Sir Bobby

I’m 33 years old.

Like most people my age I look back with amnesic nostalgia at being 23 or, on bad days, 13. And there are very few reasons to want to be any older, but there is one.

If I were 43 then I would have seen my first Town game in 1977, not 1987. I would have been at Wembley the year after, and maybe even in Amsterdam as teenager. I would have drunk heartily from the cup of triumph as my not-so-little football club taught Europe a few things about style, substance and dignity.

But as it was I was chasing a blue balloon around the living room when Roger Osborne won us the FA Cup and by the time Mick Mills lifted the UEFA Cup I had long since been asleep, dreaming of action men, Tonka toys and Neapolitan ice-cream.

And so I never saw an Ipswich side managed by Sir Bobby. I fell in love with them, certainly, but via a massive transistor radio and not through the sounds, smells and air crunching atmosphere of a swaying Portman Road. Were I 43, then I would have the pictures in my head to sketch and colour again and again for my children and grand-children. As it is, the only Sir Bobby sides I ever saw live were wearing the white of England or the indisputable stripes of Newcastle United.

So I never met the man (although I nearly did, but that’s another story) and I never saw a single second of his tenure as Ipswich manager. And yet, when the news of his passing spread across the news wires last week I was first numbed and then deeply, deeply saddened. I’ve been thinking about why…

In the modern world we are bombarded by the importance and indulgence of celebrity. The lives of these special few are highlighted by how different they are from us – how their cars, holidays, parties and palaces make our achievements wilt and wither in their shade. Yet with Sir Bobby it was different. We adored Sir Bobby not because of what made him different, but from what made us the same. We had the same dreams, the same morals, the same expectations and the same beliefs. We shared a belief in things being done a certain way and, most importantly of all, we shared a mutual love for this small, globally insignificant corner of England where we came together as one of the final bastions of a fast-fading type of community.

We treated Sir Bobby as one of our own – and rightly so. But if he couldn’t have been from Martlesham, Stowmarket, Bury or even Haverhill then I’m glad he was a Geordie. They know a hero up there, and they know how to worship.

People say we won’t see the likes of him again and maybe they’re right. Football people are increasingly being driven and influenced by the commercial priorities of modern life. The game we grew up with is passing from the passionate to the paymaster and the road we’re on is littered with computer games and beach soccer tournaments.

There is therefore more to mourn this summer than one single man. Sir Bobby stood for all those great footballing traditions we so want to retain – the man management, the charisma, the sporting imperative and the honest humility of good people doing the right things for the right reasons.

But perhaps we shouldn’t think too much about what dies with Sir Bobby – now may not be the time to face the hornet’s nest that is Twenty-First Century Football. Now is the time to remember and salute the Geordie Gent that arrived as our gamble – and left as our Godfather.

My Dad once told me how sad he was that I never got to meet his father, who died in the 1950s.

“You’d have loved him”, he said. “He was a lovely man”.

Hearing him say that has always stuck in my mind and in my throat. And maybe it goes some way to explaining why I feel the loss of Sir Bobby so tangibly. It was not just what he meant to me, but what he meant to other people as well. I may never have been personally touched by his simple, human magnificence, but I have been surrounded by it every moment of my life. All 33 years of it.

Goodnight Sir Bobby. Thanks for everything…and don’t worry, we promise to take care of your ‘beloved Ipswich…’

UCLES* v Engineering (20/07/09)

Before we were married, my wife and I used to live in a small but well-maintained cottage on a large country estate. It had an impressive garden which carried with it all the treats and shrapnel of country life - surprisingly large insects, the remains of rabbits and pieces of metal that probably fell from the sky during the war. It also had an old-fashioned cess pit into which drained all the household waste we could accumulate on a small budget and a questionable diet. This indelicate yet traditional featurette required us, occasionally, to face the joyous prospect of sticking long metal poles down small metal tubes to extricate not unreasonable pieces of our own excrement from the system.

It was just one of those unpalatable yet unavoidable facts of life.

On a completely unrelated issue the UCLES* cricketers this week found themselves playing yet another cup-semi final against Engineering. The game began amidst the heady niff of an English Ashes victory at Lords. The last time England beat Australia at Lords it was 1934 and that summer UCLES recorded just two victories, firstly against a Physics team that were close to splitting and secondly a Molecular Biology side that were yet to exist.

On Monday, with the traditional 40-over afternoon contest unrealistic in these busy times, a mutually inconvenient 30-over contest was agreed, to start at 4pm. Effervescent with charm, the Engineering side arrived in ill-matching clumps, like a draft moving through a meeting of Alopecia Anonymous. Shortly before the end of Countdown the coin was tossed and Skipper Bobby decided to bat.

At 4.20pm, with UCLES* batsmen twiddling oversized thumbs, the game finally began with just 8 fielders, one of whom was mysteriously twelfth man - but more of him, or perhaps less of him, later. With more singles on offer than at a computer gaming convention, Linsdell and Thwaites dallied slightly and squeaked their way apologetically through the opening overs with all the effectiveness of Joe Pasquale facing down a rabid tiger with a week-old bunch of daffodils. Thwaites in particular was developing something of a nervous tick outside off stump. Had he been Henry VIII's executioner, Anne Boleyn's head would have been displayed in the Tower on a toast rack.© Blackadder II

It was at this point that the Engineering side (which had slowly swelled to capacity like an old man's colostomy bag) strangely became 12. Linsdell and Thwaites watched from the middle as much arm-waving and finger-pointing ensued whilst the cuddling opposition skipper attempted to convince the UCLES* cricketing hierarchy that this new individual should actually be playing and the perfectly reasonable individual that had been fielding thus far was actually twelfth man. Some bizarre, and as yet unclear, compromise was reached and so we started again, slightly older and marginally more irritated.

As is always the case, Engineering were sweet and reflective in the field, offering dignified and unobtrusive support to their bowlers. Having had their polite request for the dismissal of Thwaites turned down on the basis that he wouldn't have edged it with a canoe, they were unfazed and refused point blank to be drawn into a boring and mindless period of abuse and ridicule. Oh no, hang on...

In spite of their ambling start, the openers took the total beyond 50 before Thwaites holed out at straightish mid-off. Wylie joined Linsdell and the accelerator was depressed until the latter was caught between a young man's thighs for the first time since an unfortunate incident at 'Ziggys' nightclub in Eastbourne one summer weekend in 1995. Thereafter, the UCLES* batting listed, lolled, rolled over and then sank beneath the waves of decent if unattractive attack - rather like being savaged by a poorly groomed Doberman. Scattering flower petals and happiness at every turn, Engineering took the last UCLES* wicket in the final over, leaving themselves an eminently achievable 150 to secure their rightful place in the final.

Back at the pavilion, Little Miss Linsdell was asking Ladds how old he was. But before Robin had a chance to respond he realised he had forgotten both the question and the answer.

In times gone by, UCLES* sides may have wilted in such circumstances like a Curlywurly in a sumo wrestler's arm-pit. But this small group of exam administrators are made of slightly sterner stuff and, stirred by the traditional goading spoon of the glorious opposition, they rose to their full stature like Godzilla after some bloke presses that red button in the 1980s cartoon. Ordish set the tone, whistling in from the Tennis Court end with relentless and controlled pace whilst at the other end Daniel 'Spitfire' Spittle unleashed his full 15-yard follow through with accompanying stare.

Ordish struck stumps early and that brought to the crease the handsome figure of the mysterious, late arriving '12th' man, fresh from his subtle and erudite observations during the first innings. The UCLES* fielders bid him a warm welcome and then, one thick edge later, a rip-roaring goodbye, complete with jugglers, fireworks and a well-choreographed finger wagging send-off from Spitfire.

Far from the walk in the park they were expecting, the visitors suddenly realised that a game had started and it was now the turn of the UCLES* fielders to decorate the air with observation and advice. Put under genuine pressure the special ones began to fade and panic, swiping wildly at the ball like a toddler trying to stab a fly with a cocktail stick. With just 149 runs in the bag, UCLES* knew that they would have to bowl out Engineering to win and so they strived. Kodavati and Wyatt took up the fight and there was much gnashing of teeth as edges were beaten and pads struck. Wylie took a thunderous catch on the boundary and at 111 for 6 the outcome was as uncertain as Prince Harry's parentage.

