An Away Trip To Barrow

Darwen embarked on the longest away trip of the season to Cumbrian Riveira town of Barrow on Saturday. An early start meant meticulous preparation for the journey and the day ahead was required. Alex Davies uploaded his Justin Bieber tunes to his Ipod to drown out the Beach Boys and Erasure sounds which usually eminate from Cooky's tape deck when PC Emery is in the car.

The warm up was intense and saw the captain hit the policeman in the face causing a slight graze and lump. Most people were sympathetic to the coppers plight, their sympathy in the main was shown by turning their back to the injured rozzer and breaking down into fits of laughter. The most surprising aspect of the whole incident was the Johnn0 actually hit the ball!

With match preparations at a close, surprise surprise, the rain came for what seemed to be an eternity. The 3 hour plus wait was filled with football updates (did Jason Roberts really score?) and the most surreal videos on YouTube. Unbeknown to myself, our club steward Lloyd is an 'awesome' internet phenomenon. You can check out his series of challenges on the link DoItLloyd's Channel. This comes with a warning if you don't like Jim Carrey impersonators don't click on the link!!

The match itself eventually started at 1615 after the worst tea in history with the hosts batting first. Our bowling consisted of some good deliveries beating the bat and some not so good, however we managed to keep them to a par score of 147 on a good wicket with an under 13s boundary. The highlight of the innings was 'Helicopter Stopped Play' as an RAF Chinook piloted by Wills landed almost on the ground at nearby Furness hospital. Play was stopped as the umpires said they would not hear a snick ...mmm as if that would make any difference!! Niallers and Zimmy were the pick of the bowlers and shared 2 wickets a piece.

The Darwen reply started in farce as professional Zimmy asked for a runner after injuring his hand whilst fielding:) Barrow said 'No' to which Zimmy said he hurt his leg and started limping but the hosts refused to budge. The quick single he then took to the pro in the covers brough a smile to everyones face! Similar to the previous run chase against St.Annes we sort of lost our way and ended up 8 runs short of the victory target.

The race home saw a surprise as on the M6 as from nowhere Cooky passed all-comers in his 0.5 Litre Fiesta at 100mph. He would surely have finished first if Tweet Master Davies in the back had not asked the speedster to slow down so he could hear his Hannah Montana songs without interference from the engine.

Champions Leyland at home next Saturday - get up for it!.

Fleetwood Away

An unnecessarily early meet meant that we arrived at Fleetwood at 11.15am for a 1pm start. The captain likes to prepare thoroughly but by the time we had finished preparing we were thoroughly knackered! We lost the toss Fleetwood decided to have a bat Cookey and Hammo opened the bowling but Fleetwood started well and didnt really look like losing a wicket. First change Harry Campbell came on and took two useful wickets before Fleetwood progressed to 128 for 2 with some lusty blows, at the stage with CD and chairman Bill bowling it looked like we might chase 250. CD then removed Fleetwood skipper and opening batsman for 60 odd with a well disguised slow half tracker which he missed and was plum LBW. Hammo then literally ripped through the middle order finishing with 5 for 26 bowling Fleetwood out for 139. At tea we were confident we would knock the required runs off.

However soon after we were 28 for 3 having lost Fraddy, the skipper and Mark Emery but were indebted to the fast maturing Matt Painter and the ever reliable Benny for a 50 odd run partnership which took us to 80 before Matt was brilliantly run out. Another middle order collapse saw us get to 110 for 8 still needing 30 runs for victory with a lush outfield boundaries hard to come by and only CD in the tent. Victory seemed a long way away, the mixture of ones, leg byes wides and a sumptuous cover drive from Cookey we scrambled a hard earned victory. 12 points great start to the season but a few lessons to be learned, onwards and upwards. A true match winning performance from the returning Stuart Hampson 5-26 and 22no and a mature bowling spell from Harry Campbell.

Sad Songs Say So Much

Towers 107 AO
Hoghton 121 AO

Sunday 4th September was a strange day that captured the sadness of the cricket season twilight. It was unrelentingly morbid from start to finish and we had a game of cricket in between that we should have won, but didn’t. Having stared long and hard at the packet of razor blades in the bathroom cabinet on Saturday evening, I retired to the marital quarters at 21.15 to the rhythmic drip drip of rain on the windowsill. What started off as an attempt at a nice cosy night in was utterly wrecked by that swine Simon Cowell. Whilst X-Factor is a guilty pleasure, he now presents us with a game show in which a thousand no-er-do-wells line up with their sob stories and make the incredibly taxing choice of red or black in the hope of winning an easy million quid. Oooooh, my mum can have her cataracts done now and we can go and buy a new VHS player from Rumbelows for the kids. Utter guff. Bring back Dusty Bin or Leslie Crowther any day!

Anyway, a sleepathon later and the sun shone brightly down the valley. I prepared a piping hot china mug of Earl Grey, switched on the radio and started humming along to Everybody Hurts by REM. That stands for Rapid Eye Movement you know. A little bit maudling perhaps, but not a bad tune: Don’t let yourself go, cause everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes. The first team game had been abandoned on the Saturday, so the townsfolk were champing at the bit (well, their coco pops maybe) for a spot of cricket. I fired up the Merc and sped down to the Home of Cricket at no more than the permitted 20mph allowed on Lynwood Avenue. Speed Kills you Guys. The hallowed turf was Wet Wet Wet and the covers needed to be taken off to allow the half-dry/half-sodden wicket to air. Half an hour later and after much grunting and cursing, the soaked Climate Cover had been shunted onto the outfield single-handed. Game on dudes. I got back into the car and Eric Carmen was belting out All By Myself on Smooth FM. Hard to be sure, sometimes I feel so insecure, and love so distant and obscure, remains the cure. Was this love a euphemism for cricket? Would a good win help me recover from Cowells hideous Red or Black experience?

