Member Blogs
The Wick is an extraordinary thing. A beautiful cricket club in the brightest corner of a Royal Park, it's been home to thousands of cricketers since 1863. Officially its Hampton Wick Royal Cricket Club. Watching the sun go down over the park in mid Summer is genius.
This is the blog of The Wick. Dip in and find out what we're about.
For the blog in full visit: hwrcc.blogspot.com
Choked on cricket
GAAR - 22nd March 2007
Firstly I was genuinely saddened by Bob Woolmers death. As one commentator said he was the 'Real Mr Cricket'. To take on the role as Pakistan coach was brave, but to work within an administration that is so shambolic and take the team forwards was a phenominal achievement; but I also think he would be the first to realise that he hadn't got everything correct. He also came across as what is traditionally known as a 'Bloody nice bloke'.
Anyway...
As we all wait for the dust and media speculation over his death to settle, it has started to become akin to an Agatha Christie novel. I am just waiting for the press to announce that some little old biddy with NHS specs and a blue rinse has taken over the investigation.If there is indeed 'foul play' involved it really is a job for Miss Marple or Poirot.
You can picture the scene. Miss Marple, the classic English spinstress is out in the West Indies holidaying in the Carribean for the Cricket World cup with her nephew Montague. They are staying in the same hotel as the Pakistan team and get to know Mr Woolmer very well over afternoon Tea one day.
It then transpires they are staying in the room next to the Pakistan Coach. In the room on the other side is curious Frenchman named Monsieur Hercule Poirot - who is in the Carribean because his flight was diverted from New York on it's way to Paris. He is only in the hotel for one night.
The morning after the Pakistan v Ireland game they hear the maid scream and both rush in to see what is wrong. They are of course first on the scene. There is blood and vomit around Mr Woolmer. His death is 'Suspicious'.
The circumstances & the evidence:
-During World Crickets showpiece tournament the coach of one of the worlds most fanatical cricketing nations is found dead.
-There have been recent ball tampering and drug allegations. They have just crashed out of the tournament to a country which doesn't play the game on mass.
-He is the former coach of a team that was shamed with match fixing scandals and is rumoured to be about to expose all those involved.
Choked on Cricket....take it away Agatha....
please click on this link (http://content-uk.cricinfo.com/ci/content/current/story/286676.html) for a serious response to what is disturbing times for the game of cricket. I was going to write one but then I read Sambit Bal's article and realised he had hit the nail on the head, and there was no point me attempting to match his argument.
Essential new training kit
GAAR - 21st March 2007
As amateur cricketers up and down the land hail the official beginning of spring, minds are turning to that all important first game of the season. It is often a decisive marker to your teams fortunes and personal form.
It is with this in mind that fitness regimes have started in earnest - or slightly more faint heartedly in some cases.
So what is this years training equipment of choice for the amateur cricketer?
In the 80's it was the chest stretch. That incredibly uncomfortable piece of equipment consisting of 3 springs attached to two plastic handles which was impossible to stretch and if you could you were in serious danger of losing a nipple if one of the handles became sweaty and you lost your grip.
More recently we've had the Abdominal curler, used by many a club cricketer to iron out a few of those creases and winter wrinkles - only to then decide it was far too much like hard work and retire to the bar to work on the elbow groove.
Then there was those strange inflatable balls which resemble space hoppers with out handles. In fact i reckon space hoppers should be mandatory training equipment for wicket keepers. Great for leg strength.
And then our Ashes winning all-rounder and subsequently Ashes losing captain had a revelation. Get tanked up two nights before a game and get on a Pedalo! Great for the legs and aerobic exercise and you even get to go for a swim to complete the work out. Great for the club cricketer, but not sure it will take off on the international circuit. Bob Woolmer (RIP) was a great cricketing innovator, but I can't imagine he would have recommended Inzy and the boys try this one.
So remember, if you see one of the Wick boys out on one of Bushy parks' ponds or open stretches of water this season, remember it's all part of the training regime. I can picture the scene now: Goldy and Mackie racing round the fountain, only for Mackie to capsize and blame the size of his head. It's not gonna be easy.
