset Tubbs as he had just put a request in for a James Blunt track and a smooch with the brunette mortgage advisor, presumably for when wife Julie reads this. Soon he was on at the Bikini End – more later – throwing a up a mix of cutters, seamers and 17mph head high beamers, inducing a near warning for intimidation from Umpire Molly who had woken up again. One wag was heard to suggest apologetically for this rubbish “blame it on the boogie!”
The comedy moment of the day was provided by Villas legend, Brent Shackleton, our star bowler but crocked earlier fielding a ball in the deep. Unable to throw the ball in overarm – as most of us were anyway – the next time the ball arrived, he aimed to bowl the ball back in but, incredibly, held on a fraction too long sending the ball into the ground at his feet and not airborne.
This would have been funny enough but the ball then started to spin back and, despite the big man’s frantic attempts to stop the ball’s determined progress to the boundary line, feet hopping as if frantically trying to extinguish a forest fire, the ball stubbornly refused all efforts and rolled back over the line for four as he almost ended up in the hedgerow.
The legend was distraught and youngsters Dumb & Dumber by now Drunk & Drunker, collapsed in fits. Sport can be brutal in its cruelty at times, just as the highs it can provide are unmatched by little else; although we all smiled a little, each of us had felt the same crushing low that our old mate suffered now at some point in our sporting lives.
Meanwhile, Drunk and Drunker had come across one of the local secrets of this beautiful ground. Surrounded by some fairly palatial properties, one had a red sack mysteriously strung over its gate with a note “please throw over if a ball comes into the garden”. On enquiring about this, the owner confessed to our twin drunks that it was because his wife and daughter liked to sunbathe in various states of undress without fear of being disturbed.
Money began to be exchanged on the boundary edge with bungs being offered to any bowler prepared to throw a few “pies” up, enticing a lusty blow or two into the garden of lust so our lusty drunks could run in with an empty red sack (…bit of liberal innuendo? Ed).
Tony Brown tried his best to oblige as calls were put into the ECB Anti-Corruption unit and a worried mother and daughter sought discarded bikini tops and retreated frantically from the hazy gaze of two delirious young drunks.
Whilst we awaited the police van to arrive to cart off our youngsters, there was some generous “declaration” bowling (a term used where teams offer easy hits to boost the opposition score) by our other recruit, Thackley CC’s Gaddy, although no nudists were disturbed and TABS ended their innings 151 all out.
Once again, JB, hobbling about on one leg and smeared in sun-block, had given it his all in the field with several diving stops leaving the field looking like he had done a day down the pit, seeking the admiring gaze of his love, young Miss Sally.
Before we started our run chase we had a bizarre request to tape record Captain Lawrence’s half time words with a photographer on hand. Tony Brown had already been asked for a one on one interview with a centre-page spread.
“Can you tell me how it feels to be playing cricket at your age? How does this game rate in your career?” asked the budding Sky Sports reporter.
“No idea mate, its only my second game in thirty-five years!” said Tony, ever helpful.
In the dressing room he sought more comments so I offered the following “just gone fifty, all my own hair and teeth…still single…stick that with a nice photo in the staff magazine?”. There was no need for a teammate to suggest that if he came back in ten years he would only have to change the age!
Out on the field, Tom Brown, still sulking about being over-looked at 89, was bowling at a now delirious Marsy hoping to catch the selectors’ eyes. The run chase was a relative breeze with Chairman of Selectors, “Chiz” Hizzett strolling to a silky undefeated thirty, Gaddy sweeping to all parts and Second Team Captain, Peter Clarke, bludgeoning the ball. A brief cameo at the end by “Duck” Stockdale, wearing a pair of daughter Annie’s tennis trainers plus his own secret pair of silky knickers, and we were home.
Our sincere thanks to all at TABS for a very hospitable day out and we wish them well with their future plans for their imminent relocation to a new ground. With new housing planned though it may be a touch more difficult to get some private sunbathing time and perhaps the odd cricket drunk is not too bad a price to pay? Headingley here we come…will the Western Terrace be ready?
Louis Gacquin says
I’ve asked Molly about the controversial ‘Not Out’ decision, and apparently it was going down the leg side and you should stop whinging about it.
Christopher Smith says
If you’re not willing to use DRS then don’t complain when Molly doesn’t give LBW. Furthermore, Molly has let me know that after his amazing figures at the weekend where he illegally bowled 16 overs taking 3 wickets he is more than happy to show you how to bowl his speciality slow and slower ball, which should help you to take more wickets at Headingley.
Steve says
Molly’s recent rejuvenation as a player is yet one more scam from a serial drinking, wife-avoider. Being a slow Denholme lad it took him a while to realise that umpiring would mean that he would have to drive to games thereby limiting ale consumption and that the Missus would be awaiting his earnings on return with outstretched mitts. The shoulder injury was always beer related but a tactical switch to bottles seems to have made all the difference. Plus, as an umpire he is a blind t….(sorry run out of space…Ed)
Louis Gacquin says
To be fair, it can’t be easy to give an accurate LBW decision while you have got one eye permanently fixed on the garden with the red sack over the gate