Bulls v Chesham Bois Wrinklys (21/11/2011)

Bulls a Ticking Time Bomb; Crusties Creamed while Pete Pants in his Pants.

I have to be careful here; apparently we have a mole in the club (main suspect; think: pickled egg with glasses) who is forwarding this libelous nonsense on to the other competing clubs of this fair county.
So, we faced the elderly gents of Chesham Bois (I used to spell it 'Boys' afore I saw these old goats) who were delivered to the club in a white council van which smelt of pee and TCP.
I asked one them, "what's your name and what number are you playing?"
He replied "Dunno, ask Matron..."

St John took to the court with the exuberance of a corpse.
He must remember that this is a spectator sport.
If I were his sponsor I... wouldn't be.
The main reason to watch this fading ex international is for betting purposes: how many minutes into the game will he:
- mouth the 'seeyounexttuesday' word whilst giving the impression of sucking a lemon
- successfully place his signature half court, cross court half volley into the tin
- gaze up at the gallery with a word bubble above his head proclaiming "Legs Gone, Help...."
Fair play though, the boy's coming back to something like form that suggests an inkling of a whiff of the shadow of his former self.
Sad to report that there was an unfortunate incident in the showers later between St. John and Mark, his oppo.
Apparently all the old fella said was "I didn't think you were a real 'ginger'..."
3-0 win


Natalie took to the court agin Mick O'Sullivan, a veritable Beauty v Beast clash.
Mick is the hairiest of arses, Natalie not; so a real contrast of ancient wisdom v willowy willfulness.
Mick's canny racket skills baffled Nat early doors; our gal is used to more traditional fare and Mick's bag o' tricks was bewildering and frustrating her. Mick was 2-0 up when the tide turned; youth started to tell; Natalie nailing her drops and hitting high, looping lobs to nullify Mick's killing volleys. As each player tired their retarded dance became slow and clumsy; things turned ugly; Mick body checked Natalie, Nat twatted the 'O' in the mouth with an 'exaggerated' follow through. We had a street fight on our hands. She was 2-1 and 8-3 down but Natalie's short game was starting to tell; Mick's excellent court coverage was questioned; his legs said 'yes', his gaunt, pallid features proclaimed 'F*CK NO'. Two all, Natalie coughing her lungs up, Mick inwardly combusting, he was still nicking crafty points, but Natalie bravely fronted him up to nick the 5th. They say that sport reveals character and this was a huge revelatory curve for young Ms Machin. We all descended for a victory kiss and cuddle; Irene brushed away the puckering pillocks while Howard brushed away a tear...
Meanwhile, we hope that Mick fully recovers from his wounds...
3-2 win

I was playing Chris Jordan who is a crafty, canny mix of flicks and slo' mo' intent; he never really lets you get going if you... let him; so I tried to bully and force the game with a mixture of unconventional 'old man's squash' and aggression; it all came off a bit gay hissyfit but seemed to bedazzle (or seduce) Chris who was happy to squeeze my palm and head for the bar.
3-0 win


Jim hit the court against Rob Ballingall who seems to be growing as a squash player as his body withers; it must be a bit like being spirited around the court by the Ghost of Christmas Past; his delayed drops and exaggerated follow through threw our boy and found Jim's jaw made of glass. No worries though, Coop's is making a habit of picking himself up off the floor to dominate the later rounds and he did so, flooring the venerable veteran 9-0 in the 5th.
Mr Burns is no sore loser and exited the showers happy with a new 'Americana' look that surely impressed our lovely bar maid, Big Bird.
3-2 win


The Camel took to the floor against Pete Smith who was attired in what looked like incontinence pants (see right); surely they were just for the warm up?
No, apparently they had some regenerative quality that made Pete impervious to pain (and ridicule). There was much heckling:
"Christ, they must be comfortable"
"Do they have a post code?"
"Bicycle clips anyone?"
"Yes Pete, your bum does look big in those" etc
Peter is obviously insensitive (or deaf) and rose above the brainless banter.

Meanwhile the Camel was akimbo; Peter's athletic volleying and canny court coverage was rattling our Nige; "HE'S EVERYWHERE" he wailed as Pete negated the Camel's early dominance to tie the game at 2-2. Both battlers were knackered, time for a sup or two between points for the marker; oh, and apparantly my marking sucked; there were some 'sideways glances' from the bois in the gallery. The 5th was no anti climax: both players blazing a glory trail with Pete just coming up short. The Camel's victory celebration was phlegmy, static and 'L' shaped...
3-2 Win

It was great that we ended with the Match of the Evening; a fine evening at that with worthy opponents, vanquished but veritable.
There's life in the old dogs yet as shown in this candid as the Old Bois took it in turns 'disciplining' our ever willing Big Bird.

If Matron lets them out for the night I'm sure they'll be keen to turn the tables for the away leg; although the Bulls are starting to show that they do possess a huge pair of...