Desktop Commentaries - Lively!
Wickman - 20th March 2007
Is it just Wickman or have desktop commentaries got, well, amusing? Time was, looking for a cheeky bon mot amongst the monotony of "34.4 Giles tosses one up and Yousuf pats it back up the pitch" was like trying to find a flamboyant stroke in a Boycott stonewaller. Check out the work of Ben Dirs for the BBC here commenting on the South Africa vs Scotland game and his view on Graeme Smith's WAG.
Bob Woolmer - RIP
Wickman - 19th March 2007
Wickman is astonished and gutted to hear the news that Bob Woolmer has died. As a young man Wickman lived in Kent. He could never work out whether he was a Man of Kent or a Kentish Man - but he followed Kent cricket nevertheless. Those were the days with Woolmer, Cowdreys, Iqbal, Ealham etc in the team. The county's done nothing since.
Does anyone think it's a coincidence that Woolmer died the day after his spineless charges succumbed to an Irish side that has shown it could bowl but has hardly threatened with the bat? Succumbed? Make that capitulated. Even if they had managed to muscle another 40 runs out of their sorry apology for an innings Pakistan would still be at the races. And only a couple of weeks after the controversy over the "fitness" of Shoaib and Mohammed Asif? And all the other extraordinary bull he's had to put up with over the last few months?
There should be heads hanging in guilt, not just shame, this week in the Pakistan dressing room.
Wickman Caught With Last Poster Tube
Wickman - 6th March 2007
Wickman is in trouble. A colleague of Wickman's needed urgently to send a poster or other artwork out to a client. Wickman finds it necessary to earn money to pay for new edges for bats, whitener for his pads (LBW evidence) and other cricket related expenditure like Club Dinner Tickets. Wickman is forced to do this in an office. Wickman has, as a result, colleagues, many of whom do not understand cricket.
It irritates Wickman that he has never had the courage to take an old bat into the office (there's surely room for a mother-in-law joke here but Wickman passes up the opportunity, scorning such easy open goals) so, when the need arises to play the perfect forward defensive, imaginary off drive or flashing square cut (any batsman who has not been overcome by this urgent need in an office environment must surely be only pretending to be a batsman) Wickman must use the most bat-like thing available. Occasionally there is nothing to hand so he must only cock a wrist at an unnatural angle to indicate the presence of a bat.
Sadly for the colleague, now irate, Wickman works near the stationery cupboard. Here there used to be a ready supply of poster tubes. Poster tubes are almost perfect for the mimicing of cricket shots. Sure there are only a few batsmen (Fudgey is one) who would have so many rubbers on their bat that the grip would be that wide, but there is something about the pick-up on a poster tube, the wind resistance, the length, that almost perfectly mimics a 2lb 9oz Newbery or similar.
Which is why there are no poster tubes. Wickman has used them all to play crunching square cuts and off drives, delicate late cuts and has pulled a number of imaginary short balls. In his enthusiasm he has, more than once, clipped a desk or chair back, taking huge lumps out of his "bat" and rendering them unfit for purpose. So when the colleague was asking why there were no poster tubes left it probably didn't help that Wickman was flashing a square drive past an imaginary Outerbridge and jogging off down the office for a single to win an (imaginary match). The tube was in a sorry state and the bottom six inches was hanging off. Oh dear.
Cricket's great conspiracy theory
GAAR - 6th March 2007
It may be because I am not opening bat, but I find one of the most exhilarating things when watching or playing cricket (at any level) to be the battle between the fearsomely fast bowler and the courageous opening batsman. The classic example which springs to mind for me is the battles Michael Atherton used to have with Allan Donald.
In that case it would be fair to say that the South African paceman had the better of the exchanges, but all that seems to have changed. The balance now seems to be well and truly with the batsman.