But in the end the home side were limited by their moderate total and umpires that had their arms stitched to their sides. By the time Linsdell's second over went for about 80, the game was up and the visitors scuffed their way to victory with all the dignity you would expect. You've got to give the Engineering players credit. So keen are they to ensure that the inter-departmental league and cup continue to thrive in their long-established traditions and spirit that they selflessly lend themselves out to other departments during the season. Indeed Spitfire made such a comment to their skipper during the post-match sweating and a polite kerfuffle ensued.

In 1843, Isambard Kingdom Brunel, arguably Britain's finest ever engineer, accidentally inhaled a half-sovereign whilst performing a conjuring trick for his children. After a number of reasonable attempts to remove the item from his windpipe he was forced to strap himself to a board and was shaken repeatedly upside down until it came free. Brunel wiped the coin on his handkerchief and replaced it in his coat pocket. When he relayed the story to his contemporary Robert Stephenson some weeks later, the latter remarked, "…but what Brunel, of your dignity?" To which the great engineer replied, "You may keep it, and I shall keep the half-sovereign…"

UCLES 149 all out (29.3 overs)
Linsdell 57 (58 balls)
Thwaites 23 (46 balls)
Wylie 27 (31 balls)
Vice 1 (3 balls)
Wyatt 6 (5 balls)
Skipper Bobby 2 (6 balls)
Brock 5 (8 balls)
Walsh 4 (7 balls)
Ordish 1 (3 balls)
Kodavati 0 (3 balls)
Spitfire 1 not out (2 balls)

Engineering 153 for 6 (27.2 overs)
Ordish 2 for 25 (7 overs)
Spitfire 1 for 49 for (7 overs)
Wyatt 2 for 20 (7 overs)
Kodavati 0 for 24 (3 overs)
Linsdell 0 for 17 (2 overs)
Vice 0 for 15 (1.2 overs)

Engineering win by 4 wickets

UCLES* v Physics (16/07/09)

My paternal grandmother was not a good cook. She was famous for serving gravy by the slice and a piece of her fruit cake kept the kitchen table level for nearly 7 years. Her crowning glory however came Easter Sunday 1983 when she presented family dinner guests with a peach flan inadvertently glazed with creosote. As one would expect, we politely enjoyed the dessert, with a fair lug of clotted cream, and all would have been well had Great Uncle Stan not collapsed and died of extensive oropharyngeal ulcerations just after Songs of Praise. His cremation took six days.

The contents of Nana Linsdell's cookbook was at the back of no-one's mind last Thursday as UCLES* took to the fields of St Catz to resume a 57 year struggle with the Department of Physics. Ladds and Murray made a glorious return to UCLES* spectatorship and unfurled themselves upon a bench with a cheeky handful of hops and fizz.

Skipper Bobby lost the toss and raised his eyebrows when the opposition skipper roughly inserted him. Linsdell and Thwaites waddled to the wicket like ducks with dysentery and they were immediately asked a series of difficult and probing questions by the opening bowlers, like Jeremy Paxman grilling an adulterous lover. It took them a little while to wind-up but Linsdell eventually managed four shots of purpose, including his first two maximums of a largely profitable season.

When Thwaites and Linsdell departed UCLES* progress slowed to that of a wet, three-legged St Bernard climbing up hill through a river of fast flowing golden syrup. Only Vice and Wylie profited late on with some sumptuous drives to take UCLES* to a notably under par 123 for 7 in their 20 over allocation. Against a strong Physics side, it already looked a couple of lilac leisure suits short of a WI aerobics class.

Having been sledged by his talkative if seemingly inconsequential brother for much of his time at the crease, Ordish began with purpose and direction. With the chirpy hoop of Spittle at the other end UCLES* were staying firm beneath a barrage of blows and stretching the evening towards dusk. The opposition, clearly expecting to be home in time to run a highlighter pen through a couple of chapters about the principles of inertia before bedtime, were obviously startled by increasingly contemptuous bowling and a fielding side that fizzed and chirped like a budgie on a barbecue. UCLES*, backs to the wall, were warming to their task.

Vice and Kodavati danced provocatively in the windows dressed by Ordish and Spittle and both were unlucky not to collect more wickets, especially with one catch that entered and then passed through Skipper Bobby like a piece of sweetcorn on steroids. Stretching and dragging out the contest with all the tenacity of a Yorkshire Terrier eating a crocodile, UCLES* took the game to the final over before a clipped full toss passed beyond the Superman dive of Walsh and to the boundary. The scorebook will hiss softly with the lie of an 8-wicket defeat but in truth UCLES* were just a muffin-sized piece of fortune away from a brave and unlikely victory.

Defeat, like Nana Linsdell's cooking, is sometimes difficult to swallow. But with a good lug of spirit, a side serving of managed aggression and a healthy dose of espirit de corps there is always something to take away from such disappointment…which is what we used to do…usually from the dreadful Chinese on the High Street.

UCLES 123 for 7 (20 overs)
Linsdell 32 (25 balls)
Thwaites 31(36 balls)
Robinson 6 (17 balls)
Skipper Bobby 0 (1 ball)
Brock 1 (3 ball)
Walsh 0 (1 ball)
Vice 14 (9 balls)
Wylie 18 not out (14 balls)
Ordish 6 not out (6 balls)

Physics 125 for 2 (19.2 overs)
Ordish 0 for 26 (5 overs)
Spittle 1 for 30 (5 overs)
Vice 1 for 32 for (5 overs)
Kodavati 0 for 24 (4 overs)
Skipper Bobby 0 for 4 (0.2 overs)

Physics win by 8 wickets

Philanderers v Sarcophagi (28/06/09)

Consider if you will, the perfect English summer's day.

The grass beneath your ample picnic is short and soft but you smile at the youthful cheek of those few daisies that avoided the mower's teeth. A light breeze stirs the icing sugar that crests a Victoria sponge - homemade with more butter than necessary and more cream than polite. The sky is a Ukrainian blue and an anchored armada of soft white clouds shift and stir with restless ease. It's May, maybe early June and the triumphant rolling of Elgar verse leaps from every birdsong and bumble bee buzz.

By the end of the week though, there is a problem. The temperature, which had been tightly managed by wind and history, has started to rise and by Sunday, the smell of heat had taken to the air, hanging around like a childhood memory. The English have a deep, in-bred intolerance for raw heat (scones are served warm, not hot) and once the ambiently comfortable 75 degrees is passed our grumpiness radar starts to bleep away like a reversing milk float.

For generations, whilst griping about the dark and the rain, the English have held an unwritten belief that anything approaching 90 is simply not sporting - just not cricket. Accept of course last Sunday it was just that - barely at times, but it was cricket nonetheless. On a day of churlish and ugly heat, the Sarcophagi came alive.

Skipper James, with the notable help of Thwaites, had dipped deep into his battered book of cricketing characters to pull together a side to do battle with the lightly greyed genius of Philanderers. The coin toss went against the former UCLES* tweaker and Philanderers chose first use of a sneaky stripe of green softness.

Isaac and Hanwell had first use of a ball shaped like a Frenchman's favourite bulb vegetable, crafted perhaps by a back pocket and an ample pair of buttocks. The early stages were certainly competitive and it quickly became clear that early on, the main threat to the Sarcophagi bowlers would be the youngest Philanderers player, a man whose contribution to post-match war stories would largely be limited to memories of a school project about the Falkland Islands.
After a strong start from the hosts, a Frankland catch off Hanwell gave the Sarcophagi their opening 'first class' wicket.

