Oh to feel young again.  Was it only 2 weeks ago we were riding high after our umpteenth win on the bounce, the season still held great promise, the only concern in the world was the looming end of the season?  Two defeats and we are now peering into the abyss of despair.  Three explanations present themsleves.

1. We have turned into a really bad ageing team in the last 2 weeks
2. We always were a bad team but the oppposition hadn't cottoned on to that fact
3. We're an OK team who can play quite well some weeks and not so well other weeks

Of these 3 options I would lean to the latter.  Despite the BDOCs assertion that we are all careering into old age at the speed of a super charged mobility scooter we have pulled off some notable victores against more youthful opposition. Ruislip Victoria scared us with their vigorous warm up routine but couldn't stretcth to victory against the grand old men of north London.  Northfields were a good bunch of bunch players yet we managed to beat them soundly.  We lost this week because we were 50 runs short and then didn't create enough pressure with the ball.  No-one went on to a big score after getting in, and the tail refused to wag.  We bowled well early on without reward, but then heads went down and the fielding was shocking.  I mean really bad.  And all this to a background of Ali's laughter.  Humiliating.  Not a great day but some perspective would be good at this stage, with over 2 weeks to get over it.

The two week break gives time for some reflection, or in cricket speak, to work on our game away from the bubble of competition.  Derek Randall used to work on his fielding in the close seasonby pitching up at a local playing field and nabbing some young scamps to hit balls at him.  In these less innocent times this may not be possible without the relevant CRBs and extreme financial inducements.  Trudi and Ellie have expressed no interest and i must assume that will not change.  I could suggest a fielding session session over the weekend but suspect this will be met with a barrage of indifference. 

Come to think of it I'm on the lash at the Oval on Saturday and have a free lunch to guzzle at the Maid of Muswell on Sunday, courtesy of a stunning triumph at their quiz on Tuesday night.  In fact we tied for first place with Billy Mitchell (East Enders ne'er do well) and had to share the spoils.  The tie break question, which we were both out by 2 years, was 'in what year was Harry Hill born?'  Totally random, but answers on a postcard please.  It will be a major bonus if the cricket is still going on on Saturday after England's display yesterday.  If we were 50 runs short on Sunday then how short was England's 230 on a plum Oval track.  The penultimate ball of England's innings did provide a fine and fimiliar comedy moment as Prior skied a dolly to the ageing Rasputin doppelganger Mohammed Yousef at extra cover who somehow managed to spill in true WestX1 fashion.

I guess things will be quiet in the web site over the next couple of weeks.  StevieB has sent through a list players' favourite shots, favourite band, and lookalikes, as we discussed down at the Sebright a couple of weeks ago.  I'll add these some time soon, but you may wish ot get your retaliation in early.  Please feel free to make suggestion for team mates or yourselves, publicily via this site or in confidence via email.

Steve also informed me that some people were having difficulty accessing the match scorecards and averages via the web site.  I'm no expert but the spreadsheets are saved in Excell 97-2003 format, so I'm not sure why this should be cayusing a problem for anyone, providing your hardware isn't Amstrad and your software doesn't come from China.  Let me know if you are having a problem and I can ascertain the extent of the problem.  I've not heard anything from anyone directly so as far as I'm concerned it ain't a problem.

See you all in September

Chris

An enforced mid season break offered me the chance to take a dispassionate view of Westies performance over the weekend as we took on new boys Barnet on Sunday.  Obviously I was devastated, nay gutted, to miss out on the home fixture, played in the shadow of my all time second favourite football ground, Underhill.  Fortified by a leisurely but hardly excessive lunch with the family I took a pleasant stroll from Whetstone along the Dollis Valley Green Walk in the direction of the ground.  Lovers walked hand in hand through the woods, children played near relaxing parents, all seemingly unconcerned by the worries of life until a lone gentleman rambler honed into view and all was changed.  At what stage did I become a threat to decent society?  Do I look predatory?  I try not to. Why do I end up feeling guilty about going for a walk on my own?  Maybe I should buy a dog, as they seem to be met with friendly smiles no matter how savage and rabid their mutt looks, and how much foul smelling faeces it leaves behind.