The problem is that pitches now are so slow, and this World Cup promises to epitomise this trend. The home side is a classic example. The West Indies is immensely proud of it's fast bowling traditions. If you look through the West Indies side now though you would struggle to find anyone with the pace to hurry most club pro's let alone top class batsman. It is a side full of players who can 'take the pace off the ball', and keep it tight during power plays.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
The modern trend and ICC directives for pitch preparations and power plays to encourage big scores, are slowly killing off the fast men. Sure the best will always prosper as they learn new skills, and methods of out-foxing batsman, but once in a while can't we just have a quick strip or two. Must the ever-decreasing WACA strip be a clone of it's counter-part in Karachi. Fast bowlers must also be put on an even keel once in a while, and given a chance to put genuine fear into batsman, rather than just watching the ball whistle to the boundary with soul destroying reptition.
So here comes the conspiracy:
International cricket's governing bodies are now so dependent on huge broadcasting deals that they are desperate for matches to run their full coarse in order to keep sponsors happy and to avoid having to pay out large refunds to the ticket-buying public. To this end instructions have gone out to groundsmen that they must prepare pitches accordingly. The result is that most pitches are slow, low tracks - not much fun for any bowler of quality.
The worlds best cricketers are becoming one dimensional clones, just like the pitches they play on. They are losing valuable skills by not playing on a range of surfaces - For crying out loud it even seems to spill over into the post-match interview, such is their robotic like conditioning.
Some even argue for uncovered pitches again. Maybe not at the top level, but can we at least give the fast guys something to get their teeth into occasionally and make those flashy, arrogant twerps at the top of the order earn their runs. If he gets through the stage where he wonders whether he is going to get back to the pavillion alive, through courage and skill then he is worthy of his runs.
A multitude of fast runs does not always equate to facinating, absorbing cricket - At least not for everyone.
How do you solve a problem like a broken finger?
The Student - 28th February 2007
The Student has learnt that The New Zealand all-rounder Mr Oram is considerring amputating his finger to allow him to participate in the World Cup. Surely this is too drastic a measure, even for a dedicated professional at the top of his trade? You never know when the pinky will come in handy in later life. Dinner with the Queen perhaps? The Student remembers a game he played a few years ago where he dislocated his little finger. He was in pain, he was unable to field properly and The Wick lost resoundingly. He still has the scars to prove it. But he wouldn't give his finger the snip for a game of cricket.... Or would he?
Old Mother Hubbard - 2
Wickman - 28th February 2007
The scorebox cupboard did yield up more than the Wick’s own Ashes (Wickman did spend a nanosecond imagining a special moment – the handing over of a unique trophy at the end of Presidents vs Chairmans – the Frank Bean Memorial Urn). There’s a bat signed and presented to the club by none other than Tom Graveney – as a junior Graveney played for the Wick. There are photographs from down the ages. Scoresheets from forever ago. Fixture cards from during WWII. Plus a lifetime’s supply of ashtrays – get a degree level art student in and you can imagine them coming up with a stimulating statement about permanence and decay – or something. Wickman reminds members and volunteers that Natwest Cricket Force weekend is 31 March / 1 April. Block out diaries, 9am – 3pm on the 31st (there’s an event in the evening) and 1 April 10am – 4pm. The Saturday will be hard labour in the changing rooms and outside areas, the Sunday we’ll concentrate on turning the club from its winter guise of football club HQ back to cricket club.
Old Mother Hubbard - or - When You Need a Good Wingman
Wickman - 27th February 2007
Recently Wickman decided that it was time the Wick started to look like a cricket club again. GAAR mentioned it in an earlier post. He called for paraphernalia. This evening Wickman and Matty D decided to delve into the club's unofficial archive - the Old Mother Hubbard behind the scorebox - to find out what might be used to brighten up the facilities.
Wickman reckons that there are times in your life when you need a good wingman. Cricket tours. Stag nights. Please supply other answers on a postcard. But Wickman is not talking about Matty D (although he thinks Matty - like all Wick members - would make an excellent wingman). Frank Henry Bean needed a good wingman sometime after February 1992.
Frank was an umpire. A bit of a character by all accounts. His mates held a wake for him down the Wick. Some of Frank's ashes (he was cremated 11 Feb 1992) were scattered on the square. If all his mates were umpires too, you would have thought they'd have put him down round about square leg, or perhaps just behind the stump holes at the Millennium Wood end so that he'd spend eternity gazing out towards Kingsfield.