With the contest developing nicely like a 6x4" in a vat of Chromogenic material, Hickey replaced Hanwell and quickly began to suspect that it wasn't going to be his day. Stumping appeals and comfortable catches passed in a flash and then Monk attempted to catch a miscued pull shot with all the grace of a sloth trying to catch a falling sandcastle between two rolling pins. Hickey's face was a picture. A lost mixture of bewilderment and disappointment, like a dinner party host that had just caught Winston Churchill wiping his backside with a hand towel.

Hickey's time would however come, firstly as Lord threw himself forward to take a fine catch like a man that almost missed a bus despite standing at the stop. Further wickets fell, punctuated by glorious shots from the most dog-eared pages of the manual. It had been a pleasing if not always pretty effort in the field from the Sarcophagi, with Thwaites lively behind the stumps, quipping softly like Stan Boardman at a school fete and ultimately Philanderers posted a perfectly interesting 159.

Mr Kipling and Mr P.G. Tips delivered tea, in their inimitable style, as the mercury passed out in the heat.

The Sarcophagi opening pair were Linsdell and Anstee and both started confidently until Anstee nicked a snorter. Monk joined Linsdell at the crease for the first time outside UCLES* colours. Although progress was sufficient, the Sarcophagi batsmen were clearly wearing the heat like an ill-fitting hat. With echoes of greatness in the bowling, there was no time for reflection, particularly on a wicket that threatened occasional blows to the face, like a blind man practicing Riverdance in a rake shop.

The batsmen decided to wait for one particular opening bowler to tire, but it was ultimately fruitless, like driving slowly on a trip to see your mother-in-law in the hope that her coastal home would fall into the sea before you got there. With the heat folding in on itself like a badly tossed pancake, Monk and Wylie fell away and Linsdell, batting with all the elegance of a brown bear painting toy soldiers, ended a half-century with a shot ugly enough to lose any game. With Lord gone, and clouds gathering in threatening but ineffectual pockets like Russian soldiers invading Finland in 1939, Thwaites patted back the onion for a fragrant maiden leaving a run-a-ball 18 from the final 3.

Not for the first time, Skipper James prematurely declared cricket the winner, but Thwaites had other ideas and with some scampering and decent striking he pushed The Philanderers into a disappointing but dignified third.

And so The Sarcophagi began what will doubtless be an illustrious history with a tightly yet honourably fought triumph. Once again, The Philanderers proved that aching limbs are nothing to glinting eyes and vivid memories, re-colouring the outlines of the past. Age is nothing. My great grandfather once made 114 not out for the Salvation Army at the age of 89. He was a firm believer that all runs should be made on the front foot, which is admirable, but on that particular August afternoon it did mean that he fell out of his wheelchair 27 times.

The Philanderers 159-9 (35 overs)
Isaac 7-1-23-2
Hanwell 7-0-36-2
Frankland 11-1-47-0
Hickey 7-2-23-3
Anstee 3-0-21-1

The Sarcophagi 160-5 (34.3 overs)
Linsdell 68
Anstee 6
Monk 34
Wylie 8
Lord 5
Thwaites 15 not out
Isaac 5 not out

The Sarcophagi win by 5 wickets.

UCLES* v Chemical Engineering (04/06/09)

My great grandfather was wounded at Passchendaele in 1917. The fact that he was more than two miles from the front line and tumbling out of the upstairs window of a Belgian brothel at the time is a fact my family tend to gloss over. Whilst recuperating in hospital in Hampshire my great grandfather met an astonishing solder called Corporal Tim Throbber who had lost both his legs to a errant shell in the Spring.

Together they passed the long summer evenings playing chess, discussing the war and creating elaborate tapestries from the dreadful clothing brought to the hospital by well-meaning locals. My great grandfather eventually recovered from his injuries of ill-repute and returned to see out the war in the catering corps, creating amusing shapes from mouldy root vegetables.

It was nearly 20 years until he saw Corporal Throbber once more, on Southend sea-front where Throbber was selling ice-creams from a small tray balanced on his limited lap. My great grandfather bought a Raspberry Ripple and found it pleasing. My great grandfather's elderly donkey had a cream horn.

The two ex-soldiers discussed old times and shared their suspicions about the intentions of the smartly attired but questionably motivated Mr Hitler. They parted warmly like a rice pudding and were never to meet again. My great grandfather lived to be 112 and kept wicket for the Salvation Army way into his 90s. Corporal Throbber was sadly killed in 1955 after he fell asleep in a field of Barley and was run over by a combine harvester. The local police spent two full days looking for his legs.

What is the relevance of this enlightening tale I hear you ask. Well frankly I don't blame you…
Kings & Selwyn playing fields are what the ancient Greeks used to call 'a very large piece of grass'. According to the 1450 Census of Land, Acreage and Rivers some parts of this vast field are technically France. Whatever its girth, Kings & Selwyn has been a happy hunting ground for UCLES* in recent years, most recently in a sound demolishing of the police force the previous week, although not in a constitutional sense.

Early preparations were disrupted by the arrival of Cox dressed like a blind man who had robbed an Oxfam shop. Bizarrely, along with ASDA loafers, he was daringly sporting Guy Lane's trousers after the moustachioed veteran had gone to Argentina in just his pants. Robinson rescued Cox from total embarrassment by producing a spare pair of trainers from his bag, rather like a corner shop owner would discover pornography 'out the back'. Despite this gallant rescue, Cox still began the game looking like a small boy that had lost his kite.

The game started some 20 minutes late after the Skipper Bobby and the host captain from Chemical Engineering decided they needed to walk the 4 mile round-trip to the pitch to toss the coin. The spin went against the UCLES* man and the visitors were inserted on to a green sponge, fresh from a vigorous bath and only a light squeeze.

In the opening overs the ball misbehaved outrageously, causing Linsdell and Thwaites to pull strange, involuntary faces like epileptic clowns. Linsdell in particular was lucky to survive two tight attempted run-outs and an airy waft through to the 'keeper. But as time passed, so the vast pockets of space began to mock the fielders and runs came frequently and freely. Linsdell, fresh from an unbeaten hundred in his previous knock, was starting to make decent contact, including one punchy drive that raced over the boundary and had to be fielded from the doorway of a Fromangerie just outside Lyon.

Frustrated by a pitch as clingy as a nervous toddler, Thwaites succumbed trying to lash the ball into the car park and Wylie strode to crease. The housewives' favourite had a strange glint in his eyes - half-menace, half-desire. A new bowler appeared. After warming-up for half-an-hour, marking his run out three times and translating 'The Wind in the Willows' into ancient German, the first change then saw his lovely red ball thrashed to all parts by Wylie with elegant, breathless ease. Memories of Monk's astonishing assault on this ground a few years back came to the fore until Wylie fell trying to introduce another bowler to new and interesting forms of humiliation.

Robinson joined Linsdell, who had now added 'losing balls in distant ditches' to his short list of lifetime achievements, and the latter moved passed 50 as the UCLES* total started to dampen the opponents belief. Running hard like obese builders chasing a battered sausage, the two middle-agers lifted UCLES passed the 100 mark and on towards prosperity. Linsdell succumbed for 72 with a handful of overs to go - caught having hit the ball into the clouds.

Skipper Bobby joined former-skipper Steve and slowly, then quickly, then slowly and then very quickly they set about taking UCLES* out of sight. The final over was a painful affair, with a part-time bowler delivering a fragmented and disjointed mixture of bobblers and bubblers. Robinson in particular filled his boots greedily like a man that hadn't eaten since a buffet to celebrate the marriage of Prince Andrew and Lady Sarah Ferguson. UCLES* ended on 162 for 3 in their allocation and although the fat lady wasn't singing, she was certainly having a little gargle.

Despite their bolshie total, the UCLES* side surveyed the large fielding arena at the start of the opposition's reply with all the enthusiasm of Gordon Brown at a cabinet meeting. And in an attempt to save their legs they produced some of their best ground-fielding of the season - sharp, incisive and, in Kodavati's case, as over-zealous as a Tasmanian Devil on Tic-Tacs.

