In March of last year I went on a ski-ing holiday to France. It was during this holiday that John M injured his knee, an accident that was to rob Prospect Park of his services for much of the season. It must be recorded that he sustained the injury crashing into a 'Go Slow' sign !!! Whilst there, I read the highly amusing book, 'Rain Men', about a local village cricket team. I guess the reason that the book is so amusing is because it is fairly close to reality in the case of most cricket clubs, ours included. On the flight home I decided that I would write a detailed diary of the forthcoming season, trying to stand back and look at the behaviour of a group of grown men, thrown together every weekend throughout the summer. By the end of the season, the diary was a real 'War and Peace', recording all the funny bits as well as my own thoughts as I struggled to find any sort of rhythm in the second half of the season. Unfortunately, thinking that there would be no vehicle for me to inflict the scribblings of a mad man on an unsuspecting readership, I put the diary in a box, wrapped it up and put it in the loft of my new house. I did this the day before I found out that Darran would be producing a newsletter and would be looking for material. Call it lack of commitment if you will, but I am not going back up into the loft to find it !!!
The day after I returned from holiday was a glorious spring day and as I left my flat to go to 'nets' I could almost hear the sound of leather on Alan Whaley's shin, a sound so characteristic of an English summer. In my mind, I could visualise John Ling in the corner of a dressing room, his little, round, bearded face creased in laughter at one of his own jokes. Yes, the cricket season would be upon us soon. Speaking of John Ling reminded me of the phenomenon in 'Rain Men', called Stone Drift. They have a player who has the habit of wandering from his allotted position in the field. The guys name is Paul Stone, hence the name 'Stone Drift'. In PPCC we have a similar phenomenon, known as 'Ling Drift'. This is a phenomenon whereby an individual wanders around the field trying to find an unsuspecting victim on which to inflict his own brand of witty conversation and to try out some of his 'Christmas Cracker' jokes.
There are a number of people who regularly attend winter nets, although its questionable whether there is any real benefit. Among the non-attendees are John and Darran who then proceed to score piles of runs as soon as the season opens. So much for practice, or it could be that they are good and the rest of us aren't !! The nets in the build-up to the 1998 season were no different. John Norton is always there and seems to change his bowling style with each delivery. Alan Whaley is a nets veteran who wheels away producing the old guile and lodging the occasional delivery in the roof of the net. Alan's batting is revealing because the shot he practices most frequently is the 'red mist' shot. This has always seemed a little strange to me since it is the one shot that Alan plays with unerring consistency during the summer and is always followed, after the long trudge back to the pavilion, by a wry smile and that look that says 'Why did I do that ?' Still, for any youngsters watching it should be remembered that this skill is the result of many years of hard practice. A less regular but welcome nets attendee in '98 was Bru, with his unique bowling style and ever-broadening girth. There is something about Bru's bowling in nets that encourages people to smash the ball back at him at waist height. Not a pleasant experience in the dimly-lit and cold sports hall and Bru won the 1998 Winter Nets award for 'Most C & Bs dropped'.
But now, the practice was over and the real action was ready to start. However, there was the formality of confirming that, for the umpteenth year in succession, Terry won the Winter Nets Fielding Award since every shot hit in the air is greeted by a cry of 'caught by the diving Shannon' from those assembled at the non-strikers end. Similarly, every snick outside the off-stump is greeted by a cry of 'four runs past the diving Rand' but there is yet to be an official award for this, although Alan is no doubt working on it as we speak. More recently, snicks down the leg-side have been greeted with the comment 'and the ball thudded sickeningly into the diving Rand's forehead'.
After the false dawn of some glorious March days, the heavens opened in April and, unsurprisingly, the season got off to a wet and cold start. People often talk about how unreliable the English weather is but I would suggest that, in some ways, it is extremely reliable. On a glorious Spring day in late March cricketers all over the country clamber into the loft to retrieve their cricket bag. When they open it they discover their kit, unwashed after the last game of last season, covered in a grey-green mildew and smelling decidedly unpleasant. Some may even go so far as to try on their trousers, only to discover that the strict exercise regime that they have followed since Christmas has had no effect and their trousers look about two sizes too small. This may be partly due to the fact that, for many PPCC players, an exercise regime is what you have to do when one of the kids hides the TV remote control. So the wife is press-ganged into washing their kit because the sun is out, the grass is growing and the season is only three weeks away ......... two weeks later the kit is back in the loft because the wife won't let it live indoors and the garage is flooded after ten days of continual downpour. The start of the season is delayed !!!