It was probably a cracking afternoon. Perhaps it went on until the evening. Whatever time it all wound up, Frank's wingman let him down. Because the rest of Frank is in the scorebox cupboard.
Wickman supposes there are three choices. 1 - Leave the old boy where he is. He hasn't minded much for the best part of 15 years. 2 - Buy him a decent urn and get him back into the bar where he can be properly remembered every Saturday evening 3 - Finish the job and blend him with square leg for eternity with all due ceremony.
Definition number 2 here is about as apt as you can get...
Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1) par·a·pher·na·lia 1. (sometimes used with a singular verb) equipment, apparatus, or furnishing used in or necessary for a particular activity: a skier's paraphernalia. 2. (used with a plural verb) personal belongings. 3.(used with a singular verb) Law. the personal articles, apart from dower, reserved by law to a married woman.
Nets Again
Wickman - 25th February 2007
Wickman is back from nets. Doddy is there, limbering up. A relatively quiet one tonight with only 25 members on show. 25. 25. 25 was the total number of people that would net between Christmas and Easter a few years ago. Some notable absentees tonight miss the fireworks as Cranesy and Clarky in particular pepper the roof and back walls with ballistics. Kamran is back and saves the best 'til last as he, too, picks off the pitched up and dents the facilities. Wickman swears he sees a weapons inspector towards the end of the session. Gateseeee looks as if he has failed to duck a bouncer. Extraordinarily Kamran's preferred bat is 25 miles away in St Albans and he worries that he might be back seeing it properly in 2 or 3 nets' time. The boys are quietly impressed. Doddy has done well to make it down. Reports reach Wickman that the combination of Six Nations and Hibby's card night might have rendered a few long term Wick favourites unable to net. But not Doddy, he is made of sterner stuff.
The Evils of Garden Cricket
Wickman - 24th February 2007
Wickman is worried about technique. After a sleepless night he has come to the conclusion that all his major flaws go back to his formative years of garden cricket. While Bradman caressed a golf ball around a Bowral back yard with a cricket stump a billion times a year, Wickman was playing in the back garden of a Kent home.
When I say formative years Wickman doesn't mean his tweens, or teens, he means his early twenties. That's when Wickman believes techniques are really forged. When a man is in his early prime, has achieved some strength and is no longer burdened by the words of the cricket coach (Wickman - just pad everything away and leave it to Tompkins to win the game and whatever you do, don't play that ugly hoick you call a pull shot) he begins to find his natural game.
Sadly Wickman believes that at this point his technique became constrained and hemmed in by garden cricket. Wickman and Wickman minor would, in their twenties, play a viscious form of cricket in a suburban back garden. The bat was armed with a blue plastic toy shop number that had been gaffer taped for greater strength. The bowler had a particular kind of ball. These were ex-boule balls. The ones from the plastic sets you could get from garages on the way to the beach in Devon. The water that gave them their main gravity defying properties was drained from them. The resulting piece of hard plastic was lethal, would swing like a middle-aged couple in Surbiton and could be propelled at phenomenal speed.
The pitch was approximately 18 yards long. It seldom played that long because the front foot rule was seldom applied with a version of the old back foot rule in operation. (Wickman is not sure he understands what it must have been like to play quick bowling when that rule was in place in international cricket). The pitch, by mid-Summer was dusty (much to the annoyance of the head groundsman), uneven and included tree roots along its length. The garden contained many mature trees a number of which were positioned close in on the off side - imagine three close fielders on the off - and there were a number of shrubs in a bed at 1st, 3rd and 4th slip. Other trees were randomly placed.
Any tree struck on the full - however tangentially - would lose the bat a wicket. Any boundary cleared on the full would acrue a six at the expense of a wicket. The batsman would, of course, have to retrieve the ball, on one side braving a derranged pint-sized-yappy-type-dog. All other rules apart from LBW applied, although a bat could not simply stand crabwise in front of his stumps to obscure them as this transgressed the spirit of the law. Games were played to strict test match rules - ten wickets per innings, two innings, no game could last more than 5 days. In effect this was two days at the weekend plus evenings after work minus whatever time was lost through alcoholic incapacity.
