Cambridge to Casablanca Cycling Cricket Club
TOURGRADE
September 24th-29th 2019
The 10th Tour. What can I say? I sit here with the honour of being entrusted with describing the 10th time George Dean’s men have departed these shores and engaged in a game of bat and ball with some “locals” (expats and/or Indians).
I think it would be fair to say that while sitting around a lake in rural Slovenia for an after-game beer, or while sat in a puddle-like pool in Cascais, Portugal, for a pre-breakfast bottle of Vinho Verde, none of us would have entertained that 6 or even 8 years later we would still be following a glorified piece of bark to different parts of the world to play cricket. Indeed by 2019 news of a touring cycling cricket team had spread so far and wide that we had to turn down an invitation from the Mediterranean Cricket League; Belgrade was already in the diary.
A touring side for Belgrade came together: a motley bunch of 2 sets of brothers, a global businessman, the Law m’n, a cartoon pirate captain, a local-council bin organiser, a sometime chef-sometime scanner, Nat’s weird mate, our Glorious Leader and Brennan. For the first time CtCCCC would tour without any tour debutants. A testament to the Chairman’s admin abilities - people just keep coming back for more.
And so, the boys assembled at The Springfield pub in Luton airport. Discussions ranged from touring past the age of 30, touring without a designated ‘keeper, will Fiji keep their discipline versus Uruguay and which pricey gadget Hammo would leave in the airport. The travelling pleasantries done with, the touring group touched down in Belgrade keen to sample the local culture and atmosphere, only to find themselves sharing some ciggies outside the airport with The Hurricanes, our English, soon-to-be adversaries. The smoking pleasantries done with, pre-arranged (of course) tacos were taken to the compound – or as we were promised the “Ambient apartment & winter garden”. While one taco took the scenic route via Budapest, the others arrived to explore the ambient apartment, an absolute masterpiece in tour accommodation. Beds in weird places, beds in corners, beds on mezzanines, sofa beds, two kitchens and of course The Chairman’s Crow’s Nest.
Touring proper got underway with the Chairman’s lager reception in the nearby Black Peter pub. The strange name no doubt a bastardisation of the infamous Serbian revolutionary – Karadjordje or Black George - who led the struggle for his country's independence from the Ottoman Empire during the First Serbian Uprising of 1804–1813. Only time will tell if our own heroic George will lead a revolution away from the oppressive rule of the Philanderers.
Interestingly the parallels and similarities between our own George and Serbia’s Black George do not stop there. For the contemporary generation of Serbs, the name Karadjordje (Black George) is a synonym for a people’s leader, an idol and inspiration to all. Furthermore, Irish Poet and Novelist Reverend Croly (1780-1860) describes George Dean’s Serbian namesake:
“His appearance was striking and singular. He was boldly formed, and above the general stature. […] the extraordinary length of his physiognomy, his sunken eyes, and his bald forehead […]. It was his custom to sit in silence for hours; he could neither read nor write, but he was a great warrior, and, for a time, a deliverer of his country.”[1]
Uncanny.
Anyway, we come away. Beers were drunk, ciggies were smoked, local spirits were sampled, steak was eaten, crispy top floor clubs over-looking imposing Soviet boulevards were visited, attractive Serbian women were looked at from afar and a great first night on tour was had.
Daybreak on Day 2 brought with it the strange feelings that a day at leisure brings. Recent tours have been such quick-fire affairs, Rwanda aside, that leisure time brings with it a certain uneasiness for tourists. Should I engage in some local culture, should I undertake some helpful tour-based admin? Luckily the touring group was filled with characters such as Davidson and Pemberton, who selflessly encourage floundering tourists to do what they want to do. So it was that most of the touring party were peeling onions and garlic (preparations for the evening’s traditional Serbian Bhuna) and sipping cans of larger within 10 minutes of waking up.
Once people had been sitting down a bit too long for his liking, Davidson had us in some tacos on the way to Belgrade’s mythical Ada Ciganlija. An island in the centre of Belgrade that promised beaches, golf courses and cricket nets – surely a touring Utopia?
The island did indeed prove to have beaches, golf courses and cricket nets but with a former Soviet bloc nuance. An enjoyable game of TMC, overlooking surely the finest fountain in a former Soviet state, was set up. The locals looked on bemused. Meanwhile Davidson and Rudkin, R scouted the island for cricket nets at a jog. A casual 5 mile scouting run later and the nets were located. They weren’t in the best condition, but the tourists got about their work. Notable mention must go to Dillon who steamed in off the long run throughout the session, while Hammond looked good in the nets as always.
After nets, nearby refreshments were taken - Cassels, B insisting on consuming a large mixed grill two hours before the traditional Serbian Bhuna was served back in the winter garden. The culinary badgers broke-away to prepare said bhuna, using traditional spices smuggled into the country in Pemberton’s shoe. The remaining tourists settled in to some beers beach-side to watch a laughably fat dog and a laughably withered arm, attached to Davidson, splash around in the water.
Back in the ambient apartment The Breakaway slaved over hot stoves in numerous kitchens, to produce the traditional Serbian chicken bhuna, which was gratefully consumed by all tourists. The evening’s plans revolved around a pre-tournament welcome drinks at a bar which the touring group eventually found after a walking tour of central Belgrade. We were warmly greeted by Badger Bodgan and Old Mate Vlad, the captain of Belgrade CC and Serbian cricket’s fixer respectively. The evening continued as tourists met other tournament players, from various teams, radiating a wide array of first impressions after a solid 11-12 hours on the beers. With the first game-day the next day many tourists found their way home at a fairly respectable time.
With the touring party already 2 nights deep into tour and all tourists feeling relatively secure in their positions both on and off the field, a sense of calm fell over the Ambient Apartment and Winter Garden. Only to be shattered by a strange well chiselled figure. Oliver Fairbank had arrived, delayed by the small matter of a brain tumour (or was it?). The seam bowlers turned uneasily in their beds - would CtCCCC’s gun bowler take some of their allotted overs. Ed “The Cat” Cassels’ ceaseless smile wavered momentarily as he fell asleep- the battle for the best rig on tour blown wide open. In any event, the touring party was complete.