But even without the sharp fielding, the stage was set for the bowlers. Ordish and Spittle were miserly and aggressive and the contest was flattened within a few minutes. Wyatt joined the fray and produced the eye-catching contribution of the game with some accurate and demanding bowling. The excitement got too much for Cox who shouted "come on John…" to nobody in particular.

With Kodavati strangling one end, Wyatt whistled through the middle-order and he was only denied a deserved 5-wicket return by Wylie spilling a dolly with all the grace of a Tyrannosaurus Rex trying to catch a Monkey's fart between two frying pans.

With the game fading like a 1970s photocopy, Skipper Bobby turned to Parsons for a cheeky over of spin. Instead she sent down some incredible bouncers. The first ball bounced six times, the second just five. Just when it looked like Barnes-Wallis would be required to keep score, Parsons snuck in a straight one that yorked the batsman on the second bounce. Stumps trembled and bails fell in a cacophony of silence. People looked at each other across yawns of gloom...I guess that must be out. Forget the background, read the scorebook.

The hosts survived the full 20 overs but their final total of 102 for 8 was scarcely worth the effort. UCLES* finished the game with a near impertinent swagger and their progress may not quite be a runaway juggernaut but it is perhaps an old Luton van with dodgy breaks and a three-piece suite in the back.

The only disappointment for UCLES* is that Wyatt was denied a 5-wicket haul. Wylie could have blamed the fading light or maybe an irreverent spin of the ball. But Wylie knew, just like Corporal Throbber, that he didn't have a leg to stand on. Ithankyou...

UCLES* v Metallurgy/Zoology (14/05/09)

The BBC is a wonderful institution - enduring, iconic, steady and as self-loathing as any British subject could ever aim to be. Were the BBC a cricket shot it would be a stout forward-defensive followed by an unequivocal cry of 'NO' and a polite yet emotionless nod to the bowler. There would be no logo visible on the batsman's attire, save for the embroidered crest on his deep green cap and the 'Gobblefrunk of London' stamp on his faded cravat.

A wonderful institution indeed, but probably the most questionable predictor of weather since the owner of the Old Cornish Stores shop in Boscastle threw open the shutters of his store to see a beautiful Monday morning in mid-August 2004 and shouted to his wife "It's going to be a belter Maureen, get rid of all those kagools and order another tub of Devon Vanilla..."

The BBC website is particularly to blame, with forecasting akin to leaning out of your bedroom window and counting how many farm animals you can see sitting down. So I should have known that when it told me last Monday morning that our Thursday fixture at St Cats was destined to be washed-out by a torrential storm, rain was about as likely as an MP paying for his own Marks and Spencer’s meal for one.

And so t'was beneath a sky of magnolia hands and coalman's fingers, that UCLES* took to the field for their first home league game against Metallurgy/Zoology - looking with absurd optimism at a second win in a week.

Engaging in a typically underwhelming warm-up prior to bully-off, the UCLES* fielders noted that the opposition carried in their ranks an attractive young lady warming-up in a manner which suggested she may have been no stranger to the game. A ripple of fear passed through the onlookers like the cool chill of a toddler's stare. Lane observed that she was 'very nicely kitted out', a comment that we all deemed to be inappropriate for a man of his standing.

Skipper Bobby lost the toss and the opposition skipper made what would end up being a notable error of judgement - UCLES* were to bat. Linsdell and Robinson rolled smoothly onto the field like retired Daleks taking the air on Worthing promenade.

Linsdell began cautiously, like a man trying to hit an echo with a memory. He finally opened his account with a streaky edge to the third man boundary and the tone for the next hour was set. Having warmed up slowly - like a frozen Cornish pasty in the Spring sunshine – the opening pair were beginning to manage the bowling and milk it with hard running and occasionally hard hitting.

Despite a reasonable effort from the visitors’ attack, a fast outfield and reliable track was giving ULCES* a healthy start. Linsdell in particular was now making positive progress, like a slug that used to be a snail. But any swashbuckling intentions were stymied by the appearance at the ‘Relatively-infrequently-used-tennis-courts End’ by a certain well-kitted out young lady. Linsdell was the first to face the impossible position. A scything attack would be ungentlemanly and a dismissal unthinkable. The opener chose the only dignified route, scrambled a single and scampered to the other end like a banana running away from a bowl of custard. The over was survived.

As Linsdell snuck past 50, so Robinson departed, unlucky to fall to a fine catch at mid-on. Wylie joined Linsdell and delivered a couple of impressive blows but another cowardly quick single then brought the new man face-to-moisturised-face with aforementioned young lady. The contest was a thing of beauty but Wylie’s attempted hoik to leg was not. He was snaffled at short fine leg and returned to the polite smiles of the pavilion.

With the fear of failure limited by Wylie’s selfless gesture, Linsdell (pictured below with a cake) and Thwaites were able to push on with confidence. The former, though fading among screaming lungs and furious muscles, eventually clipped a sharp brace to take him to his third UCLES* century and his first at the home of cricket. UCLES* innings closed soon after at a reasonable but not insurmountable 158 for 2.

UCLES* knew that quick wickets would probably secure victory so the mood was upbeat amidst the gathering gloom of the snarling clouds of May. Ordish and Wyatt clearly had too much for one of their opening batsman and his early departure gave UCLES* the impetus and saw the required rate edge swiftly pass the 10-an-over mark. Ordish picked up a second wicket in an impressive opening spell and the hosts were well in command.

Lane, Skipper Bobby and Brock all did more than enough to drive home the advantage and would have been amongst the wickets themselves had UCLES* catching ability matched up to their bowling.

Linsdell, who had been fielding like a Barbie doll with its arms in the wrong sockets even got a chance with the ball – a clear sign if t’were needed that Skipper Bobby felt the game was nearly up. The centurion finally finished the contest by running out the visitors leading scorer and UCLES* were impressively home by 31 runs.

The statisticians will highlight Linsdell’s hundred with their spitty felt-tips but those present will also remember a fine all-round team effort and the pathetic, sexist and immature attitude of all parties to the unspeakable joy of Wylie being dismissed by a girl. A talented girl she may have been but it won’t say that in the scorebook - his teammates have seen to that…

UCLES* v Molecular Biology (05/05/09)

There was a musty note of nostalgia in the air as UCLES* took to the playing fields of Luard Road to face Molecular Biology in their opening game of the 2009 season.

For Linsdell it was a return to his sixth form years as a Hills Road student, where he spent many days failing to impress plain looking young women despite sporting an expensive suede waistcoat and enough hair to tightly pack a small scatter cushion. For Lane, the return to Luard Road was slightly darker - some 25 years since an ankle crushing game of rugby. One can imagine him now, dressed manically, with youthful facial hair and a tangible sense of gay abandon. No doubt he was also the same in the 1980s…

Skipper Bobby immediately bucked the trend set by his erstwhile predecessor by winning the toss. The five other UCLES* players present stood in the pavilion and watched him bounce back to the middle with all the smugness of Sir Richard Branson at a Grand Prix and genuinely still expected to be fielding. But such paranoia was unnecessary - Linsdell and Lane donned the fluffies.

The opening pair strode out to a wicket that was neat and bright but with enough grass to suggest that consistent bounce would be an optional rather than compulsory feature. Alongside the pavilion, large trees danced in a intoxicated vomit of emerald Englishness. The sky, earlier an impertinent grey, now relaxed in rolls of blue and coughs of white cloud. The setting was picked straight from the bitter memories of Brooke, Sassoon and Owen and the fresh kisses of summer were drying on the cheeks of Spring. It was nearly time.

After a winter of snow and the colours of rotting life, every cricketer welcomes the opportunity to step to the rhythm of a cuckoo's song. Unfortunately, such enthusiasm is no replacement for quality and UCLES* opened their season with a performance that stank like a slice of my late Grandmother's Stilton and Tuna Surprise.

Lane and Linsdell set the tone by digging themselves into a quiet and run-less hole. Lane fell first, bowled by a ball that zipped along the surface like a mouse on a matchstick go-cart. Debutant Thwaites began well only to be snuffled by sharp catch at point and Linsdell chipped meekly to mid-wicket. When Brock succumbed soon afterwards, UCLES* were 17 for 4 in the eight over - redefining the art of 20Twenty cricket.

