“My Hero, Steve”

Match: 16 / 400

Lost by 8 wkts

Team	Total
FFTMCC	140 - 9
D. Shorten 38, M. Rundle 31*
Hythe & Dibden CC	141 - 2
J. Pearson 1 - 20

Most people wake up with hangovers on the first morning of Tour; mine was dropped on my cranium from a cargo plane. My slightly queasy disposition isn’t helped by my twin room smelling of farts and sweaty cricket gear, and also some discarded pint glass which has lent an appley aromatic stain to my beach shorts. Mr Rundle, semi-comatose in his bed opposite, responds to my query regarding morning subsidence with a polite but reasonably firm “fuck off.” Touché, shower up, clean up and face the world. Head back into Hythe for some breakfast at the same pub where you get a kick-in for free in the evening.

I steer away from an afternoon bender on account of last year’s debacle with Lennie, finding pleasant distractions on an elongated pier and the various charity shops dotted about the seafront. As much as an afternoon on the piss is rather enticing, chatting to young ladies enjoying hen dos, I really do want to remember some of this evening’s match if at all possible – especially as it sees my hero returning after several years in exile. The MAD’s 400th game no less.

Me and Lennie.

Steve Parkinson last played for The MAD over five years ago, helping the team to a rather delightful T20 victory over the vertically challenged hobbits of Appleton. Sadly I missed his runs and wickets that evening and also that caustic and defamatory presence that somehow elevates the game above simple jibes and banter. He did return to Oxford a few years later, enjoying a night on the Cowley Road and a chance to watch the weather gods piss all over any hopes of a run out on Sunday. I say run out, he carries that many injuries these days, you’d get more mileage out of fuckered donkey at Maplethorpe.

I first met Steve after he relocated to Cholsey in 2006, citing it “[having] two pubs” and being unable to “afford anywhere nice”. Next door neighbour and MAD regular, Nick Hebbes, somehow persuaded him to turn up to the shittest ground in Oxfordshire – namely Holton – against the equally vapid and cheerless opposition of R. T. Harris. He hereby left a mouth-watering impression by bowling with aplomb, and then discarding his batting attire all over nearby Wheatley following an ineffective glove to slip. It was not just the hilarity of his mental implosion which titillated me, it was the artistry with which he kicked and threw every piece of his apparel, appropriating each item with its own name as they formed a wagon wheel of umbrage.

Steve’s reputation only grew with time, highlights for me being a dodgy LBW awarded against him by the aforementioned Hebbes, and his subsequent threat to draw an acid cock on his lawn. And of course who could forget the iconic photo of him sloping off the field during The Milton Collapse, shortly before trashing the changing rooms – maybe because they called him a “mincer”? (Now that was funny.) But it is Tour where Mr Parkinson is in his element, away from the daily grind of life and the convoluted complexities of relationships, here he allows the inner yob to tear away at the façade of intellectual arrogance and discover his true self. In Louth he was King. The Ambassador. He opened doors for you in that town, just by knowing him. Mostly those doors led to failed nightclubs or pubs painted in blood, but the doors opened nonetheless. Sometimes you wished they hadn’t.

So what would today bring?

Having bypassed the corpse of Mr Hoskins on a highway bench, I wandered into the grounds of Hythe & Dibden CC; the police ticker tape still fluttering in the wind. I winced when spotting a far bank under some trees, a copse of land that had purportedly provided a drunken mattress with which to spoon Tall Bob. Everything seemed vaguely familiar, but possibly only because of photos that remained from that day. I hauled my kitbag to the changing rooms and headed to the bar.

Pleasantries with the locals were interrupted by a vibration from my phone. Steve was running late. His short commute from Lincolnshire to the south coast had come to a grinding halt in Oxfordshire (silly boy). The much loved strip of tarmac known colloquially as “the fucking shitting A34” was at a standstill. No matter, we’ll see you straight at the ground.

Lennie contesting Skipper Smith’s decision making.

Swaying left to right, Skipper for the evening’s TF25, Mr T. P. W. Smith, correctly called whatever was required to see our merry band of Tourists bat first. In front of a decent gallery of Friday local pissheads, Mr Shorten ignored a failure by my good self (9) to enhance his slogging credentials by retiring at 30 after whacking several into the conifers. A man at the top of his barbaric game. Refined and more culturally studied innings came in the form of Pearson’s doughty 11 and Hotson’s eminently pleasing 13.

