You might notice that this review of the BSC 2012 Championships mirrors my playing contribution to the weekend's activities: an uninspired and unfocussed thrash around with one or two points of light; displaying an occasional flash of brilliance but inevitably; nowt but disappointing... I'm not bitter mind; just one of many who seems to have lost the will. I was reduced to spectator by an early thrashing from Napoleon, a brief encounter with 'Not So' and then (most hurtful) a rousting by a hopelessly hapless Goldilocks.
How bad must I have been?
In the words of Annabelle Mears: 'Whatever!"
I know that I've published it before but this graph seems to perfectly quantify the weekend's thrashings.
Just dipping my toes for sure but; here's what I saw:
"There's a certain relief in change, even if it is just from bad to worse"
So spake the bard and he wasn't wrong. Inspired by the Basmati team meals we were all hoping for some spicy Madras moments, expecting a Chicken Tikka Massalla compromise, but were served up a soggy Coronation Chicken sarny of a weekend; dependable fare but just a little bit bland and... crusty.
A strange cloud of ennui seemed to permeate the courts and galleries; no new faces really; the same old slightly cracked teapots thrashing around in a vain attempt to cop a final groping feel of their lusty youth. Even the usually dependable 'swinging dicks' were starting to droop and look a little limp and listless...
You could tell that one or two of the deluded 'old guard' sensed that 'this was their time', although it was transparent that it was more than likely their 'last time'.Bullard was bullish in the 'Vintage' tournament; he only had to wade through the lusterless mire; a 'round robin' that was Atko (talentless), Bob Heard (delusional) and Koko (past master) and some silverware would surely be his. The look on little his face as Alexander callously dispatched him back to 'the home' was heartbreaking. He did manage to make the final of the 'B's, losing out to the Machiavellian maestro Courtney-Luck. One wondered whether John was fueled by blind ambition or something more chemical; he just seemed a little too... lusty; indeed you just knew that when the lovely Chris made her inevitable sunday morning offer of 'super sex?', Bullard would finally forgo the soup and plump for option B.
The whiff of Viagra was everywhere; however its only obvious effects were to stiffen PCL's resolve and Atko's back. Courtney Luck was everywhere; a Simon Templar amongst minions; rolling back the years with his dynamic and elegant attempts to finally hit a ball to the back of the court. Ditto Atko who thrashed around like goat in an acid bath but still couldn't trouble the court door with anything like a full length. His semi final 'C' plate agin young Alex Dyson was a memorably turgid encounter; less a case of 'the king is dead long, live the king' , than "does anyone want to buy a 'Prince'? Strings unused..." Dyson junior is starting to show real promise with his mixture of languid length and canny drops. Let's hope that he's inherited his mother's ticker and mental strength. He finally gave up the ghost muttering something about "staying fresh for the paper round." Atko was too tired to be overjoyed but later ventured out for the 'C' final. A glimpsed rear view told that he was playing Carol Hosey (beautiful hair) but a quick pirouette revealed the gorgeous Andy Purnell who'd been hogging the men's hair dryer again. This was a real Beauty/Beast encounter with malevolent Mike's 60 years of experience eventually overcoming Andy's beatific benevolence. Just after the drugs test Atko protested that the only benefit he noticed from the weekend's Viagra injection was that "it stops me rolling out of bed when I'm p*ssed."
The best competitive game that I watched was a muscular romp between Chris Gildersleve and newcomer Antti, our flying Finn. Southpaw Antti reminds me a bit of a genial William Priest (without the "would you mind if we played a let on that winner?" guff) in the way he throws himself around. Chris had no comeback and, predictably, no shots; eventually succumbing to the smorgasbord that is the perky Finn's twitchy finesse. Chris resigned himself to the mundanities of the plate competition; he waltzed to the final where he briefly flirted with Eagen before Andy's weak genes told; typical Welshman; dreams of sheep, ends up sh*gging a calf.
The mentally frail Dyson senior was so overjoyed to beat Neil Bear in the 'A's that he failed to notice Davies leave the court halfway through the second game, indifferent and en route (tardy) to the Army v Navy rugby international. I didn't have the heart to tell Sturge and, hey, a win's a win. Paul Boyle humanely did for him in the next round. It's good to see St. John back on court, witlessly trying to perfect that half court cross court half volley winner that he wistfully dreamt of back in the late 80s. Keep pulling on the pipe and dream on m'boy...
