Wetter than a haddocks bathing costume …

No play today

After long consultation with the groundsman, today’s big game against the mighty Locksbottom has been called off.

We will try to re-arrange this fixture for later on in the season.

Triumph

Snodland, away, won

The Georgian’s Triumph at Snodland, as told by BBC Five Live’s Stuart Hall

Thunder, bang, lighting, flash, rain, pours, the withering weathermen pose their fears. Its Saturday, dawn breaks like 15 reds on a snooker table, clouds gather. Bleakness looks to gate crash the party. But no, rain rain go away, come back another day, it works, clouds disperse, the sunny sun says hello. On they go, the mighty, the brave, the wounded but not defeated, the gallant Georgian’s from Wrothamshire.

An infantryman is slain before battle commences, the crusading army reduced to 10, but they fight, they fight, they fight like they’ve never fought before. Hoorah, 11. Our Irish cousin, the pride of the Fennell clan, brings his trusted friend Andros to conquer whatever beast, man or animal, may get in their way. The arrival at Snodland, once the scene of a fierce local battle between the Soodnan’s and the mighty Saxon settlers of Lercy. The victorious Soodnan’s laid their foundations and so their children’s childrens childrens childrens childrens childrens grandchildren, went on the war path with mighty Dragons of Georgia. Pitter patter, hop scotch. In God we trust, go forth my friend.

Spin spin spin, land, spin. Its heads, the Dragons are put to the test with the willow. Armour up men, Captain Buss, confidently, assuringly, proudly orders his fine men. The air is poised with determination, the smell of beads of sweat start to fill Gladiatorial cages beneath the Coliseum. Wrotham! Wrotham! Wrotham!, the crowd cheer in anticipation of the contest like sharks at a feeding frenzy. Behold, the batsmen appear. Armoured and ready.

Ward and Cook, lead the charge. Charge! Who cometh before them shall feel their might, let the winds of justice push me forward for I give my soul to the blessing of angels. Crosshairs at the ready, the bowler takes aim, left foot, followed quickly by the right foot, then left again, then right, left, right, left, right…he bowls. The ground is silent. The war has begun.

El Captiano Cook, not of the Buss kind, but of the James kind, the great explorer who discovered the green and gold of down under. He drives, its 4, the Georgians are charging. The contest is tense, the air is clear. Eyes stare. Teeth grind. Minds tinker. The maker above strikes his wrath. Ward. Down. Blood is drawn. Vultures fly low above. Comrades and Crusaders come to his aid. If he goes, we all go. One for all and all for one. He rises, he is strong as an Ox. He will rest, but he will avenge his injury with honor and rage.

Enter the creator of all things Buss. David. An accomplished veteran of many campaigns. He has no fears, he stroll to the arena. Takes on all who will dare. God is angry, the dark thunderous clouds gather above, his tears of emotion start to fall, he roars, but Buss answers him back with two glorious boundaries. God falls silent. He bows to Buss. Arrow to the heart, a fallen soldier. Cook departs.

Now hear this, now hear this. The Irish are in town. The Snodlanders stand back in fear. They’ve seen this man before, heard of the legendary tales from other settlers. This Fennell. Russell Fennell. Elegance. Confidence. Hickory Dickory Dock. Its magic. He is the rock. Buss the Creator falls. A victim of a stray arrow. He is down, but is he out, only time will tell. Enter the arena, his apprentice. Stacy. He has lived for this moment. He has the look of vengeance. Whoever shall slay his father, shall reap the whirlwind. The bowler hangs his head, he knows he has a fight on his hands. A clap of Thunder? No, it’s the first blow in a bitter feud. Buss strikes the first glancing blow of an edged four. The crowd cheer. There is justice in this sometimes vile land, where poverty is bare and lives are hindered.

Fennell and Buss take control. There is no answer. One small step for man. Over in the corner of the arena, a young starling pecks at a used watering can, he starts gentle at first, but then he rages with rage. Poor thing. Speaking of poor things, Fennell is stitched up like a kipper, as if thrown into a deep, dark, almost bottomless, un-escapable pit. Shot down, in a blaze of glory. The red, angry glint in his eye on his way back to HQ says it all. Fire and brimstone, his rage is furious, his demeanor exemplary.

