Far From The MCC

~ Est. in 1998 ~

 

“The King Is Dead, Long Live The King”

 

 

Sunday 26th April 2009

Result:  Lost by 43 Runs

Venue:  Wootton & Boars Hill

40 overs

Wootton & Boars Hill

161 - 6

S. Dobner  2 - 31

FFTMCC

118 ao

S. Dobner  37,  I. Howarth  36

 

 

 

After an autumn of discontent, and a winter of internal politics and fighting, the disparate tribes of the Mad assembled at the Oak on Woodstock Road to draw a line in the sand on how they wanted their future to be ran. It was unanimously decided that the current leader of the pack be removed from office, and his bloody corpse thrown out onto the streets for the crows to pick at in the morning. I. Howarth had been sworn into office some three years ago – his robust and militant northern ways immediately finding favour within the ranks; but as time passed by, and early brash successes were replaced by hollow feuding defeats, the tribe of Mad became weary of being belittled and shouted at, and they yearned once again to feel the love….

 

 

I. Howarth’s dictatorship came to a bloody end in the fall of 2008….

 

Time under Howarth’s tenure had left it’s scars however, and although the men wanted change, they wanted a gradual change – one that could be likened to slowly releasing a caged animal back into the wild…. Martin Westmoreland fitted the bill, and although he was already laboured with looking after the finances of the team, he was perfect for the role – eschewing his own brand of northern intent, but one with a patient smile – an attribute realised by bringing up two tiny boys and dealing with the daily bollocks of working for a corrupt telecommunications giant. In short, he was an ideal candidate for dealing with the insecurities and paranoia within the ranks, and boasted enough wisdom to prevent James Hoskins from attempting any switch-hitting during a match or allowing Steve Parkinson to bat higher than number 11 (if selected). Whilst being acutely aware of the history of the club, Martin was also well acquainted and liked by all the other team members; people would be better able to understand his decisions - even if they were utter shite. In short, Martin was a good ole boy and that was that. And so it was, the Moo Man was voted into office, and Howarth’s bloody body was booted out onto Woodstock Road to be feasted on by bloated rats, and all was happy in the Land of the Mad.

 

* * *

 

The weather had been glorious all week - the sun shining brightly over Oxford with smiles returning to the weather-beaten populace; so it was with some alarm and pessimism that the Mad greeted the forecast at weekend for possible change. More rain? On a Sunday? Surely not…. I mean seriously, do we get anything other than rain these days? No wonder the club’s legendary Australian inswinging left-armer had buggered off back down under after the previous two years of blanket grey skies and persistent showers… it takes it’s toll after a while; looking out each weekend through rain splattered windows and wondering what crap is on the TV, what other interests could possibly help keep the disappointed party from drowning his head in a pint of beer down the local…. Jesus, we live in darkness for 8 months of the fucking year, so surely a few months of sun in summer is not too much to ask for? Maybe it’s the luck of the Moo? Because when Sunday eventually came to be, the sun did shine bright and the BBC weather forecasters were shot where they slept in their beds.

 

 

A traditional Mad pre-match warm up.

 

It was a fresh look to the Far from the Marlborough Offices that assembled at the Bystander Pub prior to the day’s cricket. More of their number were now dads, more of their number were now married, more of their number had been stolen from other deposed teams we don’t ever mention, and more of their number looked older with less hair. They still drank the same amount, and they still took the piss out of each other at every opportunity, but it did seem slightly different – maybe it was or maybe it wasn’t? Or maybe it was just like the start of every other fucking year, but this particular writer just can’t quite remember anymore….

 

On arrival at the picturesque Wootton & Boars Hill ground, things did seem much more familiar. Martin quickly lost the toss (a now traditional thing for the Mad captain to do), and quickly apportioned blame on his 2yr old son, Daniel – who apparently had informed him before the game which side of the coin to call. It was a poor example of fatherhood, but the new captain must remain unblemished, and besides, Mel was on hand to pick the tearful boy up and tell him it was okay.

 

 

“The Dude” – he didn’t open the bowling on Sunday.

 

More tradition was to follow as the Far from the Marlborough Offices took to the field; the shiny fresh cherry thrown to a genial 6ft plus Australian to amble in and try his luck. This JP Collins did, and together with an accurate display of swing bowling from the other end by D. Shorten (5-2-8-0), the W&BH batsmen were kept in check. It took an inspired spell of pie-chucking from J. Hoskins (8-1-20-1) to make the initial breakthrough, enticing opener T. Fisher (22) into spiralling a catch to I. Howarth on the cow-populated segment of the boundary. Mr. Collins (8-0-34-1) would wait until his final delivery before reaping his rewards, finally knocking back A. Cornish’s (19) timber to leave the opposition on 60-2.