After two hours in the sun, the wicket had not dried whatsoever but definitely playable. Our visitors were a senior side and quite a collection of butchers, bakers and candlestick makers. They were to bat first and benefit from an umpire who called wides for anything down leg. C’est bon said Elvis at Square Leg, what is good for the goose, is good for the gander. No, I have no idea what that means either, but the guy with the big sunglasses, hairy chest and rhinestone belt was later confirmed as Big Mars who belted out a quite excellent rendition of In the Ghetto whilst taking a towerpower shower after the game. He has such a wonderful vibrato timbre, much like Welsh crooner and one-time dictator Pol Pot.

The bowling and fielding were once again top notch. As normal, Buffet roughed em up whilst Sam made some great plans, varying his pace and movement off the pitch like a seasoned pro. Zac once again bowled some controlled off spin and pouched 3 wickets in tandem with Ryan who seems able to swing the ball in any conditions. After a short spell of mardiness, Reecey came to the party and removed their skipper with a peach of a delivery, finishing with 1-12 off 5 overs. The tail wagged a little too much and from 99-9, the visitors reached 121 before Buffet returned to finish the job. Our normal scorer JPT had been coerced into playing football, so the job fell to a visiting junior who chalked some amusing names in the book – S Panter, Z Wally, R Shik and R McKenneth brought a smile to the face whilst digesting a coconut macaroon.

In short, our response was a disaster. Wally and Davies fell for ducks, whilst run machine Shik was perhaps harshly adjudged caught behind for 1. The leg-side wides rule was inexplicably abandoned but Elvis showed some hunka hunka burnin love for the opening bowlers and clonked one over the clubhouse before being bowled for 20. The Reverend D Ainslie was batting with great composure until mum and dad turned up to watch. No sooner had Linda sparked up a Capstan Full Strength, had Dazzler tried to hit the factory wall and lost his middle stump. The crocked skipper hobbled into the fray at 30-5 but was not in the right place mentally…and was probably just mental trying to play a shot that father Geoff stated was ‘uncharacteristic’. He proceeded to lock himself in the dark hovel twixt the changing room and showers for ten minutes for a good old cry. Cue the Big O, Roy Orbison: I love you even more than I did before. But darling, what can I do? or you dont love me and Ill always be…crying over you, crying over you. Cricket, you are a cruel master. Get a grip Skipper! Now was not the time for defeatism. We are Towers for heavens sake (Darius getting all religious again) and in times of trouble, there is only one way to go – a POWER BALLAD! Cue Bonnie Tyler… oooo oooo oo-oo-ooo Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods? Wheres the street wise Hercules to fight the rising odds? Out of the dry ice, wearing creams rather than the more stereotypical firemans outfit, the white knights on fiery steeds Chamois, Bailey, Raz and Mikey B cheered the home support with some great knocks. By the time the resistance ended, we had come within 15 runs of victory and showed tremendous fighting spirit.

After securing the various huts and outbuildings that make up the home of cricket, a depressed captain skulked home to the oh-so-apt tune of Heartbreaker by Dionne Warwick before sitting on the drive questioning his dedication to the beautiful game: Why do you have to be a heartbreaker? Is it a lesson that I never knew? Gotta get out of the spell that Im under, my love for you-oooo-ooo. And so ended another season of Sunday adventures. A solid mid-table finish, some great performances and good laughs along the way. The young Towers continue to do their town, club and parents proud.

Brains overcome Brawn in Big Tower Powwow

Towers 155-9
Hoghton 154 AO

The Sunday team notched a fifth straight win, this time against neighbours Hoghton at the Home of Cricket. The game ended a nervy affair in semi-darkness, but the youngsters demonstrated fantastic composure and maturity chasing down the total on a tricky wicket. Our visitors had an enviable Tower. Whereas Darweners went high and phallic in 1898, the de Hoghton family had constructed an ancient fortified manor house in a Tudor Elizabethan style that charts its history back to 1109 AD. Wowsers. Visitors over the years have included William Shakespeare, Charles Dickens and an obviously delirious King James I, who knighted a roast beef dinner that continues to this day as Sirloin. One wonders how he managed to eat using a 3ft ceremonial sword rather than a more modest knife and fork. His fellow guests at the table must have been covered in cauliflower cheese, peas and gravy. But I suppose they satisfied themselves with beefy immortality as the sirloin cut went on to conquer the worldwide steak market. Pah! Exclaimed noted historian and committed church-goer Darius. “We had Jake Berry MP here in March and I bet Wills and Kate have never even heard of Hoghton. Shakespeare is all thou art thou mumbo-jumbo and Dickens is just sooooo last century.” Hussar! If any members find themselves bored during the long winter months, a visit to the ancient Barratt House on the hill (in the words of Mikey B) is probably on the list of “things to do”. Yes, things to do when there is no football on the telly, you aren’t washing your hair or you have just given up on life completely. The captain can report that he visited once at the behest of the present Mrs Sunday Captain and was charged a modest fee to watch some radio hams making flagons of tea outside a battered caravan and beardy-wierdy communists recreating life in the 15th century. The firing of cannon was reasonably exciting, but watching people fashioning waistcoats out of dandelions and mock-dying of smallpox really brought home the hardship of life back then. We lasted no longer than 5 minutes before careering out of the car park and heading back to the largesse of the 21st century with a Quarterpounder with Cheese and Caramel McFlurry at McDonalds. Unlike their boring tower, our visitors have always had an entertaining brand of cricket that generally infuriates bowlers. Batting first on a damp track in a game reduced to 40 overs, they were afforded a few extra lives and scored over 80% of their total runs in boundaries, including a succession of big sixes that sailed out of the ground. An unfortunate Buffet should have removed the big-hitting Thexton early doors, but the usually dependable Mars downed a catch at mid-off. The word on the street is that his new beau had given him a manicure on Friday night after doing a tour of the North West’s cinemas in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to watch the Inbetweeners. Most people book in advance, Mars doesn’t. Anyway, instead of using his now-immaculate and shovel-like hands, he tried a bit of skill school, laying it up with a flick of the shoulder. He failed and Buffet fumed. Thexton launched the next ball into the housing estate. Buffet fumed a bit more. In difficult conditions, the towers bowling and fielding was not up to usual standards, but to their credit they stuck to the task. Left armers Sammy the Chamois and Ryan McKenna bowled good spells of swing and cut, taking two well-earned wickets each. After initially getting clonked into the garages from the Darwen End, Zac Whalley switched and his off-spin was a far more effective proposition, removing the dangerous Monks courtesy of a steepling catch by Mars who showed great bouncebackability. Two harakari run outs by the tail-enders finished the innings and a challenging target of 155 to win. Paul Edwards placed a call to Lloydy at tea asking if it was safe to come on the ground after sitting under his dining table wearing a tin hat (on top of the usual aeroflow cycling helmet) for the duration. In all 3 balls were lost, but the small and diehard crowd were royally entertained.