Match Day One arrived with the now traditional alarm clock of Soul Limbo, and tourists awoke with excitement. This was somewhat dampened by the weather – grey, overcast and raining. Despite having been assured the night before by Badger Bogdan that Lisiciji Jarak sports airfield had its very own meteorological climate, the prospect of a 12.30pm start seemed slim. Ever the optimists however, tacos were ordered and the 20km journey to a crispy ex -Soviet aerodrome completed. On arrival it was quickly obvious that Lisiciji Jarak did not have its own climate, but it was up there with one the crispiest places CtCCCC have played cricket. It had a bar however, and a television, which remarkably was showing the rugby so the tourists wedged in to wait for it to clear up.
Just as the rugby was getting interesting it cleared. We would play Belgrade CC, apparently fielding a weakened side as many of their expats decided not to turn up because it was wet. In their places they had their youth development squad including some kids from the local Roma camp. Continuing the crispiness, the misshapen, and small, ground was overlooked by a 10-storey high abattoir. Speculation abound as to why it needed to be so high.
The cricket got underway, after CtCCCC won the toss and elected to bat on a soggy carpet over some concrete under overcast skies. Belgrade’s Badger Bogdan opened up from the Abattoir End, displaying an excellent action learnt from watching Youtube videos. Rudkin (Snr) had perhaps been watching the same videos as he mistook Badger Bogdan for Dale Steyn and simply missed a (slow) straight one. Luckily just the man to steady the ship strolled to the crease, Dillon would wedge in and see off the opening bowlers no doubt. Dillon certainly wedged, sand-wedging the ball to all parts. Had the home team had any conventionally placed fielders he would have been caught almost immediately, the strangely shaped ground and dense outfield however made it difficult to place fielders conventionally. Before long, it was Pemberton’s turn who took running, and the outfield, out of the game and smoked it to all parts. Cassels (Jnr) did what Cassels (Jnr) does in a CtCCCC shirt and played a pathetic pat to a man on the point boundary - at least it wasn’t MOMO. Cassels (Snr) went about his work atypically. Our very own ginger all-rounder was as always very good, playing the shot of the day, timing one along the ground through backward point, until he was out trying to play the same shot. Rudkin (Jnr) an opening batsmen of some repute at school, hauled the total to something respectable with some enormous 6s. Once again CtCCCC sticking to their tried and tested method of giving everyone a go.
After a hearty lunch of chicken thighs and bread rolls the size dinner plates, CtCCCC took to the field confident of being able to defend their total. Chef Pemberton had the dubious honour of taking the gloves. An unenviable task given the nature of the pitch and grounding under foot. Fairbank opened up and the Serbian openers tucked in to the buffet he produced. The Serbians were clearly at home on the soggy matting, lofting CtCCCC’s gun bowler for 6 over point. Our ginger genius Hammond was heard to affectionately mention to Fairbank after the game - “the way you bowled out there mate, you may as well have a brain tumour”. The rest of the stable of seam bowlers all fared in a similar fashion as Belgrade got off to a quick start. Too used to the carpet like outfields of Whitgift and Rwanda, the seam-up men couldn’t handle the large step up to the concrete wicket a pace or two before the delivery stride. Clearly they’d forgotten some of their roots – grubbing around on uneven muddy pitches in East Anglia. Before long some control was restored as a steepling catch was taken by Gimson at cow corner. The spin twins of Dean and Rudkin (Jnr) wedged into the middle over, periodically taking wickets. The tourist wrapped up the game fairly easily, ensuring their (dubious) route into the final.
(N.B. While you will no doubt have greatly enjoyed this match report, it is a little worse for not having any scores. Apologies. Admin error)
The evening’s revelries were undertaken in great spirits, finals cricket was guaranteed for the boys. Continuing the traditional dinner theme, dinner was booked at Konak Mikan, Belgrade’s premier traditional restaurant. It was crispy. We were syphoned into our own room, a blessing for the other paying punters, however not such a blessing for those left in close proximity to our waiter who had Eastern Europe’s worst BO. The traditional fare, washed down with local spirits, certainly allowed the boys to get around the boys as the evening continued. This culminated in a riotous 10-minute rendition of the Brothers Rudkin song, amongst others.
Much had been discussed about the late-night haunts that Belgrade had to offer. Primarily by Ed “Only Bangs Models” Cassels who was positively frothing at the prospect of cutting loose in Belgrade’s watering holes. He took on the mantle of leading this sorry bunch of cycling cricketers. So keen was he to get to his Promised Land he would literally walk on broken glass to get there, dragging his bunch of merry men across a number of Belgrade’s finest wastelands, across a bridge, through muddy building sites and eventually to a collection of glorified boats that represented Belgrade’s clubbing scene. The bouncers at the first jumped-up barge took one look at us and decided there was a private party in their floating establishment– would Cassels (Snr) have his paradise denied him? He would not. He assessed his options, donned his indefatigable grin and waded into his Elysian Fields, followed by a bunch of pissed up cricketers.
The scene that greeted the cricketers as they entered was Euro heaven. Davidson could not conceal his excitement despite crippling heartburn – this too was everything he could hope for. Euro dance classics blared out; good looking Serbian youths bobbed to the beat. The lads wedged into a prime viewing spot overlooking the entire dance-floor. Discussions turned immediately to the question of “the first chop on tour” - surely CtCCCC’s most pathetic record of all would be broken this very night. It would not. Old habits die hard – the tourists remained in their ivory tower, pounding vodka and bitter lemon and watching the attractive clientele from afar. Before long the night’s entertainment took to the stage – male and female vocalists accompanied by a keyboardist – purveying a unique genre of traditional Serbian folk-dance music. Davidson’s smile grew wider.