The boy Bryce. Rick. Ricky. Rickster. Little, tricky dicky. The saviour of battles forth gone. A magician is being groomed. The agile, nimble Rick Bryce. He plays this innings with more caution, playing second fiddle to Captain Buss. Strike me down with passions of fire. Buss is out. 43 of the good ones well earned by our courageous skipper. Long may he reign over us. Time is running out like a leaking coconut. The young guns, Bryce and Fennell, Morecambe and Wise, Cannon and Ball. Go steaming ahead, but Bryce loses his trusted partner in crime, Starskey loses Hutch, Cagney loses Lacey, Batman loses Robin. Shock, weep, despair. But he’ll be back, to fight another day.

Not to crusade is to not crusade at all, say the Gods. But crusade again did brave Ward. Innings over, a total of 183. Defend this great honor.

Tea was nice, in fact pleasant. Thunder in air, not from grey clouds. Not from Fennell on his slain. From Captain Buss. Sandwiches of the cheese and chicken kind, ruined, devastated, by, by, by pickle. For miles around people hear his response and war cry…” lets beat these pickle loving barbarians!”

Innings starts. Whats this. A dibble? A dabble? Cook, the protector of the missed shot, opening the bowling? Trundle? Up and down. Whats this? Fennell, the protector of all that’s green, opening the bowling? Flight and guile? Hello, hello, a mere 29 runs only conceded from 10 overs. Our Lord, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Then enter the wizards. They seek them here, they seek them there, they seek them, everywhere. Buss of St David, and Earl of Harveyshire. Each end. Wickets, wickets, wickets. Catches from the stump guardian, St Peter the Great.

The war, the contest is near to its end. Harvey has destroyed their will to fight, Buss has condemned them to oblivion. We shall not, we shall not be moved. Land of hope and Glory, Rule Britannia. The mighty Dragons of Wrothamshire, the Defenders of the St Georgians, have won yet another battle. Scars are evident, some irreparable, but the brave crusaders are ready, ready to fight to the bitter end. For Wrotham is the kingdom, the power and the glory, Georgian forever and ever, Amen.

D. Cook

Man of the Match.
Toughy this week S.Buss for his stable 43 which laid the foundation for a strong total , D.Buss for art and guile with bowling figures of 8-4-8-3 , N.Harvey for his demolishion of Snodlands top order with figures of 8-5-19-4 . Hard to say but Klondykes 3 cat like reflexes behind the stumps get my vote , it was almost as if he was plucking £50 notes from thin air.

Moment of the Match
Well Nick Nick , you obviously didn’t read the memo about head butting a cricket ball ??? it read something a little like this ……. WHEN BATTING USE BAT NOT HEAD !!!!!

Postcard from the front

Southfleet, away, lost

Dawn breaks, curls of mist float just above the ground, everything has a grey quality to it. Silence. It begins to rain. Then a single whistle sounds. From out of their foxholes the plucky lads from Wrotham stumble and fall out into no-mans land. From crater to crater they go. Across tortured earth freshly pulverised by last nights artillery bombardment and scarred by bomb and bullets, jagged gouges, broken and mangled. A landscape of barbed wire and buried beneath the muck and mire were mines which would explode with a volcanic eruption of fire and rock. On and on toward the enemy. Finally, they reach the crease and prepare to face the opening bowlers. Yes we are in Southfleet. The biggest hellhole on the planet.

Then the bullets began to fly. No part of our brave young boys was safe – toes, foreheads, elbows and hips. It was all the same to a merciless enemy with only one thought on their mind. The total destruction of anyone stupid enough to come out and face them. But face them we did and as one comrade fell another gallant man strapped on what little meagre padding he could find and went “over the top” to do battle. Grim faced and determined but with the same inevitable outcome. A one point Private Fennings stepped on a mine which nearly blew the top off his head. Wounded and dazed, he continued the fight but eventually, he too fell.

Mercifully for the spectators, it was all over shortly after it began. Such waste. Such carnage. Broken bodies lay strewn about. And for what? A few measly runs. Oh, the madness of cricket.

There was a short respite and then it all began again. This time we set about the enemy with a ferocious barrage from Gunnery Sergeant Buss who sent a rain of shells whizzing past the heads of the openers to leave them cowering in their creases. Then it was the turn of a fresh faced Tommy to take up the battle and he had picked off two enemy in fairly quick succession.