Perhaps in recognition of Hoghtons beef connections, Tea saw the introduction of a quite wondrous new meat pie to the fayre. Very shallow with a short-crust pastry and moist filling, it really was quite gratifying although one felt a little sorry for the fasting Rambo who watched us trough all that was put in front of us. He only has a couple of days left of Ramadan and said that he was going on a restaurant crawl in celebration of Eid.

Zac and a much-calmer Reece opened the batting with a clear instruction to win the game in singles. The death-by-a-thousand-cuts (or at least 155) strategy paid immediate dividends as the openers bossed the bowling and scored at will. Hoghton were working under the assumption that the game could only be won by going big and put all their men on the boundary. In the land of the blind that may work, but at the home of cricket, the one-eyed man is king. With the scores on 20, Reece departed to a popper bringing Rambo to the crease who played with his usual gusto, before falling to a catch in the deep for 33. After an erratic bowling performance, during which he hurled down some ferocious beamers, a chastened Darius was next in. With some rather contrary coaching from the sidelines, he played an innings of great maturity. On this evidence, I would say he is definitely 50% Linda, 50% Bill, mixing big-hitting aggression with wily defence, nudges and nurdles. Zacs demise to a good catch at cow corner for a well worked 45 brought young Bailey Hardwood to the wicket. Such a correct and good cricketer this lad, remember the name, as he did a super job of holding the innings together before being bowled for 21. At 130-5, with plenty of overs left, victory should have been assured, but wickets started to tumble, including a quite diabolical LBW dismissal of the skipper which lead to handbags between his little brother and the umpire. In a fashion reminiscent of the late and much-missed Jim O’Meara, the next time it hit his pads Buffet was given his marching orders. On arrival back at the hutch, he fumed for the last time and took a deep intake on his inhaler, twas not his day. So, we almost made a complete horlicks of the whole affair and it was left to Sam and Razzer to bring home the bacon. These boys never let anyone down and so the two required runs were added for victory and much outpouring of relief in the changing rooms. We now have a definite Get-Go Situation in the race for European spots and a young team bursting with talent and camaraderie.

As a closing historical brickbat, the Jubilee Tower was constructed by a local builder called Mr R J Whalley. Could it be that young Zac has got tower in his blood?

Stirring stuff, so proud.

Sprogs Run Riot at Illawalla

Towers 44-4
Freckleton 41 AO

Escaping from the filthy weather that has taken a permanent seat over the happy valley, a sandpit eleven headed for the coastal resort of Thornton Cleveleys looking for a fourth straight victory. Upon arrival the villagers were having a high-intensity game of football on the outfield with tackles flying in from all angles. You would never find the Towers taking such a risky approach to warm-up. In support of the club’s youth development policy, Under 13s captain Bailey Harwood, made his senior bow and was given a baptism of fire, sharing a car with umpire Horsfield. Forty minutes of befuddlement later, he was keen to get on with the cricket.

For posterity, old duffer Thompson decided on a team pic and renowned artist Simon was appointed photographer for the occasion. The lads dutifully arranged themselves into marching order, but Reece was unable to take his place having lost his creams. After much agitation and expletives emanating from the away dressing room, a cursory inspection found that Matt Fay had picked up the wrong trousers. Given that they were flying halfway up his legs and a bit on the tight side, it was rather difficult to understand how he could have done a knock up and stretch without noticing. Like a true pro, Simon surveyed the light, selected a position, adjusted the shutter speed and flounced around like Austin Powers. Yeah baby. The resulting photo was quite breathtaking. The way he creates an incline and splices through Chamois and Mikey B adds a certain je ne sais pas quality to the image. Quite abstract in a way. Class.

Thornton had scored 340 runs the previous week and old sage Darius declared that games always went with the tide. Suitably confused, the skipper was once again spared the need to decide at the toss and was invited to unleash hell and brimstone on the locals. Buffet bowled like he had been up arguing all night, following through with purpose and really putting the wind up the over-confident openers. Sam was at his nagging best, ramping up the pace and clocking a pretty rapid 25mph.

It was felt a par score of 150 would be defendable, but at 30-3 after 15 overs, we were looking to keep it below 100. The first changers were to finish the demolition job within 22 overs, helped by some pretty injudicious middle order shot selection. In the absence of crocked Spin Kings Shapsy and Panther, new kid on the block Zac Whalley garnered 5 wickets with great variations of flight and turn, ably assisted by the Venus Flytrap Boardman behind the sticks. Ryan McKenna picked up two wickets including the dangerous-looking Higson who ran out of patience after being squeezed by some great fielding in the ring. By 15.00 it was all over and the Towers required 42 to win.

