Keynote From The Resident Armchairman Of The Game
Entrusted by the United Nations of fellow comrades here at Ploughmans Cricket Club, it gives me great pleasure to bestow this match report with the inspiration of James Bond’s signature vodka martini which was ordered shaken but not stirred as well as the ANZACs who are considered to have exemplified endurance, courage, good humour and mateship referring of course to the 8 months fighting in Gallipoli. Synonymous with Richard Hammond and his engineering connections series, the match played out draws from the trials and tribulations of recent 1 week gulet adventures as well as recent cheese and caviar publications with a healthy degree of eulogising from 1990s-2000s world cricket where the game was at its authentic best and backyard cricket provided plenty of fist pumping moments.
The following content has been prepared solely for informational, team galvanising and comedic purposes as part of a team wide crescendo that has been building like a rising tsunami.
The match report does not constitute the views of PCC and any attempted tongue and cheek remark has been done in good faith with a view to alignment with our band of brothers – fun at all costs ethos which is vehemently espoused on the PCC charter boat.
Ready to shine like fresh paint gloss on a barnstorming Sunday afternoon in downtown Hackney, it was a love affair between Mark Seymour (‘throw your arms around me’) & Adele (‘rolling in the deep’) with U2 as an accompaniment (‘Sunday bloody Sunday’).
On the back of two awe inspiring wins the previous weekend and Saturday’s spit roast victory (as far as I understand), PCC welcomed back with open arms Niraj Tailor a.k.a. The Commonwealth Battler In the School Of Hard Knocks as a batting artillery fresh from his 1 week Turkey lagoons adventure in British weather festooned waters with less hits than One Direction which included a midnight take-one-for-the-team hangover busting piece of magic up on a mowhill (command and control centre.com) involving Dutch Courage mixed with Red Bull and cover drive simulations in anticipation of the swing bowling barrage 24 hours after post 2pm shenanigans across Fethiye’s watering holes.
Noodle and Kesh opened up the account like Mark Waugh and Adam Gilchrist of the halcyon days of 1999/2000 when life was simpler and less chance of Dalai Lama $hitting bricks referring to the paradox of life axioms.
A loose shot from Kesh brought about the entrance of Tis to the crease who took the kids out for a duck and before Victorious of Gilbraltar prematurely commenced NYE countdown.
Whilst yours truly’s half baked quiche of a gulet trip finished only 1 day earlier, the titanic struggle and wobbles in the middle order could have easily been mistaken for a tipsy post tequila night inspired bottom of the boat butterflies-in-the-belly over an inter island crossing as the SN pacemen used a deadly combination of swing, change of pace and general English wicket exploitation to bring about the entrance of mischevious paparazzi ‘Long John’ silver bullet.
Silva showed poise and technique as PCC set about a rescue operation with Noodle still in the middle. The following half an hour could have easily been mistaken for a Chamara De Silva/Dinesh Chandimal exhibition with singles and the cover boundary all boding well for a beautiful cocktail of Saturday night fever and Pink Floyd’s ‘brick in the wall’ that could challenge the happy hour menus eulogised by Timeout Magazine on an unrelenting London Underground slogfest on wheels.
A miscue and Sunday night salsa/rumba/cha cha cha fever from Silva then brought the Commonwealth Battler in to the middle with Noodle for some IndoChinese main meals. Enarmoured as ‘the man, the myth and the legend’, it was a holiday hangover inspired sail & anchor job ticking the strike over with the Treasurer of the promised land with the occasional wtf-are-you-doing-how-many-beers-did-you-have-the-night-before weds Inzamam Ul Haq running between the wickets that could have relegated yours truly to the hot bed of a tandoori oven in downtown Brick Lane.
Mirror images of Damien Martyn with orgasmic albeit clinical stroke play could have brought a tear or two to the eyes of the great man raised on bouncy WACA ground pitches; primarily a right-handed middle-order batsman with a ‘classical’ technique, known in particular for his elegant strokemaking square of the wicket on the off-side and through the covers/daring and sometimes cavalier strokeplay (reference: Wikipedia)
Not to discount the blistering barnacles thundering typhoons pace onslaught with ball movement off the pitch greater than that of a sausage fest in a downtown Turkish coast night club of the recent week gone by worthy of throat surgery courtesy of too much Meatloaf extolling ‘I would do anything for love’; moves like Jagger wooo hoooo hoooo hoooo moves like Jagger
Off side poise and delicate leg glances had yours truly on the way to steadying the mothership towards 150 until a coach killer T.Lonnen ‘I told you so’ pull shot brought about the demise of the hangover busting midnight locomotive from the sunblessed coast of Western Australia.
