Philippine 6’s 2018

Day Zero

‘It is better to travel with Pope than to arrive.’

But Pope wasn’t here.
Not too dismayed or downhearted by this, we followed our Skipper’s lead; his motto…

‘every journey starts with one small beer’

All but the 3 emigrant Bashers congealed in PVG departures. I say all, where was that favourite feline of ours? In his travelling cage?

Moggy is never one to miss an opportunity to disappoint and he was sticking to his principles. We were a man down before the tiny tasters had even begun their brain addling work.

In a showing of very poor form, the guy who was most insistent regarding the airport arrival time and who also lived closest to PVG, was late, along with the freshly blazered Fake News, who’s early beer had already taken it’s toll.

Luckily Paps had come up trumps and the rest of us waited, Mountain Goats in hand.

Breakfasting at Burger King, some idiots believing that Harbin is an acceptable tour beverage (I don’t care if it is in the meal deal), the posse play ketchup roulette. After 7 twists of the sachet, Omega was the recipient of the inevitable ablution.

Porno seemed to think coffee was also an acceptable tour beverage and published a photo to this effect. No, Porno, No! Better than Harbin, but really, No!

To realign expectation, a welcome sight to all, was the Tsingtao beer bar, en route to the gate. Travelling beers were welcomely procured, Presidential Paps leading the way with a glorious glass of IPA for sharing in the boarding line.

All aboard the Skylark, the Misaligned in line, to the right, the cultured wine club of Rooty and Fisty, to the left a couple of hand shandies, and in the centre, unlucky Pierre for the day, Fake News, who, in protest, insisted on a coke only flight.
“I feel like Gerry Rafferty” thought Fakey “Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right, here I am stuck in the middle of you (K’s)”

Arrived Manila, early and happy, travelling with hope, ambition and joy in our hearts. Tank and Mrs Tank (April, not septic) had delivered as promised. Buses and beers primed and ready.

Rooty, self appointed as fine master, went too soon and exhausted pre tour fines before downtown Manila was even behind us. In fact Manila never seemed to end. Hours to leave and then minutes to arrive in Angeles and our base for the campaign.

Out and about in downtown Angeles is an interesting experience. We’d missed the tournament meet and greet but made up with some alternative meet and greet in true Bashers style.

Early to bed, naturally.

 

Day 1
‘There is nothing to fear except beer itself’

Last night is a blur.

Fisty’s breakfast shot sets the tone for the day.

Bus is late leaving due to El Presidente’s toilet needs.
‘Cliff Richard is f**kin rocking!’ ejaculates Omega. Can only be uphill from here, surely.

Game 1
Bashers were looking good for a couple of overs until that notorious wicket taking machine, Fisty Cymbals turned his arm over in the 3rd and went for the tournament record of 30. One of the sixes even bouncing off the crossbar of the adjacent footy field. That’s the last that was seen from the specialist slow armer for the duration of the tournament.

A challenging target was set. The big question of the day was, who’s going to be the first recipient of the ‘duck’ short shorts….

We didn’t have to wait long for an answer. Entering the chase and leading from the front, Soggy bagged himself a golden and then bagged himself.

This was then followed by some relaxed batting from Paps and Porno who appeared to be padding out for the draw. The nuances of white ball sixes cricket was clearly going to be a challenge for this squad.

Game 2
Shuffling the pack, Rooty and Bambi opened. “I’ll be halfway down when the ball reaches you” Bambi assured his opening partner. However when push came to shove and Rooty had creamed the first ball off the middle, Bambi had clearly gone for the lead shoe option and, much to Rooty’s chagrin, the duck shorts were heading his way.

Next up, the Skipper, keen to show why the 8 hours from Melbourne was worthwhile, only managed to last 2 more balls for a single, effectively making his omission from the 3rd match an inevitability. Insufficient target set and with Rooty throwing down no balls like it was the latest trend, the game was over far sooner than necessary.

Game 3
The Bashers were now into the full swing of the Tanduay.

