Bashers soiled by filthy Doggies

Leisure were narrowly defeated by the filthy Doggies on Saturday, with Basher’s bowling, fielding and batting all lacking that killer edge to take the game away from Shanghai’s canine cheats, who posted a very get-able 155. The captain’s after match comments summed up the team’s feelings. “We was done like a bunch of muppets, we was fackin’ robbed. We’ve let down the gaffer, sorry Tamps.”

Saturday also marked the end of basher’s careers for both Bridget and Rash, the latter not lured into another season in Shanghai with the promise of a lifetime’s supply of Dr Tim’s paedo beer.

The bus journey, lacking Tampon’s range of terrible Dad jokes, resorted to London underground and Chinese history facts, the atmosphere only lightened by the addition of Tucker’s doggy mascot, Shepard. “A grasp of Chinese history is useful for anyone wanting to get ahead in the middle Kingdom.” Opined Tucker’s mutt. “Not only because the mix of bloody wars, feuding dynasties and political intrigue makes House of Cards look like a high school election, but because the Chinese are tied to their history, and identified by it, in a way that no other nation without 4,000 years of continuous civilisation can comprehend”.

Chods wily cricket brain engineered a toss loss, knowing the mucky curs would put themselves into bat. Giraffe led out the bowling with some accurate medium pace which held back the soiled dogs’ lacklustre opening batsmen. Rash followed up with a first over that swung like a 1970s Essex housewife. With the scorecard kept relatively low in the first six overs’, but no wicket coming, Leppa was called on to summon Lucifer’s hordes, as he promised in pre-match communications with our stand-in captain.

In the end, despite Leppa’s Faustian pact, the five wickets were not to realise, and he ended less Belezebub, and more Bob the Builder. He did however bowl tightly, going for only 5 an over and delivered the opening batsman’s wicket into satan’s claws. At the other end, Tucker came on and sent down the quickest deliveries of the day, giving Rash’s balls that tingly wickety feeling. But bad luck deprived Tucker of his just deserts, and as the batsman began to tuck in, the scoreboard began to tick over, helped by some very relaxed fielding from Fake News, who’s running rivals Sir Bolt for acceleration, grace and agility.

Pope held his end up well, snaffling balls like an underfed Mexican pornstar. Chodsmaster brought himself on for a tight spell, and Bridget tested his dodgy leg for a couple as well. Wickets began to fall at last, with Giraffe back in the action, picking up a couple. Extras continued to tick the score over, with Rash the worst culprit. The mucky pack of low-life dogs managed only 155, and the game was on.

Fisty accompanied by a man ¼ of his age went out to hit the winning runs in 15 overs. “Don’t worry darling, we’ll be back in time for Christmas” Fisty was overheard whispering to his wife. “It’ll be a grand show, a couple of wizz bangs, and we’ll push the Doggies to Berlin before you can say toodlepip mine’s a pink gin”. Two fours later and Fisty was back in the dugout, swiftly followed by his manservant, Mule. Pope came out for Kent, the Queen, and Meihua, and left the field soon afterwards for Brexit, a tantrum, and an early shower.

With the big guns failing to make a dent in the Doggies lines, younger, and fresher, and larger Bashers were ordered over the top by General Haig’s illegitimate great great grandson, to better effect.

Someone hits the ball. Oddjob?

Fake news combined with Oddjob to build the score steadily, both reaching respectable mid-thirties scores, and a partnership that looked like it could win the game. The required run rate hovered at 8 an over, Bashers began to dream again, and with only 28 runs to get from 4 overs, things looked good. But of course, a Bashers collapse is a thing as dependable as it is beautiful, and the batsman contrived to throw the game away in style. Leppa made some lusty swings, Rash teased the crowd with a couple of unlikely fours, and soon it was all over, 10 runs short of victory.

While Business attempted to play cricket, Leisure sat in the dugout and dreamt of better days. Bridget led the fines, and with 34 warm jugs of beer to get through, things got messy very quickly.

In between taking over the fines session and waking up on the wall outside Lost Heaven’s Julu branch at 8pm, my memory is blank. I suspect there was singing, paedo beer, insults aimed at Australians, and a horrible aircraft-hangar style drinking establishment.

Gentlemen: goodbye. My feeling about leaving the warm Bashers fold to venture outwards to Brexit Britain is summed up by our most eloquent teammate, Spanner. “Everything’s fine until someone fingers your wife”.

Fake News counts his balls before going out to bat