Skipper Bobby mustered the first boundary of the innings with a hefty swipe to leg before Walsh carried on from his 2008 form with a series of effective wristy flicks. Despite occasionally having all the elegance of a Labrador chasing a windswept pile of leaves, Walsh's unnervingly accurate eye was considerably more effective and dogged than what had come before. Skipper Bobby departed for 10, closing followed by Ordish and Kodavati who were both back in the pavilion before Skipper Bobby had removed his helmet.

It was left to Walsh and second debutant Wyatt to edge UCLES* to a barely respectable 73 - with Wyatt's power particularly eye-catching. Walsh's demise left UCLES* eight down and thus - with a side of just 9 players - all out.

To have any chance of placing pressure on the hosts, UCLES* would need early wickets. Unfortunately, the two strikes they managed both came when the score was 72...not quite early enough.

Ordish and Wyatt both had their moments with the ball but Molecular Biology clearly had the class batsman of the piece and with the occasional lusty blow he kept his side in complete command. With the end just a scruffy single away, Skipper Bobby produced a top-class yorker to ensure a 10-wicket reverse was avoided. The highlight of the UCLES* fielding effort came the following over as Walsh took a flabbergasting catch in front of the railway line boundary to deny the other opener the red ink his half-century arguable deserved. It was a bright end to an uncomfortable defeat and a welcome first UCLES* wicket for Thwaites.

It had certainly been nothing to write home about. Indeed, had a mother received a letter of such a standard it would probably have been stuck to the inside of the bin rather than the outside of the fridge. Only after they had reached 72 did the home side show the vulnerability that UCLES* had demonstrated throughout their innings and despite their endeavour the bowlers never really had a chance to turn the tide.

One can only hope that the season improves from here on or future fixtures will be as welcome as a sneezing Didier Drogba at a Norwegian referees convention.

Nearly time

Jim had worked as a groundsman for nearly 40 years in all, but nothing diminished for him the feeling of easing the stumps into position in the Springtime, topping and tailing the pristine and adored rectangle of bothered grass. Today was no different. He placed the bails with spirit-level fingers and stepped back in pride, rubbing the base of his grumbling spine with calloused but caring hands.

His quiet satisfaction was brought abruptly to a halt by a presence at his shoulder. Jim spun round sharply and saw before him an immense character, his face and body obscured by a dark, flowing cape. In his pale and flesh-less hand he held a farming instrument that was almost as tall as he. Jim believed it was a scythe.

"Excuse me…" a soft but resonant voice began from deep within the endless hood. "You haven't seen Football have you…?"

"I think it went that way" Jim answered calmly, pointing vaguely in the direction of a nearby gutter.

"Much obliged" replied the stranger doffing the top of his hood slightly and gliding into the near distance.

"You're welcome squire" replied Jim the groundsman absently, before stepping lightly forward to brush a daisy petal off a good length.

It was nearly time.

UCLES* v Molecular Biology (30/05/06)

UCLES* 2006 league season began Tuesday night with one of the most complete performances in the history of the club. Indeed, on reflection, it turned out that the fixture with Molecular Biology (known as Mol Bol...no relation to Spag) was as one-sided as the elephant man’s face.

After two postponements at the hands of the moistness of May, the weather finally held its nerve, defying the dark clouds that grumbled their way across the skies like old men bemoaning a modern haircut. It was as typically English as early summer could ever be – indeed it could only have been more so had James Hewitt been sat on a deckchair beside the pavilion, humming Elgar and drunkenly dropping strawberries on to his blazer.

On a pitch that hid damp secrets beyond a tough greenish crust, not unlike a mouldy crème brulee, Skipper Steve chose to bat first and so Linsdell and Siyambalapitiya were tossed out into the stunning green salad bowl like a couple of cherry tomatoes.

A sedate opening over passed by before Linsdell clipped a couple of cheap boundaries in over two to set the tone for the hour to follow. On a pitch that played considerably better than could have been expected after the persistent precipitation the new opening pair applied an unexpected combination of thinking and thudding to put the Mol Bol bowling to the sword.

Linsdell in particular was making good use of his new trampoline-bat, picking up regular boundaries and moving passed 50 inside the first 10 overs. With Siyambalapitiya playing Ernie Wise to Linsdell’s Eric Morecambe, the pair bundled their way passed the 100 mark after just twelve overs. Linsdell fell shortly after, but not before a 19-run over that took his personal tally to 80 and the partnership to 131.

As is so often the case, one wicket brought more as Parikh, Bean and Skipper Steve all fell cheaply. But with Siyambalapitiya holding the reigns, and achieving an excellent half-century, UCLES* reached an imposing 175-4 in their 20 overs. Skipper Steve then gathered the team in the dressing room for a rousing pre-fielding monologue, which was ultimately less Henry V and more Police Academy V. It seemed, however, to do the trick.

With little thimbles of raining tickling the air like a mild but nagging cough, so UCLES* took to the field to finish the job. What followed was one of the most awesome displays of pace bowling ever seen under the UCLES* crest.

Wood and Spittle began the show with an eight-over spell that ended the game as a contest. Just as Wood was cracking middle stumps like rotting late autumn conkers, so Spittle was embarrassing batsmen with late in-swing. Having taken four wickets between them, the openers were replaced by Danson and Ordish, much to the relief of Linsdell behind the stumps who was keeping wicket with all the grace and success of a blind, fingerless monkey trying to juggle sand.

Whilst Danson locked horns for a tense and ultimately unrewarding battle with a cricketer of the female persuasion, so Ordish was producing a smooth and largely unplayable spell to blast away the middle order, taking 3 wickets for a single run in 3 overs. In its own way, it was probably the best bowling display of the evening. Danson finally rattled the stumps for himself as the game drew to its inevitable end whilst Parikh collected the final two wickets with more impressive pace bowling. White also provided a couple of overs of strong support, lighting a beacon for flight and guile among the speed merchants around him.

In the end, 10 wickets had fallen without a chance coming to hand. Nine times UCLES* bowlers crashed the tiring woodwork and just once the pressed fluff of a pad had intervened. It was just as well really, as the late spring chill had fielders wringing their hand like old man Steptoe. Indeed, having admired the astonishing range of pullovers, tank tops and cardigans on show, PC Bean has confirmed he will be investigating to see if any be-flannelled young men were seen ram-raiding an Oxfam shop prior to the fixture.

Ultimately, UCLES* inflicted on their opponents the biggest reverse since Robert Kilroy-Silk entered the Eurovision Song Contest with a cover version of Parkes and Charles’ classic “There’ll always be an England.”

The sun may yet shine on UCLES* cricket.

Blossom

We have a lovely little tree in our front garden. Last week it was ebullient with blossom yet this week it is featureless again, like Morph at Tony Hart's funeral.

That can only mean that Spring, that season of dancing infants and Jane Austen, has launched upon us again and we are just days away from yet another season of unfulfilled expectations and limping dreams. I can hardly wait.

Until then my dears, until then...

Exagerrated Leave

Henry VIII wasn't born to be King. Despite the grandeur and pomp with which Holbein later captured his ageing and swelling frame, Prince Henry was a pious and educated sole, bent on a life of servitude and devotion. But then, tragically, his brother died and Henry was plunged headlong into history like Incey-Wincey spider in the face of a monsoon.

God I'm bored...

Filling the time between cricket seasons can be a long and painful process and having explored the Eastern Front I am now joining Mr Starkey on a flouncy romp through late-Medieval England. When I return, I hope, 'twill be summer again.

In the meantime, please enjoy this parchment, from just a few months ago...to the tune of Greensleeves.

UCLES* Cricket Club v Chemical Engineering (24/07//8)

Winning isn’t everything. Honestly.

But without competition, there is nothing. Without the belief that today might be your turn, your day, your moment we have no contest, no fight and no point. For centuries, human conflicts have ground through years of inertia, despair and stationary decay simply because no side truly believed that they could win.