Ruminations on the status of the lone male were abruptly ended as I cleared a slight rise and into view came Underhill’s state of the art new floodlights, the new south stand and club retail outlet.  I scarcely had time to contemplate such wonders before being distracted by the sound of leather being firmly struck by willow off to my left.  Yes, the wing commander was bowling and Mike was retrieving the ball from some neglected, far flung, nettle strewn corner of the field. 

The boys had clearly had a good first 25 overs, with the opposition struggling at 90 odd for 5.  Before I had cleared the football club’s executive car park Hillbilly had added a 6th wicket, his bowling looking parsimonious as Jack Simmons in his prime.  The pitch looked shocking from afar with the ball doing anything but follow its logical trajectory, puffs of dust rising with each delivery as though the batter was being targeted by a sniper in the clubhouse.  Stevie B came on for a spell and had them confused and reaching and slogging but without reward.  Renster put in a shift of 3 overs but his 24 deliveries failed to break the growing partnership.  DB achieved magnificent loop, somehow managing to out aerial Stevie B but again without dispatching any of the Barnet haymakers.  A few wickets did fall towards the end as glory hunters Wright and Boden finished their spells, but not before a few chances went to hand and then quickly out of hand.  A couple of these were caught (ha ha) on camera and can now be seen on Wrighty’s player profile You Tube clip.  160, a par score depending on their attack.

I had the pleasure of umpiring as the Bhagwan and Tyro may hay while the sun hid.  It was superb batting from both of them, but the once impetuous Tyro impressed in the maturity of his innings. Watchful of the perilous wicket he eschewed his normal hoiks to cow corner until the match was safe.  I could scarcely contain a General Melchit style beeehhh! when he reached his 50.  Once the wicket accounted for the openers things went rapidly downhill.  Ex skip was clearly on Prozac as a minced his way to a fortunate not out close, whilst the other end was as solid as my stools this morning following last night’s prawn phaal.  So match won and the Westies moved out of the red for the first time this season, leaving time for a few well earned pints down at the Sebright.

This last week has found me unusually busy down at Wood Green Crown Court.  I’m obviously not at liberty to divulge any details of the case but it has allowed me to get out of the house and meet new people.  Some of the neighbours even think I have job as I cycle off every morning at 9-30, casually dressed but carrying a real sense of duty and purpose in my rucksack.  Unfortunately this afternoon’s session was disrupted by a burst drain in the basement of the court.  Ordinarily we could have continued, however the stench rose up to our courtroom and the judge felt that session had to be adjourned for the weekend.  Much tittering around the room as prosecution and defence vied for the wittiest toilet/excrement joke.  It was refreshing that all sides, including the defendants, their family, the jury and the judge could all come together in celebrating the great British tradition of toilet humour.  No-one comes out of the legal system smelling of roses, but frankly, this case stinks!

Sadly I will be missing from action again this week against Acme, my finger seems to be recovering at barrister pace.  Acme are always a fun team to play, but someone please keep an eye on Uncle Albert, the Battle of Goose shit Green was many years ago and we are all friends now.


Skip

Monday afternoon saw me joining the hordes of injured workers, sick children, the lonely and the unlucky at the Finchley Memorial minor injuries department. The two hours just flew especially as I had made the schoolboy error of leaving any reading material at home, and my 3G network has not yet extended to this populous part of North London.  I imagine suicide is the main cause of unexpected death at this medical out station, and I was actively planning my own demise (choking on the February edition of House & Home seemed both painless and poignant) by being called into the x-ray department 30 minutes ahead of schedule.  One of the unexpected joys of having damaged my middle finger is that I (or my GP anyway) is in possession of an image of my bones performing a perfect 1 fingered salute, something that I have always wanted and am now thinking of uses for. (Suggestions welcome).