Reece had bought some sweeties at the services and was dispatching maltesers, wham bars, coltsfoot rock and a sherbet dip like a man possessed. His behaviour became increasingly erratic and by the time he sprinted out to open the batting, his eyes were like saucers and there were distinct traces of white powder on his top lip. A bizarre run out and self-thrashing with his bat in the changing room moved the Palace Shield apparatchik to call for a urine test. I understand that this was found to be 100% positive for sugar.

Strangely, Zac shouldered arms and lost his middle stump, but Darius cracked on, hitting some lusty blows before being caught on the boundary. Matt held things together before falling to an ill-timed hooker. It was left for Luke McKenna and debutant Harwood to finish the job, which I am pleased to say they did with aplomb. Bailey hit some creamy shots before Luke clonked the winning runs through extra cover.

In all, this was a very good performance against a team with pedigree from the youngest ever Sunday XI. The future is bright, the future is tower-shaped!

Parsnips in the Soup at Freck

Towers 165-2
Freckleton 161-9

I am pleased to report that the young Towers chalked up a third consecutive win at Freckleton on Sunday. Despite pressure from the Chair of Cricket to draft in the recently registered Paul Edwards, it was felt his mercurial talents weren't suited to a coastal pitch on this occasion and he was put on 8th reserve, pending a nuclear strike that would vaporise everything in town, bar Leven Grove.

The pack had to be reshuffled after last weeks win against Fylde as Shapsy failed a fitness test on his jarred knee and Mike Douglas was away on an Anger Management course. Freckleton is not the easiest place to get to and after a conference on the Services car park, we agreed upon a course through Preston docks onto the St Annes road. However, Mary insisted on sticking to a route that was more familiar, using oft-visited cafes and restaurants as waymarkers. Head towards the Berni Inn at Thornton Cleveleys, turning right and down to Ye Olde Pye Shoppe at Bispham, sharp left onto the sea front and back inland past the Wimpy Burger at Lytham St Annes. 3 hours, two tanks of petrol and a tour of the Fylde coast later, the Painter car arrived at the distinctly municipal surroundings of Rawsthorne Sports Ground. A quite commodious car park was unfortunately occupied by some caravans of the travelling community and a Waltzer, so a Code Red / Maximum Security situation was declared. I hope readers will understand that this was not a prejudiced decision, but the team were pretty adamant that our new neighbours were untamed, robbing savages and they wouldn't be taking a chance with their iPhones and fancy sneakers.

The reception from our hosts was pretty frosty. It had been 20 years since we last marauded through these parts, when a young Neville scored a handsome fifty for the old Sunday A team alongside luminaries such as Dave Shorrock and Barry Thomas. However we had no axe to grind and just wanted a nice day in the sun. Adjacent to the pitch were a series of smallholdings and chicken pens. Perhaps addled by nettle and elderflower wine, Tom and Barbara had overshot the boundary and applied their rotavator to the outfield and square. For non-gardening types, a rotavator is a mechanical digging and tilling device used to turn soil in preparation for planting of brassicas and veg. Yes, I think what I am trying to say here is that the pitch was a bit of a cabbage patch.

Once again the skipper lost the toss and was given short shrift when trying to get a refund on the recently-purchased sprig of lucky heather, though the pegs did make a nice gift for Mrs Thompson. The home honcho decided to bat first and our reliable opening pair of Sam and Buffet were handed the previously-owned Northern League Sovereign Special as the Palace Shield affairs are quite appalling, losing shape after an innings at best. Freckleton were proudly sponsored by Bargain Booze and set about their task with bravado bordering on fecklessness. With Buff quickly moving through the gears and Chamois moving the ball all over the place, windmilling was always doomed to failure and so it came to pass, as wickets began to fall at regular intervals. Only the opener and god-fearing Fiddler (E) stuck around, much to the frustration of the attack. The ball was constantly aerial and he had more edges than a cracked pisspot, but also played some lovely drives on the way to a half-century before RazMac sent him back to the hut, caught and bowled. Fielding was not up to recent standards but in hindsight, the lads stuck to their task well on a hard and uneven surface. A few good run out opportunities were squandered by bad decisions and, in Martin's case, nasal problems. On and off, I have played cricket for 25 years and have never heard a fielder claim a recently extracted bogey adhered the ball to hand, thus affecting its release, apropos running out a batter. These match reports really do write themselves, my boys never leave me short of material.

Zac Whalley was relieved of his butchers coat this week and made a welcome return to the playing staff, bowling a quite excellent spell of off-spin, finishing with 2 wickets. LuMac bowled two straight overs and Darius had a short burst that promised much for the future. As usual, Mikey B was nice and tidy behind the stumps, improving with every game. Towards the end of the innings, the home batters turned inexplicably hostile to our umpire Chris Parsons, instructing him to signal this and pick out that, whenever a boundary was hit. What started as banter soon became a bit personal, which did not bode well. The innings finished on 161-9 after some excellent death bowling by the opening pair. Subsequently, TowerBank opened its doors for 15 minutes making emergency loans to willing customers who felt no need to bring any pocket money for tea (bloody kids eh?). At a reasonable rate of interest (2176% APR) I think it was a mutually beneficial arrangement and the bailiffs will be out collecting this week.

The skipper opened our reply with little Reece and good encouragement from Chairman Bill who was patrolling the perimeter. The skips instruction was to break the spirit of our foe and encourage them to make mistakes. After a patient 10 overs, the runs soon started to flow with both batters charting handsome wagon wheels. Even the roosters enjoyed it, clucking away with gay abandon as they nibbled away on a mixed diet of corn kernels and rabbit droppings. Our serene progress was only interrupted by some quite ridiculous appeals for LBW that simply defied the laws of the game. With more badges than a 5-star General, Parsnips is used to the Lancashire League and Minor Counties scene, so could not get his head around the concept of LBSSS (Leg before Second Set of Stumps), BBW (Bat Before Wicket) and Run Outs on the bowling crease. With continual denial and defeat staring them in the face the local seniors got a bit nasty and disappointingly encouraged their young charges to join in. Good Ole Parsnips stood firm though, he is after all a fellow Tower, hewn from locally quarried sandstone, revered by townsfolk and much weathered. In his memoirs, he will recall that from the depths of despair, twas Tower Power that lead him unto the light. Amen.