It was all for nothing though and the day was lost. All that was left to do was to help the casualties to the support vehicles and make our way back home to sweethearts and loved ones. We may have lost the battle but the war is still there to be won.

England V W’Indies Sundy 1st July ODI

Hi …

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Toes And One-Eye, The Almost Heros

Cudham, away, lost

Lost but only just. This was a truly close game and we got some glimpses of the hidden depths of some of our players … and there is some good news too. Where to begin?

The Usuals met up in The Clubhouse hoping desperately that The Others would indeed “met us there” as they had promised. The year is 1914 and the current menace to the free world is Cudham, a band of desperate bandits based near Biggin Hill and although we had not played them before we were confident in finding the ground. Well, at least the instructions were simple – go to Green Street Green, turn left and its down the road a bit. Easy. We should have packed the machetes and a Sherpa or two. You do have to turn left at the round-about and It is down the road but what a road! The first sign of trouble was when the trees started to close in and then the creepers started to encroach on the road. Then the undergrowth thickened and the light turned grey and we were in a scene from The African Queen (for the younger readers this is a cracking tale of daring do and is definitely one to watch). So there we were, Humphrey Harvey and I wading through God knows what to deliver the bomb that would sink Cudham. It was all very exciting.

And what, gentle reader, am I withering on about? Well, the arduous trek meant that we turned up at the ground with less than a full team and when The Boy Bryce (Captain Buss being stuck at the rapids upriver) won the toss and elected to bat we were stuck with no openers. Step forward Dave “Toes” Buss with his dashing blade and heroic good looks – he could have been a star of one of those classic black and white films when true good looks and style were in evidence (not like the namby pamby is he a man or a fruit Daniel Craig types you get today). The second opener wasn’t quite as dashing and as for his blade, well, least said soonest mended. Yes, Fennell took up the mantle.

As they headed out to face certain doom, Toes was heard to say “If I’m to stay here all innings then no quick singles”. Fennell didn’t seem too worried by this. I don’t know if it was the overcast climate in this far flung corner of the world but the Cudham bowlers were swinging the ball with ferocious aplomb. Still, our two heros defended their wicket and took the odd single (but not too many) here and there to keep the scoreboard ticking over. Then Fennell clipped a delicate shot to the fine leg boundary and we were off. Toes started to come forward and strike the ball with a firmness and confidence that surely had the Cudham team beginning to get nervous. A pivotal moment in our plot then as Toes came forward once again to an in-swinging yorker which struck him squarely on the foot with a sickening crack. As any batsman knows, this is one of the sorest places to be hit (the sorest being approximately three feet higher up). Toes though is old school and didn’t show any signs of pain although there was a slight limp and the singles dried up completely for a while.

With the opening bowlers making absolutely no inroads Cudham turned to some half-crazed local wild-man to try and break up what was becoming a profitable partnership. And disaster, the ploy worked and Fennell who was not going to be out by conventual means was struck in the face by a vicious bouncer. In true John Wayne style he shrugged off the blow and resumed batting. It was not to be though as after just one more delivery he had to leave the field having lost the sight in one eye.

It must have been the shock at this moral blow that caused the rot to set in. Buss Junior was next in and after initially looking good he was out cheaply to a nasty ball that reared up at him off a good length and took the edge of his bat. Next in was The Boy Bryce, the young pretender to the title of hero of this adventure film. And in now customary form he set about clubbing the ball to the boundary. It was a short lived cameo though. Just like the poor sod in a Star trek away team who gets the red shirt, his time was numbered and was on his way back to the pavilion having shored just 18 runs. We were 88 for 2 (3 if you count the blinded Fennell).

Worse was to come though, a collapse of epic proportions was about to ensue. Batsman after batsman strode to the crease and strode back again. The only light in this dark place was Toes who had stayed at the helm and refused to capitulate. He looked about him with dismay as he surveyed the destruction around him. We were 103 for 9 with only 26 overs bowled. Disaster.