The upshot of this afternoon’s sabbatical is that my right ring finger is fractured at the tip.  This is useless information for you, as it is for me, other that I can exaggerate my bravery in conversation with friends, neighbours and increasingly disinterested strangers.  The nurse suggested I visited the doctors at Barnet General today.  The purpose of this apparently is that they like to look at fractures, but the nurse confirmed they would not do anything.  It may be that they have seen through my feeble cricketing injury story and want to check if I am being abused by Trudi, or possibly they just want to infect me with MRSA for the hell of it.  Either way I am busy re-ordering my bookshelf, by publisher, so won’t have the time to follow this up. 

On returning from the hospital I was cheered up by reading the BDOC's uplifting match report.  The season seems to have turned itself around over the last few weeks, with only the Gents debacle to prevent us disappearing up our own jacksies.  Sunday was a big win for us, because whilst 235 is normally a match winning total it was a plum pitch, a lightning outfield and Sunderland had some outstanding batters.  But whilst Sunderland were getting up nearer to our score there was no panic, the bowlers stuck to their lengths, the fielding remained strong and thus the wickets came.  Honestly I had no idea I had broken any club record with my 50, and of course this is secondary to the performance of the team.  I do however think it only appropriate if I am treated with more respect and deference as an acknowledgement of this towering achievement.

Apparently I misspelt Mike Delanian’s name repeatedly in last week’s blog.  (Thanks to Dave Bender, club pedant, for pointing this out to me).  I can only apologise unreservedly for this error.  This must have been devastating for Mike, coming at the moment he scored his maiden club 50 to have his name so cruelly mangled.  If it’s any consolation I have been known as Chris Dave by the Finchley lido since joining two years ago.  I have tried to get them to change it but the computer won’t allow it, apparently.  When I came to renew my membership earlier this year they wouldn’t accept the fact that I lived in the borough and tried to charge me the higher rate.  Changing my name seems to be the obvious solution.

Six short days of separation, six days between the collapse at Greenford and the batting resurgence at Northfields.  How can a team of batting no hopers and chokers so suddenly turn things round so utterly as to dominate a match against tough opposition from the word go? If we knew the answer to that then we would be wise (and probably very rich) men indeed.  How can Louis Oosthuizen go from sporting also ran to 7 stroke champion at the Open over the course of a windy weekend at St Andrews?  Not many saw that one coming, and if you did I assume you planning an early retirement on the proceeds of your 250-1 flutter. 

Walking into the pleasant Swyncombe Avenue ground on Saturday lunchtime thoughts were more on damage limitation than posting a large total.  Seeing a relatively young team going through warm up routines did little to quell fears, and reports from the Notting Hill housing association that the wicket was more rutted and deadly than a WW1 battlefield were not eased by the verdant square contrasting against the straw coloured outfield like a satellite image of the Nile valley.  Losing the toss and being inserted into bat, thoughts turned to shamefaced apologies and an early night down at the boozer.  Oh ye of little faith, what were you thinking?

From the off things went our way.  Edges that had stuck in fielders hands a week before now found space and hurried through to the boundary.  Their openers bowled with some pace and the new ball moved in the air and was always lively off the pitch, but the runs kept coming and the wicket remained intact.  Stand in opener Mike batted sensibly and with increasing authority and in no time we were 50 without loss.  The scoreboard kept moving apace, and my decision to ignore a straight delivery did nothing to slow the run rate.  Mike’s 50 when it came was rapturously received, the whole team enjoying his moment in the sun.  Always technically correct Mike has struggled with the early straight delivery but now had his reward for patient application.  Young Tyro, Andy, Matt and Jim all came to the party and made hay in the sun.  In fact only out of form Renster pooped the party but his time will come, probably.  275 for a few, and 4 individual 50s to boot.  Crisis, what crisis?

A couple of early wickets meant that Northfields were always on the back foot despite some excellent batting from their skipper.  Down in the dumps Renster was able to raise his flagging morale with a 3for before forgetting how to bowl in his final, never ending over.  Dave Bender got his first bowl of the season, keeping it very tight in the first over before returning to earth in the second (unlike the ball which is still visible in the night sky).  Matt gave them problems throughout with his high action and unpredictable movement. Wrighty was able to vent his fury at the beamer bowling club nutter later on, and despite being clobbered for a couple of maximums had the last laugh with his much delayed yorker.