Similarly, at the other end of the season September is a cold, grey month that has a real feel of the closing of another chapter. After the last game of the season players trudge home to tackle all those DIY jobs that 'er indoors' has been nagging about during the summer. The only comfort for each player is the thought that 'if the weather continues like this at least I won't be able to cut the grass next week'. But that's where you're wrong !!! The first weekend after the cricket season is always bathed in glorious, late Autumn sunshine. No need for three jumpers today as last week's Ian Botham becomes this week's Alan Titchmarsh ....... who said the weather is unpredictable ?? I think that 1998 will be remembered as a season that saw some pretty unpleasant weather, including one game when Waller Park was transformed from a cricket pitch to a swimming-pool in a matter of seconds. Even the old hands, such as Fletch, were saying that they'd never seen anything like it. I was actually playing golf that day and had been forced to give up after seven holes when the heavens opened. Despite the downpour I still suspected that the PPCC boys would try to struggle through, on the basis that it will clear up soon. Cricketer's optimism about the weather is truly amazing. Despite the gloomiest weather forecasts imaginable we all turn up in the hope that there will be a gap in the clouds directly above our cricket pitch. How many hours have we spent hanging around, trying to convince each other that 'it looks like it's clearing up' ? More to the point, how ridiculous is the behaviour of twenty-two grown men in these circumstances. The game against South Beckenham during the '98 season illustrates the point. As I drove to the game the rain was sheeting down and the wind-screen wipers on the Mondeo Chick-Puller were struggling to give me clear vision. It was fairly obvious that we wouldn't be playing cricket but the bizarre ritual that we followed before finally abandoning any attempts to play would have puzzled a visitor from another planet. Imagine the report an alien observer would send back home:
" On a cold, wet day twenty-two adult (??), male earthlings gathered outside a building in the middle of a large field. Although it was raining and the building was open, for some strange reason they all remained outside, jostling for the available shelter. After much banter and the occasional cry of 'I think its clearing up' or 'the grounds-man said that it never rains here' some of the group began to drift inside the building. Once inside they all changed clothes, into a white outfit that appeared to be totally unsuitable attire for the weather. During this process individuals, at random intervals, would climb on a bench and peer out of the window. Although the rain was now falling ever more heavily part of the ritual seemed to be to return to the ground with a cry of 'it's definitely clearing up'. As time passed this ritual was repeated on numerous occasions although each time it was necessary for the individual to shout louder to be heard as the rain hammered on the roof and the wind howled. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, two of the senior members of the group (Bill and Wonk) emerged from the building and walked to a marked out place in the middle of the field. They were carrying six sticks, which they pushed into the ground, before returning to the building. This somewhat bizarre ritual seemed to signal the time to eat because all twenty-two earthlings then moved to another room in the building and began to eat vast amounts of food. All bar one, a tall one (Jim), were still wearing the unusual white uniforms. Once the food had been consumed a more athletic member of the group (me !!) was despatched to retrieve the sticks from the middle of the field. This appeared to be the signal for the group to take off their uniforms and don the clothes in which they had arrived. Once this had been carried out the group dispersed, some three hours after they had first gathered."