What happened next this humble reporter has found particularly difficult to re-tell. I could scarcely believe my eyes, my very touring foundations shaken. So used are we to this particular tourist leading the charge on nights out, handing tinnies to barely awoken tourists, bottles of Vinho Verde for breakfast, drinking any and all under the table, the list goes on. However, the clubs premier cannon had appeared to have shot his load – slinking out the side door, “dragging” The Chairman with him back to the Winter Garden pre-midnight. An historic moment. Undeterred the remaining tourists ploughed on, some even venturing onto the dance floor.
Day Three dawned on some dusty swedes. Sadly, this was the day we would bid farewell to our (not so indisputable) premier cannon as he had to get back to cater, compere, DJ and Best Man at some wedding. Day Three also brought with it this tour’s Golf Championship. With which I will now hand over to chief golf correspondent – Rory Davidson.
As long as golf on tour remains a surprisingly controversial activity, it takes a certain amount of bravery to step out on to the links and face the barrage of abuse from the rest of your sometime teammates.
Some tourists, who will remain nameless, have permanently hung up their golf spikes under this unrelenting pressure.
Others, however, repeatedly rise to the challenge that tour golf presents (terrible courses, ancient clubs, sore heads), and leave their colleagues behind to chop onions and repeat a small number of words at each other – and go out and do what tour is for. Enjoying mildly competitive mixed ability recreational sport.
Cassels B, Fairbank, Dillon, Hammond and Davidson were those hardy souls who stepped over the parapet in Belgrade. Three days into tour, they returned to the soviet-era sport island to tackle the Serbian capital’s finest (only) 18 holes.
Conditions were tough – dealing with the fierce late summer sun, clouds of insects bred on the nearby stagnant rowing lake, and equipped with sets of clubs manufactured during the later stages of the Cold War, this round was to separate the men from the boys.
An unusually equally handicapped field made it tough to pick a clear favourite. No Conway or Coe to stand out here.
Would the promising junior golfer Ben Cassels find his form after 15 years in the wilderness? Or had his game been irreparably damaged by his unnatural physique and chronic self-doubt?
Would Will Hammond be able to translate his undoubted ability at other sports? Or would his game be cruelly hampered by his natural physique?
In the end, the 2019 Tour Golf Championship was sadly not the close-run affair the bookies had billed it to be.
As the heat and hangovers picked off those with weaker constitutions after only 9 holes, Jack and Will stepped out as the only tourists to complete a full round.
In this uneventful head to head contest, Will Hammond was the clear winner with a seriously impressive below-handicap round, but kudos must go to both Jack and Will for having the energy and determination to finish.
Not a classic contest. Tour golf limps on. An activity for purists; for masochists; for those who want to avoid another day’s drinking in the compound.
But will tour golf live on? What role does it play in a modern tour, with such competing pressures on people’s time and attention? As modern tour life nibbles away at the edges of tour golf, encroaches on it, it makes it harder and harder to justify.
But for many, tour golf and tour life are as inextricably linked as night and day, as perfect a pairing as cheese and onion, as close kin as the Brothers Cassels.
The debate continues to rage.
While the wetters were chasing small balls around, tourists Dean, Gimson, Rudkin Bros and Brennan planned to wedged into a charming rosé PFL. After a couple of small detours in the shape of Belgrade’s best view (of both the river and the locals) and a restaurant that could only supply us with water, the PFL-ers wedged into a delightful spot next to the river and the rosé floweth. A lovely afternoon and evening followed as we took a turn around Belgrade’s charming bars and riverfront.
Finals Day. The tourists awoke with excitement. In CtCCCC’s first international white ball tournament, we were to compete for silverware. Before getting down to finals cricket however, there was the matter of a nonsense 15 over game versus The Hurricanes. Our fellow countrymen by this stage, after 3 days in country, were in various stages of complete and total disarray. However despite an improbable early wicket from opening bowler Cassels (Jnr) in his first over, they got off to an absolute flyer, enjoying some buffet bowling from the Cassels Bros - reaching 76 off the first 5 overs. The Chairman attempted to restore some order, calling for Fairbank and Gimson. This barely stemmed to flow, the Leeds pair conceding 13 and 9 respectively. Fairbank’s second over went for 18. Gimson was hauled off in favour of the younger Rudkin, a sensible move as he finally restored some order, picking up the wicket of the dangerous Groveller and conceding a single run. Fairbank’s 3rd over went for 17. Cart Horse Davidson was pulled from his stable and bowled admirably, going for just 11 from 3 overs while carnage reined around him. The Hurricanes amassed 163 from 15 overs. This in the game that was meant to build confidence and prepare the boys for Finals Cricket.
In reply, The Chairman sent out possibly his heaviest opening partnership – Hammond and Gimson. The substantial pair unfortunately failed to form a substantial partnership, with Gimson caught in the deep. Cometh the hour, cometh the Brennan however. An innings that started with some nudges and some nurdles, supporting Hammond at the other end, exploded into life after Hammond too was caught in the deep. Brennan was joined at the crease by DoC Rudkin, at 63-3 with 8 overs left. The North Londoners had some work to do. Which they duly got down to. Brennan ever the cricketing savant, recognised Rudkin (Snr) was in slight disarray. Starting to see it big, Brennan ambled to a between-over chat - “I go here do I?” he enquired. The DoC confirmed. And so he went, before his stumps exploded for a crucial 29. Davidson took on the mantle of assisting Rudkin (Snr) with a big hitting innings some in the club still do not believe he is capable of. In his role in the engine room Davidson scored 29 quick runs, 4 of his 8 scoring shots going for 6. At the other end, despite “not feeling great maaaate” the Director of Cricket was starting to see it pretty well. The chase was back on, and in reality it never looked in doubt after Rudkin (Snr) got going. A remarkable chase, led by the DoC, bolstering the lads’ confidence before the eagerly anticipated final.