So a much needed and well earned victory.  All good and nothing bad in this topsy-turvy season. Northfields were terrific opposition and a very pleasant evening was spent in their company at the nearby Plough.  Numerous jugs on offer ensured that the glass was always half full and it’s not often we can make that claim.  Apparently this was an early watering hole for the Westies before the Nelson became the pub of choice back in the early nineties, and it’s easy to see why. 

So just 6 days on from our Gents nadir fortune and success paid WestX1 a belated visit.  Why they couldn’t have popped round the previous week is not for us to know, but now they know our address I’m anticipating they’ll achieve pest like status by the season’s end.

The only downside of it being a Saturday fixture was missing Arsenal’s traditional curtain raiser against the mighty Bees at Underhill.  Four first half goals saw Arsenal safely home and bodes well for the coming season.  By all accounts new boys Koscielny and Chamakh looked the part in their Arsenal shirts.  Cesc was unavailable for the game (world cup final to Underhill in a week would have been surreal) but it looks like he will be staying in North London for at least another season.  Barnet are a strong side despite their lowly season and if we can maintain this form then I foresee a bulging trophy cabinet the Grove come May.

Sunday saw three much anticipated sporting contests being settled in the space of a few short hours.  The Silverstone Grand Prix was won by an Australian driving a beaten up old banger rejected by the German wunderkind Sebastian Vettel.  Webber's achievement cannot be overstated, hailing as he does from a country where the steering wheel is an optional accessory and where the driving test consists of reversing a pick up and cooking roadkill over an open fire.  Alonso's failure proved that Spain's sporting current sporting ascendancy is based on talent rather than passport.


Later on Spain deservedly hoisted their first ever world cup, defeating the evil pantomime villains of the Netherlands in a disappointing but ultimately gripping finale in Jo'berg.  Football lovers everywhere should rejoice in this victory of footballing joie de vivre over the up 'n' at 'em brigade that dominate football thinking at home and abroad.  Maybe opinion formers in this country will take note and stop seeking to defend the indefensible, stop blaming skillful young footballers for snapping their legs on the studs of 'committed' midfield lunkheads, and start thinking of how imagination, flair and technique can be encouraged rather than begrudgingly tolerated throughout our football leagues.  Unfortunately I doubt it (see last blog).


Without doubt the most gripping encounter took place on a parched field in Greenford as West X1 attempted to wrest momentum from the GoWL.  For so long it looked like we could do it.  The 132 posted by the Gents never really seemed adequate despite the vagaries the worn wicket.  In keeping the total down to this level we had bowled well (myslef excluded) and generally fielded well.  Only Sanjay really took the attack to us, and this only because he was given more let offs Van Bommel was offered in the whole of the world cup.  Again I have to admit personal culpability here, spilling a regulation slip catch of Westies star bowler Wrighty.  A few more beers and skipped salads and I'll be able to bury chances like that in my belly, but alas not yet.  But 132 was gettable.


Our innings never really got going.  Losing for quick wickets early on put us on the back foot, meaning we were never in a position to dominate.  Batting with Stewie is always a pleasure, handsome rock star that he is, and Sunday was no exception, and I felt that we had it in ourselves to shut the game out.  But throughout the bowling was hostile and accurate, the fielding keen as mustard on steroids and so we were never able to break the spirit. Once the later wickets started to fall there was a certain inevitability about proceedings.  No easy runs to be had, wickets running out and the increasing cacophony in the outfield.  In the end we were 10 runs short, close but not close enough.  Oh the sweet smell of success, oh the vile stench of defeat!  If Alan Green were commentating he wold no doubt bemoan our disgraceful absence of resolve, our shocking lack of spine, our woeful fielding.  Fortunately he was ruining Radio 5 listeners enjoyment of the world cup final.  And he would as always have been wrong.  With a little more luck we could have got there, but we didn't.  And make no mistake the Gents are still a class side despite their recent run.  Whilst losing a close tie is never fun, it was a classic encounter and we are once again competing.


