The OBOccasionals Tour to Hungary
Tour Report - 13th-15th September 2019
A few surprising things happened on this tour. Phil played some shots! And yet perhaps the most amazing thing was not this, or the fact more catches were held than not - the Southworth Spill notwithstanding (ask Gates) - but that for our first match we all not only managed to meet in the right place, but also, crucially, at the right time. It was the usual case of people coming from different places, arriving at different times, staying in different hostels and hotels and brothels, probably, in different parts of the city. And as usual there was the same casual attitude to communication: ’Has anyone heard from…?’ ‘Who’s spoken to….?’
However this is a team which is defined because of its insouciant spirit and not despite it. Occasionals by name and nature. As such it was with a heedless confidence we bought tickets to a place we’d never heard of, to play a sport most of us practised just once a year, against an opposition with an unknown pedigree. All we knew for certain was that near the ground there was a ‘well-stocked’ shop selling beer. For some of us, that was already good enough.
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We went through God on our way to our final destination, a devil to pronounce, Szod. Szod? No, Szod. Szod! Ah. It was a pleasant journey into the unknown, through ramshackle regional stations, with much catching up done. Our Virgil for the trip was their skipper for the day, a short man with a beard whose name I have forgotten; he was notable for being in turn both irascible and affable, often almost in the same breath.
Said shop delivered on its promise and we entered the GB Oval light of heart and heavy of load.
Our first opposition would be Hungary Over 40s. We would face undoubtedly the cream of that particular demographic, meticulously selected through a rigorous process of trialling and net sessions, strategy and tactics decided by long and intense meetings involving not just one, but two whiteboards. They would be primed and ready, muscles flexing, sinews straining.
There was nobody at the ground when we arrived. The opposition just drifted in quietly and before you knew it they had just appeared from somewhere else.
The ground was a good size, it had a clubhouse and a net with two lanes for practice. The grass appeared neatly shorn and there was an inviting row of cottages beyond one boundary, windows waiting - and no doubt insured - for a smashing six. Not sure any of us got near the glass but we gave the nets a good workout; all parts of them in fact, the roof, the side-netting and occasionally even the middle strip.
Who won the toss I have no idea but we were batting. In an exciting new aggressive move there was a change of personnel at the top of the order, signalling the Occasionals’ intent. Joe marched out with Rich. We expected muscular hitting and dominant stroke play, macho posturing and chest-beating triumphalism, certainly nothing like Rich’s third ball limp-wristed poke offering a catch to the bowler. Jason Roy on the drive? More like Alex Hales on the toke.
Oppo attack was steady if unspectacular. Joe and Sam got the innings going again, the former more the aggressor than the latter, until he perished not dying wondering what happened to his stumps. Sam then idiotically ran himself out following a keeper’s fumble and stormed off, turning the blue sky bluer. 38-3. Thereupon ensued a good partnership, 31 between Olly and Matt, helping to set the standard for the rest of the batting. After some lusty blows Matt succumbed and Olly was forced to retire having reached a typically stylish 30.
Then, Glen. Captain Glen for this tour. Brutal on the leg-side, finding and clearing the boundary on a number of occasions, his was the innings to see the OBOs eventually to a competitive score of 132, with good support from newcomer Ryan.
Did I mention Phil played some shots? He did, fine ones too on both sides of the wicket. Unfortunately they were for the opposition. A paucity of numbers for the home side and our man gallantly volunteered to join them. His was the standout knock in their reply which, thanks to a fine all-round effort in the field, was never allowed to get going. Probably the OBOs best day on tour. All the bowlers who bowled chipped in, Robin Hazlehurst standing out with 2-10 from his two as well as David Southworth opening up from the bungalow end, lean and mean with 1-9 from four overs.
Handy performances are occasionally jeopardised by slippery balls as both Joe - with gloves - and Olly - without - found to their cost when attempting to toss to another fielder. But far from the handling being a stain on our performance, as on previous tours, here in Hungary, despite (or because of) the natural lubrication on the outfield, many of the key chances stuck. Dave caught at least three, mostly in the deep, Olly was nonchalant on a second grab, Sam took a blinder at slip, Gates endured drops off his bowling before taking responsibility himself, and then there was Rich. Champagne moment of the tour.
Who knows what thoughts were bubbling in his mind as the batsman top edged an attempted pull? Well, we found out pretty quickly. ‘SHIT!’ He cried, as it became clear the ball was swirling his way. Joe meanwhile behind the stumps offered drift of a different kind: ‘He’ll never catch it.’