It would have been so easy for an UCLES* side, a random and confused bundle of old socks spat from washing machines around the world, to have taken to the field last Thursday night with but a shallow teaspoon of belief, wobbling desperately in the hand of a fat, old drunken man with termites eating his wooden leg.

Indeed, had Brock (C) not been a pimp to a veritable production line of young sporting talent, Skipper Bobby may have seen his captaining debut evaporate in front of his eyes long before it ever dreamed of beginning. But they arrived, at the last moment, stepping from a car in unison like a boy band at a key change. Beneath a breathtaking slice of Mediterranean blue, the game was on.

Skipper Bobby appeared seamlessly where Skipper Steve had once stood like previously unremarkable actors moving through white light into the Tardis. Faced with the choice of evolution or revolution, Skipper Bobby chose to make the transition smooth by marching to the toss without a coin and subsequently being asked to field.

What followed was a strange 90 minutes. At times the bowling effort was sublime, nipping and gripping past the edge and each ball brought a real prospect of a wicket. Twice Gould rattled the stumps with glorious in-dippers and even Danson (rtd) managed to pick one up after beating the bat more often than an abusive zookeeper on the night shift.

But in the field UCLES* were failing to match endeavour with intelligence as the ball fizzed around the field, through fingers and into gaps. Farce may be too strong a word, but I shall use it anyway as it is also a very good word. Plinth is also an excellent word but it has no place in this report.

Smith, who confessed in the changing room before the start that ‘he bowled leg-spin’ in the same, sheepish way you may confess to urinating in the communal bath, began his spell with arguably the widest delivery bowled in an UCLES* fixture since Andy Firth’s memorable 20-minute over at Histon. The only difference was that on this occasion the batsman chased it and mistimed a drive from silly point to a racing and sprawling Dewis at deep cover. It was the worst delivery to get a wicket since Trevor Lawrence bowled the Engineering skipper in 2002 off the underside of an overhead pigeon.

Indeed Lawrence would have murmured in Antipodean approval at Smith who was giving the ball so much air it twice had to be replaced due to deep vein thrombosis. Brock and Smith were both among the wickets but the surviving opening batsman was now into an impressive if slightly agricultural groove and the boundary was being peppered like a medium rare steak.

As the UCLES* fielders began to tire, so the opener went clubbing to his century and Chemical Engineering, a side remarkable only for ordinariness, had managed to amass a chilling 172 for 8.

With the sun setting behind them, Skipper Bobby and Linsdell opened the reply with pragmatism rather than ambition. The innings was however curtailed just 3 balls in when those remaining in the pavilion realised no-one was keeping score. The game was held up for five minutes whilst pencil, scorebook and brain were found and a discussion in the middle was held to agree how many runs had been scored. Eventually, it was agreed that there had been 1 and so life could carry on.

Skipper Bobby looked the more fluent of the openers as the UCLES* total passed 50 in just a handful of overs. The visitors’ own leg-spinner accounted for the left-hander with a neat piece of bowling and he also picked up Brock (C) but not before UCLES* most in-form player had rattled a brisk and vital 28.

Linsdell moved passed 50 without ever looking in form and then became hampered by a tight hamstring, hobbling inelegantly up and down the pitch like an ‘It’s a Knockout’ contestant trying to retain jelly in his comedy trousers. But despite this slightly effeminate-looking handicap, Linsdell was continuing to keep UCLES in contention and with 5 overs to go it looked as though Linsdell and returning ex-skipper Dagless had done enough to secure an unlikely victory.

It was at this point, in an ever-developing fog of grey, that the small spoonful of belief began to spill over the edges. First Dagless played-on and then Linsdell finally managed to convince a fielder to hold on to one of the many chances he had offered. Suddenly, it all depended on Brock’s Hollyoaks rejects and slowly, desperately, they picked off the runs until just 5 were needed from the last 5 balls.

Standing nervously 150 yards away at the pavilion, the majority of UCLES* team could barely see the action and only the movement of batsmen between the wickets caught the eye. And then, as the wire was reached and danced upon by a fat, singing lady, there was a shot, a scuffle of feet, a fumble, a shout, more scuffling, a throw, a miss and a general punching of the air. UCLES* were home with a ball to spare.

And so it was the turn of the opposition, who had taken the field full of expectation, to walk back to the pavilion, shrouded in darkness and disappointment, shoulders curved and heads to the floor. It looked great.

As I said, we survive and thrive not on winning but on belief. It just so happens that there is only one thing that makes you truly believe. Victory. Magical, marvellous and unexpected victory.

Open stance

I was passing time in the new UCLES Cafe the other morning, nursing a piping tea and an unshakable sense of under-achievement when I noticed a familiar young man swerving elegantly through the crowds.

It was the beard that caught my eye first, curling nonchalantly across his stout chin like a care-free weasel reclining on a warm rock. My first thoughts were conspicously Elizabethan until I recognised the sharp yet gregarious shoes.

"My word", I exclaimed, "It's Mr Wylie". And so t'was.

Having returned from an ambitious attempt to be somewhere else, rather like an 16th Century explorer sailing round the Isle of Wight for six months before returning to court with a collection of odd-shaped vegetables and a sun tan, Wylie was once more on UCLES turf, brimming with possiblities of a new season.

I cornered him for a long and elegant conversation about cover drives only for him to curtail me with suggestions that he was 'in a meeting'. Confused somewhat, I withdrew.

In recognition of the return of the golden boy of UCLES* cricket I bring before you arguably his finest hour. Although it's not a particularly good argument...

UCLES* v Sanger Centre (12/07/05)

UCLES dismal season experienced a new and thrilling dip Tuesday night with a 3 run defeat against Sanger. Having reduced the visitors to a meagre 93, UCLES contrived to bat the full 20 overs yet still fall short.

When I was at Infant School, failure to bring the appropriate kit meant doing PE in matching Y-front and vest sets - usually in white or blue. When I say PE of course, I actually mean running around a school hall whilst some old lady plays the piano. Sometimes with bean bags, sometimes hoops.

Fortunately for Wylie, no such rule exists in the UCLES cricket club or the blonde bombshell would have contributed to this most recent fixture against Sanger in his gruds - having decided that half the club kit was better off in his parents garage than at St Catz. The UCLES team responded however to this quandary with typical British spirit and warmed-up by tossing a small red Frisbee around like actors in a clothed version of the 1970's sex education film. Further negotiation and resourcefulness eventually brought together sufficient implements to prevent UCLES from having to bat with argos catalogues, car jacks and pavilion benches.

Winning the toss (we at least had a coin), Skipper James chose once more to bowl first on a strip that was so close to the top of the field that Live8 could have been staged between the pitch and the tennis courts at the bottom. The Danny Boys of Spittle and Danson began proceedings beneath and azure sky and an ambient temperature as hot as the inside of a microwaved lasagne. Spittle's erratic radar was once more to the fore, providing more width than the seats at Disneyland McDonalds, but at the other end Danson was miserly and uncompromising, striking first with a light tickle to West behind the stumps. And as Danson tightened the screw so Spittle tightened his line to deliver his best three overs of the season. With Danson collecting a second wicket with what a fast bowler would have called his slower ball, Sanger had bumbled their way to 60 from the first 10, despite having barely hit the ball.

With the game nicely balanced the change bowlers would be key and Siyambalapitiya and Ordish didn't disappoint. With Siyambalapitiya's waving, wobbly balls from one end and Ordish's hard balls from the other, the Sanger batting line-up began to implode. Siyambalapitiya was the main beneficiary, producing a stunning display of accuracy to take 5 for 16, helped by a couple of decent catches from West and Skipper James. Indeed, Siyambalapitiya may have been the first man in recent memory to take 6 wickets in an innings for UCLES had Visage not played ‘fingerless juggler’ beneath a late skier. At the other end Ordish was simply too quick and accurate for Sanger, twice hitting the stumps. When the final wicket was delivered through a Robinson-Linsdell run-out combination the visitors had reached just 93, many runs short of par. Or so it seemed at the time.