This match followed hot on the heels a hugely enjoyable tour down to Somerset.  Golden boy Boden hit his maiden century, Wrighty close behind on 90, puppies, Otter fuelled carnage on the Saturday night with the North Curry massive, more puppies, up and down tors, Wells Cathedral and that cathedral to English cricket Hambledon CC.  The only downside was Sunday afternoon when the traditional rain arrived at verdant Dinder to snatch certain victory away from us.  Undoubtedly the unilateral decision to call it off was premature, and the attitude of the opposition captain was rubbish.  We need to give this one some thought at the next AGM.

Pip pip

The facts - On Sunday 26th June West X1 were due to play cricket v the Captains Select.  It was cancelled (as widely expected) because the oppo couldn't raise a team because it conflicted with the England Germany game.  As a result a match that would have bene played in perfect conditions and at a great ground was lost.  At best we will be facing a deficit of £85 to cover the ground, assuming that the oppo do the decent thing and cough up their half of the match fees.  Seeing as I have no cricket to write about I'll pontificate on football instead, bringing me into line with every other unqualified opinionated no mark currently filling the blogosphere.

So we missed out on the cricket for what for what? For the 4th time in 2 weeks England were utterly abject.  Devoid of passion we are nothing.  We lack the skills, the intellegence, the mental strength, the confidence, the youth, the tactical awareness and the imagination required at this level of the game.  The much vanted 'golden generation' has proved for the umpteenth time that they are in fact the golden shower generation, a burbling stream of piss compared to the fine wines and stout beers on offer elsewhere in South Africa.  You can argue about tactics and the odd player here and there but you can't argue that most of the best English players were out there. This is because there ain't a huge pool of ENglish talent in our top league.  We were trounced by a mediocre German team picked mainly form the Bundesliga who happened to play to their strengths as an holistic entity.  In Schweinsteiger they had a world class playmaker who delivered on the big stage, their 'out of form' strikers showed no fear in front of goal whilst their youthful defence somehow managed to cope with our statuesque attack. 

The handwringing has begun, the search for a convenient scapegoat commenced.  According to the English coaches profering their opinion we need English coaches (like that's worked in the past).  We need root and branch reform of the FA and football league(like we haven't tried that).  We need the Premiereship top teams to invest in English players (like they don't already).  Our coaching at junior levels is wrong, the acadamies strip our young players of imagination. We don't play football in the streets any more (unlike the German Autobahns which are riddled with young scamps kicking rolled up socks accross the 10 lane blacktops. Junkers for goalposts). They are overpaid and over pampered (unlike the Spanish team which is made up of former miners one bad tackle away from the workhouse).

The unpalatable truth is that football in this country is dominated by an unthinking, anti intelligence, up 'em an at 'em brigade who have failed to move on from the 1945.  It's not just in the game itself, it's in the media, amongst the fan base.  Well meaning coaches at a junior level interested in inspiring joy in the game at a young age are usurped win at all cost coaches who measure success solely on silverware.  Well meaning parents scream at their kids every Sunday morning, ruining the lives of their loved ones and neighbouring residents in equal measure.  At higher levels youth academies follow the same blueprint, moulding players in the image of their 1st teams, more of the same will do us nicely.  Top level premiership academies are desperate for home grown talent, but lacking the raw ingredients end up looking abroad.  The printed media, in particular but not exclusively the red tops, continue to spout ante diluvian jingoistic rhetoric, presumably to a readership that still thinks it's true.  It's now 65 years since the end of WW2, maybe it's time to move on.  On TV & radio we (coz it's the Beeb I'm talking about) employ the same tired pundits and ex players to spout the same tired cliches. And don't get me started on Alan Green, he evidently hates the game, the players and referees, and sees each game as an opportunity to pass his embittered ill-formed opinions off as fact.

Does any of this matter?  Not to me particularly.  I'd love England to be competitive as a national team, though I wonder if we are as a nation emotionally prepared for success.  If we convince ourselves we are world beaters after beating Slovenia by one goal then could we really handle genuine success.  But it's only a fortnight every 2 years if we are lucky.  I'd like English players to come through the academy at Arsenal, but if they don't then I'll settle for imports.  The economics are such that home grown players will always be given preference over foreign imports, but the sad fact is that not many of them make it.  Changing culture is always the most difficult thing to achieve.  It has to happen organically, there is nobody that can force this change through.  The first step to making this change is to accept our mediocrity.