Finals cricket. A great moment for the club. The Chairman paced, rehearsing the various scenarios in his head. The opposition The Incogniti, a cricket club of some repute, boasting the records of nearly 8000 matches played over 150 seasons stood in the way of silverware. The Chairman’s first hurdle was negotiated as he won the toss, and chose to bat, sending out his premier opening partnership of Hammond and Cassels (Jnr). The pair got off to a strong start taking the score to 51 from 6 overs before Cassels (Jnr) was caught at deep midwicket for a useful 28. Dillon came and went for an entertaining 7, leaving the hero of the morning to join Hammond the middle. Unfortunately he could not repeat his heroics. Despite the boys reaching 71 from the first 10 overs, a sorry capitulation followed with barely anyone bothering the scorers. CtCCCC in their first 11-aside final had posted a miserable 107 from 17.1 overs. The fact that the opposition Captain proved to be a total bellend didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
Recognising that they were deep in the mire the cycling cricketers came out with energy and aggression, relying on youthful reserves of enthusiasm and never say die attitude. It caught the Incogniti unaware. Davidson steamed in from the abattoir end, thirsty for blood, with their opening batsmen in his sights, on his butcher’s block. He dispatched them swiftly, assisted remarkably by Cassels (Snr) and less remarkably Hammond. Such was the collective effort from CtCCCC, it turned a formally abysmal fielder into Jonty Rhodes, as Cassels (Snr) watched the ball rise from the bat, turned and calmly gobbled it over his shoulder on the run. A double wicket maiden to start. This brought Captain Bellend swaggering to the wicket. He immediately showed he had the game to match the swagger, as he uppercut Fairbank’s first ball for 6 over point. CtCCCC remained positive, with effort and enthusiasm shown by all. Even Cassels (Jnr), a man usually happy to stumble about, hands in pockets, was up and at ‘em, revving his team mates engines after every ball. The Incogniti skipper settled into his work, while at the other end wickets fell. Hammond and Gimson each picking up a brace, regularly pegging the Incogniti back ensuring they never looked like they would pull away. The effort from the cycling cricketers didn’t abate, and it was rewarded most satisfyingly when a lifter from Hammond was wafted at by Captain Bellend and caught behind by the industrious Dillon. They were on the ropes – 93-9, needing 14 from 2 overs with their 10 and 11 at the crease. While their number 10 may have been the world’s fattest cricketer he could still hit a cricket ball, dispatching two 4s to the midwicket boundary in the penultimate over, leaving 6 to win from the final over. Cricketing immortality beckoned for the Sons of Thunder; real silverware hard earnt on the Continent. 10 years of careful and meticulous planning by the Chairman came down to 6 balls. 6 balls in the fading sunlight of a Serbian afternoon, on an airfield, overlooked by an abattoir.
There was only one man that could be trusted with this – brain tumour or no brain tumour it was Fairbank to bowl.
And so, in Jack Dillon’s now immortal words, we go ball-by-ball:
Ball 1– Fairbank rattles in, the batsmen has a heave and slices aerially down to third man, followed by a comedy squeal of “catch” from the bowler. One taken. 5 off 5 needed
Ball 2 – Dot. 5 off 4 needed.
Ball 3 – Dot. The screw was tightening. The Chairman readied his enormous hairy hands to grasp the silverware. 5 off 3 needed.
Ball 4 – Dot. 5 off 2 needed. Surely this was in the bag? Get the beers on ice.
Ball 5 – Wide. Oh no. Three runs and the extra ball to be bowled. 2 off 2 needed.
Ball 6 – The batsmen gloved the ball fine down the leg side, millimetres out of reach of a diving despairing Dillon. One taken. The scores were level. Did a super-over beckon? 1 run off 1 ball required.
Ball 7 – Fairbank pumped his knees and charged in. The batsmen on strike attempted some funny business, backing away and charging the bowler, it worked as Fairbank smeared the final ball for a wide outside off. It was all over – heartbreak.
Despite the obvious disappointment of losing to Captain Bellend, I think I can speak for all CtCCCC players involved when I say it was one of the most enjoyable fielding performances in a cycling cricket shirt. A huge effort to get so close defending 107 on that pitch, but ultimately a poor batting performance could not be made up for. The hunt for 11-a-side silverware goes on.
After some beers on the outfield, the tourists fired up the tacos and headed back into town. A swift turn-around completed, it was back out to the tournament ending dinner at a restaurant chosen by Old Mate Vlad. This proved, unsurprisingly, to be an incredibly crispy affair, Serbia’s relaxed smoking laws only adding to the strange ambience. After some beers, some strange food and some excellent chanting at Captain Bellend, Tour Court followed. Weights and Measures got to work procuring some lethal plum rakia, as well as organising the use of a private room for proceedings. The less said about Tour Court the better – it divides opinion but safe to say some fines were administered, some people enjoyed Court and some people did not; but most importantly Hammond ended up naked with his clothes hanging from the ceiling fan.
The rest of the evening ended in disarray, with nowhere open or willing to have 11 pissed up tourists. And so, the tourists stumbled into tacos back to the Winter Garden. The DoC Rudkin (Snr), of all people, was heard to mention, “mate, I just think we left a bit out there maaaate. It’s the last night on tour maaaaaaaaate”.
But where was The Chairman? He wasn’t in any of the returning tacos, he wasn’t in the Chairman’s Crow’s Nest. Had he pushed on into the night with Badger Bogdan? There were garbled reports of him striding off claiming to want to walk home, but he was no-where to be seen.
In truth, all we had to do was to look to Alexander Pushkin’s poem of 1826 Song for (Black) George, to know of course, that “at dinner the old man drunk and drunk. And fell asleep on the road in Belgrade”.[2]
[1] https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=Flch9xUioAcC&pg=PA24&lpg=PA24&dq=pushkin+a+song+about+george+black+translation&source=bl&ots=rhr88bruNG&sig=ACfU3U3B9ig7LBIfnVP9dJlsclN-4ggjAg&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwialvDuyLDnAhXLYcAKHeg_DPYQ6AEwCnoECBcQAQ#v=onepage&q=pushkin%20a%20song%20about%20george%20black%20translation&f=false
[2] https://aleksandr-pushkin.su/pesni-zapadnyh-slavyan/4/?lang=en
TOURGRADE
September 24th-29th 2019
The 10th Tour. What can I say? I sit here with the honour of being entrusted with describing the 10th time George Dean’s men have departed these shores and engaged in a game of bat and ball with some “locals” (expats and/or Indians).