Batting was, to say the least, hazardous. The boule ball could, off a long run, be propelled at no small speed taking into account the length of the pitch. The wearing of shorts was unwise. Dug in, it could rear alarmingly and many was the time a good stinger was administered or received. If you could get a bat on it trying to keep it down and away from trees and shrubs was a dashed tricky business. And this is where technique went out of the window. There was no point trying to get your foot to the pitch. The bat was so short you would have been bent double trying to play a classical cover drive which - if an inch off the ground - would strike one of the trees resulting in a wicket down.
The only guaranteed profitable shots were a sqaure cut or drive along the floor to a ridiculously short boundary or some form of block or nudge in that direction OR a shovel to leg avoiding a tree stump square. If you could keep it below the top of the fence, turning it to leg allowed for all run twos or threes as it was difficult for the bowler to get to a particular area becuase of impeding shrubs. Even with the advantage of electric wickets, fielding was a chore because trying to throw down the stumps from any distance was almost impossible as the ball would not fly straight. Accuracy was a question of incredible phyical understanding and the use of parabolas.
Games were attritional. Long periods would be spent with the bowler experimenting with grips to bowl the perfect inswinging yorker. We hoped to pitch the ball on a root to change how it would behave off the pitch. As a bat, you needed to remain hunched to stop the ball going under your ridiculousy small bat and alert to the danger of one dug in. Your best strategy was to allow the opponent to bowl himself to a standstill so he had to bring on his "spinners" due to tiredness. At this point you could go on some form of run spree.
There were some marathon games. Wickman can recall a team called Dead England (including Hutton, Grace, Tyson etc) ammassing more than 750 for the loss of only 3 wickets (Hutton made a treble) against Famous Guitarists who included Hendrix and someone called Satriani (who had a particularly fluid bowling style). So exhausted were the guitarists at the middle of the second day that Dead England promptly declared and Larwood and Voce destroyed the guitarists twice in a session as Wickman minor could hardly stand straight.
Happy days - but it has taken years of senior cricket and corrective nets for Wickman to be able to drive the ball straight or hit the ball in the air to leg. There was simply no value and too much risk in those shots in the garden. Wickman wonders how many other young men's careers in club cricket have been similarly retarded...
Wick summers & Club Day
GAAR - 23rd February 2007
Summer is a glorious time. Cricket, sunshine (most of the time), mates, and laughs.
It's difficult to pick out one day that is the highlight of this glorious time of year, but most Wickmen (and ladies) would probably pick Club Day as the day they look forward to most. Tour is when silly season hits fever pitch, but Club Day defines a season.
So what is Club Day I hear you cry?
Well, it's when the whole club come together to celebrate the Wick as one big family. There is a 6-a-side tournament, which although ultimately friendly is never lacking competitive edge. Every wannabe skipper secretly craves the accolades that comes with winning the prestigious Wick 6s. It's a chance to pit your skills against the whole club, and our sister club the Crossbats.
It's a time for the whole Wick family not just the seniors trying to smash each other out the ground. Colts, families, friends and absolute ringers all come together at the glorious Wick ground to share and enjoy their cricket club over a glass or two (lemonade for the colts).
Dave Fudge the club's resident DJ, gives the games a 20/20 feel with all the players walking into bat with their signature theme tune... My favourite is Bloomy's - The Adams Family.
Sir Jim Dowler (he is definitely a Lord of the Realm down at the Wick) does the BBQ, and there are never any empty stomachs.
And then of course there is the annual stunt. This might be someone getting stitched up, or something to amuse the crowd. My personal favourite was Joe Ewen, Matt Davies and Dom Lowns a few years ago.
Picture the season. The Wick ground is bathed in sunshine, and the crowd are basking in its golden glow, whilst watching a crucial semi-final. Then, from the Millennium Wood emerges a dark figure. He scampers on to the pitch and steals the stumps mid-game. What were we to do? Fear and bemusement set in as everyone feared the tournament may have been sabotaged.