A weekend of mixed fortunes for the Westies, made difficult by the most ludicrous fixture pile up since Harold agreed to successive away fixtures at Stamford Bridge and Hastings.  He at least could blame the devious Norse beardies for sneaking the 1st match in under the radar, we on the other hand specifically abolished double headers at last years AGM, only to roll over at the first asking.  A massive vote of thanks goes out to those who attended both games, to a our Nazeing buddies on Saturday and to Steve for pulling out all the stops to get 2 teams out.

We are clearly struggling for numbers this season without many of the stallwarts we were able to rely on in previous years.  At latest count we have 8 for Sunday's fixture with a surprise return to the team for Andy Cox.  As Steve pointed out in his email we can't afford a cancellation at pricey Winchmore Hill so we need to milk contacts untils their eyes water to get players for Sunday. 

Sunday's game is a 1.30 start, so leave enough time.  I'm not going to write any more on this subject, just read the previous blog, as nothing has changed.  For the 2nd successive time I have had to tell the oppo skip that we will have to bat first as we don't have enough to field.  Normally we could introduce fines or something like that, however because of our dwindling numbers this is hardly an option.  But if it carries on what future the club?

It wasn't my intention when I started the blog to just whinge but there you go.  Sunday was great fun if humbling, whilst Saturday provided a much needed victory.  The Whalers are strong sociable opposition so we need to maintain the fixture in future years.  The Civil Service ground has always been soulless but it has now taken on the feel of a run down seaside town, all flaky paint and empty windswept corridors.  I think the whole place will be a Barrett housing estate within the next couple of years if Mr Osbourne & co get their way, sitting as it does on flood plain.

That's enough now, the voices in my head are calling me into the dark waters....

Second win of the season and the first silverware in the bag.   If only life were this easy for Monsieur Wenger maybe the Fleet Street hounds and Emirate professors would get of his back.   Sunday was pleasing on many fronts.

• We won
• Everyone contributed with bat or ball or both
• Sociable oppo
• The match was closer than the scoreline would suggest
• Temperature measured in centigrade rather than Kelvin

A week off cricket at the Whitsun bank holiday, when planned back in March, might have seemed like a good idea but fate, as always, conspires against the best laid plans.  Who would have thought we would have to wait until the week before to record our first victory, only to have any momentum cruelly whipped away by bank holiday weekend of inactivity.  This irony was not lost on me as I drove the family Dane down to Bluewater in the spring sunshine.  On the plus side the day was relatively cheap and I now have a stack of brownie points stored in the bank ready for cashing in later in the season.

Former skip and I took the opportunity to check out club favourites from the Black Boy in Winchester, Polly & the Billets Doux, at the Sheepwalk on Saturday night.  Polly Perry was in fine voice, the band in playful mood, the Guiness flowed bountifully and an excellent evening all round was had by all.  The Billets Doux, if not exactly tight, provided a fine platform over which Polly layered her bountiful vocal talents, with the exception of the drummer who was a devious little snake in the grass. Attendance seemed disappointing for a band gaining positive reviews on the back of high profile performances, but it allowed for very comfortable seated viewing so important for someone hobbling into his late 40s.  The support act, Ben ???? played a competent vocal set, unfortunately my concentration was broken by the talented young fiddler who bore a disturbing resemblance to a teenage Nick Griffin. Volk music perchance?

The past week has seen the circle of life in all its ideosyncratic glory.  First we heard of the death of Dave Laing's mother, and the club passes on its support and condolences to Dave at this difficult time.  Friday brought news of Neep's transition from carefree roustabout and West X1 enfant terrible into devoted father of a baby girl.  Details are still scarce but we have confirmed mother and baby are healthy, Neep is over the moon and will be in touch soon, and it's unlikely he'll be available for Sunday's fixture.  Congratulations Neep from all at the club!