 

Debutant D. Emerson (8-2-30-1) was now thrust into the attack, and an expectant Mad looked on as their new pin-up loped in off his 85 yard run-up with his bathtub of pre-match cider as co-pilot. Dave would bowl a tidy off-stump line, and apart from the ones that keeper M. Bullock stopped whilst sprawling 3 yards outside leg-stump, it was an effective effort from the imported Kiwi star – the highlight being D. Edwards’ amazing reflex catch at slip to give him his maiden Mad scalp. The Wootton team would eventually realise 161-6 off their allotted 40 overs, their progress in the latter overs thwarted by some accurate bowling from ex pin-up star A. Darley (4-0-17-1), and some head-high beamers from Tottenham football thug S. Dobner (7-1-32-2). A good day in the field then, and certainly not an unmanageable total to chase.

 

 

Fluffy dogs immediately picked up the scent of bunny A. Darley.

 

Numbers on the boundary were swelled at half-time by the appearance of various wives and girlfriends, non-playing players, dogs, random strangers, bemused passers-by, a horse, a few local chavs, and an armada of children and babies. It is also worth noting that I. Howarth’s wife didn’t turn up as he was no longer the captain, and subsequent to this, the trappings which came with the job were no longer his. The Wootton banquet was good and very well received, and due to the winter disappearance of A. Small, nearly everybody got something to eat – including T. Smith, who was not at all pissed off by his omission from the team due to his e-mail playing up when replying “available”….

 

It is also tradition for the new skipper of the Mad to bat like an utter dick in his first day in office. I hereby list the statistics as provided by our very own dear Statto:

 

Captain

Score (on debut)

Ed Lester

7

Leo Phillips

0

Matt Bullock

2

James Hoskins

10*

Ian Howarth

6

 

…and the portents weren’t good as Martin opened up the batting with the indomitable D. Edwards – in two previous visits to the ground our new charge had managed a golden duck on both occasions (both bowled). This time however, things were very different; Moo edged his first ball past his stumps, sliced the next ball for a couple through the slips, and then neatly left a straight one to be castled for 2. Job done, monkey off his back, and a fine impetus set for the Mad reply.

 

The good work was continued as Edwards was gobbled for 1, A. Darley (4) also caught slapping a full toss to a waiting mid-off, and a dancing I. Leggate bowled without yet registering a run for the club. 16-4 and the potential there for the cricketing equivalent of finding a fresh and wet dog turd on your new lounge carpet.

 

 

Daisy looks at Miniature Dad taking guard.

 

Thankfully, the Mad are made of sterner stuff these days, especially if you relegate other horrendous collapses in recent years out of your memory. Vilified ex-skipper I. Howarth found a willing accomplice in reformed hooligan S. Dobner, and with a mixture of good old-fashioned hard graft, permeated with a beefy cut and the odd slog to the mid-wicket boundary, the FFTMCC recovered to 70-4 and it seemed as if the balance of the match had tilted once more. Unfortunately, Howarth (36) decided this was the opportune moment with which to demonstrate his complete lack of intelligence – being castled after trying to smack his Fixture Secretary counterpart D. Parker out of the ground.

 

Our Essex hero now forged a partnership with languid builder D. Shorten; and Dave (14) showed real promise before Steve ran him out – jealous that this affable fellow now lived in a bigger and better house than himself; and that this guy’s extension to his own house was far better than his own. And he lived on higher ground…. After that, it all went downhill I’m afraid to report. J. Hoskins (10) brief cameo ended when he forgot to play an identical shot as he had just played to an identical delivery a ball ago, M. Bullock (1) perished doing something I couldn’t really fathom at the umpire’s end, and Stevie D’s (37) long vigil was ended trying hoik A. Fisher into the potato field.

 

 

The “blame game” always starts with a glance at the scorebook….

 

It was all left to the Mad’s antipodeans JP. Collins and D. Emerson to salvage the day, and there was optimism within the ranks that this could still happen, as both these lads could handle the bat (allegedly). Alas, JP (0*) never got a chance to prove his worth, as his partner danced down the wicket first ball and saw his timber rattled for a golden duck. 118 all out.

 

* * *

 

Well, you couldn’t fault the players for this inaugural defeat of the 2009 season – their application, dedication, and their sheer professionalism shone throughout the day. And you couldn’t fault the skipper either – whose keeping back of 3 overs for the non-return of opening paceman D. Shorten was mathematical genius. So just where did the blame lie for the Mad’s poor loss? Young 2yr old Daniel Westmoreland I’m afraid; it was his call of the toss, it was his fault we fielded first, and quite obviously it was his fault we batted like a bunch of pricks….

 

Gentleman, we are all exonerated for this defeat.

 

 

“Daniel, the boys aren’t happy with you!”

 

 

‘Spam’

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

MOTM:  S. Dobner’s 37 and 2 wickets

Champagne Moment:  D. Edwards reactionary catch at slip

Buffet Award:  S. Dobner’s Essex hot-pot

 

 

 

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