This was a gladiatorial moment. Man vs ball. The arena hushed as the conflict of gravity and human limitation reached a terrifying climax. The other contestants were stranded, statuesque, reduced to spectators, powerless as the ball continued its inexorable descent, a fall that would be broken either by the hard thud on unforgiving ground or the soft net of open palms. Rich as Russell Crowe, face taut and eyes burning in the sun, reliving in those endless seconds all the pain of past fielding history; would this be the glory, the redemption of all previous failure, or a sorry slip, the fatal fumble?
The ball dropped towards the ground….and was held. Vindication. Bloody absolution. Thumbs down for you batsman, vainglorious in expectation.
Then the triumphal tribal roar, the ball hurled impossibly high in celebration as team-mates converged to join the victory dance. That ball is still rising and, at least for one Occasional, will never come down.
The innings also featured a comedy over; to be precise, a satire of English manners bookended by two moments of slapstick. Sam bowled a filthy half-tracker which bounced twice but was, at least. straight. The batsman, head thrown back and eyes to the sky, missed it completely and was bowled. The exchange which followed was a classic ‘after you/ no after you/ no I insist/ no please/oh well if you’re sure/ no I couldn’t/ oh please’ moment as the batsman was urged to be reinstated, then removed, then at his own insistence removed again then finally convinced to remain. Everyone wanted to offer their tuppenny worth and there was as much verbatim quoting from the MCC rulebook as unfounded conjecture. In the end the batsman stayed. For one more ball. Sam proceeded to send down an almost identical - but once again crucially, on target - piece of rubbish which the batsman, eyes and head aloft once more, missed again. Nobody had the energy to challenge the dismissal this time.
A great team performance to start with. Saturday was a rest day, spent either fruitfully, or fruitlessly, depending on your point of view. In any case alcohol was involved.
Second match on the Sunday. This time a game of fuller length, 40 overs. The opposition was, somewhat dauntingly, Hungary. Had we ever faced up to the cricketing resources of an entire country before? Well it would prove to be a little beyond our collective capabilities although there was nothing disgraceful in losing. These guys meant business, completely dismissing our proposition of making the game a mini-test, two innings per side.
I see. Going to be like that are you.
We had been warned about snakes in the long grasses over the boundary - but nobody told Rich about wasps in the short grass, although maybe his concern should have been for animals of a different variety altogether, specifically those wild or domesticated swimming birds characterised by a flat bill and short waddling legs.
OBOs put in. Score after 5 balls 3-1. Rich out to the second ball he faced. Their opening bowler was a bit handy.
Sam took a bit of the shine off before slapping the first bad ball he received straight to cover point. Joe, at undoubtedly the easier end, was meanwhile plundering boundaries and he and Phil began restoring some of the damage done. Joe went for a breezy 18 and then Olly and Phil put on a stand of 48 for the fourth wicket. The stand occupied 16 overs and was a vital bit of rebuilding until Olly - 26 - was undone by a good leg-cutter. Matt unfortunately perished almost immediately, Phil went for one shot too many (two) and suddenly the OBOs were in danger of not posting a score to frighten the Hungarians remotely.
Step forward again skipper Glen. His best tour with the bat. Dominating partnerships with Ryan and Dave, he once again showed an appreciation for leg rivalled only by James Bond. When he was eighth out for the innings top score of 35, he’d almost single-handedly - literally at times - carried the total up to approaching 140. The rest of the batting (Nick and Robin) squeezed a few more and the OBOs had set a score if not insurmountable then at least respectable.
For a while it was on. The Hungarians were sluggish in reply, set back by quick strikes from main man Olly, and once Gates had removed one of their set batsmen the men from the Magyar country (but largely India) were in a position of potential peril at 86-5.
Over the tour Gates I am sure will have been happy to receive more unfavourable comments for his chinos than his bowling performances. And yet he was not the only one who attracted attention for certain sartorial choices. Inevitably there was Rich, not only turning up already in whites, but somebody else’s whites. Ryan was clearly so eager to display his talents he wore a translucent shirt and the tightest-fitting trousers. Nick showed a constant desire to have his trousers around his ankles rather than his waist. Joe couldn’t be bothered to get changed back into his whites for the team photograph.
In any case the Hungarians proceeded to give us a proper dressing down with an unbroken sixth wicket stand, zipping up victory inside 22 overs. There was no doubt though the OBOs were standing proud at the end of the game, having come close to pulling off that rarest of achievements: unbeaten on tour; what a happy ending that would have been.