Having been poised for a sizeable total at 66-1, Dibden’s introduction of left-arm quick J. Mead (3-0-9-3) proved divisive; Chairman Bullock’s golden after gloving a throat ball a standout. With Reevsie also chipping in with a blob to complement that of his inebriated skipper, OAP Carter’s blinkered swish of 5 left The MAD wobbling like a dockhand drunk on 88-7. And still no Stevie P.

Rundle making good on his boast of scoring more than 1 run for the season.

Cometh the hour cometh the… reincarnation? In a jaw-dropping display of rising from the grave, a dishevelled bald-headed guy decked out in blue knee-length shorts wandered out to the middle to join compatriot M. S. Rundle. This living, breathing reanimation of J. D. Hoskins could even bat…. In what was undoubtedly the most raucous, spellbinding and entertaining 20 or so minutes of the day, nay Tour, these two midlife batting-wannabees crashed the ball everywhere. Fours, sixes, edges and some mindboggling running between the wickets pre-emptied Psycho’s retirement on 31*. Retiree Shorten (38) returned to slog some more, before there were… no more… or was there?

Arriving in stately fashion to much fanfare and accolade came one Mr S. B. Parkinson, fresh and chipper from his 7 hour drive. He ostentatiously accepted everyone’s well-wishing’s before belittling the timeout rule to pad up. I greeted him with a huge smile and a backslap, immediately recognising that passive aggressive wanker that lurked just behind the eyeballs. Despite saying “great to see you, Ian”, his eyes betrayed the true sentence which when translated read “you’re such a cunt, Howarth.”

The game slowed.

It stopped, and the noise filtered away.

We all awaited Parky to bat.

Like any true entertainer brought up on the carpets of Louth, nose held high and collar up, Steve went down on one knee and swept his first ball imperiously for four. It was done in that aristocratically aloof manner we’d all come to love and expect. There was no celebratory reaction, just a cursory sneer to his followers spilling their excited pints on the boundary edge as they shouted his name. Showman and a magnet for the rabble rouser to the very last, his efforts ended with the final ball of the innings, stood as he was looking incredulously into Mr Hoskins (18*) eyes. Being at the same end, one of them had to go, so chest puffed out like dignitary, off walked Parky (5). 140-9.

Steve (left with bat) is joined at one end by the reanimation of J. D. Hoskins.

The interval allowed a clamour of wobbling Tourists to reacquaint themselves with our hero or discover him for the first time. As an added bonus, you got to spend time getting shitfaced with another Touring Legend – namely Mr Westmoreland. Despite a career threatening hamstring tear, Moo had also arrived on this day, knowing full well he wouldn’t contribute on the field. A commendable effort indeed, but to be honest, Moo’s got previous experience of contributing nothing on the field – despite not being injured. His dedication to the cause is nonetheless exactly what ‘Clubman’ trophies were invented for – recognising the guys who put team before self. Erm… no, Martin didn’t win that award at the AGM. And, erm… neither did he win the ‘Performance’ trophy for an innings a few weeks earlier that cast shadows over anything anybody else did during the season.

2016 Non-Clubman of the Year – Moo (left).

In reply, H&D set out their stall by pummelling Reeves (3-0-36-0) and yours truly (4-0-30-0) into an adjoining skate park. My figures were better than that, but being a batsman’s game, you just have to draw wind and apply the lube. There was little respite, save for I. White (9) making way for further fireworks as he somehow made Mr Pearson’s lamentable spin bowling (3-0-20-1) look effective. I mean, if you can’t be arsed, James – just say? Thereafter it was more of the same, the only interruption being Mr Parkinson having the audacity to castle the overly talented L. Hodges (24 off 12 balls). Thereafter, Parky joined the rest of the bowlers in asking politely if fielders would mind driving back into town to retrieve the ball.

An 8 wicket shoeing and nothing our Stella-addled Skipper could do about this one. Sometimes you just have to dive on the hand grenade and just take one for the team. In the grand scheme of things, results on Tour are fairly superfluous, a win is great, but it’s more about a coming together, a celebration of our Club and who we are, so fuck it, let’s get pissed.

As the evening wore on and a hazy sun dipped behind the trees, our genial hosts fired up a barbeque. This immediately seemed to transport me back in time… a darkened day approximately a year ago and being sick in their pavilion. Not sure why. Wishing the Hythe & Dibden populace farewell, it was off to bounce pint glasses on the patio of a nearby pub, and then take it turns to scribe vitriol at each other – all in the name of fines and making money for The Club. They never were paid.

