Chairman's Blog No:6.

I really wanted to write at least one blog this season without having to reference my Cambodian personal trainers! Fat chance! I now have the distinct impression that no-one gives a flying fig about me personally - "Hi Prodge, how're the ladies?" is the common greeting I get these days, or; "Prodge - I think I've pulled a tendon in my right wrist - can I come round for a massage?" Some inveterate has even pretended to be Lee Kew and written a comment to one of my earlier blogs, suggesting they were effectively slaves to my darker side and that they should be unshackled and offered solace by various dubious members of WTCC.

Well let me put the record straight dear members - playing members especially.......Ho Ti Bot and Lee Kew are not some casual resource to be bandied about to anyone who fancies a little light relief from time to time. These girls are highly trained exponents of ancient far eastern arts, specialists that demand respect and the support and comfort of someone who recognises their unique abilities and can care for them in their innocence far away from the familiar. Quite honestly, I can think of no-one better to fulfil that particular role than myself

I also have to tell those playing members who so often ask after their health and well being, that your lurid attentions and salacious emails to them are beginning to disturb the girls, who are only used to the genuine and heartfelt attention they get from the sanctity of my home, so I'd ask you to defer from anymore clandestine contact with the poor souls please. You know who you are and if this doesn't stop I'll have to name and shame; now some of you really don't want that do you? Wives and families are involved.

So let's all agree that the business of Ho Ti Bot, Lee Kew and the Co Chairman remains a very private affair, one that from time to time I might choose to share with some of you anecdotally perhaps, but beyond that, the girls are off limits - capiche?

And so - to the business of the week....apart from being truly stunned by the yet to be betrothed Mighty Mo, who at Dunstable sidled up to me and said: "Chairman - are your Cambodian personal trainers really Cambodian??????", events on and off the pitch and performances of individual members have stepped up a gear, I'm delighted to report.

On Saturday just gone, we had four senior sides representing the club and they all won, which, depending on which old stagers you asked later in the evening, is either the first time this has happened for 11 years (Sy), 24 years (Scud), never , because we've never had a 4^th team before (Scud again) or who gives a damn, just get me a Smirnoff ice Chairman (Scud yet again). It has to be reported that Scud was not feeling his best on Saturday, having tried hard to drain the lager lake at the club the night before during the race night. He managed to play for the 3rds, who proudly sit atop of their league at present, but reports from fellow team mates suggest he was a complete and utter hindrance on the day, taking very long singles when 5 should have been run and regularly lashing out at the wrong balls of any 7 he was seeing at the same time! I gather he had to have a little siesta before going out to field and that the ‘MCC Spirit of Cricket' commitment enveloped by the club has somehow passed Scud by, who royally waved the opposition batters off at each dismissal with a friendly indication to where the pavilion was and something about never darkening the same field he was playing on with their presence again - they are not worthy!

Scud managed to recover somewhat as the evening drew out; having started on two cans of coke and a packet of wine gums, industrial size, he did progress to said Smirnoff Ice, something I've never seen a man drink unless by complete accident and by the time I left for home and Ho Ti and Lee Kew, he was singing "Mighty Hornets, mighty mighty Hornets" and leading a pogo line of one, himself, around the boundary of the 1^st team pitch!

At some stage earlier in the evening, the 2nds, sitting proudly atop their league table, returned having snatched a last wicket win away at St Margretsbury, courtesy of Hajeeb and the Queenie. Alan got back to the club first and was busy telling anyone who'd listen, admittedly only two or three of the Hemel 5ths who had wandered within hearing distance, how he was the architect of a fine 30 run last wicket stand and how the Bury quite clearly had the fastest and meanest bowling attack ever mustered in the Herts league and how he toughed it out, took his blows, glanced the odd four and secured a late victory in superhuman fashion.........yeah well, the truth of it all came out 5 minutes later when the rest of the side returned holding Hajeeb aloft on their shoulders singing "We're all Afganis now" and started queuing to buy the lad a celebratory drink at the bar.

"What really happened then?" I asked Sharpey, who was looking bronzed and ever so slightly soiled, a bit like a Dutch porn star -  you know the look! "Hajeeb and Queenie won it for us with a 30 run last wicket stand and Hajeeb not only got all 30 of them but also kept Alan off strike throughout, thank God. Queenie only faced 2 deliveries and one of those was a slow full toss wide!"