Fennell is a fan of the old blood and guts, true grit, do or die genre of films. He dispensed with the guide dog, donned the pads and went back out to joined Toes at the crease. There was much medical advise handed out and his sanity was called into question by the knowledgeable types on the side line but as anyone (of a certain age) knows, the truly heroic will go back out to join up with their comrades and face the final onslaught with head held high and perhaps some dramatic music in the background.

And so the fight back began. Slowly at first but the momentum began to build and soon the runs started to come. Cudham started to panic again and brought back on their opening bowlers to try and bast Fennell out (a bit mean as he clearly couldn’t actually see the ball). However, the film had taken over and he was not going to be out to such tactics. Blow after blow was struck and the runs mounted. Unfortunately, this is not an American film and happy endings are not guaranteed. Toes innings finally came to an end with a very sharp catch that was surely headed for the boundary and leaving him stranded on 47 . We were all out for 143 but more importantly we had used up 36 of our allotted 40 overs.

And so the two bloodied and battered men who first strode out to the crease hours before, joined arms and limped off the pitch at the end. What a cinematic moment.

After tea, the men of Wrotham took the field. We now had a defendable total and there was a little chink of light. Fennell had been given instructions not to resume playing by the medical team and so had to sit the rest of the game out. All was not lost though as yet another generation of the Buss dynasty in the form of Sam Davies filled in for him. And a bloody good job it was too as their opener slashed at a ball and Sam held on to a fabulous catch at backward gully. There is little doubt Fennell would have dropped this chance. The bowler; Toes. Yes, our hero is back in the fray. A couple of overs later and Toes has another wicket and they were 8 for 2.

The tide was beginning to turn and some magnificent fielding, especially in the form Big Al Cannon and Sam “Super Sub” Davies, had Cudham struggling for runs. They took progressively more and more risks with a little bit of success but eventually the wicket came and both their danger-men were out. The first was a stunning catch from The Boy Bryce who raced in from the boundary and took a running catch low down at his knees. The second was a very sharp piece of work from stand-in keeper Klondyke Pete. He’d never been behind the stumps before but with Fennell out and Cook away, he caught blockbuster film fever and said he “have a go”. He did fabulously. The most difficult aspect of keeping is the wide ball down leg as you are completely unsighted as the ball passes the batsman. Klondyke had no problems, he took off like a ground hugging Exocet and took every one cleanly.

So 51 for 4 and all to play for. Enter the opposition captain. The villain of the piece with his dark looks and cruel sneer. Boo and hiss. In true villain style, he set about steading their innings and despite all out best efforts he survived the bowling changes and ploys employed by the gallant Captain Buss. Our only hope was that we could bowl out his supporting cast. And so with 95 runs on the board Humphrey Harvey struck and we took our fifth wicket. There seemed little doubt over this LBW decision in the minds of all but the batsman who refused to walk and had to be ordered from the field. There was much throwing to bat and spitting of dummy. It was a ridiculous reaction and even their umpire acted out the scene and threw his coat and belongings on the ground before stomping around much to the merriment of the rest of their team. Not sure it helped the batsman’s temper though.

Then the big dramatic event – 111. As any cricketer knows, this is a special number. The Nelson. An evil number to be avoided at all costs. And so it proved to be. while the number was on the board, three wickets fell in quick succession. We were back in with a shout. Just when hopes were beginning to return the evil captain pops up again and gets them to 136 in the 40th over when he was out LBW to Bryce. But the damage was done. They needed just 8 runs with 4 overs to go. Still, we needed just one more wicket so maybe just maybe.

A streaky four off the top edge of the bat which only just missed killing poor Toes and they now need 4. With the tension at it’s highest the batsman panicked and took a wild swing …. and connected. The game was lost but no one could fault the drama. We had lost by one run, one wicket and one over. As close a finish as you could get.

So we leave the dark interior that is Cudham with a scene of the Wrotham changing room. The wounded are sprawled around. Equipment is strewn about the floor. The camera closes in on Toes and One Eye. Toes is taking off his boot and reveals a blood soaked sock. The both look at each other and know they’ve been in a battle. The screen fades to back.

Man of the match
No contest, Toes Buss for, despite his loss of limb, showing true bravery with the bat to fall just shy of his half century and then with guile when bowling to pick up 3 for 13 off 8.

