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Home | Return to Division Fixtures
Nom | Home Player | Nom | Away Player | Result | Games |
1 | T Garner | 1 | P Nicol | 3 | 0 | 9/7 9/7 9/7 | 2 | C Du Toit | 3 | M Aldridge | 3 | 2 | 9/4 5/9 3/9 9/5 9/7 | 4 | A Moore | 4a | T Webb | 0 | 3 | 6/9 1/9 7/9 | 5 | W Brownsdon | 7 | A Martin | 1 | 3 | 3/9 9/6 4/9 5/9 | 7 | D Marlow | 15 | G Seed | 3 | 1 | 6/9 9/4 9/2 9/1 | | | | | | | | | | | Games: | 10 | 9 | |
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| | | Bonus: | 5 | 0 | |
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| | | Result: | 15 | 9 | |
Report: | Squash anoraks,
I’ll get straight to the money shot: Tim v Peter.
Domino’s thick crust pepperoni pizza, Whoppers, fudge cake, KFC buckets, 3-litre coke – no, not Alex Martin’s breakfast - but Peter’s staples over recent months. After retiring he’d clearly reverted to type, no longer an Englishman but a Scotsman, fried Mars bars with extra helpings of chip fat and a small wardrobe of cakes. Waddling onto court he looked no longer the bouncing Zebedee of his halcyon days, instead a fat and slow Mike Tyson (white version, no gold or tattoos). And he got fatter as the game wore on. Reversing Einstein’s equation that states the faster you go the heavier you get, Peter started like a Rhino on Ketamine, and tapered off. Was this the Peter Nicol? The advertising said Peter Nichol was playing, perhaps it was a Mr Nichol, surgically enhanced to look like the GOAT (Greatest of All Time – some squash trainspotters will dispute that, I know). The first few exchanges were nimble, with the GOAT belying his new-found sloth as he held fort over the mid-court. He clearly still had something up his sleeve, no, not more cake, but an armoury of stinging overhead nicks, gossamer touches, and gazelle-like reactions. Often on the stretch he punched and coaxed volleys and half-volleys to the back, or short, keeping Tim off the T and moving. But taking the ball early all the time began to sap energy and even after the first few rallies it was clear that GOAT’s fitness was not going to be up to it. Tim continued to trade, chase and impose and by the middle of the first he held the advantage. His only obstacle would be his own mind and GOAT’s stomach, which by this stage had become a health and safety tripping hazard. Tim deservedly won the first and some in the audience, not this writer, thought that the GOAT was here simply to raise money for a frivolous charity and not to play a serious match in seriously competitive league. Remember, fellow squash nerds, each of us have sacrificed children, wives, partners and pets (literally) at some stage or another to appease our Tuesday night habit. But it seemed the GOAT was only here for fun. By the second game, his health had deteriorated further, though he gamely (or lamely) in some cases showed glimpses of brilliance and style. On numerous occasions he sent Tim the wrong way, some of you may know it as a Taxi, I would call it satnav abroad and there were some beautifully deceptive cross court drops. But a theme was unfolding, Tim sent up lob after lob on the GOAT’s backhand, and whilst he hit drops and lengths (both cross court and straight) from it the ploy began take its toll. Time after time he arched upwards like a young gymnast in a 1980s sequined body with matching make-up and tights to fire a reply but eventually he shaped like Robbie Coltrane on a space hopper. Just as a boxer holds on after a vicious onslaught, and becomes too tired to focus on the Round Card Girl’s legs in the first row, he held up play with some witty banter, “Marker, you’re a nob” and stole the ball at one time, claiming his front court trickle boast had deceived Tim despite the ball rebounding into the GOAT’s own legs. But let this not mar your memory of a great, for he has seen it all in his time - Spearmint Rhinos, Paul Raymond Revue Bar, the Ping Pong girls in Bangkok, had more hairdos than David Beckham and more sponsorship than Tiger Woods. And so the second was sealed. The gallery wondered in the third if Tim would hold out psychologically – considering his recent mind-transplant at the Dulwich Mind and Goldfish Health Centre. He stretched a deserved lead with some wonderful play as the GOAT began to make more and more mistakes and not even running (well, I say running in broadest sense) for some shots. But the GOAT dug in at the end, and began to sneak back into. Tense moments followed as Tim was SatNavved several times more, but eventually he guessed the right way and gave the GOAT the finger in celebration.
Those who aren’t interested in mortals can now switch over.