"Thought so" said I as I watched Alan quietly slide out of the gates and head home.....

The 4ths, Prabit's boys, had already won by 5 pm and celebrated a significant victory for them by having a quiet drink at the bar and watching the 1^st team's battle against Luton Indians. " A can of coke and 11 straws please Simon" shouted Prabit in his excitement! Honestly, one can of coke....and TJ hogged most of that!

This all leaves the story of the 1^st team, sitting proudly second from bottom of their league!! Mutterings from the captains' of the lower teams about how they could do a better job and had we got our elevens wrongly numbered needed addressing. Remember, the 3rds  - played 2 won 2; the 2nds - played 3 won 3 and unbeaten since 2008; the 1sts - played 3 won none!! Something needed to be done and Luton duly obliged by winning the toss on a Sonoran desert like day and inviting WTCC to bat! Happy days. Unwed and Raj opened up, with Unwed being particularly harsh on anything he could reach and after 8 overs WTCC were 72 - 0. At some point in this carnage our new opening bowler, Kaz, decided to show up. "You're late" chimed skipper Insenny. "All things are relative mate - I'm earlier than usual; thought I'd make an effort, new club n' all!" retorted Kaz....things looking good there then!

Unwed began to unfurl the entire range of his muscular hitting and though we lost Raj to one he middled, only to be given LBW, WTCC were in the driving seat. Insenny joined Unwed in the middle...."Did you know I'm getting married in September Mo? You're not invited!!" The skipper's reverse phsycology worked a treat as Mo promptly got dismissed on 94 trying to hit some poor Luton bowler into St Albans, leaving the decks clear for him to take over and control the innings for the remaining 25 overs.

It just so happened, that Insenny did exactly that. Firstly with Hamisi Three Legs and latterly with Neelu, the skipper batted brilliantly for a great ton and finally declared the innings after 50 overs at 299-4. Tea was a happier affair than of late, despite the fact that Hamisi had pulled a hamstring in one of his three legs and would not be able to bowl. Kaz and Asad opened up and having highlighted how we needed wickets in the first 10 overs, they duly obliged with 3, Asad looking dangerous and keen from the bottom end. From that point Luton couldn't win but with the old maestro ‘Jimmy' Page batonning down one end, they were capable of ensuring WTCC might not win. Up stepped our esteemed bollyporn director, Gary Gunjan, and that effectively was that. He took 5 cheap wickets; Khaled and Damo got in the act too and the 1sts rolled out winners by 120 runs.

"Well played Insenny" trolled Major Canning as the team walked off. "P*** off" said Insenny, clearly miffed at some of the earlier comments during the week from the other club skippers. "Smirnoff Ice please Insenny" tittled Scud. "Jai Ho" sang Unwed and Big Brudder from the players' balcony as Damian started a chorus of "Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree" on his own......yeah - we have an anglicised Aussie in our ranks now. Just when things were beginning to look up at the club!!!?!

Well done to all teams on Saturday - a grand day indeed.

Sunday started with my usual breakfast massage. Lee Kew and Ho Ti Bot invited me up to the loft conversion to help select their bikinis for the day. "You like us in our liddle red polka bot blikinis, Misser Plobber? We like to ware for you. You is good man, not like vose blastads flom WTCC. They velly velly bad. We tickle you now, yes?" And tickled I was, from 8 to 10 am, as waves of uber-sensory pleasure tsunamied through me, the girls pulling out all their tricks to ease my aging bones. "Ooh Misser Plobber - we luv making you fill good. You want the woot ginger stem tweetment now? We have - you want?"

I packed my kit eventually and having given the girls this month's ration of luncheon vouchers so they could relax at the Mill End Café and enjoy the sun, I drove to Woodside anticipating a pleasant afternoon's cricket with some old friends, enjoying the sun and company and a few drinks at the end of play, as used to be the case with our enduringly charming game.

"You playing this afternoon Gulfahan?" I innocently enquired of the junior manager. "You need some time at the crease!" "No -I'm going shopping" said Gulf, without even feeling ashamed. "So who is playing?" I asked innocently again. "You and Sy" said Gulf unhelpfully. "Where's our Sunday captain" I enquired. "He's saving his marriage - they're coming shopping with us!!"