Thompson reached his 50 just after drinks and with the stoic support of Davies, the Towers moved onto 107 before the former fell to a lazy waft outside the off stick. When Reece fell for 36 shortly after, Darius (16no) joined Zac (36no) at the allotment and the fuse was lit on a firework show that saw the ball dispatched to all parts. The game was won in definitive style with a straight six that gladdened the hearts of most, except Rambo and Martin who had acquired a nasty bout of Pad Rash waiting for a tonk. Their kingdom come and thy will be done, on Birch Hall as it is in heaven. In the end, it was a convincing victory that is dedicated to our super umpire, Chris Parsons. Next up is Lancaster at the home of cricket; lets hope we can maintain the momentum and push for a European spot. Put your faith in the Tower.

Welcome to the Young Gun Show

Towers 133-9
Freckleton 84 all out

For the second game in succession, the captain is pleased to report another fine victory for the Sunday team, this time over the league leaders Fylde. It was glorious sun at the home of cricket and the Red Arrows kindly did a fly past in ‘Double Vee’ formation to salute 100 years of cricket in the happy valley. It brought a tear to the eye it really did.

We made three changes from side that won against Penwortham; youngsters Jamie and Reece replaced Mick and Rambo with Sammy the Shammy standing in for his dad at short notice. Apparently, Mary had taken out a new Rick Stein Spanish cookbook from the library and Rory made up some cock and bull story about a broken toenail to spend time rusting up a quite magnificent Paella with fresh saffron and white truffles. I might be wrong but such extravagance, coupled with extensive house renovations, leads me to suspect a lottery win.

The track had been slow and dead on the Saturday and the bat/bowl call was difficult to make. Thankfully we lost the toss and our visitors invited us to bat, sparing a decision either way. Having thought long and hard about the batting order, the skip decided to open with the reliable Reece and Jamie, holding back a bit of beef for the mid order. At this point Mike Douglas pulled Jedi Mind Trick #1 and promoted himself to open, despite stinking of ale and looking frightfully rough after consuming an alleged 16 pints of Becks the previous evening. Ten minutes later our ever-aggressive compadre was trudging back to the hut, his wickets splayed in all directions. In went Cher Lloyd superfan Allsop and after showing a bit of swagger, promptly lost his jagger, dollying a catch to mid-off when looking good. Shammy struggled to settle and was soon caught behind flashing the SRP like fury; at this stage, it was pretty obvious that the ball was moving all over the place, causing no end of difficulties for the locals.

El Capitano joined Reece at 22-3 and decided to engage in a spot of stonewalling. Like a Kasparov vs Fischer classic, it was a battle of attrition that demanded ultimate mental strength. When it comes to blocking the crap out of it, there are no finer talents in the club than Thompson and Davies. And Lo! Fylde blinked first, introducing their spinner who was dispatched to all parts. With the aid of some WD40 the scoreboard began to move again and Peter Parkinson was roused from a pleasant nap outside the clubhouse by the thwack of leather on willow. By the time Reece played down the Northern Line for a hard-won 22, the Towers had recovered to 75-4 and well positioned to hit a par score of 140. Slimmer of the Year, Martin Thompson, entered the fray at 7 in good spirits after having a good snog in the back row of the movies watching the new Harry Potter. With a diet-busting jumbo popcorn and bucket of coke inside him, he crafted an E-number powered 20-odd, including a superlative six which sailed into the garages. Mikey B showed his undoubted potential with some great boundaries before squaring himself up to the opening bowler. A word of advice - never go back on the Birch Mikey. After Shapsy did a quick round trip to the wicket, Martin was joined by his brother and birthday-boy Johnny and they decided on a Happy Gilmore strategy. After much Pirouetting and a Viennese Waltz that would make Anton Du Beke proud, the Buff clonked a straight six on the last ball of the innings to close on 133-9.

We had much to reflect on over tea as there was a kerfuffle over the score. The official scorer and mathematical genius, JPT, had the Towers adding up nicely to 133. However, match monitor Paul Edwards had us on 105. We smartly red-inked the Tycon scorebook with the correct entries and all was well, or so it seemed. The Yellow Peril was last seen speeding off the ground before the second innings, not to be seen again. The track demanded a nagging line and length and the plan was to give Buffet and Sam a quick burst before bringing on the Wizard to wreak havoc. Two wickets in the first over from Buff got us off to a flyer and when Twiggy pouched the dangerous looking opener at mid-off, the Towers could go for the kill. Shappo was introduced and, as promised, the ball was turning square. 9 overs later, the wily veteran finished his spell with 4-15 and a jarred knee, caused by the over-enthusiastic celebration of Killner’s wicket for 25.

Ryan McKenna completed a tidy spell with a wicket and after being hounded by the willing Davies, the captain decided to take a gamble on a spot of leg spin. It may have been a bad dream, but the consensus was that the ball had not been thrown as high in the air since the days of Tucker Trower and Goosey Glover. When Gully and Slip asked for a helmet, the experiment was swiftly cut short and the opening pair were brought back on (after Jedi Mind Trick #2) to mop up the tail, with Fylde all out for 84.

The insight of experienced cricketers such as Stu and Mike was of great benefit to the captain, who was in no way indecisive or dithering at any point during proceedings. Case for the prosecution dismissed! Once again, the fielding and bowling was very accomplished. Batting-wise, we need the mid-order to construct longer innings, but overall much to be proud of from the young guns.

