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posted 15 Sep 2014, 10:48 by Mike Madden
As another season draws to a close it could be argued that it was successful in all aspects of senior cricket. The firsts managed to stay in the top division, whilst the seconds gave several juniors their debuts, as well as regularly fielding as many as eight youngsters in the side. It could also be argued that it was unsuccessful, with the firsts avoiding the drop with only a week to spare as well as getting embroiled in a number of hutching controversies, whilst the seconds finished 6th in a division that ultimately had just 9 teams in it. But, my glass is always half full, so let us celebrate the fact that we have won two pieces of junior silverware, we have a refurbished water hog to contend with next summer's deluges, and we may have a new scorebox in place for the start of a new season (just which season has not, as yet, been specified).

We're having a new scorebox
It seems its just the job
We also have a committee
To design each door and knob

It was all going quite swimmingly
We judged each entered bid
And then at last we all agreed
That the man to build was Fid

It started like a house on fire
With bricks and wood and grout
But Fid, you see, is a fireman
And he put that fire out

The work slowed down quite visibly
Did something need a fix?
"Oh no," said Fid, "Its nothing bad"
"I'm waiting for more bricks"

In matters of a cricketing theme
The firsts had got their wish
They competed with the big boys now
When they weren't going off to fish

The seconds was a nursery
With juniors throughout the side
And then there was an accident
We really could have cried

The mishap was Peter Crowley's
It happened in the cup
The ball it broke his finger
We knew something was up

Because Peter couldn't speak at all
He motioned with his hand
Did he want a pee? Had he gone blind?
We didn't understand

So he left the field and Mr Stones
Drove him from the scene
Whilst we just laughed and cursed our luck
And wondered what might have been

The scorebox was now gathering moss
As the six a side approached
Fid said, "You'll be commentating from inside"
"Which year?" the Chairman joked

The firsts, meanwhile, were making friends
At the home ground of New Mills
As Dale hutched a batsman
Unleashing a world of ills

All hell broke loose and then some more
It felt like a disease
To make it worse our players left
And didn't pay for teas!

But do not panic, we paid the bill
But the damage was surely done
We'd upset a lot of Millers
And we hadn't even won

At Whaley work remained undone
We stared at an unfinished wall
And wondered, "Since July the first"
"Has anything been done at all?"

The juniors did us proud at last
It was good to be under fifteen
First we hammered Mottram
Then we crushed poor old Hawk Green

But relegation threatened
And the firsts were in a hole
Thats when Birch Vale came to town
And Dale came in to bowl

The rest, as they say, is history
I cannot comment much
But everyone seemed to want their say
As Dale used the "Hutch"

Pandemonium ensued
As opinions were expressed
But no laws were broken on that day
And Whaley came out best

Cobwebs appeared on the scorebox
As summer came to pass
And the window looked morosely out
Wondering, "When will I get glass?"

And then the juniors came again
Things were looking up
This time the under seventeens
Lifted the Compstall Cup

But then Old Glossop loomed so large
Over 200 runs were scored
Do we remember Simmonds, Slack or Jones?
No, it was all down to Eddie Ford

We won the game and saved our skin
We survived to fight next year
The seconds tuned in on the phone
The victory was cheered

So now we put our bats away
And adjust our winter clocks
Next April we start again with hope
But probably no scorebox

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