I think it would be fair to say that while sitting around a lake in rural Slovenia for an after-game beer, or while sat in a puddle-like pool in Cascais, Portugal, for a pre-breakfast bottle of Vinho Verde, none of us would have entertained that 6 or even 8 years later we would still be following a glorified piece of bark to different parts of the world to play cricket. Indeed by 2019 news of a touring cycling cricket team had spread so far and wide that we had to turn down an invitation from the Mediterranean Cricket League; Belgrade was already in the diary.
A touring side for Belgrade came together: a motley bunch of 2 sets of brothers, a global businessman, the Law m’n, a cartoon pirate captain, a local-council bin organiser, a sometime chef-sometime scanner, Nat’s weird mate, our Glorious Leader and Brennan. For the first time CtCCCC would tour without any tour debutants. A testament to the Chairman’s admin abilities - people just keep coming back for more.
And so, the boys assembled at The Springfield pub in Luton airport. Discussions ranged from touring past the age of 30, touring without a designated ‘keeper, will Fiji keep their discipline versus Uruguay and which pricey gadget Hammo would leave in the airport. The travelling pleasantries done with, the touring group touched down in Belgrade keen to sample the local culture and atmosphere, only to find themselves sharing some ciggies outside the airport with The Hurricanes, our English, soon-to-be adversaries. The smoking pleasantries done with, pre-arranged (of course) tacos were taken to the compound – or as we were promised the “Ambient apartment & winter garden”. While one taco took the scenic route via Budapest, the others arrived to explore the ambient apartment, an absolute masterpiece in tour accommodation. Beds in weird places, beds in corners, beds on mezzanines, sofa beds, two kitchens and of course The Chairman’s Crow’s Nest.
Touring proper got underway with the Chairman’s lager reception in the nearby Black Peter pub. The strange name no doubt a bastardisation of the infamous Serbian revolutionary – Karadjordje or Black George - who led the struggle for his country's independence from the Ottoman Empire during the First Serbian Uprising of 1804–1813. Only time will tell if our own heroic George will lead a revolution away from the oppressive rule of the Philanderers.
Interestingly the parallels and similarities between our own George and Serbia’s Black George do not stop there. For the contemporary generation of Serbs, the name Karadjordje (Black George) is a synonym for a people’s leader, an idol and inspiration to all. Furthermore, Irish Poet and Novelist Reverend Croly (1780-1860) describes George Dean’s Serbian namesake:
“His appearance was striking and singular. He was boldly formed, and above the general stature. […] the extraordinary length of his physiognomy, his sunken eyes, and his bald forehead […]. It was his custom to sit in silence for hours; he could neither read nor write, but he was a great warrior, and, for a time, a deliverer of his country.”[1]
Uncanny.
Anyway, we come away. Beers were drunk, ciggies were smoked, local spirits were sampled, steak was eaten, crispy top floor clubs over-looking imposing Soviet boulevards were visited, attractive Serbian women were looked at from afar and a great first night on tour was had.
Daybreak on Day 2 brought with it the strange feelings that a day at leisure brings. Recent tours have been such quick-fire affairs, Rwanda aside, that leisure time brings with it a certain uneasiness for tourists. Should I engage in some local culture, should I undertake some helpful tour-based admin? Luckily the touring group was filled with characters such as Davidson and Pemberton, who selflessly encourage floundering tourists to do what they want to do. So it was that most of the touring party were peeling onions and garlic (preparations for the evening’s traditional Serbian Bhuna) and sipping cans of larger within 10 minutes of waking up.
Once people had been sitting down a bit too long for his liking, Davidson had us in some tacos on the way to Belgrade’s mythical Ada Ciganlija. An island in the centre of Belgrade that promised beaches, golf courses and cricket nets – surely a touring Utopia?
The island did indeed prove to have beaches, golf courses and cricket nets but with a former Soviet bloc nuance. An enjoyable game of TMC, overlooking surely the finest fountain in a former Soviet state, was set up. The locals looked on bemused. Meanwhile Davidson and Rudkin, R scouted the island for cricket nets at a jog. A casual 5 mile scouting run later and the nets were located. They weren’t in the best condition, but the tourists got about their work. Notable mention must go to Dillon who steamed in off the long run throughout the session, while Hammond looked good in the nets as always.
After nets, nearby refreshments were taken - Cassels, B insisting on consuming a large mixed grill two hours before the traditional Serbian Bhuna was served back in the winter garden. The culinary badgers broke-away to prepare said bhuna, using traditional spices smuggled into the country in Pemberton’s shoe. The remaining tourists settled in to some beers beach-side to watch a laughably fat dog and a laughably withered arm, attached to Davidson, splash around in the water.
Back in the ambient apartment The Breakaway slaved over hot stoves in numerous kitchens, to produce the traditional Serbian chicken bhuna, which was gratefully consumed by all tourists. The evening’s plans revolved around a pre-tournament welcome drinks at a bar which the touring group eventually found after a walking tour of central Belgrade. We were warmly greeted by Badger Bodgan and Old Mate Vlad, the captain of Belgrade CC and Serbian cricket’s fixer respectively. The evening continued as tourists met other tournament players, from various teams, radiating a wide array of first impressions after a solid 11-12 hours on the beers. With the first game-day the next day many tourists found their way home at a fairly respectable time.
With the touring party already 2 nights deep into tour and all tourists feeling relatively secure in their positions both on and off the field, a sense of calm fell over the Ambient Apartment and Winter Garden. Only to be shattered by a strange well chiselled figure. Oliver Fairbank had arrived, delayed by the small matter of a brain tumour (or was it?). The seam bowlers turned uneasily in their beds - would CtCCCC’s gun bowler take some of their allotted overs. Ed “The Cat” Cassels’ ceaseless smile wavered momentarily as he fell asleep- the battle for the best rig on tour blown wide open. In any event, the touring party was complete.