Happy Days are Here Again

Towers 134-9
Penwortham 47 all out

Despite the malaise at Ewood Park, straitened economic conditions, ongoing wars and famine, the Towers Sunday XI finally nourished the substantial Fundays Supporters Club with a victory at the Home of Cricket. At last, the captain can report something good; there will be no papering over the cracks this week mes amis - the Towers played with the hearts of Lions, albeit led by a Donkey. Sensible batting, tidy fielding and quite outstanding bowling against a youthful Penwortham side carried us to an 87 run victory.

The day started badly. A heavy downpour at lunchtime put the square under water and there was little appetite for a clean-up operation whilst the skies remained black. However things gradually improved and the blanket (a product of the Industrial Revolution) was brought out of Raymondos’ Shed to the dry up the buff-coloured track and run–ups. Play was to commence at 14.30, with 35 overs a side.

Put into bat after losing the toss again, we were faced with a grafting track that demanded patience and accumulation of runs. Captain Bligh declared he was to open with globetrotter Simon Painter, who proudly displayed a map of the Caribbean on his chest for most of the day. At this point Mike Douglas, playing the role of Fletcher Christian, led a mutiny and threw his leader overboard, pointing out that the supporters would not buy into the prospect of such boredom. Opening up with typical bravado, this self-appointed judge and juror then executed the loyal Panther by running him out, claiming insanity between the wickets. Not long later, he himself fell for a Tahitian lovely and holed out to long-on, effing and jeffing all the way back to the pavilion.

It was left once again to the captain and under-pressure Rambo to rebuild the innings and the latter did not falter, playing an aggressive but sensible knock before falling for 50, wafting at a leg-side wobbler. After recently undergoing extensive rhinoplasty at Schnozzer Warehouse (...they make your face grouse) and suffering from double-vision, Captains Mate Martin Thompson, overcome his ailments, clonking a quick and effective 20-odd late on. The innings finally closed on a defendable 134-9.

Exiled to the Pitcairn Lounge for a feast of breadfruit, the hearties mulled over a winning strategy. Midshipman Buffet and Gunners Mate, Mckenna (R) were to soften em up with a few musket balls across Penwortham’s bows. After removing the opener with a quite excellent Buffet Yorker, the renascent Thompson decided on a spot of keel-hauling, employing the services of spin-twins Shapsy and Simon in tandem. What was to follow was a wondrous display of zooters, oxo cubes, reverse off-spin, doosras and sliders to which the opposition had no answer. Three wickets for the evergreen Sharples and incredible figures of 6-4 for Painter, including a hat trick, wrapped up the game by 18.30. Apparently it is 53 years since Simon last achieved such a feat, destroying his brother with a lump of coal in the back yard on three successive occasions.

All that was left was to enjoy the delights of a jet-engine powered shower whilst wearing ear defenders (I think the pump needs looking at) and a superlative Man vs Machine race around the Birch Hall perimeter between Douglas and Paul Edwards which was captured on film and posted to Twitter for future generations to enjoy. Concluding my historical thread here, it is a little known fact that a long-distant relative of Security, Edward Edwards, was dispatched to hunt down Fletcher Christian aboard the HMS Pandora on 7th November 1790. Edwards never did catch Christian and his ship ran aground and sunk in the Torres Strait on 30th August 1791.

After a week off, the Towers take on league leaders Fylde at home on 24th July. Enjoy your cricket.

Battered and Fried by the Seasiders

Towers 133-9
Blackpool 134-2

After dispatching a heady cocktail of Pimms, San Miguel and Silver Bullets at Paul Edwards 38th birthday party, the boys were perhaps not in prime physical shape for this game. I should add that a Silver Bullet is one shot of sambuca and a separate shot of vodka, which makes it a contender for the most pointless drink of all time.

In another reshuffle, the two younger Thompsons, Jamie Allsop, Mick and Simon brought some good experience to the side and hopes were high in the changing room before the game. Our visitors won the toss and inserted the Towers on a hard but dead track with perhaps the thickest crease markings I have ever seen. One wonders whether the traditional 1 inch paintbrush has been replaced with an emulsion roller. Making a welcome return, voice of the animals and grunge metal enthusiast Jamie Allsop opened up with an uncaged Panther. Whilst it might be common practice in the enclosures at Welly Bobs, talking to Simon at the end of every over made for slow progress. Incensed, a high-pitched Shapsy stomped over to the scorebox and returned redder than normal, exclaiming “12 overs, 12 f#&@*> overs for his first run...” Progress was pedestrian, but more than welcome as the top order slapped on the Hawaiian Tropic and grazed lazily in the sun.

Earlier, Zac Whalley sold his soul to the devil and offered to umpire for Blackpool. Perhaps taking the safari theme a bit too far, he turned poacher and shot Simon dead, right through the middle of his pads just as he was starting to go big. Quite frankly it was a crap decision and there was a suspicion that Shakoor was either playing up to the inebriated crowd on the topside or dreaming of Lambert and Butler. Whatever, the Towers subsequently crumbled from 59-0 to 64-4, Allsop falling in the process for a well-crafted 33. The visitors had also introduced one of their ringers who was bowling with a pace and aggression that is just not welcome in the Sundays are Fundays league. After castling Luke, Mikey Boardman entered the fray. The first ball went fizzing past the off-stump: 'wooooooooph', and powered into the keepers gloves. Mikey did not as much as budge from his place. Ringer bowled his second, third and fourth balls: woooooooph... wooooooooph...woooooooph. Mikey stood stock-still like a statue.

Magnificent. Brave. 100% Tower Power.

Turncoat umpire Rana declared the fifth delivery a No Ball. Boardman sauntered down the pitch tapping away at the ground until he reached his skipper and said, 'I knew from the very beginning that guy did not have a ball in his hand.'

Straight up.

A bit more technique and good fortune would have helped, but at 102-9 the Towers were in a pickle and it was left to wily veteran Sharples and Ryan McKenna to restore some pride in the closing overs, taking us to 133-9. Ryan, in particular, batted very well and made his dad and the supporting pool team proud with successive fours off the last two balls.