Balti Towers was still going strong on our return; those locals barred from town were enjoying their sixteenth pint and making idle threats to stab each other with pool cues. Maybe they weren’t idle. The atmosphere was reasonably convivial considering two of the dockhands were discussing banging the same broad at various points of the previous evening. A joke by the barman obviously slid wide of the goal considering their stony reaction.

We took our multitude of alcoholic beverages into a hidden room at the rear of the guest house – a lock-in of sorts – so that an impromptu conference could be held by the outgoing and incoming Skippers. Questions were fielded and answered in a discordant and at times riotous manner, with Saturday’s Skipper Lennie channelling many of his responses through the mouth of his advisor, Mr Shorten. And then, all of a sudden, at whatever time it was, it was time for bed… unless of course you didn’t have a bed or your co-occupant had fucked off for the night. With the key.

Sensing a tragedy of unrivalled sadness, Mr Rundle and I saw fit to adopt our hero for the night. It was an honour. I subsequently combined some threadbare carpet and Giant Duck for a bed, whilst Mark and Steve slept like a babies in their respective freshly made singles. It’s the way the cookie crumbles.

Roll on Saturday….

‘Spam’

*

Statto Scorecards

Far from the MCC versus Hythe & Dibden CC Played at Ewart Recreation Ground, 5 August 2016 Far from the MCC won the toss and elected to bat Hythe & Dibden CC won by 8 wkts Far from the MCC debuts: none

16 / 400 25 over match

Team	Far from the MCC
#	Batsman	How Out	Total	Balls	4s	6s	FOW
1	I. Howarth	c J. Mead b Jones	9	(8)	2	-	1-23
2	D. Shorten	c J. Mead b Vaughan	38	(29)	5	2	8-133
3	J. W. Pearson	c G. Mead b J. Mead	11	(26)	1	-	2-66
4	J. C. W. Hotson	b J. Mead	13	(19)	1	-	3-70
5	M. K. Reeves	c Jones b Bowman	0	(5)	-	-	5-73
6	M. Bullock	c G. Mead b J. Mead	0	(1)	-	-	4-70
7	G. Carter	b Vaughan	5	(18)	-	-	6-88
8	M. S. Rundle	retired	31	(24)	2	2	-
9	T. P. W. Smith *	c Hodges b Vaughan	0	(2)	-	-	7-88
10	J. D. Hoskins †	not out	18	(14)	1	1	-
11	S. B. Parkinson	run out	5	(6)	1	-	9-140
	Extras	NB2, W5, LB1, B2	10
	TOTAL	(for 9 wickets, 25 overs)	140

#	Bowler	Overs	Maidens	Runs	Wkts
1	Roberts	4	0	26	0
2	Jones	4	1	23	1
3	Taylor	4	1	12	0
4	J. Mead	3	0	9	3
5	Bowman	4	0	38	1
6	Vaughan	4	0	24	3
7	Hodges	2	0	5	0
Note: D. Shorten retired on 32 at 43-1 (7.0 ovs) and returned at 126-7 (23.0 ovs)
Note: M. S. Rundle retired at 126-7 (23.0 ovs)
Note: S. B. Parkinson was absent and batted after the return of D. Shorten

Team	Hythe & Dibden CC
#	Batsman	How Out	Total	Balls	4s	6s	FOW
1	G. Mead †	retired	35	(22)	3	2	-
2	S. Moss	retired	30	(23)	2	1	-
3	I. White	b Pearson	9	(15)	1	-	1-88
4	T. Richards *	retired	36	(19)	6	1	-
5	J. Mead	not out	0	(4)	-	-	2-89
6	L. Hodges	b Parkinson	24	(12)	2	2	-
7	G. Roberts	not out	2	(5)	-	-	-
8	D. Taylor
9	M. Bowman
10	D. Vaughan
11	T. Jones
	Extras	B5	5
	TOTAL	(for 2 wickets, 16.4 overs)	141

#	Bowler	Overs	Maidens	Runs	Wkts
1	Reeves	3	0	36	0
2	Howarth	4	0	30	0
3	Smith	3	0	21	0
4	Pearson	3	0	20	1
5	Parkinson	3.4	0	28	1

MOTM: M. S. Rundle Champagne Moment: M. S. Rundle’s maximum into the trees Buffet Award: M. K. Reeves’ bacon and rosemary stuffed mushrooms

Opposition: V082 / 02 Ground: G074 / 02 Captain: C015 / 04