Steve is now in the emotionally draining throes of organising the team for Sunday so I won't step on his toes.  It's the Nelson cup this week, another 20:20 double header against the Saints, which was an absolute hoot last year as we came back from the dead to win in the second innings.  Weather forecast is great, and we are unbeaten under clear skies this season.  See you all then.

Skip

Saturday morning, sun shining, head thumping, mottled recollections of alfresco dining, drinking TT Landlord and red wine, a cycle ride home and now paying the ultimate price.  Ho hum, to the English summer a belated welcome. 

Just thought I'd better post an update on my elbow as there had been some concern that my attendance tomorrow might be in doubt.  Whilst the pain brought on by the festering wound would have floored an elephant, I was always going to turn up at Greenford.  I always had total faith in the National Health Service, or at least I do until the coaliton partners work out who really wears the trousers.  Even then we have been assured there will be no cuts in front line services, so I'll be able to get world class treatment out of a portakabin somewhere.

Speaking of trousers still no sign, so my day may involve a search for a sports shop in north London.  If only it were Conrad first edition I need I'd be spoilt for choice. 

See you all tomorrow for fun in the sun, a hearty breakfast awaits.

Bollocks, double bollocks.  Bollocks because we lost the opener in the Bob Ashton trophy, and bollocks because my PC has just crashed forcing me to start this blog from scratch again.  Sunday’s game is covered in detail in the BDOC’s excellent match report.  From my perspective it was considerable improvement on previous outings despite not getting close enough to our south London rivals.  The rain made the final quarter of the game a tad miserable and very challenging for both batters and fielders.  Whether the result would have been closer had the rains held off is up for debate but ultimately we fell some way short, despite late innings heroics from ex skip.  From a captain’s perspective the biggest positive was in our bowling, where every bowler hit their targets making captaincy far easier and less stressful.  Setting field positions is more of a science and less of a lottery when the slinger puts the ball in the right spot.  Despite the 3 dropped catches fielding was an improvement.  The BDOC complained at the quality of returns to his gloves, and I have a degree of sympathy.  Standing at slip I winced at joints creaking as the grand old man of WestX1 reached down to take yet another return by his ankles.  That said he put in his best performance with gloves in hand that I can remember, taking a fine catch off yours truly and only shipping a couple of byes throughout the innings.  No point in getting too down about the batting, it will come good, we’ve just got to be patient.

A fine hissy fit was exhibited by young tyro Rowan following his unfortunate dismissal, the ball having taken a cruel deflection off his pads.  The bat flew across the outfield further than most shots in the preceding 10 overs, picking up pace as it skidded across the west London paddy field.  An admirable display of temper and willow chucking, this pales into insignificance alongside the great Renster tantrum against Staeffa many summers ago.  In the Fox (cracking pub Mr B, excellent shout) on Sunday evening the grizzled veteran was at pains to blame the entire Staeffa incident on Wrighty for:

•    dropping him down the order mid innings
•    embarking on a sharp single when the side needed it

Clearly the injustice still pains the beleaguered fixture secretary.  Sunday almost saw repeat of Staeffa meltdown as the Renster again failed to make the yards on the ex skipper’s call.  Nuclear meltdown was only avoided once it became apparent that Steve had smashed his own wicket in attempting to block another Hemin leg side delivery. 
Off the subject of cricket and onto the subject of my elbow.  I awoke last Thursday to discover I had grazed said elbow, with no recollection of how it might have happened.  No diving heroics in the outfield, my last skateboarding injury was in 1980 at the south bank, and my bike is in storage awaiting half decent weather.  The mystery graze would have passed as a footnote in a world of unexplained events had the bastard thing not turned septic.  Seeking pain relief I opened the first aid box only to discover the Savlon had been replaced by Bonjela, presumably to treat any emergency mouth ulcers.  Whilst it was surprisingly effective in soothing the pain it did nothing to curb the swelling or pustular emissions.  Fingers crossed I survive this random physical assault, but if I don’t then Chris B will make a fine captain.  And after Sunday his Aussie replica shirt will be relegated to gardening garb where it belongs.  If anyone else has been subject to unattributed physical injuries please feel free to share on the web site.

