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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