Moment of the match
Al Cannon fielding at short fine leg leapt like a salmon to his left to cut off a rocket on its way to the boundary. Not only did he stop the ball but as he performed some advanced gymnastic tumbling he managed to somehow launch the ball back to Klondyke and Cudham didn’t even get a single. If that isn’t two fingers to the opposition then I don’t know what is.

Titbit
Due to Fennell’s inability to see, the ever obliging Mrs. Buss opted to drive him back to civilisation. Not having driven his car before, she was understandably a bit nervous or so it appeared at first glance but as soon as we got to the open roads the power mad b**ch buried the throttle and we were off. At one stage she turned to me and asked what the beep a while back was all about. “It is the artificial limit I set at 100 mph” I replied and held on from dear life.

Oops, we did it again

LESA Christchurch, home, lost

Another week gone by and yet more bowlers lost to Wrotham CC; Jason “Windows” Butler seems to have gone to the dark side where there is beer. This coupled with the fact that Toby-Wan Kenobi was on a secret Jedi mission on Rutan (which is near Glostershire) meant we were slightly weakened. On the plus side, Lordswood RFC coughed up a bevy of players for us again.

On what is probably going to be the hottest day of the season, we all pitched up at the clubhouse. One of the problems of sunshine is it causes people to wear inappropriate clothing; don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against young ladies in filmy dresses and I’m sure that lean young men in tight fitting tee-shirts wouldn’t go amiss with our female spectators but given the age and physique of our players ….. Never has such a collection of milky white limbs been on display. it was truly upsetting and certainly not what LESSA would have expected to see. Still, anything that puts the opposition off can be explained away as tactics. And boy were there a lot of tactics, a meeting of Julius Caesar, Erwin Rommel, Genghis Khan, Alexander the Great and Napoleon could not have produced any more – tactical.

Once again Chuffer did us proud by turning up. A flippant remark? No, the league rules state that if you don’t provide an umpire then you automatically lose the toss. As a result of Alec’s dedication and the fact that LESSA turned up without an umpire, we won the toss and Captain Buss decided to bat. So with the temperature rising and the sun beating down, Nick The Rock and the newly returned Cookie strode out to do battle. The Rock has been getting better and better as the season progresses and he started off with some solid strokes straight to fielders. Cookie too was looking good. However, their opening bowler was also in good form and proved difficult to score from (in fact out of 8 overs he had 4 maidens). But soon the runs began to come. First with a delightful boundary from Cook and then some singles and then some twos and then some more boundaries. Then disaster, on 29 we lost our first wicket. The Rock missed an in-swinging ball and was soon on his way back to the pavilion. Enter Captain Buss. By his own high standards, he’s been out of form of late but today things were going to be different. He started off tentatively enough until he launched a huge 6 over mid-off. From then on he didn’t look back.

And what of Cook? While Buss was blasting away at one end so too was Cook. Given that this was just his second game of the year, we had little expected the poise and elegance he displayed. Their partnership reached 60 before Buss decided that it was far too hot continue batting and got himself out on 47. Given he had been playing shots straight out of MCC coaching guide it was a little surprising that he chipped the ball to mid-off. The jury is still out on the resulting Jug-Avoidence trail.

The orchestra struck up and Rick The Boy Bryce strode out to the centre like a scene out of Gladiator; oiled muscles, leather, blade in hand and all. The opposition were well aware of the Eiger-like mountain of runs he has amassed already this year. After he smote his first boundary they quickly sent all fielders to guard the boundary in order to try and defend against this run machine. Bryce had other ideas and got caught on the next delivery. We were 94 for 3.

All along, Fennell has struggled to come to terms with Bryce romping away with the batting trophy. But he is a wily old campaigner and soon figured out that hitting 300 to catch Bryce was probably unlikely but the trophy is decided on averages and Rick’s quick demise had meant his three figure average had come crashing down. A not-out score would do nicely. And so without much ado, Fennell started to defend his way to fame and glory. Luckily, Cook was still adding to the total at the other end.

If anything, the temperate seemed to be rising as the innings progressed and this did not help Fennell’s notorious abhorrence of quick singles. Cook was not impressed but hey, you can’t make 16 stones of Irish bloodymindedness run if he doesn’t want too. Eventually, Cook’s patience ran out, he hit out and got out. But not before getting his half century. A great knock and one that set us back on target for a defendable total.