Brilliant! No team.  Sy Sandpit and I started calling all known members. "Can't play - sunbathing in my nephew's paddling pool" said Sharpey. " Sorry Chairmen - playing 5 aside football in Sheffield" claimed Felts. "bzzzzzzzzzz" went Scud's voicemail. "P*** off" muttered Insenny. " Can't play - brudder says so" said Unwed. "Hello - please leave a message for Raj and he will be in touch as soon as he recovers from his night on the town with his brother and Kaz" went Raj's voice message. " Hey big boy; Angelica here. £50 for 2 hours pure, melting pleasure" "Bugger -wrong number" whispered Sandpit.

In the end we mustered 10 bodies to take the field against St Albans West Indians who arrived with their full Saturday 1^st team. Eventually Luke joined us too but we chased leather for much of the afternoon. As it turned out, the unusual suspects made a half decent job in losing to a more powerful unit. The young uns ignored Sandpit's whinging from behind the sticks, their heads never dropped when the 23^rd catch hit the deck, Luke stayed rooted to the same fielding spot for 25 overs, Rajabali came up to watch and then said "I was available - why didn't you give me a call???" One dark cloud on the otherwise brilliantly sunny afternoon was that Mrs Chairman came up to watch. I'd been desperate to get off the pitch up to that point, so hot was it but suddenly I found the sacred haven of the wicket a far safer and more pleasant place to be. However, Mrs C's unscheduled arrival did have a positive benefit in that when I went out to bat, I was determined to stay out there......

"Hi Mrs C" said Sandpit. "How are the Cambodian girls?"  "Shut up" I shouted at my co Chairman. "I'm off" said Mrs C. "Jai Ho" sang TJ and young James. "Jambo, jambo bwana, msuri, msuri sana" chanted Hamisi Three Legs and Athumani.

We lost; I needed a massage and couldn't wait to get home; St Albans West Indians wanted to stay to midnight so Sandpit and I sabotaged the gas and cooler on the beer and eventually we locked up and headed into the late, steamy Hertfordshire night.....

"It was carnage Lee Kew. Thank God for me. If it hadn't been for my 65, we would have been stuffed. Don't know what Sandpit was doing - he missed a straight one. Only room for one Chairman really...It's been such a hard day girls. So intense and stressful...."

"you no wuwy Misser Plobber - we here for you now. Lie back an fink of Ingerland. We take care of bizness. You like full body rock salt rub? We make it velly special for our velly special Chairman. You lie back. We take care you now......."

There are compensations.

Chairman's Blog No. 5 - 12.05.2010.

My strategically placed ‘snitches' are slowly beginning to bear fruit as the season gathers pace and members become more prone to doing the idiotic. Naturally enough, in the name of humour and interest, a blogger needs his informants to assist in gathering suitable material for his weekly verbal promenade through the club's issues and events and its members' peculiar and idiosyncratic activities!

Beware then, dear members and friends; ‘sneaks' have been selected and all minor faux pas will be reported back to the Chairman's blog, where this writer will determine whether the stories stand tall on their own merits or whether they might need a little ‘artistic licence' to bring out the mirth they might contain.

One story I have heard tell this past week, from more than one snitch I might add, concerns 1st team wicket keeper and 2^nd team Captain, Andy Pandy Felton, who somehow manages to combine both roles without a brow being raised among the playing membership.

As many of you know, Andy organised a poker night last Friday. Concerned that the Tanzies might be influenced and turned into hardened gamblers and start talking like they come from Cumbria, I pitched up early and took them off home to meet Lee Kew and Ho Ti Bot and watch T20 on the 60'' plasma from the new mineral salt Jacuzzi the girls' insisted I installed, to help sustain the high levels of professional service they appear so keen to maintain. We passed a happy and convivial evening although Athu annoyed me a bit by frequently dropping slices of Tandoori chicken pizza into the Jacuzzi, that floated and separated in the bubbling water like something rather less desirable! Still, by the time I took the boys home, their front room was heaving with men, some known to them, some not, sitting around tables with mountains of empty beer bottles and crisp packets alongside, playing cards. I stayed for a while, making polite conversation with Lynne and Dayna as the session moved towards the final playoff. By this stage, Ian and Queenie were out, having been slaughtered in their naivety by the professional tricksters numbered among Felts' social circle and the hardcore, Felts and Knoxy included, were hunkering down for the final hands of a long night.