Captain’s Blog No 2 – 11 May

Two weeks into the season and I’m already starting to feel the pressure.  Two weeks, two losses, neither of them close, and the all conquering Gents to come next week.  We’ve not bowled or fielded badly, but not really batted with enough conviction, purpose or stickability.  Surely it’s only a matter of time before mutterings start in the darker corners of the dressing room, eye contact avoided in the post match discussions in the pub and rival factions forming amongst disaffected club members.  Maybe it’s started already.  I’ll have to watch everyone, keep them all in my sights and watch, watch for that sideways glance, that twitchy eyelid or some other tell tale tic, I’ll know it, I’ll know it when I see it.  Keep my friends close and my enemies closer.  In fact, maybe I ought to be proactive, take control of my destiny for once in my life.  I may be paranoid, but even paranoids have enemies.  In fact paranoid is just an expression invented by them to stop us finding out how much they really hate us.  Some of them don’t deserve to wear the WestX1 sweater, we’d be better off without them, mother and me. Yeah that’s what I’ll do, the self serving bastards, they’ll not get the better of me, I’m untouchable, this is my club, I took it to North London and that’s where it will stay, North London where self preening thespians and well meaning Fabians roam between dusty book shops and specialist cheese shops, whilst sash windows struggle to conceal the faltering notes of young Toby and Molly’s first piano lesson.  The church bell strikes at half past three, and is there honey still for tea?  Mother’s coming now, I think she’s one of them.....

Captain’s Blog No 1 - 27th April

Finally, after hibernating through the coldest winter since the last one that was quite cold, and having pulled & ruptured every muscle known to man at enthusiastic net sessions,  Sunday finally saw us back in competitive action. In the soulless dark of the bleak midwinter, fantasies of the first game involved a pastoral scene of thatch roofed cottages packed tightly round a village green, the parched straw coloured wicket shimmering in the early summer haze, possibly a competitive netball game between St Trinians and Pans People on the adjoining square interrupted by rogue sprinkler.  Alas reality never fails to disappoint. A chill wind blasted across Peter May’s industrial playing fields, the promised sun barely bothered to say hello, and habits of previous season were back to the fore. Plus ca change!

In the post-match huddle at the North Star afterwards, enjoying the benefits of an early finish, there was much consoling that it was Cincinatti, we always lose to them, it’s the first game of the season, at least we’re all in one piece, we had 11 players etc, etc, etc.  And this is largely true.  This match was pretty much a mirror of last season’s opener, the main difference being we let them get a higher total this year and we lacked anyone to recreate Neep’s mid order heroics.  Thus, in the end, we were thankful to Stevie B and stellar debutant Matt for getting us close to 3 figures.  Nevertheless a loss by 73 runs was not stuff of dreams.

I’ve no wish to dwell on the Cincinatti performance.  Being occasionally shit is in our DNA, and it’s good that we pricked the bubble of optimism early in the season.  Overall our bowling and fielding was sound, and a useful batting line up was fortunate to get 170.  On that wicket, with that outfield, the total was totally gettable.  Sadly we batted like prize arses and a thorough spanking was always on the cards.  With the honourable exception of Ross, Cincers bowling was nothing special, yet we collectively succumbed to poor shot selection and poor shot execution.
The BDOC added chef to his long list of duties, providing sustenance to the 2 teams rather than risk the over-priced shite that Mrs May serves up.  The tea was something of an homage to 1950s cuisine, with cheese and ham being the available sandwiches, with pork pies and scotch eggs aplenty.  Thanks to Steve doing the honours, hopefully we won’t have to call on anyone else’s services this season.

Sunday sees the visit of our west country cousins Dinder to Winchmore Hill.  I’m optimistic of a good turn out for this popular bank holiday fixture, with only the Fulham fixture to keep Westies from their cricket.  Keep the BDOC posted of availability, check on train times, and look forward to seeing you all there. 

If anyone else has any cricket related fantasies please feel free to share them via these pages.