It'd be funny if it wasn't true but we must be honest and say that we have done this, or something similar, more times than I care to mention. Rain is commonly regarded as a cricketer's nightmare. However, I tend to view those bitterly cold days as the real nightmares. Strangely, in these days of global warming, we seem to have had more than our fair share of these days over the past few years. The game at Croydon Gas a couple of years back is legendary but we had a few days in 1998 which were nearly as bad. On those bitterly cold days there's always one idiot who trots out without a jumper. It used to be Darran, trying to prove that he's not becoming a 'soft Southern jessie'. Not any more, as age has finally taught him a little, and only a little, common-sense. Now it's more likely to be Dave Partridge who trots out onto the field in a tee-shirt claiming that its only a breeze and really its a wonderful summer's day. Next to him, Dave Fletcher looks like a Michelin Man in a minimum of three jumpers. On those cold days it becomes very obvious that cricket clothes were not designed for an English summer. As the wind whips through the Thames Valley and across the Stone playing field, it cuts through cricket trousers as if they were not there. Even cricket jumpers aren't too efficient at keeping you warm. Early on in the field you really want the ball to come to you because it gives you an excuse to generate some warmth by movement. After a while even this doesn't have much effect and you reach the stage where you definitely don't want that nasty, horrible red thing to come anywhere near you in case it stings your hands. Slowly, all but basic body functions are shutdown as the body attempts to conserve heat. Breathing continues, as does farting, which provides temporary warmth for the upper thighs. Suddenly, as you feel yourself slipping into hibernation, the umpire announces that it is time for tea and you troop off, thinking that the nightmare is over. WRONG !!! Its a matter of debate as to whether it is better to field or bat on a cold day. Speaking as an experienced number 11 I am now accustomed to putting on several layers of genuinely warm clothes over my cricket gear as soon as we have finished our fielding stint. This keeps me as warm as toast until the time when I have to get ready to bat. During 1998 we conjured up a few England-style collapses and so this meant that I had to get ready to bat as soon as the second wicket had fallen, generally by the end of the first over. So, despite all my careful planning, I'd be sitting next to a row of similarly clad men, all freezing !!! As you look more closely you notice that they are all shaking uncontrollably. Is this the fear of going out to bat ? Possibly, since those shaking most are the ones that are due in soonest. However, an alternative explanation is that they have been the ones sitting around in their pads for the longest!
I must say that much as I enjoy the game of cricket I am starting to recognise that the most enjoyable aspect of the game is sitting around while we're batting. The banter is excellent and some of the conversations are quite amazing. John Ling and Alan Russell are normally able to conjure some incredibly inane interaction. A real classic last year was a conversation between Darran and Tim that I had the pleasure eavesdropping in on. It was the first time I had seen Tim during the season and he looked, to put it politely, well nourished. We were playing against Old Elthamians and we had one of those batting line-ups that suggested that even in my usual Lurkeo position I had a fair chance of getting in. Not so, as Darran scored a fine hundred (how can somebody go from being so shi-ite to being so good in such a short time ?) and Tim rode his luck and hit some good shots on his way to a fifty. Afterwards, in the bar, Darran and Tim talked through their innings'. Darran was skirting round the issues and making various noises like 'quick scoring' and 'hard hitting' when what he actually wanted to say was 'what we need is a fat bloke who comes in and slogs .....Tim, you could be that man'. Eventually, I just had to say it, which brought us on to the subject of Tim's weight. I wish I'd never asked !! He claimed that his weight moves up and down in cycles, with 'thin' years and 'fat' years. As he sat there looking like a Buddha I didn't ask the obvious question but then he stunned both Darran and I by announcing that '1998 is a thin year' ....... he's 'avin' a larf !!!
The banter when people are dismissed is always amusing. Alan Whaley talks a good dismissal. He trudges back, his face slightly red from the exertion of the walk from the middle, with a rueful smile on his face. He's just been out, bowled, playing a shot that, had he made contact, would have despatched the ball miles over mid-wicket. The red mist around his head was visible from the distance of the pavilion. However, his explanation bears no resemblance to the events that we have just witnessed. "Si, he did me with a beauty, I just thought I'd dab it down to third-man for an easy single and it cut back a mile ....... I couldn't adjust my shot quick enough". I am too kind to say "but, Al, you'd decided what shot you were going to play before he even started his run-up". No, best left unsaid, I think !! Then there's the angry dismissal. Run-outs or LBWs tend to prompt the occasional curse and more occasional bat-throwing. John Ling is a classic. The man who looks more like Captain Pugwash than Captain Pugwash himself, who bats a bit like Captain Pugwash and whose grasp of the LBW rule is similar to Captain Pugwash is NEVER....I say again, NEVER ...... out LBW. As he trudges back to the pavilion his little round face gets redder and redder .... he is fuming. "I don't believe it ...... does nobody in this team know the LBW rule .......who let him umpire" "But John, you were virtually sitting on the stumps" "It hit me on the thigh ....look at this mark" He proceeds to struggle to pull down his trousers, never a pretty sight, dropping his precision-made box that he keeps in a contact-lens container. Well, somebody has got to say it. "John .......your thighs are only about halfway up the stumps" After about ten minutes he has calmed down, his face turning a glorious sunset pink, and he settles into his chair. Not for long because somebody with a wicked sense of humour, usually me, sends him out to umpire (he hates umpiring) ..... all the better if the person who gave him out is now batting himself.