Linsdell and Skipper James began the leisurely chase reasonably well with the latter twice finding the boundary in the opening overs. But when Skipper James fell for 15 and then Linsdell the following over for a pad-based 4 UCLES were left with some repair work to do.

Robinson and Wylie went about this process with great control, ensuring the required rate never looked threatening and with wickets in hand victory was looking something of a formality. Sanger's bowlers were however not willing to give the game up and when Wylie fell for 15 they began to scent a possible change of fortune.

With dot balls becoming the order of the day the door began to creak shut on a seemingly unavoidable UCLES triumph. By the time Robinson was run-out for a valuable 27, UCLES required 8 runs from the final over. Despite a couple of wides the final over was largely accurate and a boundary was required from the final ball to see UCLES home. Rather than seeing the ball race to the ropes, a disconsolate Visage saw his willow rattled and the home side had slumped like a holed bouncy castle to 90 for 5, three runs short.

This was the second time this season, and the third time in less than a year that UCLES have lost by less than 5 runs. In truth, the batting display was very disappointing but much can be taken from an excellent display in the field. The batting will be a blip, but the impressive bowling shows every sign of being here to stay.

As this drama unfolded, a middle-aged man in socks and sandals wandered over with a suicidal looking dog. "It's often harder to chase a small total than a big total" he quipped to no-one in particular. I looked around for something to throw at him but to no avail. Maybe Wylie was right to forget the kit after all...

Switch-hit

The last time I tickled the dark cubes of my Dell keyboard cricket was a simple enough game played in-between meals. Suddenly, it is a global commodity, being tossed from hand-to-hand by the sort of people that are usually found trying to eat the Billy Goat Gruff.

It is fortunate therefore that my battered, leather notebook still unfurls itself by natural causes amidst a sea of UCLES* cricketing nonsense. Today, the yellowing pages yawn open in July 2006 when the sweet smell of returning Ashes still hung in the air like the memory of a happy barbecue.

This is one of my personal favourites, if I can be so vain. Close your ears to the insanity of the wailing world and enjoy.

UCLES* v Sanger Centre (11/07/06)

Halfway between Cambridge and Saffron Walden is a little place where the very future of mankind in being shaped and determined. Whilst us mere mortals pass the time clerically enhancing the banality of our existence so those within the confines of the Sanger Institute go about re-defining what it means to exist at all. There is a sign on the front door that says, ‘You don’t have to code DNA to work here, but it helps’. Where God giveth brains, so he nicketh the sense of humour.

Set within the confines of this substantial campus is a small patch of grassland, a recreational area for the staff, like a wheel in the cage of gifted hamster. It is, itself, a nice enough area – but for the train line that scratches nosily behind a dense row of trees – and a large pond dominates one side like an alcoholic's liver. As a cricket venue however it is not the best, speckled with animal faeces like a turkey farm on Christmas Eve, run scoring is harder than origami with wet lettuce.

With no pavilion facilities available the UCLES* stars had to take turns to change in toilets, like something out of a George Michael video. Wylie stood for a moment by the side of the pond looking for three-eyed fish – once more confusing real-life with The Simpsons – as the sun provided another burst of bland and inelegant heat.

Skipper Steve’s luck with tosses is now so poor that he has long since stopped bothering to call. Instead, he just shrugs enigmatically and submits to whatever the opposition captain chooses. In this instance, UCLES* were asked to field.

The Sanger pitch was, as always, a herby minefield and with accurate early bowling from Danson and Wood UCLES* were restricting the scoring. Having drawn the edge more often than Rolf Harris on a U2 tour, Wood eventually took matters into his own hand by hitting the stumps. At the other end Danson’s deliveries were tighter than a fish’s skin.

With just a handful of runs scored in the opening eight overs, the game was dramatically brought to a halt by an attempted pull of Ordish that struck the Sanger opening batsman firmly above the eye. Had he been Marco Materazzi he would probably have rolled all the way into the pond. As it was, he dropped to the floor and had to be tended by West as he bled onto the pitch – fortunately not on a length.

After a few minutes he was escorted off the field to be tended further by an arriving paramedic. A nasty incident that was handled well by West, who perhaps ruined his hero status by wondering out loud whether the opposition had time to clone a replacement.

Just moments after the game restarted another injury was suffered as a Canada goose (Branta canadensis) fielding just behind square on the leg side boundary suffered a glancing blow to the shoulder. Do geese have shoulders? Anyway, despite protestations from Wylie, the paramedic was not keen to tend to the injured bird.

Ordish recovered his composure to collect a wicket in what was now officially the longest over in UCLES* cricket history, some 15 seconds longer than the 76-ball over Spittle bowled during his 2005 ‘erratic’ period.

With Siyambalapitiya bowling a tight and effective spell from one end and Ordish mixing the unplayable with the unreachable, Sanger limped their way to 90-8 in their overs. Having made nearly 200 the previous week, UCLES* had given themselves a great chance of back-to-back victories.

Linsdell and Gill began the chase reasonably well but when Linsdell was bowled trying an extravagant shot the hosts had the early wicket they needed. Wylie’s stay at the wicket was over before Linsdell had re-sheathed his bat, the pop-star fending a rising delivery away from his face and straight back to the bowler. Facing the reality that this was not going to be a quick chase, Gill and Skipper Steve steadied the innings reasonably well but when they both fell in quick succession the double-figure target suddenly seemed a whole lot more daunting.

As the game reached the business end so runs began to come as White, Wood, Siyambalapitiya and, most impressively, Ordish, found the boundary with some powerful blows. But just as the UCLES* appeared to have the game in their grasp, another wicket would pull Sanger back into the game.

When West fell at the end of the penultimate over UCLES* had slumped to 85-9 and the burden of victory fell to two masters of the game – Danson and Ladds. For a moment, just a moment, it was 1970. A pint of milk was a guinea, cars were driven behind a man with a flag and everyone smoked a pipe. Such a heady and intoxicating dream was however crushed moments later as Danson fell trying to smash the winning runs.

Playing cricket at Sanger has always been like playing the banjo with a slice of quiche and once more a low-scoring contest went against UCLES*. If I had a pound for every time an UCLES* side had lost a game by less than 12 runs in the last 5 years then I would probably have a fair fistful of cash – certainly enough to be able to afford a decent selection of vegetables to go with a delicious plump breasted Branta canadensis.

Cow corner

It would be very easy to blame my absence for the last fortnight on further illness (nasty bug that involved passing liquid through a typically 'solid's only' department) and indeed an ever-increasing workload. I could even argue that I have chosen to spend more time with my family.

But the truth is that I have neglected you and discarded my responsibilities like a beaver that gnaws a 1000 trees but never causes one to fall. You will be disinterested to learn therefore that I am back now and hussing once more a globule of nonsense and drivel your way.

Another clash with Chemistry and a triumphant afternoon for a Mr Dagless who formally takes a back seat this year to bring a curtain down on an UCLES career that began when the great new dawn in the USA was about to begin under a man called Clinton.

And Leeds were Champions. I'm not sure which of those is funnier...

For this 2004 fixture, UCLES were Wylie, Linsdell, Daggless, Monk, Bean, Lawrence, Visage, Siyambalapititya, Robinson, Thomson, Danson.

UCLES v Chemistry (06/07/04)

A season of top performances and gutsy victories hit a new peak at Clare College sports ground last night with a highly impressive six-wicket triumph against a formidable Chemistry side.

Clare is one of my favourite places to play cricket. It also, incidentally, one of my favourite girls names. A girl called Clare used to rub my legs in English lessons at school - but that's a different story.

On an exceptionally English summer afternoon, with a salad bowl of open green sighing with contentment beneath a fluffy sky, UCLES once again took to the field first, this time inserted by the Chemistry skipper. Danson and Siyambalapitiya were handed the new ball and began brightly with a decent share of movement and accuracy. "Nice shape Danny" could be heard from Lawrence behind the stumps. I've no idea however whether this was referring to the veteran's gentle away swing or his enviably trim physique.