Match Day One arrived with the now traditional alarm clock of Soul Limbo, and tourists awoke with excitement. This was somewhat dampened by the weather – grey, overcast and raining. Despite having been assured the night before by Badger Bogdan that Lisiciji Jarak sports airfield had its very own meteorological climate, the prospect of a 12.30pm start seemed slim. Ever the optimists however, tacos were ordered and the 20km journey to a crispy ex -Soviet aerodrome completed. On arrival it was quickly obvious that Lisiciji Jarak did not have its own climate, but it was up there with one the crispiest places CtCCCC have played cricket. It had a bar however, and a television, which remarkably was showing the rugby so the tourists wedged in to wait for it to clear up.
Just as the rugby was getting interesting it cleared. We would play Belgrade CC, apparently fielding a weakened side as many of their expats decided not to turn up because it was wet. In their places they had their youth development squad including some kids from the local Roma camp. Continuing the crispiness, the misshapen, and small, ground was overlooked by a 10-storey high abattoir. Speculation abound as to why it needed to be so high.
The cricket got underway, after CtCCCC won the toss and elected to bat on a soggy carpet over some concrete under overcast skies. Belgrade’s Badger Bogdan opened up from the Abattoir End, displaying an excellent action learnt from watching Youtube videos. Rudkin (Snr) had perhaps been watching the same videos as he mistook Badger Bogdan for Dale Steyn and simply missed a (slow) straight one. Luckily just the man to steady the ship strolled to the crease, Dillon would wedge in and see off the opening bowlers no doubt. Dillon certainly wedged, sand-wedging the ball to all parts. Had the home team had any conventionally placed fielders he would have been caught almost immediately, the strangely shaped ground and dense outfield however made it difficult to place fielders conventionally. Before long, it was Pemberton’s turn who took running, and the outfield, out of the game and smoked it to all parts. Cassels (Jnr) did what Cassels (Jnr) does in a CtCCCC shirt and played a pathetic pat to a man on the point boundary - at least it wasn’t MOMO. Cassels (Snr) went about his work atypically. Our very own ginger all-rounder was as always very good, playing the shot of the day, timing one along the ground through backward point, until he was out trying to play the same shot. Rudkin (Jnr) an opening batsmen of some repute at school, hauled the total to something respectable with some enormous 6s. Once again CtCCCC sticking to their tried and tested method of giving everyone a go.
After a hearty lunch of chicken thighs and bread rolls the size dinner plates, CtCCCC took to the field confident of being able to defend their total. Chef Pemberton had the dubious honour of taking the gloves. An unenviable task given the nature of the pitch and grounding under foot. Fairbank opened up and the Serbian openers tucked in to the buffet he produced. The Serbians were clearly at home on the soggy matting, lofting CtCCCC’s gun bowler for 6 over point. Our ginger genius Hammond was heard to affectionately mention to Fairbank after the game - “the way you bowled out there mate, you may as well have a brain tumour”. The rest of the stable of seam bowlers all fared in a similar fashion as Belgrade got off to a quick start. Too used to the carpet like outfields of Whitgift and Rwanda, the seam-up men couldn’t handle the large step up to the concrete wicket a pace or two before the delivery stride. Clearly they’d forgotten some of their roots – grubbing around on uneven muddy pitches in East Anglia. Before long some control was restored as a steepling catch was taken by Gimson at cow corner. The spin twins of Dean and Rudkin (Jnr) wedged into the middle over, periodically taking wickets. The tourist wrapped up the game fairly easily, ensuring their (dubious) route into the final.
(N.B. While you will no doubt have greatly enjoyed this match report, it is a little worse for not having any scores. Apologies. Admin error)
The evening’s revelries were undertaken in great spirits, finals cricket was guaranteed for the boys. Continuing the traditional dinner theme, dinner was booked at Konak Mikan, Belgrade’s premier traditional restaurant. It was crispy. We were syphoned into our own room, a blessing for the other paying punters, however not such a blessing for those left in close proximity to our waiter who had Eastern Europe’s worst BO. The traditional fare, washed down with local spirits, certainly allowed the boys to get around the boys as the evening continued. This culminated in a riotous 10-minute rendition of the Brothers Rudkin song, amongst others.
Much had been discussed about the late-night haunts that Belgrade had to offer. Primarily by Ed “Only Bangs Models” Cassels who was positively frothing at the prospect of cutting loose in Belgrade’s watering holes. He took on the mantle of leading this sorry bunch of cycling cricketers. So keen was he to get to his Promised Land he would literally walk on broken glass to get there, dragging his bunch of merry men across a number of Belgrade’s finest wastelands, across a bridge, through muddy building sites and eventually to a collection of glorified boats that represented Belgrade’s clubbing scene. The bouncers at the first jumped-up barge took one look at us and decided there was a private party in their floating establishment– would Cassels (Snr) have his paradise denied him? He would not. He assessed his options, donned his indefatigable grin and waded into his Elysian Fields, followed by a bunch of pissed up cricketers.
The scene that greeted the cricketers as they entered was Euro heaven. Davidson could not conceal his excitement despite crippling heartburn – this too was everything he could hope for. Euro dance classics blared out; good looking Serbian youths bobbed to the beat. The lads wedged into a prime viewing spot overlooking the entire dance-floor. Discussions turned immediately to the question of “the first chop on tour” - surely CtCCCC’s most pathetic record of all would be broken this very night. It would not. Old habits die hard – the tourists remained in their ivory tower, pounding vodka and bitter lemon and watching the attractive clientele from afar. Before long the night’s entertainment took to the stage – male and female vocalists accompanied by a keyboardist – purveying a unique genre of traditional Serbian folk-dance music. Davidson’s smile grew wider.