Losing partners like he’s on a 2nd rate dating show, Fisty had to resort to dancing around the crease and using the back of Soggy’s bat to make things happen.

Nothing happened. Our inexorable defeat was achieved short of four overs and the bus to the pool was purloined tout suite.

Note: despite the woeful performances, Tank had actually held his end up pretty well. He’s clearly been out of Shanghai too long.

We took on circular sustenance in the form of pizza after some tennis ball pool action and managed a rudimentary fines session. Only finding it possible to have one eye open at a time, veteran tourist Omega had clearly enjoyed the day to the max and the fines were just a bridge too far. That was the last action for Basher number 6 on this day.

Ready for the night on the town, Porno absolutely living up to his name, rocked up in a pink wife beater and leather trousers.

Curry at Mother India was followed by the inevitable late finish at Shipwrecked.

Details are sketchy and best avoided.

This is the only decent photo…

 

Day 2
‘When all other options are eliminated, what remains must be the Tanduay.’

Last night was a blur.

Game 4
Batting first, clearly the previous evening was weighing heavy. In fact we couldn’t even bat the complete six overs. Last man standing, Omega, managed a one man self run out having forgotten until half way into his first run that he had to make it back.

3 ducks and a tournament record low of 18 on the board, with full slip cordon in place, Fake News opens our defence with a leg side beamer.

I think he missed the briefing.

No worries, guaranteed a place for an all Chinese plate semi against Beijing.

Tank had decided that he’d be commentator for the day, trying to distance himself from failure. Stealing the scorers mic, he illuminated the days play like a late night talk radio host. Vocation missed I think.

Captions on a postcard please…

Plate semi
‘Keeping like an open window, the early night clearly hadn’t improved Omega’s vision. Rooty insisted on maintaining his record of bowling a front foot no ball in every game and 47 was set by Beijing, which, given form, could prove to be a stern test for the Bashers.
Welcome to tour Soggy Biscuit! All the pre tournament hype was finally fulfilled as he lead us to victory with a sleeping Paps as his foil.

Bashers invaded the pitch prematurely as Paps ran one short. Next ball was wide as Beijing stole the moment of glory. Finally a win in the bag and a final to play.

Plate Final
This is why we came.
After a Soggy toin coss, yes, toin coss, Bambi and Fisty are the lucky wild card selections for the final six.
“When can we finish this f**king cricket?” Skiddy, not wearing well all day, saying what we’d all been thinking for some time.

True to form and with guts full of San Miguel, the wheels absolutely came off. Only posting 43, the inevitable was well under way after the president bowled the worst over of his career to open our ‘defence’.
However we did come away with a pot, the ‘runner up plate’ was deemed an over achievement given our status and talent on show.

Back to the pool, Tanduay and ginger ale was the beverage of choice for a magnificent fines session. All at a loss for positive fines, the session descended into self deprecating abuse and something about an apple that doesn’t need repeating. Omega kept both eyes open throughout.

Another trip to Mother India lined stomachs for an evening at, yes you’ve guessed it, Shipwrecked again where the night was danced and drank away.

Details are sketchy and best avoided.

 

Day of the Dead
Travelling home from any tour is an attritional experience, just ask Napoleon.

Last night was a blur.

Leaving the hotel at 6am isn’t ideal. Bambi had spent the night bent backwards over a chair in the lobby, Fisty had accompanied him for a while on the adjacent sofa but eventually decided that 2 hours in his bed would be more beneficial.

Fake News was doing the tour of the hotel, rousing everyone at 5.15.
The ride back was much more peaceful than the previous Friday, nary a word was uttered until Manila airport was in sight.

After waiting the 2 hours to board, no sooner had we sat down we were notified of another 2 hour delay. Was this hell ever going to end?

Finally touched down back in our hometown, the weary Bashers debarked and said their farewells. The tour was over, memories had been well made, fun had been accomplished, friendships enhanced and another legendary annal written into Basher history with one finger and a pipe.

Big thanks to Tank and Skiddy for bringing us together.