After sampling some quite lovely cheese and onion flan with homemade chips at tea, the captain gave a speech of Churchillian proportions, urging his troops to stay strong and ignore the abuse from their own fans. Naming names, Horsfield was the heckler-in-chief, wearing some quite ridiculous short trousers (or where they long shorts?), white socks and obligatory Samba’s. The Adidas marketing department must be crying into their sauerkraut at the thought of his continued endorsement of their product. Ryan and Buffet struggled to get anything out of the track and, despite the latter removing the cack-hander early doors, were struggling to contain the flow of runs. In support of the clubs youth development policy, the skipper turned to the magical art of spin, introducing Simon and Stu in tandem. Once Simon started to use the facilities, he briefly threatened and did take a wicket with an over-pitched flipper. However, the opening Ringer was settled and seeing it like beachball, driving straight for fours despite the innovative policy of 2 mid ons and 2 mid offs. The rest of the game was a story of fagging the ball from the boundary and extracting the maximum amount of comedy-value from the captain’s fielding on the edge of the death-trap artificial wicket.

The target was reached in 25 overs. Once again the bowling and fielding were tidy enough, but we came unstuck against a ringer who took 5 wickets and scored 67.2% of their runs, not that I have over-analysed it or anything.

Positives: Jamie and Ryan’s innings, bar profits, good facial tanning, cheese and onion flan

Penwortham next at the home of cricket, which is a reversed fixture (originally to be played away). Keep the faith you guys.

Sunday Surrender at Garstang

Garstang 159ao
Towers 96ao

A youthful Darwen side were defeated by 63 runs at the Riverside. Working under the tutelage of cup-winning skipper Danny Tighe, apprentice Thompson won the toss and elected to bowl on a damp wicket that suited his swing and spin attack. Despite several texts and ‘yup yeps’ during the morning, appointed umpire Horsy, lured the previous evening by a big cash offer, was not available for the start of play. Apparently he was delayed choosing between the dark blue, ultramarine blue or midnight blue jeans and Billabonger. By the time he did grace us with his presence and acquired a large enough white coat, Mr Whippy took up station 10 yards behind the stumps and proceeded to barrack the Towers with the usual fayre of “pretend it’s a meat pie Danny”, “go for double top Stu” and “use the facilities Zac” etc.

It has to be said that the locals were the most impeccably dressed team we have ever played, with every player striding out to the crease in identical sponsored kit. After opening bowlers Sam Painter and Reece Davies were unable to make a breakthrough, the captain turned to Stuart for a bit of boff spin. Bowling his usual mix of zooters and goesunderers, the wizard soon slowed the run rate and wickets began to fall with the support of Ryan Mckenna who was kicking in from the sight screens in a run-up reminiscent of 90s legend Jon-Paul Jacques. Fielding standards were commendably high with the exception of two dropped catches, both of which were dollies. There was also a suspicion that Rambo had a stone in his shoe whilst not making any attempt to get under a steepler at Cow Corner. Zac Whalley made his bowling debut, taking two wickets and extracting good turn out of the footmarks. It is perhaps unfortunate that pretty much every bad ball he bowled was carted into the river but a very respectable effort all the same. Garstang closed on 159 all out, which was probably an above par score on a slow track.

My followers in the Twittersphere will already know my thoughts on the teas. Suffice to say they are the most expensive in the league and backed by a poster in the away changing rooms “Achtung – you vil be robbed fur das teas!”. At least we didn’t have Fred Elliot for company at the break as the umpires were assigned a table for two in the corner.

Our response was headed up by Reece and Zac with specific instructions to bat all day and ‘enjoy yersels’. Reece fell second ball of the innings playing a farty little waft to square leg. Encouraged to occupy the crease, Luke McKenna hung around in support of Zac taking the score to 30 before he fell. Mikey Boardman briefly threatened with some leg-side clonks, but came a cropper playing across the line. Rambo was given no advice whatsoever and he proceeded to smash everything. It was very exciting but doomed to an end, which duly came when he gave deep mid-on a bit of catching practice. The captain came in at six and bored the crowd to death nurdling singles and timing nothing to the extent that the home skipper enquired whether his bat was cracked. Danny Tighe came in and adopted a reverse psychology, slashing at good balls and leaving the full tosses outside his leg stick. Frustrations boiled over into a mild contretemps between the two batters as Tiger accused Thompson of putting him off his natural game by making frantic windmill gestures at the non strikers end. At 80-7, the Towers were pretty much screwed and after Shapsy departed, the tail did not wag. It was not for want of trying though, as number 11 Chris Crompton strolled to the wicket with clear instructions from the 9 self-appointed skippers in the changing room to go for glory. His first ball clattered into the stumps with young Crompo doing a passable Wayne Sleep impression.

A bit more patience and better shot selection would surely have seen us challenging the total, but it was not to be. The only happy person was Horsy, who was paid over-the-odds to make no decisions, preside over 60 overs and even bought a drink at the Brockholes Arms. Perhaps in desperation for something good to happen, Thompson ensured he won the traditional M6 grand prix, taking the lead from a Le Mans start and battering the Celica into submission up the M65, taking the chequered flag at Birch Hall.

Fall from the Lord Mayors Show

Towers 161-4

St Annes 162-6

After a cracking start the season last week, we never got into this game and deserved to lose against a very disciplined St Annes team in dustbowl conditions. After taking advice from his re-shuffled cabinet, the skip won the toss as usual and decided to bat on a very attractive-looking deck. At 0-2 after three balls, one questioned the wisdom of this decision. In went a hastily-kitted Simon who managed to steady the ship with the obstinate Reece Davies. By the time the latter was out for a grafting 30, the Towers were nicely positioned to push on for a par score of 180. Unfortunately, a combination of good bowling, stonewalling and red-inking left us short with 161 on the board. Next into bat was the pumped up Rameez ‘Rambo’ Shaikh who I am told likes to visit Boomsville in between big game hunting trips to Scotland. It was a pity that the decent crowd weren’t able to see this phenomenon and he ended up sharing the Thanks For Coming award with his crocked captain who contributed very little, apart from bad decisions and the odd stock phrase such as ‘pick em out’, ‘rotate the strike’ and ‘lets back up the bowler’.