Next in, Graeme “The Gas Man” Cook. A special thanks needs to go to this younger (and according to his PR person, more attractive) edition of Darren who was drafted in to play on very short notice. Together, he and Fennell brought the score to 197 before Graeme too opted for the arial route to an early bath.

With only two balls to go, Rob “Not Out” Fennings came in and pinched a single. And so we come to the controversial moment of the innings; Fennell’s plan for the batting trophy was coming together nicely and he defended the last ball much to the consternation of the rest of the team. But in his defense, bugger that silverware is silverware and he left the field with 43 and a much healthier average.

We took tea and jolly nice it was too. Only slightly marred by the camel-like noises Fennell was making as he sucked up litres of water.

Stage two of Captain Buss’ diabolical plan came into play. He nipped out, built a huge screen in the nearby dormant volcano and caused the sun to disappear just as we were heading out to field. LESSA couldn’t believe it, they had struggled through temperatures in the high 20’s and humidity that would make a nun perspire only for us to wander out into a gloriously mild afternoon.

Gareth Waterworth stated off with 12 off the first over which was a little unfortunate but sometimes it just goes that way.

Stage three of Dr. Buss-Blofeld-Goldfinger-Trevelyan-Le Chiffre’s plan for match domination – the surprise use of Graham “The Voice” Kingsworth as the second opener. The Voice has not been bowling much recently. It is a little known fact that he hasn’t played cricket in the last 23 years. A fact he keeps mentioning to anyone foolish enough to slow down in his vicinity. The rust was definitely in presence as his first three overs went for 15. Buss then had second thoughts about The Diabolical Plan but aided by is sidekick Darren Oddjob-PussyGalore-NickNack-Jaws-MayDay-Onatopp-Cook he let The Voice have one more go. And what a go, steaming in off a marginally long run up he delivered a really rather stunning delivery that removed the openers off stump. To say the celebrations were jubilant as an understatement. Two balls later we were celebrating again, The Voice had his second wicket and LESSA were 49 for 2. Next over and The Voice was at it again with yet another wicket.

The old warhorse that is Harvey came on to give us the benefit of observing the art of slow spin. As ever, his accuracy and control led to another wicket and they were 84 for 4.

Then some strange time-warp event happened and 10 overs seemed to just happen without anyone noticing. Unfortunately, this unexplained time phenomenon also had the additional effect of adding 50 to the total. They were now 130. There was 10 overs to go and 70 runs required.

Another wicket and things were looking better. Their new batsman turned out be be one of those hugely frustrating, great eye but no discernible technique, types who pulled the ball of centre stump for four. Which he did. We now entered a phase of the game where everyone was counting down runs required against balls left.

Things were looking grim as this batsman who should not be clubbed the ball over the boundary but Buss and Harvey came back on and pulled us back into the game and cut their run rate in half. Unfortunately, despite their heroic effort we ran out of runs with just one over to go. A close and nail-biting end to a good day.

Man Of The Match
Despite declaring himself the MOTM (again), The Voice’s claim to the crown was scuppered by an intervention by the rest of the Lordswood rugby players on the grounds that he would be insufferable. The other contender is Darren “The Henchman” Cook for his excellent half century and invaluable advice.

Moment Of The Match
This week there was no really outstanding event as such. For sure, there was mirth and good cheer, there were great feats of batting and bowling, a magnificent catch by The Rickster. However, no one thing that leaps out like a frog on springs so I’ll leave you with an observation – a SunSeaker is a sleek and sexy vessel for the super rich. A ShadeSeaker is not.

What if

What if we scored more runs?
What if Neil made more puns?

What if we ate less buns?
What if we instead we used guns?

What if we caught the catches?
What if we battened down the hatches?

What if we bowled better?
What if the second innings was wetter?

What if our fingers weren’t made of butter?
What if we didn’t stutter?

What if Graham got his maiden?
What if we went to the party in a garden?

What if we scored more fours?
What if we just stayed indoors?

What if decisions went our way?
What if Toby decided to play?

What if we hit more sixes?
What if there were matches fixes?

What if took more singles?
What if we wrote some jingles?

What if …. well, we’d have won the bloody game wouldn’t we