Let’s get ready to rumble! A titanic clash awaits this weekend between the geriatrics of Villas and Hepworth Idle CC – aka “The Tracksuits” – in the Grey Fox trophy for cricketers with one pad in the grave.
As the draw was made several months ago, we licked our lips at the prospect of our away fixture envisaging a day out in the Dales at a quaint country ground in civilised surroundings, a genteel afternoon in the sunshine and a relaxing pint before our return home.
Instead we got a trip up the road and a gathering no doubt of the entire crop of village idiots out on the lash, carrying crates of Carling like a caveman with his kill. It will make the Western Terrace look like a garden party.
There’s history here too as way back yonder, when The Tracksuits had only recently joined the old Bradford Central League, they caused a major upset knocking cup specialists Villas out; could history repeat itself?
Desperate to avoid another upset, Villas’ Committee met into the dark hours the other evening with the cheque book at the ready.
A record transfer fee was agreed to acquire the legendary Andy Moulds, ex-Harden CC and destroyer of many bowlers hearts over the years, smashing the current wage structure of a free tea plus a bag of Haribos.
Mouldsy swiftly signed on the dotted line at dear old Tom’s funeral as the old boy looked down, still sad to be missing the game, but pleased at our swiftness in the transfer market before deadline day.
“This is probably the major signing of the season” commented Sky Sport’s David Gower as Bumble Lloyd muttered “He’s a slogger!”
Worryingly injury rumours concerning Villas’ icon Brent Shackleton have persisted all week. A knee injury, caused by persistent planting of begonias, had his involvement in some doubt.
Several early morning flights down to Harley Street were sanctioned by t’Committee; will they ever afford that new bingo machine?
The Tracksuits have recalled 89 year-old paceman, Brian Heaton, from his Bridlington rest home hoping he will once again destroy the cream of the Villas and turn this into a sour afternoon on the Westfield Lane dust bowl.
Dark rumours have also been circulating of under-age players and tickets have changed hands on the black market for sky-high prices. Down in the village on Sunday afternoon will be like a ghost town as the nearby estates brave it up the hill.
The Tracksuits have kept their team a closely guarded secret but the scruffiest cricketer on the planet – beating Villas captain JB narrowly – is in. Macca, owner of the dirtiest pair of pads in England, has had the nod. Surely this is desperation?
Sky Sports had an exclusive interview with Macca at his local training camp – The White Bear – and can reveal that he has stepped up his consumption of Saltaire Blonde and pork scratchings ahead of Sunday’s showdown.
“How are you preparing?” asked Bumble.
“Usual dedication” replied Macca “six pints, a bag of Mr Scratchings and a lamb jalfrezi.“. Team Fitness Coach, Paul Medley, looked on admiringly as he downed another Budweiser.
In response, the Villas’ captain has ordered a blanket no-sex directive for the entire week much to the relief of several wives as minds are focused on this winner takes all battle to secure a spot at Headingley in late August.
Whatever the result let’s hope, above all, the Spirit of Cricket rules supreme…and the Bear has plenty of ale in stock.
About A Boy
Finally I am a responsible adult. Our overseas player David has arrived and, if his mum and dad are reading this, fear not he is in good hands for young Grasshopper is under the tutelage of the old Master.
I solemnly promise he will return home cured of any pizza or frozen ready meal addiction, able to live off the land – though “kills” are a bit sparse around these parts – knowing just what will and will not compost.
It’s been a challenging introduction mainly because David is used to average temperatures that would constitute a tarmac melting heatwave here.
I keep telling him to read the Daily Express, that way a heatwave is just around the corner every week. Indeed, read the Daily Express and you can believe many things, most less likely than a UK heatwave.
Proving we still have a bit to learn about man-management, on his first night out he managed to get lost on the way home and walked the mean streets of Idle for six hours.
He told me that had this been Durban his debut may have been delayed, assuming we had found the body at all. Still, on two hours sleep he caught a catch that would have killed me in an instant so, whisper it quietly, the boy can play.
During his stay we have arranged work at The Highfield so I took him there for a look around. Several swooning young waitresses later and I sniffed trouble ahead; I may have to move out for a few months and live in my greenhouse.
Proving a quick learner he presented me with an empty pizza box the other morning for the compost heap…followed by several beer bottles for the recycling bin…a green revolution is taking place.
Clearly, First Team captain Joe has had some early influence over his dietary choices but, as the garden blooms, the days of Ali Akbar’s Greasy Meat Feast down the hill are hopefully numbered as are, hopefully, sightings of Joe in my house.
Many see this as just as much a challenge for me, having lived the bachelor life for almost three decades.
I will admit to chronic OCD and am trying hard not to follow our Pro around the house, puffing up cushions, duster in hand. Still, he does seem very pleased with the whiteness of his whites!
He is also having to contend with other eccentricities, such as the necessity to have labels on cans in the kitchen facing the same way. This includes the Marmite jar, which has mysteriously entered my life at 52; it tastes shit by the way.
Several times already I have nearly had a heart attack as I enter a room to see someone else there. As a child I had a five foot poster of David Cassidy in my bedroom which made me brick myself many times, thinking we had an intruder.
My new neighbours across the road are also convinced Count Dracula has moved in as the curtains appear to have jammed shut in the spare room, perhaps in an effort to retain whatever heat the house contains.
Unfortunately, at the time of writing we are contending with his first injury of the season. It looks like I will still be doing the hoovering for the foreseeable future.
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