Do ya think I’m Sixty!
As I watch the lights of Seaford fade into the blackness and feel the sickening lurch of the piss-soaked hulk, I realise I am sailing. I am sailing – not home again, but across the sea!
I quickly realise that a Rod Stewart-themed piece is not going to work.
Let’s Parler Franglais avec Del.
Bon Jour! Monsieur Sewell here, your correspondent this week, reporting direct from that Frairnce – home of the croissant, the Can-Can and that lick-spittle wannabe, Delbert O’Scum.
So we have taken this serendipitous opportunity to collaborate in producing the Greys’ first-ever bi-lingual match report. In part to reassure our French amis after the shock of Brexit and also to try and ‘grow’ the game of Sunday cricket on the continent and beyond.
Alors! Bon Jour, Delbert!
On va commencer?
The afternoon began with delightful acting-captain Good Ben Newland calling incorrectly.
Bon-Ben ne gagne pas le toss!
That’s the idea, Del, So WG elected to bat.
Le Gris were dans la champ!
Trés Bon, Delbert. The WG, as always, had a couple of aggressive batsmen in the top order.
That’s just repetition, Del! Alain Gallagher again bowled well, beating the bat often but unfortunately wicket-less on this occasion.
Del! Bon-Ben however, took a trade-mark wicket with a dipping slower ball in his first over.
Un très bon start, non?
Yes, but he wasn’t happy with his overall consistency and replaced himself with in-form swinger Ian Sewell.
Oui! He bowled reasonably well against two batsmen who had been scoring well at five or six an over.
Ca c’est pas bon!
No indeed, the opener J. Fellows was on 64 when, not for the first time, he played uppishly but firmly through fine mid-off.
That’s not even French, Del! Sewell soared high to his left and with two fingers parried the ball upwards.
Tout a fait! On his way down Sewell first tickled and then finally caught the descending ball before ending up on his back, arms aloft in jubilation.
Incroyable! Comme Charlie George!
Exactamente! He was very pleased with himself. Another c&b, the third week running!
Et toujours le batsman dangereux.
Bien Spottė! Del. He quickly took another wicket – dollied up to mid-on for Zak to take overhead. Malheuresment, he then proceeded to bowl tripe to the awkward looking batsman who repeatedly flayed it to pavilion boundary.
Yes tripe, it’s the same. Sewell finally worked out to bowl wide of off-stump, but the looping catch that resulted was dropped at slip!
Chutė! Mais non! Restez Bas!
Well Del, I think wicket-keeper Jerry distracted Alain at first slip by diving across his line of sight.
Jerry au derriere des stumpes? Je ne l’crois pas!
Alex had exacerbated his finger injury.
Quel dommage! Le pauvre!
Not to worry! Jerry made one stupendous diving leg-side stop but was helpless to stop the byes that screamed down leg from off-spinner Ibrahim’s faster ball.
Never mind! Anyway the scoring rate had dropped sharply, especially after Ibrahim had clean-bowled the sketchy No 3 for 47.
Sketchy? Je ne comprends pas!
Stop interrupting, for crying out loud!! He looked poor, often played and missed, screamed “Wait!” so loud everybody jumped but scored at least four an over.
Ridicule! Ibrahim, il est l’homme! Mais, ca fait seulement quatre bowlers!
A mais oui! J’ai l’oublie Robbie Hoare! He also bowled well, too good for the WG middle order, particularly the ball, left by the batsman, that jagged back onto the top of stump!
Vivė le ordonnateur des pompes funebres! Ca tout?
Pas du tout! There followed an emotional vignette from l’ancien Tel.
A little cameo.
Don’t you ever read? Terry, clanking like an old tractor, soon shook off his rust and was denied a deserved wicket by un clanger effroyable!
Un attrape chute? Très mauvais!
So 159 was the target for Les Gris to chase down.
Bon Courage! Mais le batting est un peu fine!
Cheers Del! It might have been more, but the No11 obviously considered it to be enough and “couldn’t be arsed” to get changed and so was timed out.
Tea was one of the best of the season. Unspectacular but all déliciuex!
J’adore le cuisine Française! Steak-frites pour moi!
You’re such a Bogan! The Greys began their innings brightly until makeshift opener Alex Fenton allowed himself to be bowled for eight.
Ooh la la! Quel surprise!
Now, now, Del! In came makeshift No3, Dom Ashton who forged a 50+ stand with Jerry Brasher.
Cincante plus? C’est magnifique!
Dom looked sure-footed and assertive as usual while Jerry gave an easy chance in nearly every over on his way to 46!
Quel un con jammy!
Alors! Dom, then Zak got out in quick succession.
Mais non! Le batting collapse?
Not this team. Not this season! Entendu! Duncan Edwards, L’anciėn Tel, Alain, Bon-Ben et Ibrahim all stuck around into double figures. Duncan notably unleashed two back foot shots to the cover boundary!
Por être juste, there were many loose balls and the middle order regularly put them away. There was also poor fielding and there was good running between the wickets.
Fenton etait outré, non?
Oui, d’accord! Les Gris were getting close but WG’s able first-teamer and opening bat, J. Fellows, came on and strangled the scoring with his nagging off-breaks.
Mon dieu! Ce que tension!
Quite. When Bon-Ben was bowled by wily bowler, Buckle, The Greys needed ten runs from nine balls remaining. The new batsman was Sewell.
Catastrophe! Sewell? Pas de chance! Ou est Robbie?
Ferme la bouche! Ecoutez Bien! The first ball is straight and a good length. Sewell leans forward and blocks.
Shut your face, Delbert! You ignorant Aussie git! The next ball, Sewell quickly picks the slightly fuller length and lifts it wide of mid-on for four!
Vraiment? Encullez Moi!
Bien Sur! But Sewell hears not the cheering but only the blood rushing in his ears. The next ball is a bye. The unlikely protagonists confer. The middle-aged dirtbag and the dashing, young Afghani refugee decide to run for virtually anything.
N’importe de chose virtuellement!
You’ve made that up! Unfortunately, the next ball is a dot.
Just piss off, Del! The last ball of the over is sweep-smashed towards the river by the heroic Ibrahim!
Quatre runs? Bravo! Formidable! Les scores sont tied!
Oui! But now it is Fellows to bowl. He is pitching the ball short outside of off-stump and bringing it sharply back in. Sewell doesn’t fancy it!
Mais non! C’est dificile, even pour moi!
Whatever! Sewell has decided to ignore master-batsman Alain and will not be on the back foot, watching the ball and playing with the spin – or anything else guaranteed to get him out leg-before.
Quel un maverick!
Thanks, instead the technically limited tail-ender leaves his crease and pushes at the ball on the full.
Non, non! Suicide!
But Sewell’s bat connects and a fat edge runs into the on-side; the winning run is easily completed!
Mais non! Triomphe! Glorie! Je le connait tous les temps!
You should have seen the smile on his grizzled chops!
Chops? Oui, merci! Et des frites?
Jesus, what an embarrassment!
It had been a glorious sunny day and the evening was still warm as the players gladly made their way to The Laughing Fish for beer!
La Pêche Qui Rit?
Fuck Off, Del!