The award ceremony was held in a whisky bar, late at night, somewhere in Budapest. Nick officiated in the role of prize-giver (given that he’d arranged the prizes), dressed, as Ryan described with excruciating exactitude, like a divorced geography teacher. Somewhat appropriate then the Village award should continue the theme of sartorial inelegance and celebrate Nick’s pursuit of Gates around the outfield at the end of the game, all the while his trousers becoming one with his ankles.
Rich’s was to be the champagne moment - has there ever been a more deserving award? - while Olly was best bowler and Glen deservedly best batsman. Thanks must go to Joe for doing the bulk of the organisatIon once again, Janey for the scoring (and her four overs!) and everyone in general for being great sports.
Until next year, wherever we end up....
Said shop delivered on its promise and we entered the GB Oval light of heart and heavy of load.
Our first opposition would be Hungary Over 40s. We would face undoubtedly the cream of that particular demographic, meticulously selected through a rigorous process of trialling and net sessions, strategy and tactics decided by long and intense meetings involving not just one, but two whiteboards. They would be primed and ready, muscles flexing, sinews straining.
There was nobody at the ground when we arrived. The opposition just drifted in quietly and before you knew it they had just appeared from somewhere else.
The ground was a good size, it had a clubhouse and a net with two lanes for practice. The grass appeared neatly shorn and there was an inviting row of cottages beyond one boundary, windows waiting - and no doubt insured - for a smashing six. Not sure any of us got near the glass but we gave the nets a good workout; all parts of them in fact, the roof, the side-netting and occasionally even the middle strip.
Who won the toss I have no idea but we were batting. In an exciting new aggressive move there was a change of personnel at the top of the order, signalling the Occasionals’ intent. Joe marched out with Rich. We expected muscular hitting and dominant stroke play, macho posturing and chest-beating triumphalism, certainly nothing like Rich’s third ball limp-wristed poke offering a catch to the bowler. Jason Roy on the drive? More like Alex Hales on the toke.
Oppo attack was steady if unspectacular. Joe and Sam got the innings going again, the former more the aggressor than the latter, until he perished not dying wondering what happened to his stumps. Sam then idiotically ran himself out following a keeper’s fumble and stormed off, turning the blue sky bluer. 38-3. Thereupon ensued a good partnership, 31 between Olly and Matt, helping to set the standard for the rest of the batting. After some lusty blows Matt succumbed and Olly was forced to retire having reached a typically stylish 30.
Then, Glen. Captain Glen for this tour. Brutal on the leg-side, finding and clearing the boundary on a number of occasions, his was the innings to see the OBOs eventually to a competitive score of 132, with good support from newcomer Ryan.
Did I mention Phil played some shots? He did, fine ones too on both sides of the wicket. Unfortunately they were for the opposition. A paucity of numbers for the home side and our man gallantly volunteered to join them. His was the standout knock in their reply which, thanks to a fine all-round effort in the field, was never allowed to get going. Probably the OBOs best day on tour. All the bowlers who bowled chipped in, Robin Hazlehurst standing out with 2-10 from his two as well as David Southworth opening up from the bungalow end, lean and mean with 1-9 from four overs.
Handy performances are occasionally jeopardised by slippery balls as both Joe - with gloves - and Olly - without - found to their cost when attempting to toss to another fielder. But far from the handling being a stain on our performance, as on previous tours, here in Hungary, despite (or because of) the natural lubrication on the outfield, many of the key chances stuck. Dave caught at least three, mostly in the deep, Olly was nonchalant on a second grab, Sam took a blinder at slip, Gates endured drops off his bowling before taking responsibility himself, and then there was Rich. Champagne moment of the tour.
Who knows what thoughts were bubbling in his mind as the batsman top edged an attempted pull? Well, we found out pretty quickly. ‘SHIT!’ He cried, as it became clear the ball was swirling his way. Joe meanwhile behind the stumps offered drift of a different kind: ‘He’ll never catch it.’
This was a gladiatorial moment. Man vs ball. The arena hushed as the conflict of gravity and human limitation reached a terrifying climax. The other contestants were stranded, statuesque, reduced to spectators, powerless as the ball continued its inexorable descent, a fall that would be broken either by the hard thud on unforgiving ground or the soft net of open palms. Rich as Russell Crowe, face taut and eyes burning in the sun, reliving in those endless seconds all the pain of past fielding history; would this be the glory, the redemption of all previous failure, or a sorry slip, the fatal fumble?
The ball dropped towards the ground….and was held. Vindication. Bloody absolution. Thumbs down for you batsman, vainglorious in expectation.