But there was never any need to fear - as from out of the trees emerged Batman and Robin (Joey and Matt dressed in tights with bin bags for capes). They gave chase. People held their breath and chewed finger nails. Could our caped crusaders save Club Day? Well... of course they did, and unmasked the mystery stump uprooter... none other that Dom Lowns... worryingly he is now Club Treasurer...
Club Day was saved for another year and everyone keenly awaits 2007. What surprises are install for the people of The Wick this year... I wonder?
Cricketing Paraphernalia
GAAR - 19th February 2007
While Mr Cricket surely became Australia's most un-successful ODI captain of recent times (oh the irony), Wick members once again started scraping the sinews of our minds for ways to improve the club.
Todays challenge is the club house. Wickman in his infinite wisdom has suggested we improve our already fantastic club house with cricketing paraphernalia and Wick objets d'arts.
So it's time to dust off the thinking caps, rummage around the inner sanctums of the scorebox, and see what we can find.
If anyone has any ideas or objects they would like to donate let us know. Anything of cricketing interest at all....it's all Wick
Dove, Black, Magenta & Blue
GAAR - 19th February 2007
It's Monday morning. The weekend is over and nets is another 6 days away. The winter skies outside shadow the encroaching summer light. We know it's there somewhere. There are 81 days, 1 hour and 45 minutes (allowing for the clocks to change) until the first league game. 81 has never sounded like such a large number.
I've got work to do. It's piling up on my desk. Hang on - better just check if there have been any more posts on the wick members forum first. I'm struggling to type. My hands are black and blue from nets last night. I'm also tired because I couldn't sleep last night. The excitment, oozing dove, black, and magenta from every pore as I looked forward to the first game of the season, not to mention the bruise on the back of my ribs where Shaun's bouncer caught me flush. Forget leather on Willow - leather chipping bone was more apt for me last night.
How am I supposed to get any work done? All I can think about is cricket and the Wick.
Dove, Black and Magenta fever... It's enough to make you feel blue
Nets - Quality
Wickerman - 18 February 2007
Wickman is back from nets at Tiffin School. They're at 7pm every Sunday night. They are the highlight of Wickman's week. Wickman's Monday morning work induced depression, only levened by thinking of Mick Lewis's quivering top lip in South Africa, is made worse by knowing that there are six days to wait until Wickman can net again. Tonight the standard is excellent. Last year's 1s new ball pairing, Joey and Barrell, are hairing in. It's that little bit too dark for comfort. A new guy, Kamran, turns up. He's very quick too. He pings one into Wickman's inner thigh off an inside edge. The edge is the only thing that stops it cannoning into Wickman's old boys. And off a couple of paces. And then there's Tid. Tid is Wick. And Shaun. And Dom. And Billy. Billy's back. It's challenging. Lively. The nets at Tiffin are quick at the best of times. Tonight they are lightening quick. Wickman is pleased to retire to the Kingston Tup without further injury.
Wick or Village?
Wickerman - 18 February 2007
It's important to know if you are 'Wick' or 'Village'. Wickman consults Club Captain Matty D for a definitive view.
"'Wick' is an all embracing term that summarises a moment, action or event that can be considered special, unusual, original or typical. It is good. It is 'of the Wick'. Similarly 'Not Wick' recognises the opposite where the moment, action or event is not good, beneficial/enjoyable to the parties involved.
If something is Village, it is of a very poor standard indeed, almost to the point where it is so bad it is laughable. However describing something as Village embues it with a mystical power even though by all rational thinking it should not be."
Uses: "That's Nicholls. He's Wick" (Keith Nicholls is the club chairman - it would be difficult to find someone who was more Wick than Nicholls) or "See that bowler? He's Village. Which means he is very likely to trap me dead in front" (The bowler is deemed to be of Village standard - but he is likely to bowl an uplayable ball and have me LBW. Especially now I have called him 'Village').