Elsewhere, the ladies were doing that thing that ladies do on a squash court; lots of 'after you's' and 'oops, sorry's" with the least polite gal invariably winning...
Irening Machine has helped me to fill in a few of the yawning gaps here:
Ladies competition:
A total of 8 ladies competed in the A and B grade events, both being played as round robins.
The A final was between last years winner Joanne Smalley and teenager Natalie Machin.
Natalie's game proved too hard and fast for Joanne and Natalie emerged as ladies champion.
The B final saw last years winner, Misa Harrop taking on Pauline Richardson.
The close 5 set match provided excellent squash from both ladies with Pauline coming out as the eventual winner.
Johnny Machin at least offered some cahoonas. He's still a pretty mirthless presence on court but (apparently) it's not all about having a chat and a laugh is it? He was doggedly determined in his Men's 'A' semi against vaguely vapid vet, the vacuous yet venerable Treadwell. Mark seemed to want to be elsewhere (maybe with his hand up some cow's arse); hardly surprising considering the severity with which 'Le Sulk' approached his endevour. Johnny's movement and tenacity has much improved (maybe something to do with chasing all of those reluctant 'Sheilas' around Australian discos) making his ever dependable, occasionally exquisite racket skills more consistent. A couple of rolling nicks saw off Mark's resolve as the youngster dimmed, then extinguished the fading light, putting him comfortably and firmly in his pocket. The final of the Mens 'A' was a different ball game altogether; defending champion Paul Boyle's relentless quality sucked the sap from the sapling; Johnny bent before finally breaking. Paul has the undefinable ability to make the unfathomable seem bleeding obvious; his movement and timing sublime; once he gets to a ball he could peel a banana (and eat it) before deciding on which of 3 or 4 shots to play, making him, essentially... unplayable. You don't need me (or a banana) to tell you of his quality; he's a worthy and (for a Kiwi) humble champion who is a credit to our club. Let's hope that we can keep hold...
Dan wrote his captain's speech whilst marking the Vet's final with me; failing to notice Mark Treadwell capitulating to his shower buddy CK with the lamest of sick notes: "I keep seeing stars" is almost as as lamentable as The Camel's "All at Sea"...
Dan's speech seemed... well, like it was written whilst marking a game of squash; lacking pace, punctuation, form, an average anecdote of past glories; not even a joke or lighthearted aside about Mearsy's new viscose jacket. P*ss poor tumbleweed Dirty. The gallery was relieved to be able to focus on the welcome distraction of the dull, repetitive thud of some lower leaguer trying to warm up a cold ball on court 5.I gave Dirty the chance to redeem himself, asking him to contribute a few sanguine observations to this missive. His response makes a Nic Manley match report read like Hamelet:
Jumping bean - CG
Never was - TJ
Never there - KM
Has been - DF
Too much viagra - (PCL running around all weekend playing 6 matches)
Too much Red Bull - (John Bullard nearly as spritely as PCL)
Too bright - Gareth + Adams luminous orange shirts
Too much expectation - 8 finals, 3 finished in injuries
Too good - PB
Too fit - JM
Too scary - James Wyatt prospects next year
More like a confused shopping list from a Holmer Green Senior than anything...
He'll be offended of course: "Do you know who I am?"
Ask Matron.I'll attempt to post the official awards photos later but they seem to have been taken by a monkey and processed by his uncle. Di's currently waving her 'turd polishing wand'...
Shame as I particularly liked the shot of Koko where it appears that one of the many birds on his extraordinary shirt had dumped on his working boots... I've based my new musical image on Phil and his shirts; I know that it screams 'mid life crisis' but if it sells a few more CDs then it'll be worth the ridicule...
Bravo to all who took part and thanks particularly to our ever cheerful secretary Chris Griffiths and Dirty Dan who managed the whole thing so (seemingly) effortlessly.
Good luck with Bullard and the 'super sex' next sunday morning Chris; don't forget to liquidize; his teeth aren't what they once were... Shergar's I believe.
Meanwhile my gaze has drifted once more to the trophy box and the names preserved for posterity on the walls of our fine club and I'm thinking to myself, "how the hell did Bob Heard get up there?"
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