Lynne reassured me that Felts, whose eyes by this stage were somewhere behind his ears - despite an important league match the following morning, had already given his car keys to her, so determined was he to drink the last barrels of lager from our brewery before the great switch over. Don't get me wrong, Felts was not completely binned. He was still able to stand up - as long as he had a wall behind him and he could still light at least one of the ten cigarettes he stuffed in his mouth every time he went outside for a smoke!

I had to leave at this stage, as I had just received a text from Lee Kew demanding my presence back at home. "Where is you Misser Plobber? We wanna twy new twicks wiv you, savy? We haf new massage. It called ‘4 hand jerky'. We know you like velly much!"

Well, as it turned out, the poker evening was a great success. Felts handed over £200 before I left the night before and the Tanzies' front room was devoid of any obvious damage the next day, a surreal tidiness perplexing Jim on his morning clean up! It transpired, as I was told by my snitches later in the evening, after suffering a pathetic loss over at Hemel with the Ones, that Felts suffered a long and emotional moment as the poker night ended and the prickly issue of getting home rose its head.

"Lynne; Dayna. I'm too p****d to walk home. Can you give me my car keys back! I'm going to drop Knoxy home on the way!"

Our bar management are good hearted souls and don't like blood on their hands. More than that, they recognised that Felts is a major contributor to our bar profits and so his probable self annihilation, were he to drive off, would be detrimental to the club's best interests.

"Look Andy - I'll drive you home in your car and Dayna can follow with Knoxy and pick me up. We'll then drop Knoxy off at his place and head home from there. It's not out of the way or inconvenient at all - we only live in Hemel!!" There was the slightest hint of sourness in Lynne's voice as she made the generous offer.

"Bleedin' brill" said Felts. " Let me just go to the bog first. I'm bustin'.

So it was that after locking up, closing gates, doing Felts' flies up for him and holding his last pint for him as he staggered into the car park, that Lynne climbed into the Feltsmobile to acquaint herself with all essential controls. As she turned on the ignition the stereo screeched to life....."Wake me up before you go go" blared out into the Hertfordshire night as our keeper's ‘Best of Wham' cd was engaged. Felts, who was struggling to open the passenger door, started jiggling in time with the music, fag and pint glass raised to his face. "Yeah man - love Wham, I do", he spluttered.

"Where's reverse in this car Andy?" screamed Lynne over George and Andrew's harmonies. "At the back" giggled Felts to himself.

He eventually managed to open his door and collapse into his seat. "I can't find reverse" said Lynne as Dayna came over from her car, where Knoxy was already asleep across the back seat, to help.

"It was there when I drove up earlier this evening" Felts offered helpfully. "Oh God - I need another slash".

"What - you've only just had one! You go and do that and we'll find reverse". Dayna was losing her humour by now, worried that Knoxy might wet the back seat in her car.

"You take me to the edge of Heaven, tell me that my soul's forgiven..." cantoned Wham.

Felts meandered towards the bushes and stood spread legged, preparing to fire. Like many men in a similar state, he decided it was time to commentate drunkenly on his activity......

"Felton stands ready, poised for a world record attempt at slashing. Here it comes - the crowd goes quiet in anticipation...."

"We've found it" shouted the bar management as the front lights on Andy's car lit up, bathing him in full, exposed glory. "Bloody hell Felts - what are you doing?"

"Last Christmas I gave you my heart, the very next day you took it away" sang Wham on the stereo.

"He's started and he can't stop" commentated Felts. "Up it goes, a huge arc causing a rainbow over the privet. This could well be a new record. There's no stopping the young, athletic Englishman now....Yes, he's still going; this boy's endurance is astounding - what bladder control, what stamina, what....."

"What are you doing Felts? We've been here three minutes waiting for you to finish. Hurry up".

"....Winston Churchill, Maggie Thatcher, Mao Tse Tung, Idi Amin, Jacques Chirac, Delia Smith - where are you now? The boy Felton is breaking all kinds of long distance records, smashing his previous best and he's doing it for Watford, doing it for England for the land of his birth. Be proud Britain - we have a new world champion!" Felts was lost in his own world, exultant at the length of time it was all taking.