In reply, St Annes were well shackled by the opening bowlers Muti Ali and Matt Faye. After removing the opening pair (one of whom played the following day for the 1st XI at Birch Hall) the game was finely balanced. Unfortunately, we never created any sustained pressure and dropped a series of catches whilst gifting easy singles through lack of concentration and anticipation in the field. Young Chris Crompton delivered a fiery spell, picking up a wicket, whilst Matt Painter bowled a useful spell of leg spin in very windy conditions. Despite some gentle ribbing in the Twittersphere after the game, the ‘Painter Account’ was 81 runs in profit and I feel we should encourage our young spinners in mastering a very difficult art.

With 8 balls to spare, St Annes hit the winning runs and the Towers trooped off to the changing rooms for some hair dryer treatment from the skipper who, by this time, was also nursing a splitting headache courtesy of the frightful live music emanating from the Anchor and almost constant screaming of sirens from the A666 as the emergency services went to work saving cats from trees, issuing parking tickets and dressing verrucas.

Some you win, some you lose.

It is a game of fine margins.

Catches win matches.

The winner takes it all.

Turnover for vanity, profit for sanity.

Post-game, it was a casual observation that Darweners seem particularly adroit at delivering catchphrases in defeat.

Anyway, lets be positive and show some sympathy for Simon, who batted for 80 overs and scored 170+ runs over the weekend only to end up on the losing side twice. #simonpainterfanclub

Sunday XI Complete Clean Sweep for Towers on Opening Weekend

After promotion, the Sunday XI commenced their 1st Division campaign with a tricky away trip to Great Eccleston. After we had all figured out the place was nowhere near its virtual namesake in Chorley, the cavalcade set off for the Fylde coast in good heart. No sooner had we hit the M61, when trouble started as thousands of hen-pecked chaps in Allegros, Morris Oxfords and Cortinas carted their brethren to the seaside at no more than 40mph. At £1.40 for a litre of 4-star, it could be considered an austerity journey.

The village itself was a classy affair and I am told by the Official Sundays are Fundays Away Travel Club that the Prawn Baguette in the Black Bull was first class. As the locals sipped on their Mojitos I hear they were slightly taken aback by the sight of Tigers bare legs and Motorhead t-shirt striding to the bar, aided these days by some rather nifty ‘orthotic inserts’ which have apparently transformed him into a racing snake.

Back to the cricket…
Due to John Q Taxpayers indulgent progress up the M6, we arrived at the ground with only 20 minutes to spare. Whilst we dispatched umpiring legend Chris Parsnips to calm the nerves of his opposite number, re-appointed Skipper Thompson (L) set about issuing the various forms and league missives to his young team before winning the toss (‘tails never fails’ you guys) and inserting ‘Great Ecc’ to bat on the artificial track. Without being too critical, the square was immaculate and it was a little disappointing to play on astro without good reason. With some lovely variations at his disposal, Captain Marvel opened up with Buffet from the Farmers Field End who bowled with great control, extracting good movement off the seam. From the other end, Sam Painters deceptively slow swing was a joy to behold. At 54-4, we targeted a sub-100 total and an early finish. Our serene progress was amusingly interrupted by the foul-mouthed rants emanating from the adjacent bowling green as capped gents in their twilight years hollered obscenities at each other such as: “what a f#c/in# horrible Jack position!” and “get the b#gg£r with your thumb peg Norman”.

The returning Tom Lawrenson was the only bowler to use his allowance of 9 overs and picked up 2 wickets with some handy medium pace. Matt Faye chipped in with 3 wickets, although 2 of them were off the shoddiest of deliveries, both snaffled by Reece Davies at Square leg. Reduced to 78-7, the Burco was already bubbling away and the egg butties were being sliced into neat triangles; is it me or do sandwiches taste better in triangular rather than the more orthodox rectangular format? One to ponder… Ryan McKenna took a couple of overs to loosen the winter rust but soon picked up 2 wickets, both of whom were dangermen getting into their stride. In the ‘end game’, the Skipper pulled his Ace…last year’s Spin King, Simon Painter. Unfortunately it turned out to be the 2 of Clubs as the Panther struggled with a stiff tweaking finger, apparently caused by a boating accident in the Caribbean last summer. With open house at the sweet shop, Ecc’s numbers 9, 10 and 11 batters helped themselves to a generous helping of Bassets Allsorts and by the time Mick Anderson put them out of their misery, they had a defensible total of 154 on the board.

Simon and the tenacious Davies opened our response and took the score to 44 before the former fell to the fired up Jeffries, who was kicking in from the sightscreen and bowling at a fair old pace. In went Matt Faye who had great pedigree after making his mark with the seconds last season. He did not disappoint, playing a mature and disciplined anchor innings, rotating the strike and putting the trash in the bin. When the shuffling Reece fell LBW for a hard-worked 20, Thompson sent in Luke ‘Windy’ McKenna. Without seeing the need to take a guard, he promptly heaved his first delivery over long-on for four. The locals took him to their hearts and every subsequent delivery was met with a wafting blade. When his luck ran out, the crowd were deflated but thoroughly entertained. Good supporting knocks by Mick, Martin Thompson and Sam took us to the point of victory. In clonking a four over midwicket, Matt won the game and got his half century to great applause from the Darwen contingent.

An opening day win by 4 wickets completed a good weekend for the Towers and nice start to the Centenary season.

Next up is St Annes at the home of cricket next Sunday.