Despite the strong early bowling performances, it would be a run out that brought the breakthrough. Linsdell and Danson combining to remove the bails on a night where Chemistry attempted and often successfully completed a number of very optimistic singles.

The running was however not as optimistic as the other Chemistry opening batsman who had obviously been watching too much 20Twenty cricket. Playing with all the elegance of a duck caught in fishing tackle he consistently charged the omnipresent Danson to deliver a wild collection of poorly-timed thumps and drafty swipes. UCLES frustration was then only fuelled by Linsdell's low-key attempt to affect a leg-side catch.

Skipper James replaced Danson after a decent spell yet the left-armer was struggling a little for length, with Chemistry batsmen consistently working the ball to leg. Credit here should go to Visage who patrolled the mid-wicket boundary with all the tenacity of a WeightWatchers class chasing a pork pie. In one Skipper James over, Visage clocked up enough air miles for a family vacation to Madeira. Rarely had I ever seen a man so out of breath. But then at that stage, I hadn't seen Dagless bat.

With the home side moving themselves into a position of some strength, Skipper James turned to Bean to replace the unfortunately expensive Siyambalapitiya. After some early treatment, everyone's favourite policeman finally removed the bludgeoner with a good old-fashioned straight delivery. Bean then continued his good all-round form by claiming a second wicket, this time caught by Wylie at square leg, and completing a run-out off his own bowling after some over-zealous backing-up. And Bean wasn't finished - this time turning catcher to take a skier from Linsdell's first over. It was a good catch preceded by a repeated call of "Jerry's!" which caught the ears of everyone within 2 miles of Trumpington. Everyone that is apart from Robinson who continued to shout "Steve's" until milliseconds before Bean claimed the chance.

Once again Linsdell had sneaked in just in time to steal the scraps from the table - taking another three wickets as Chemistry followed the now well-established opposition pattern of systematic collapse. Robinson joined Linsdell in the wickets with a couple of pretty unplayable deliveries late on and having been 120 for 3, the home side posted a respectable but not conclusive 128 all out.

Linsdell and Lawrence began the UCLES reply and after a decent first over, Lawrence was caught-behind off an inside edge to bring Monk to the crease. Despite carrying an average of 174 on his shoulders, Monk was struggling a little with some very inconsistent bounce and pace on a pitch that was proving more mysterious to the UCLES batsmen than was perhaps necessary. With Linsdell scoring occasionally rather than consistently - perhaps guilty of trying too hard for big shots - the UCLES run chase began to stutter and when Linsdell was bowled in the 10th over, the required run rate was already over 8-an-over. When Monk went soon after things were looking bleak, but in Wylie and Dagless, UCLES had the men for the occasion.

Undaunted by the climbing run rate, the UCLES middle-order stalwarts found runs all round the wicket and Dagless, being pushed mercilessly by his younger partner, was finding as yet unseen sources of Oxygen. With the occasional boundary joining the party, most notably from the flashing blade of the talented Wylie, UCLES began to creep in contention. The run rate remained high but stable and with just five overs remaining, the deficit was taken below fifty.

Still with much to do, the pair retained their focus and composure to up the ante further and rattle the thus far composed fielding side. Finally, with Wylie breathing hard and Dagless on his third pair of lungs, the rate dipped for the first time below the run-a-ball rate. Dagless finally fell in the penultimate over, unable to make his ground chasing yet another second. But by then, the work was all but done. Bean joined Wylie at the crease with seven required from the final over and thanks to some typically exuberant scampering and some often unnecessary but highly entertaining diving, victory came within tasting distance. Wylie completed a masterful and heroic fifty and moments later Bean flicked a full toss away for the two runs required for victory. UCLES had reached 129-4, with one ball to spare.

Another sensational UCLES victory with performances of real note across the side. The fielding was unusually scruffy at times but Visage was typically tireless and the bowling probably merited better returns. The real heroes last night were however with the bat where Wylie and Dagless produced a fabulous victory from the jaws of defeat to move UCLES to within a Visage throw of the title.

Too close to cut

And so 2009 is welcomed in against a backdrop of light snow, like a dusting of icing sugar on a festive biscuit. In the distance, through the gloom, the Ashes can be seen massing on the horizon like an anti-climax waiting to arrive.

Our trip in the time machine (the drivers look so much younger than they used to be) takes us now to May 2005 and the unlikely prospect of some sunshine. This was back at a time when Star Wars Episode III was hitting screens in the US, Liverpool were champions of Europe and Israeli soliders were painting the skies with fireworks. How time flies...

UCLES took to this fresh new field as an impressively-strong looking Linsdell, Robinson, Danson, Hall, Dagless, Siyambalapitiya, Ordish, West, Monk, Skipper James and Bean.

UCLES* v Chemistry (12/05/05)

Early season cricketing contests are usually moist, grey and stodgy affairs played beneath ashen skies with regular breaks for rain, lashings of deep heat and extra pullovers. It was strange sight therefore to see this early May contest with Chemistry begin beneath an up-turned beaker of blueness, with only a fresh, chuckling breeze betraying the proximity of the wintriness just passed.

After a season of near total success on the chase, Skipper James granted the visitors first use of a wicket that was shadowed in green but was otherwise drier and firmer than could be expected from a pre-Whitsun track. The St Catz ground was a predictable delight, although my ageing eyes made it 20-25% bigger than August last year.

Having impressed in Nets sessions, Skipper James threw the new ball to debutants Ordish and Hall – a pairing that sounds more northern cabaret circuit than new ball attack. Ordish began down the hill, off a run-up that left Danson bristling with sepia memories and his opening contributions were highly impressive, striking the pitch hard and stinging West’s gloves. At the other end the shape of Hall was also promising and the early overs went UCLES’ way with Robinson and West conjuring a scalp, the first of many run-outs doubtless to come.

And although boundaries began to appear, mostly through edges that would have brought Ordish wickets in a test match, Hall soon opened his account, rattling willow with a full delivery. But these early successes were to be the only bright spots of a generally depressing experience in the field as the Chemistry batsmen began to strike the ball with increasing confidence and authority.

Hall was the first to suffer, with his final over yielding as many runs as the previous four, mostly back over his head into the shadows of the mighty trees, but he was hardly the only one to suffer as runs started to come freely and frequently. The bowlers cause was hardly helped however by the fielding which, despite moments of quality (Dagless producing one diving stop that would have made Indiana Jones proud) was scruffier than a miner’s knapsack. A sprinkling of chances settled on turf rather than skin as UCLES fielders lunged for catches like spinsters chasing a bride’s illusive bouquet.

When the 20th over finally came and went, Chemistry had massed an awesome 184-2, probably 40-50 above par on a decent but not helpful batting track.

Linsdell and his new opening partner Monk began the chase with shimmering new bats and more than a little gusto, Monk cutting hard to the fence in the opening over and Linsdell crashing the first four balls ball of over 2 to various corners of the mighty field. Monk’s contribution was however to be short-lived, unlucky to drag his sixth ball onto his stumps. Robinson joined Linsdell at the crease and the early impetus was retained until the latter skied a further attempt to reach the boundary and fell for a brisk 37. Wickets then began to fall with nagging irregularity, only Dagless (10) and Robinson (27) finding double figures in the middle order.

With a chill evening wind demanding an end to proceedings, Danson returned to UCLES service with the bat for the first time since using a Slazenger V600 to stun a rat in the changing rooms at Churchill in 1982. Having begun sheepishly his shoulders eventually ground loose allowing the UCLES legend to amass a creditable unbeaten 12 in what, for a long time, had been a losing cause. The curtain finally fell with four balls to go – Hall succumbing for a brisk 10 – leaving the home side 128 all out, some 56 runs short.

In truth Chemistry were worthy winners, dominating the majority of the contest, but UCLES can look with some optimism to future fixtures as fielding improves, a new bowling attack begins to gel together and a batting line-up – still managing to accumulate a respectable total in the face of defeat – grows in confidence.