Matthew Davies
‘The Art of Captaincy’, by Matthew Davies, HWRCC 1XI 2006
As if I’m qualified to write a short article (oh yes... it is an article) on the Art of Captaincy! I’m a 22 yr old (this may change - DoB 26/3/83) perennial student, with aspirations to make some money, have a nice flat somewhere funky, play as much cricket as I can before my back gives up and a few other ambitions I shall reserve for more appropriate forums of disclosure. However I have been entrusted in the captaincy role for the Hampton Wick Royal 2006 season, and believe me when I say I CANNOT BLOODY WAIT! I’ve wanted this responsibility for a while, and although it may have come potentially a few years early (in a perfect world) there is no doubt I’m ready, and now I’m in possession, someone’s going to have to take it off me.
Before I write some more original prose, I’d like to nick somebody else’s.
The following is an adapted extract from Simon Hughes ‘Morning Everyone’, which incidentally is a very good read.
‘What d’you think makes a good captain?’ I said to Ritchie (Benaud), watching Somerset’s bowling being plundered to all parts at Taunton. (Unsurprisingly it is a cardinal sin to actually ask the great man a direct question live on air).
Far from being put out, he was sprightly in response. ‘Captaincy is ninety percent luck and ten percent talent’. There was a pregnant pause as the camera alighted on Somerset’s ailing skipper. ‘But don’t try it without the ten percent.’
There is no two ways about it, Ritchie Benaud is a legend and should be knighted (even if Aussies can’t receive such accolades). He is one of those people who make you feel like a child at Christmas. I can imagine me sitting on his floor, legs crossed, log fire burning, back copies of Wisden neatly stacked on the bookshelf in the corner, Boticelli softly playing in the background, whilst he passes on nuggets of information seated like a king in his rocking chair. I digress.
So what will I bring to the captaincy party (aside from some Tesco Value beers)?
Well, firstly passion. I’ve been at The Wick for over ten years now and I’m proud to say that I’m the first former HWRCC colt to be their Saturday 1XI skipper. I’ve been committed to the club for all this time and we are extremely lucky to have so many of us feel who the same way and make this great club the place it is. This goes from the President and Chairman right down the current set of colts whom are amongst the best in the county.
Secondly: Some talent. I bat top 4 and can bowl a bit if needed. I’m no Freddie. I see myself more of an Ian Bell type, just without the freckles.
Thirdly: Youth. I’ve got no proof, but I must be amongst the youngest captains the club has had. Additionally, the team is surely amongst the youngest it has ever been, and we’ve been waiting for us all to blossom together, like a flower in early spring. We should put pressure on ourselves to make it happen NOW. I don’t play cricket to lose.
Fourthly, a cricketing brain and a bit of nous. I like to think I know a thing or two about how to win cricket games, and hopefully as a team we can surprise some opponents with some brave, positive and innovative decision making.
Finally, a whole lot of enthusiasm. This will start on January 29th with the indoor nets, and will continue through the successful season. I define success through enjoyment, but a major theme of enjoying cricket is winning, so I’ll be plotting away like a Mi5 agent to get as many points as we can and get us promoted.
Finally, thanks to Allen, Goldy, Nick, Garf and Mackie for creating this site, and maintaining it. Hopefully it will signal great times ahead for The Wick.
Matthew Davies
Gareth Jones
Learning the Lingo
In 2003 I decided to resurrect my cricket career following early retirement due to a broken nose, university and other reasons into which I won’t divulge in case my mother should ever stumble across this website. I had been in London for 5 years but having been enveloped in the bubble of university, never really absorbed myself in the local culture, much less fraternized with the locals unless by some bizarre string of events and planet alignment the barman was neither a student or antipodean.
The primary reason however for not having ever conversed with the local tribes was that I didn’t understand much of what they were saying. My ears were full of their strange language, but before joining the Wick I had never grasped much because I was never given the chance: Everyone in London ignores everyone else, hindering the spread of knowledge and friendship. This was made all too clear to me when my first attempt at joining a cricket club, Weybridge, resulted in three silent net sessions where no one spoke to me and I certainly wasn’t bolshy enough to interrupt their cliques. In fact the only noises rendered in my direction were the sniggers as Dan Parrish, who I remembered well as a young lad supporting Worcestershire, as he lofted me out of the nets, off the green and over the road, narrowly missing an elderly man stooping to scoop his dog’s poop in case it should sully the little Surrey village necessitating the call for an emergency meeting of the village parish council. I am not a bowler, but no one ever bothered to ask what I did do. And so it was that after 3 net sessions which felt more like three Derbyshire seasons, and no games, I decided to withdraw myself back into cricketing retirement.