Eventually the commentary stopped, the full flow ceasing too. " Thank goodness for that - perhaps now we can take these dunderheads home. Your back seat still dry Dayna", enquired Lynne?

Yeah; but that was 7 minutes Felts did then. It's not natural."

" Championes, championes, champiiiiionessss!" sang Felts into the suburban night.

"Club Tropicana drinks are free, fun and sunshine - there's enough for everyone"........

He got home, did our new world record holder. Perhaps we should get a plaque and place it by the privet........

Thanks for keeping our bar profits in mind Lynne and Dayna. Another selfless example of support for our club. Let's all rise to the challenge, as the bar management did last Friday and as too, quite obviously, did Felts.

Chairman's Blog No:4.

I've been asked frequently by many members since an earlier blog, to regale you all on the story of how I managed to secure the services of my two Cambodian personal trainers, Lee Kew and Ho Ti Bot.

The truth is, they arrived on my door due to a complete misunderstanding, having read an ad in the Cambodian edition of Wisden Cricket Monthly.

"Two all-rounders required" went the ad. "Good with both blade and ball! Especially keen on anyone tutored in the art of swinging and pulling!!"

At this point I should explain that our committee had made it clear that when it came to the recruiting of overseas players, the club was not in a position to pay for the services of a first classer from Australia, South Africa, India or the likes and that whoever we invited over should be qualified trainers. As a consequence, I put feelers out through various ambiguous business contacts in the quiet and slightly murkier backwaters of the world game. Cambodian cricket seemed right for the picking.

I never did get a response to the ad but one evening in late March, the doorbell rang and Mrs Chairman hustled to answer it, secretly hoping it was the rather dashing and fancy young lothario from next door, returning an old cricket ball I'd inadvertently hit over the fence whilst practicing my hooking earlier that afternoon.

"Is Misser Plobber at hom, karimas? We wanna tlain Misser Plobber!"

Mrs Chairman allowed two charming and sweet young ladies across the threshold, and in they walked in rather skimpy and short white medical assistant's tunics and white cotton masks over their noses and mouths.

"We see adblurt in cwikit book an hottail over, Misser Plobber. We tlain you now?"

After a brief , healthy and fairly violent debate with Mrs C, we agreed that we couldn't really send these poor innocent young ladies back home immediately, nor could we leave them open and prone to the peculiar and idiosyncratic elements of the Greater Watford social structure. In the end, I - sorry, we decided, they'd be best off living in the loft conversion!

"At least you won't be pestering me all the time now", muttered Mrs C.

"How right you are" mouthed I!

So, Lee Kew and Ho Ti Bot are now a fixture chez la Famille Chairman. Being as they don't speak any English that one can understand and I refuse to speak Cambodian on the grounds of the terrible repression and human rights abuses that plighted the land there for so long, we communicate by me speaking English more slowly than usual and shouting each word loudly. Sometimes we revert to hand signals but only when other people aren't looking. It turns out however, that both ladies are supremely adept masseurs and their baggage contained nothing but coconut oil, palm oil, essence of jasmine, rose petals (pink and red), extract of cloves, poppy sap, ground rhino horn, dried tiger gall, soy sauce and spring rolls! Each evening when I come home from work, a physio's table is laid out in the living room, World T20 on Sky Sports, a pina colada chilled and poured, two fans on at full power swirling the scent of sandalwood around the house and the ‘Good Morning Vietnam' soundtrack playing on my hi fidelity unit; the seductive whiff of wok fried bean shoots and shrimps seeping from the kitchen and the two young ladies clad in their professional personal trainers' red bikinis, ready for action. My evenings are fairly blissful occasions these days, apart from Wednesdays, when I have to haul my sorry carcass up to Woodside for training.

Mrs Chairman doesn't spend much time at home any more; I can only assume she doesn't much like wok fried bean shoots and shrimps! She does voluntary work for different charities in the community each evening and comes home late, has toast and goes to bed. " Night darling", say I, lying prone on the physio's table whilst being pommelled by Lee Kew. "**** off" says she.

"She no like me" sighs Lee Kew. "You like me, Lee Kew, Misser Plobber?"

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