What happened next this humble reporter has found particularly difficult to re-tell. I could scarcely believe my eyes, my very touring foundations shaken. So used are we to this particular tourist leading the charge on nights out, handing tinnies to barely awoken tourists, bottles of Vinho Verde for breakfast, drinking any and all under the table, the list goes on. However, the clubs premier cannon had appeared to have shot his load – slinking out the side door, “dragging” The Chairman with him back to the Winter Garden pre-midnight. An historic moment. Undeterred the remaining tourists ploughed on, some even venturing onto the dance floor.
Day Three dawned on some dusty swedes. Sadly, this was the day we would bid farewell to our (not so indisputable) premier cannon as he had to get back to cater, compere, DJ and Best Man at some wedding. Day Three also brought with it this tour’s Golf Championship. With which I will now hand over to chief golf correspondent – Rory Davidson.
As long as golf on tour remains a surprisingly controversial activity, it takes a certain amount of bravery to step out on to the links and face the barrage of abuse from the rest of your sometime teammates.
Some tourists, who will remain nameless, have permanently hung up their golf spikes under this unrelenting pressure.
Others, however, repeatedly rise to the challenge that tour golf presents (terrible courses, ancient clubs, sore heads), and leave their colleagues behind to chop onions and repeat a small number of words at each other – and go out and do what tour is for. Enjoying mildly competitive mixed ability recreational sport.
Cassels B, Fairbank, Dillon, Hammond and Davidson were those hardy souls who stepped over the parapet in Belgrade. Three days into tour, they returned to the soviet-era sport island to tackle the Serbian capital’s finest (only) 18 holes.
Conditions were tough – dealing with the fierce late summer sun, clouds of insects bred on the nearby stagnant rowing lake, and equipped with sets of clubs manufactured during the later stages of the Cold War, this round was to separate the men from the boys.
An unusually equally handicapped field made it tough to pick a clear favourite. No Conway or Coe to stand out here.
Would the promising junior golfer Ben Cassels find his form after 15 years in the wilderness? Or had his game been irreparably damaged by his unnatural physique and chronic self-doubt?
Would Will Hammond be able to translate his undoubted ability at other sports? Or would his game be cruelly hampered by his natural physique?
In the end, the 2019 Tour Golf Championship was sadly not the close-run affair the bookies had billed it to be.
As the heat and hangovers picked off those with weaker constitutions after only 9 holes, Jack and Will stepped out as the only tourists to complete a full round.
In this uneventful head to head contest, Will Hammond was the clear winner with a seriously impressive below-handicap round, but kudos must go to both Jack and Will for having the energy and determination to finish.
Not a classic contest. Tour golf limps on. An activity for purists; for masochists; for those who want to avoid another day’s drinking in the compound.
But will tour golf live on? What role does it play in a modern tour, with such competing pressures on people’s time and attention? As modern tour life nibbles away at the edges of tour golf, encroaches on it, it makes it harder and harder to justify.
But for many, tour golf and tour life are as inextricably linked as night and day, as perfect a pairing as cheese and onion, as close kin as the Brothers Cassels.
The debate continues to rage.
While the wetters were chasing small balls around, tourists Dean, Gimson, Rudkin Bros and Brennan planned to wedged into a charming rosé PFL. After a couple of small detours in the shape of Belgrade’s best view (of both the river and the locals) and a restaurant that could only supply us with water, the PFL-ers wedged into a delightful spot next to the river and the rosé floweth. A lovely afternoon and evening followed as we took a turn around Belgrade’s charming bars and riverfront.
Finals Day. The tourists awoke with excitement. In CtCCCC’s first international white ball tournament, we were to compete for silverware. Before getting down to finals cricket however, there was the matter of a nonsense 15 over game versus The Hurricanes. Our fellow countrymen by this stage, after 3 days in country, were in various stages of complete and total disarray. However despite an improbable early wicket from opening bowler Cassels (Jnr) in his first over, they got off to an absolute flyer, enjoying some buffet bowling from the Cassels Bros - reaching 76 off the first 5 overs. The Chairman attempted to restore some order, calling for Fairbank and Gimson. This barely stemmed to flow, the Leeds pair conceding 13 and 9 respectively. Fairbank’s second over went for 18. Gimson was hauled off in favour of the younger Rudkin, a sensible move as he finally restored some order, picking up the wicket of the dangerous Groveller and conceding a single run. Fairbank’s 3rd over went for 17. Cart Horse Davidson was pulled from his stable and bowled admirably, going for just 11 from 3 overs while carnage reined around him. The Hurricanes amassed 163 from 15 overs. This in the game that was meant to build confidence and prepare the boys for Finals Cricket.
In reply, The Chairman sent out possibly his heaviest opening partnership – Hammond and Gimson. The substantial pair unfortunately failed to form a substantial partnership, with Gimson caught in the deep. Cometh the hour, cometh the Brennan however. An innings that started with some nudges and some nurdles, supporting Hammond at the other end, exploded into life after Hammond too was caught in the deep. Brennan was joined at the crease by DoC Rudkin, at 63-3 with 8 overs left. The North Londoners had some work to do. Which they duly got down to. Brennan ever the cricketing savant, recognised Rudkin (Snr) was in slight disarray. Starting to see it big, Brennan ambled to a between-over chat - “I go here do I?” he enquired. The DoC confirmed. And so he went, before his stumps exploded for a crucial 29. Davidson took on the mantle of assisting Rudkin (Snr) with a big hitting innings some in the club still do not believe he is capable of. In his role in the engine room Davidson scored 29 quick runs, 4 of his 8 scoring shots going for 6. At the other end, despite “not feeling great maaaate” the Director of Cricket was starting to see it pretty well. The chase was back on, and in reality it never looked in doubt after Rudkin (Snr) got going. A remarkable chase, led by the DoC, bolstering the lads’ confidence before the eagerly anticipated final.