As I mentioned earlier we managed some pretty spectacular batting collapses in 1998. Quite ironic really when one remembers that Hearnie, previewing the coming season by the fireplace at the Travellers, announced that the 'bowling would let us down this year'. Still, he does support Charlton so his knowledge of sport is somewhat shaky. So, what was the problem with the batting ? Well, the biggest problem was that John became a 'Lurv Machine'. It is a matter of conjecture as to what is the biggest cause of missed games of cricket; women or weather. I think John discovered that it is undoubtedly women !!! I guess that finding a partner who plays cricket must be a complete nightmare for most girls; the rules are totally incomprehensible, nothing seems to happen for long-spells, the game seems to last all day and, finally, to cap it all, everybody then retires to the pub to talk about it for hours. Having said that, I do sometimes think that girls ought to consider some of their own activities, such as shopping. Your partner decides she wants to go shopping for shoes and you are dragged along to give an opinion, even though your knowledge of shoes is on a par with her knowledge of cricket. I mean, what would she say if you asked 'did I get me left elbow high enough when I was playing that forward defensive ??' After finding somewhere to park you trudge through the shopping mall, noting gloomily that the sun is shining and the openers are probably padding up as 2 pm approaches. The first shop you enter doesn't sell shoes. This is rather strange since you are shopping for shoes but you say nothing. You spend a considerable time in the shop but nothing is bought and you move on, again to a shop that doesn't sell shoes. Now things are really confusing and you feel obliged to point out that this was supposed to be a shoe-buying expedition. That's your first big mistake !!! A frosty silence descends as your innocent comment that 'they don't sell shoes here' is construed as a whinge at having to go shopping. Finally, just as in a distant field the PPCC tail is wagging (its now about 2:45), you finally reach a shoe shop. Several pairs are chosen and you are asked for your opinion on each one.
"D'you like these ?" "Yes, they're really nice." "What about these ?" They look exactly the same but you feel obliged to offer an opinion. "I prefer the other ones." "Why ?" Now you're in big trouble.....you can hardly say 'they look exactly the same as the other ones but I want you to hurry up and choose something because we might still catch the last twenty overs'. So, instead, you try to waffle .... "Erm.......I like the shape of the heel better ...... "This continues for ages and may continue in several shops. The journeys between shoe shops will occasionally be interspersed with visits to other shops that don't sell shoes. However, any television shops in which the Test match might be showing are not visited ..... After a while, by which time the PPCC tail has been well and truly wagged, you move on to the next phase of the shoe shopping trip ....
"D'you really like these ?" "Yes.... they make your legs look great." By this stage Nora Batty's legs would look great but you have to maintain your 'enthusiasm'. "You're just saying that ...... you don't have to look so bored ....." But I AM bored !!!.... you think but dare not say it, knowing that when a man says he is bored it is a cardinal sin but if a woman says she is bored (such as 'I don't like cricket, its boring') then this is a statement of fact that we should all respect !! You glance out of the shop window and imagine you can hear the crack of leather on Alan Whaley's shin as PPCC are now in the field following a huge tea. Having spent three hours shopping you finally get away, with the shoes that your partner would have chosen whether you'd been there or not !!! You happen to take the route past the cricket ground and feel obliged to pop in. As you stroll round the boundary one of the PPCC fielders in the deep caps the day with "We only had ten men ..... you could have played today !!!" Quite why women can't go shopping while men play cricket escapes me but it would seem a reasonable compromise.