Grant Webhead Seedy v Duncan
In preparation for the big occasion Webhead stopped eating Quavers a month ago. He thought this would help his drop shots. A side effect was that he lost weight. This was a Webhead we have rarely seen. Like some new reptile recently discovered by Sir David Attenborough.. “Notice how the scaley body slithers across the court and how its eyes operate separately, one on the ball, the other on the bar..” he was playing out of his scaley skin in the first. Tight length, good drops, and the boasts he hit were low and attacking. His opponent harried and fought but remained marginally off the pace as Webhead sealed the opener. In the second, Webhead’s intensity dropped, and Duncan began to impose his own game. Webhead kept looking at his racket, wondering if he could eat it, but then comforted himself with the fact that he would be able to eat the ball as soon as he was beaten. And so the familiar story goes with Webhead, lovely length and control, phasing into tiredness and then a barrage of mind-bending boasting from all parts of the court. If he can keep his fitness together he could show some serious improvement. Duncan ran out the winner 3-1.
Al ‘El Kunto’ Martin v Will
Some of you more shrewd observers will have noted that the Kunto has now stopped resembling a gender cross-fertilisation experiment with man boobs and more junk in the trunk than Oprah, and has slimmed to a respectable 15 big ones. His movement is still more akin to C3P0 on stilts than a panther but the lad can still hit nicks. His statement of intent was clear: his first touch a backhand drop shot from the back court that hit the nick. Will, whose calves are made of bull elephant cock, had his work cut out trying to decipher Kunto’s array of shot-making. He spent much of the first game on the ropes, chasing down Kuntos knife-edged short game and low killing drives and doing an awful lot of work. Kunto, whose strict principle of less is more (except when eating), refused on several occasions to make even the most minor of adjustments as the ball came towards him and defiantly made a stand – literally – flapping the ball into the tin. But he was on song (..the fat lady sings etc) and his policy of three stroke rallies seemed to be paying off. Will worked hard and fashioned opportunities but all too often the ball was lost in the shadow of El Kunto leaving Will wondering if El Kunto had put the ball in his belly button. He managed to grab a game and at that point and had his greatest chance of turning over the Kunto. Unfortunately for Will this was short lived and several rallying cries later his fight was extinguished. A return to merciless form for Kunto – surely down to his new diet of slimline doner kebabs – two medium-sized instead of one large.
Only the Tony v Andy
Only the Tony has been a revelation this season, racking up win after win. Built like a whippet – all ribcage and cock (according to Dan Lark), OTT appeared on court sporting a new bandana. Unfortunately, perhaps down to a touch of shyness in front of the large gallery, he was not wearing his hair sumo style (think upside-down funnel on the front of his head). Maybe he thought that style tended to slow him down but there was no mistaking that this one worked. Straight out of the traps and first to the bend OTT pounced from side to side dominating the mid-court giving Andy less and less time on the ball and less and less time on the T. A supreme mover (not seen him on the dance floor yet though) he purred like a Lexus, with the Japanese engine ofcourse, and picked up virtually everything at the front. Indeed his ability to scoop up the best of Andy’s shots to the front eventually wore Andy down psychologically and physically. OTT rushed to a 7-1 lead, paused momentarily and then wrapped up. The second was much the same as the first, with OTT demonstrating his love of the Leisure Centre Boast – a speciality of his. Andy struggled to impose his crafty and delicate game and the frustration mounted with each point. OTT ran out the winner 3-0. Yes, it’s true, OTT trains by chasing a mechanical hare. He is off for a welcome skiing break next week to Turden – some shitty place in Switzerland.
Clive v Marc
And so – after the GOAT’s miserable effort – we were left at 2-2, meaning Marc had to pull his finger out for Amoeba to win this match. Clive, a clean cut South African (please check his visa) started sprightly, striking crisply to good length. He looked sharp to the front as Marc laboured in the initial exchanges to find his feet. Indeed, there is an argument that we have in our league our very own Life in Cold Blood species. Marc very often requires warming up before he can operate efficiently and predictably he lost the first and promptly won the second. Hitting his reptilian stride he began to boss Clive, pushing from back to front with a mixture of dying mid court attacking boasts and inch-perfect drops, at the same time as catching flies on the side walls. But Clive’s fortitude remained and he pulled back the fourth. The fifth went neck and neck all the way to 7-7. Nothing separated the two yet uncharacteristically Marc hit the tin by millimetres with a back hand drop from the mid-court giving Clive enough to wrap up.
Afterwards at the bar, the GOAT reflected briefly on his match (whilst drinking a barrel of cider) saying it was one of the hardest he had ever played now that his fitness is not what it was. As I got home and wondered how long I would have stayed at world number one had I decided to play squash instead of backgammon my girlfriend appeared, “How was Barry?” she said. “Barry?” I asked. “Yes, you know, your famous squash player person.” Does greatness ever come to an end, or do you just become Barry?
No animals were harmed in writing this report. |
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Author: | Disco |
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