Finals cricket. A great moment for the club. The Chairman paced, rehearsing the various scenarios in his head. The opposition The Incogniti, a cricket club of some repute, boasting the records of nearly 8000 matches played over 150 seasons stood in the way of silverware. The Chairman’s first hurdle was negotiated as he won the toss, and chose to bat, sending out his premier opening partnership of Hammond and Cassels (Jnr). The pair got off to a strong start taking the score to 51 from 6 overs before Cassels (Jnr) was caught at deep midwicket for a useful 28. Dillon came and went for an entertaining 7, leaving the hero of the morning to join Hammond the middle. Unfortunately he could not repeat his heroics. Despite the boys reaching 71 from the first 10 overs, a sorry capitulation followed with barely anyone bothering the scorers. CtCCCC in their first 11-aside final had posted a miserable 107 from 17.1 overs. The fact that the opposition Captain proved to be a total bellend didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
Recognising that they were deep in the mire the cycling cricketers came out with energy and aggression, relying on youthful reserves of enthusiasm and never say die attitude. It caught the Incogniti unaware. Davidson steamed in from the abattoir end, thirsty for blood, with their opening batsmen in his sights, on his butcher’s block. He dispatched them swiftly, assisted remarkably by Cassels (Snr) and less remarkably Hammond. Such was the collective effort from CtCCCC, it turned a formally abysmal fielder into Jonty Rhodes, as Cassels (Snr) watched the ball rise from the bat, turned and calmly gobbled it over his shoulder on the run. A double wicket maiden to start. This brought Captain Bellend swaggering to the wicket. He immediately showed he had the game to match the swagger, as he uppercut Fairbank’s first ball for 6 over point. CtCCCC remained positive, with effort and enthusiasm shown by all. Even Cassels (Jnr), a man usually happy to stumble about, hands in pockets, was up and at ‘em, revving his team mates engines after every ball. The Incogniti skipper settled into his work, while at the other end wickets fell. Hammond and Gimson each picking up a brace, regularly pegging the Incogniti back ensuring they never looked like they would pull away. The effort from the cycling cricketers didn’t abate, and it was rewarded most satisfyingly when a lifter from Hammond was wafted at by Captain Bellend and caught behind by the industrious Dillon. They were on the ropes – 93-9, needing 14 from 2 overs with their 10 and 11 at the crease. While their number 10 may have been the world’s fattest cricketer he could still hit a cricket ball, dispatching two 4s to the midwicket boundary in the penultimate over, leaving 6 to win from the final over. Cricketing immortality beckoned for the Sons of Thunder; real silverware hard earnt on the Continent. 10 years of careful and meticulous planning by the Chairman came down to 6 balls. 6 balls in the fading sunlight of a Serbian afternoon, on an airfield, overlooked by an abattoir.
There was only one man that could be trusted with this – brain tumour or no brain tumour it was Fairbank to bowl.
And so, in Jack Dillon’s now immortal words, we go ball-by-ball:
Ball 1– Fairbank rattles in, the batsmen has a heave and slices aerially down to third man, followed by a comedy squeal of “catch” from the bowler. One taken. 5 off 5 needed
Ball 2 – Dot. 5 off 4 needed.
Ball 3 – Dot. The screw was tightening. The Chairman readied his enormous hairy hands to grasp the silverware. 5 off 3 needed.
Ball 4 – Dot. 5 off 2 needed. Surely this was in the bag? Get the beers on ice.
Ball 5 – Wide. Oh no. Three runs and the extra ball to be bowled. 2 off 2 needed.
Ball 6 – The batsmen gloved the ball fine down the leg side, millimetres out of reach of a diving despairing Dillon. One taken. The scores were level. Did a super-over beckon? 1 run off 1 ball required.
Ball 7 – Fairbank pumped his knees and charged in. The batsmen on strike attempted some funny business, backing away and charging the bowler, it worked as Fairbank smeared the final ball for a wide outside off. It was all over – heartbreak.
Despite the obvious disappointment of losing to Captain Bellend, I think I can speak for all CtCCCC players involved when I say it was one of the most enjoyable fielding performances in a cycling cricket shirt. A huge effort to get so close defending 107 on that pitch, but ultimately a poor batting performance could not be made up for. The hunt for 11-a-side silverware goes on.
After some beers on the outfield, the tourists fired up the tacos and headed back into town. A swift turn-around completed, it was back out to the tournament ending dinner at a restaurant chosen by Old Mate Vlad. This proved, unsurprisingly, to be an incredibly crispy affair, Serbia’s relaxed smoking laws only adding to the strange ambience. After some beers, some strange food and some excellent chanting at Captain Bellend, Tour Court followed. Weights and Measures got to work procuring some lethal plum rakia, as well as organising the use of a private room for proceedings. The less said about Tour Court the better – it divides opinion but safe to say some fines were administered, some people enjoyed Court and some people did not; but most importantly Hammond ended up naked with his clothes hanging from the ceiling fan.
The rest of the evening ended in disarray, with nowhere open or willing to have 11 pissed up tourists. And so, the tourists stumbled into tacos back to the Winter Garden. The DoC Rudkin (Snr), of all people, was heard to mention, “mate, I just think we left a bit out there maaaate. It’s the last night on tour maaaaaaaaate”.
But where was The Chairman? He wasn’t in any of the returning tacos, he wasn’t in the Chairman’s Crow’s Nest. Had he pushed on into the night with Badger Bogdan? There were garbled reports of him striding off claiming to want to walk home, but he was no-where to be seen.
In truth, all we had to do was to look to Alexander Pushkin’s poem of 1826 Song for (Black) George, to know of course, that “at dinner the old man drunk and drunk. And fell asleep on the road in Belgrade”.[2]
[1] https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=Flch9xUioAcC&pg=PA24&lpg=PA24&dq=pushkin+a+song+about+george+black+translation&source=bl&ots=rhr88bruNG&sig=ACfU3U3B9ig7LBIfnVP9dJlsclN-4ggjAg&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwialvDuyLDnAhXLYcAKHeg_DPYQ6AEwCnoECBcQAQ#v=onepage&q=pushkin%20a%20song%20about%20george%20black%20translation&f=false
[2] https://aleksandr-pushkin.su/pesni-zapadnyh-slavyan/4/?lang=en