Anyway, back to the plot. Losing John for much of the season, due to a combination of injury and family barbecues, placed a stress on our batting and, quite simply, we weren't up to it. With the exception of Darran and Bru none of the batsmen showed any real consistency through the season and on more than one occasion we feel short chasing extremely modest totals. Looking to the future, we need people to take more responsibility. Its a lot easier batting when you know that John or Darran is next in but I think all the 'support' batsmen, and I include myself in this, have got to break out of that mode of thought and start to take a bit more responsibility. So, the season wound on. The weather never really improved and there were very few decent batting wickets, which I guess gives our batsmen some sort of an excuse. We did bowl reasonably well through the season. The bowling was very much dominated by the Partridges with Dave maturing into a reliable opening bowler, seemingly almost overnight. Craig, PPCCs fashion guru and best-dressed man, continues to grow at an alarming rate, so much so that some people are now wondering whether the disaster at Chernobyl early in his life could have had a long-term effect. As I have said before, I always feel that September has a cold, melancholy feel about it. For twenty-five weeks this group of guys have spent a fair chunk of their spare time together and very soon it will be over. The next time we re-unite last season's in-jokes will have been forgotten, more of my hair will have evaporated and the collective PPCC paunch will have grown ever larger. Even though, by and large, its the same faces year after year, each season has its own characteristics. I do tend to feel that the last few games of the season have the air of a chapter closing. On the last Sunday in September, around 4 pm the cry of '20 overs' reverberates around the playing fields of England. What happens during those last twenty overs will remain with you for the whole of the winter. A dropped catch, a missed run-out, whatever it is, there will not be an opportunity to banish the memory for several months. I remember a few years ago at Marlborough getting out for a 'golden' and having to live with it for the whole winter. For six months my 'last innings' lasted for only one ball !!!
The finale to the season is the 'presentation bash'. Towards the end of the season Alan Whaley furtively sidles up to you in the changing room and hands over a folded piece of paper. On it is an ever-growing list of prize categories - eventually, there will be a prize for everyone which will be a bit like the Whaley Raffle !! The trophy presentations are a bit like the Oscars. Everybody knows who has won Player of the Year because its always either Darran or John. But the other trophies are a bit less certain and there tends to be a fair bit of speculation. For a club like PPCC I think that the Sportsman trophy should be the most sought-after. Why ? Well, there are only three or four people who are likely to win the Player of the Year. Beyond Darran and John only Rocky, Hearnie, Bru or one or two others have got a realistic chance. But anybody could win the Sportsman trophy and so the competition is fierce. So what is the criteria for voting ? Well, I think if you asked ten people you'd get ten different answers and I guess that's what makes it exciting. My view is that, because a club like PPCC depends upon the time and effort people put in just to get eleven of us on the pitch (and there are some people reading this who would do well to remember this !!), the Sportsman trophy should go to somebody who has made an outstanding contribution. A few years ago Paul Forrest won the award and I felt it was totally wrong. Indeed, I can't remember being in more violent disagreement with an award winner in my time with the club. Paul had a great sense of humour and was liked by everyone but didn't really contribute beyond providing some great dressing-room banter. But 1998 was very different and the fitting finale to the year was when Dave Weston won the Sportsman trophy - for all the right reasons. Dave took on the onerous task of treasurer and, even more bravely, the task of resurrecting the annual tour. The 1998 tour was named 'The Ugly Man's Tour' in honour of the ugly men that make up a typical PPCC side fielded each week, but particularly in honour of Rocky. Alan Russell, on hearing the name of the tour, felt that he was unable to attend and booked himself for an intensive weekend of thatching. For weeks beforehand there was speculation as to the antics that would take place on tour. Inevitably , there will be much drinking. Shares in BT rose steadily as the tour approached in anticipation of the 'I love you, you love me, we love each other' phone calls between John and Steph. My main consideration was whether a year or so of being a 'Lurv Machine' had dulled John's flatulence in any way. Having travelled the world with John and shared rooms with him on numerous football, cricket and golf tours I was accustomed to drifting into slumber to the sound of the Millichope flatulence - rarely loud but with a very distinctive tone.
Despite familiarity with the hazards of John's wind I did not envy Rocky at all. He didn't know, but I did, that he would be sharing a room with Dave Hearn, a man whose snoring registers on the Richter scale. Johns farting would be gentle music in comparison. Well, John's flatulence has been curbed and he did contribute significantly to BT's profits. The cricket was fun and there was much drinking, mainly by Darran, Thommo and Dave Partridge. Rodge the Dodge earned his drinking spurs by downing copious amounts of JD and coke and John Ling amazed us all by handing round this 'really great' cocktail that tasted a bit like diesel. Dave Weston sealed his Sportsman of the Year award by ensuring that the hotel was staffed by loads of lovely young totty, which stimulated the hung over PPCC players to get up in the morning. (Ohh....suits you, sir .........get up in the morning at the sight of some young totty, do you sir ??) So, that's that !!! One day in years to come I'll stumble across my 1998 diary in the loft and maybe then I'll type up the whole lot. The biggest thing that I have learnt is that only a small amount of the joy of playing cricket is derived from the game itself. Remembering that should help the next time you get a duck !!!