Later that summer however I was playing football in the park with some friends from university and some local lads. One of them kept shouting ‘back door’. Now where I come from if you start shouting things like that during a game of football you’re likely to have the goal posts (and I’m not talking about an Adidas training top) inserted so you resemble Orvil the annoying green duck. I am an open minded person though and was quite happy to chat to the lads following the game, and the conversation eventually stumbled onto cricket, whereupon, before I knew what had happened I had agreed to turn up to nets the following Tuesday night. And so began my education in the local and cricketing lingo. When people ask me now if I speak any other languages I proudly exclaim ‘yes, I speak Wick’. I’m even considering putting it on my CV.
The Wick was instantly appealing as they welcomed me into the fold despite my country sideburns, which almost required a hair net to prevent my neighbour’s cat getting fur balls. Hell I think people even shook my hand. Nothing makes a new member feel more welcome than smiles and gentle banter at their first net session, and so I was full of enthusiasm when invited to play for the 2XI the following Saturday.
I remember little of the game other than as we were chasing a huge total I was quite surprised when the skipper mumbled something about ‘mums’ at me. ‘What my mum’s here?’ I said, frantically stubbing out the cigarette I had been nervously hoovering as is customary before I go anywhere near a cricket bat.
‘No, your mums and dads’.
I stared back blankly.
‘Mums and Dads? Pads!’
‘Ohhh right’, I said, ‘But we’re only 1 down and I’m in 6’.
‘Welcome to the Wick!’ said the skipper with a knowing look in his eye. I was in 9 overs later and back in the pavilion after 10.
Later that evening in the bar, a club member who I knew only as Del-boy turned to me and much to my surprise and bemusement exclaimed: ‘You should get down the fatboy’.
‘Nice to meet you’ I said in a desperate attempt to hide the fact I didn’t have a clue what he was suggesting.
‘What? You haven’t got a Scooby have you!’ he replied.
He was right. I didn’t, and to be perfectly honest I still don’t have any idea what Del is talking about 75% of the time, but I’ve learnt to nod along in approval.
During my three seasons at the Wick I can honestly say though, I have plucked with fervent application enough vocabulary to understand and speak just enough ‘Wick Rhyming Slang’ to get by. It is just a shame my girlfriends first language isn’t ‘Wick’. It’s much easier than Swiss-German.
Here is my guide to ‘Wick’ and other slang used on and off the Cricket field:
Wick Wash – A day when both teams win
Mums n dads - Pads
Ones n twos - Shoes
Dicky dirt - Shirt
Move your Plates - Move your feet
Nelson Mandela – Stella Artois
Persian rug - When a slip catch goes begging. Coined when Rosco once explained 'you'd have caught it if you'd put down that Persian rug you were carrying’
Frank Boff - off
Click click click (sound) – Relates to the Wicks own antipodean Fordy, who is like a Velocer Raptor on the cricket field.
Timberlake – Keith the Club Chairman
FC – Freezing Chairman. Keith after he’s been umpiring in the merry month of May
Chevy chase - Face
Fatboy Slim - Gym
A Tid – A good win
Gregory Peck – Neck
A Bunsen Burner – Raging turner
RIP – Skipper/Captain
Plucking Strawberries – A really good catch. Usually followed by a mimicking of strawberry plucking and eating.
Scooby Doo – Clue
Aerosol – Someone, usually a paceman who sprays it everywhere.
Cafeteria/DBW Tea: A load of old dross, so the batsman ‘can’t help himself’
Cardboard Cut outs: Immobile slip fielders.
Filth – Bowling that promotes a flier.
Jaffa/Peach – Unplayable delivery
Rabbit – Hopeless tailender
Sawn Off – Dodgy umpiring decision