Then the triumphal tribal roar, the ball hurled impossibly high in celebration as team-mates converged to join the victory dance. That ball is still rising and, at least for one Occasional, will never come down.
The innings also featured a comedy over; to be precise, a satire of English manners bookended by two moments of slapstick. Sam bowled a filthy half-tracker which bounced twice but was, at least. straight. The batsman, head thrown back and eyes to the sky, missed it completely and was bowled. The exchange which followed was a classic ‘after you/ no after you/ no I insist/ no please/oh well if you’re sure/ no I couldn’t/ oh please’ moment as the batsman was urged to be reinstated, then removed, then at his own insistence removed again then finally convinced to remain. Everyone wanted to offer their tuppenny worth and there was as much verbatim quoting from the MCC rulebook as unfounded conjecture. In the end the batsman stayed. For one more ball. Sam proceeded to send down an almost identical - but once again crucially, on target - piece of rubbish which the batsman, eyes and head aloft once more, missed again. Nobody had the energy to challenge the dismissal this time.
A great team performance to start with. Saturday was a rest day, spent either fruitfully, or fruitlessly, depending on your point of view. In any case alcohol was involved.
Second match on the Sunday. This time a game of fuller length, 40 overs. The opposition was, somewhat dauntingly, Hungary. Had we ever faced up to the cricketing resources of an entire country before? Well it would prove to be a little beyond our collective capabilities although there was nothing disgraceful in losing. These guys meant business, completely dismissing our proposition of making the game a mini-test, two innings per side.
I see. Going to be like that are you.
We had been warned about snakes in the long grasses over the boundary - but nobody told Rich about wasps in the short grass, although maybe his concern should have been for animals of a different variety altogether, specifically those wild or domesticated swimming birds characterised by a flat bill and short waddling legs.
OBOs put in. Score after 5 balls 3-1. Rich out to the second ball he faced. Their opening bowler was a bit handy.
Sam took a bit of the shine off before slapping the first bad ball he received straight to cover point. Joe, at undoubtedly the easier end, was meanwhile plundering boundaries and he and Phil began restoring some of the damage done. Joe went for a breezy 18 and then Olly and Phil put on a stand of 48 for the fourth wicket. The stand occupied 16 overs and was a vital bit of rebuilding until Olly - 26 - was undone by a good leg-cutter. Matt unfortunately perished almost immediately, Phil went for one shot too many (two) and suddenly the OBOs were in danger of not posting a score to frighten the Hungarians remotely.
Step forward again skipper Glen. His best tour with the bat. Dominating partnerships with Ryan and Dave, he once again showed an appreciation for leg rivalled only by James Bond. When he was eighth out for the innings top score of 35, he’d almost single-handedly - literally at times - carried the total up to approaching 140. The rest of the batting (Nick and Robin) squeezed a few more and the OBOs had set a score if not insurmountable then at least respectable.
For a while it was on. The Hungarians were sluggish in reply, set back by quick strikes from main man Olly, and once Gates had removed one of their set batsmen the men from the Magyar country (but largely India) were in a position of potential peril at 86-5.
Over the tour Gates I am sure will have been happy to receive more unfavourable comments for his chinos than his bowling performances. And yet he was not the only one who attracted attention for certain sartorial choices. Inevitably there was Rich, not only turning up already in whites, but somebody else’s whites. Ryan was clearly so eager to display his talents he wore a translucent shirt and the tightest-fitting trousers. Nick showed a constant desire to have his trousers around his ankles rather than his waist. Joe couldn’t be bothered to get changed back into his whites for the team photograph.
In any case the Hungarians proceeded to give us a proper dressing down with an unbroken sixth wicket stand, zipping up victory inside 22 overs. There was no doubt though the OBOs were standing proud at the end of the game, having come close to pulling off that rarest of achievements: unbeaten on tour; what a happy ending that would have been.
The award ceremony was held in a whisky bar, late at night, somewhere in Budapest. Nick officiated in the role of prize-giver (given that he’d arranged the prizes), dressed, as Ryan described with excruciating exactitude, like a divorced geography teacher. Somewhat appropriate then the Village award should continue the theme of sartorial inelegance and celebrate Nick’s pursuit of Gates around the outfield at the end of the game, all the while his trousers becoming one with his ankles.
Rich’s was to be the champagne moment - has there ever been a more deserving award? - while Olly was best bowler and Glen deservedly best batsman. Thanks must go to Joe for doing the bulk of the organisatIon once again, Janey for the scoring (and her four overs!) and everyone in general for being great sports.
Until next year, wherever we end up....
Report by Sam Tarr