Positive signs from the jack of all trades master of none as the selectors were given a 40% volume headache going in the latter half of the season as the top to middle order look more solid than the Barry Crocker inspired snow flake fielding and walking on sunshine (woa ho ho) referring of course to the recent Hells Kitchen at the Hollies. An anti-climax to a week away from the cricket limelight which saw a catwalk which would struggle to reach the echelons of London Fashion Week.
If only there were some half decent fish fillets on the banquet table free of troublesome bones then dusty biscuits could have been reserved for the next Royal wedding at Windsor castle or the next slappy cup Hampstead shenanigans washed down with Baileys; absolute dustbowl of a pitch with half the power shots having to be locked away in the pool room cabinet for the next round of games.
Unfortunately, the rudder lost its compass with the tail enders ready to hit some runs over at Princess at Wales early afternoon; Boydy’s big day out weds Chief Of Slappy Cup Saturday Night Specials in Downtown Hampstead.
With afternoon tea treated like killing two birds with one stone, it was a tough afternoon at the office with the burgeoning sweltering heat leaving Sunday seshes waiting in the wings of downtown Clapton. Casanova Spence bowled with sterling effort as the local Hackney contingent rendered their support for a day on the green…a far cry from the improvised lbw wicket of yours truly down at annual club day that would have sent Bill Lawry, Tony Greig, Mark Nicolas and the remaining Ch9 WWOS commentary team through the roof with a high potential for a petition campaign to reverse the decision on the basis of no hawkeye; a travesty of justice for the new kid in town 😉 😉 😉 Anyways enough said (pull your head in and keep Chopper Reed at bay son) our one and only Spence got the top order out of their box like a Red Hot Chilli Peppers gig at the O2.
Silva came away with tidy figures of 0-8 off his two overs whilst Akash provided a few gold nuggets with his Michael Clarke 2008 SCG test match inspired left arm finger spin bowling that had the potential to send the opposition batters dancing in the stars via his 1-8 off three overs.
Durex, well provided the dry version of pub rounds combined with a kick to kick with the small batting timber normally reserved for a nice Autumn Day on the Clapham greens with Sherrins and Victoria Bitter six packs. 2 for 1 dollar I hear? No?..1-3 off two overs FFS 😉 😉 😉
Nevertheless it was a fair dinkum reality check against tidy, zippy and accurate bowling artillery of Stoke Newington with the unearthing of the fresh-off-the-boat midnight locomotive called the ‘sail and anchor’ with a generous drizzle of piri piri sauce on top of the charcoal chicken to tantalise the senses of all Portugal bound aficionados of the grand ol’ high flying Ploughmans Cricket Club with its arms wide open, eyes of a tiger, the spark of a Nuclear Reactor, the diversity and conviviality of Terras Australis Incognita, the horsepower of a BMW DSG-City express, the elegance and grace to take to the shores of Lords, the elevation to entice U2 to overhaul its one hit wonders, more hits than a Beyonce inspired engineering degree lecture theatre (‘all the singles ladies…now put your hands up’) and more entertaining gags than Meatloaf on AFL grand final day in Melbourne.
In conclusion, a tough mudder of a kids lunch outing with Prince tieing the knot with Taylor Swift (‘purple rain’ weds ‘trouble’) with some trouble in paradise.
This has been an exclusive presentation from the mancave of the Commonwealth Battlers’ Allegiance.
With all due respect to our Surrey Cricket League amigos, post mortem acknowledgements go to Silva for his unwavering commitment to catch of the day:
‘Rolf Harris would have had a field day with all the 14 year olds’
Acknowledgements are accorded to Grayzer, Noodle, Silva, Durex and Spence for the maiden passing on of the batten/red carpet welcome with plenty of build up that would tear the house down at Sydney Opera House.