Team Green Gibbo


The Saturday Team lost to Avonside by 28 runs. The full scorecard is here.

This week Green Gibbo led the Eastonites  (hence forth to be known as Team Green Gibbo) to Fry’s to take on Avonside.

On arrival at the ground and with none of the foe in sight we consulted the numerous noticeboards to find out on which pitch we would be doing battle. They said Pitch 2. Green Gibbo, being infallible, picked on the smallest child he could find next to Pitch 2 and demanded “Which team do you play for?”

“Bitton”, replied the meek infant.

“Are you playing on this pitch” continued Green Gibbo.


“Are you sure?”


“How do you know?”

“My daddy told me.”

“Right lads we must be on Pitch 4” decreed Green Gibbo. After a pleasant hike over green pastures to Pitch 4 we found the rest of the Team Bitton who said that they were playing there and so Team Green Gibbo hiked back to Pitch 2. “Pathetic child” muttered Green Gibbo. The Eastonites looked at Green Gibbo in a disapproving manner, their unquestioning faith wavering as they whiffed the smell of fallibility. “How was I meant to know he was wrong” said Green Gibbo, “You are meant to be all knowing” came the reply. “Oh? And who told you that?” demanded Green Gibbo, “You did” replied Team Green Gibbo in unison.

Now firmly encamped on Pitch 2 Team Green Gibbo went to inspect the wicket and under the instruction of Garnier got on all fours to check its firmness, moistness and temperature. For the second week running there was a stiff one coming across its middle however, unlike last week, it felt warm rather than cold. Garnier looked confused and said that this signified something very important, but he couldn’t remember what. “This signifies something very import” he said in a sage like fashion.

Amongst the fresh faced Eastonites waiting for the toss was a jaded figure. It was Preece who had been up all night, with all that that entails, but now he was looking like he had just come fourth in an Olympic rowing race. “I have let everyone down, my family, the public, Team Green Gibbo, everyone, I am sorry, I have failed to inspire a generation” he said.

This week Plan A worked and Green Gibbo won the toss and put the foe into bat. Garnier and Budge opened the bowling, both plugging away bravely. Garnier was rewarded with an “aberration” from one of the foe’s umpires. However, one of the twin curses of this season reared its ugly head and Team Gibbo started to drop catches. In all Team Foe’s skipper was dropped five times on his way to 82 before being bowled by TT.

The continued lack of catching prowess was beginning to erode Garnier’s sanity and he formulated a theory that one of the trees at the far end of the ground was deliberately jumping in line with lofted chances so that the catcher was unsighted at the crucial moment. This theory was proved, in Garnier’s mind at least, when facing the other end he caught one. This was done in some style as he jumped into the air in the style of a 1960’s centre forward celebrating a goal, throwing one arm into the air above his head and returning to earth with the ball in his hand.

In the end Team Green Gibbo did well to keep the score to 183. TT bowled well again getting 2 wickets for 24 runs and Garnier got 1 wicket for 29 runs. All in all though it was not a very good fielding performance and if Team Foe’s skipper had been dismissed more cheaply they would have been in trouble.

The Tea was an insult to all cricketing teas in the English style. An oddity of booking a Pitch at Fry’s is that you have to let them make the tea and so Team Foe cannot be held responsible for their efforts. For the uninitiated the greatest crime one can commit in a cricketing tea is that the only cakes are doughnuts: they are indigestible and thus no cake for an athlete.

One of the twin curses that dogged Team Green Gibbo this season had already reared its head in this game, namely Dropped Catches. Its sibling also put in an appearance; he goes by the name of Crap Batting. Green Gibbo, fed up with being the rock of ages and the only reliable batsman this season decided to make a kinky manoeuvre and open with Kahlu.

And so Grove and Kahlu strode manfully to the crease, or at least Kahlu swaggered in the Sri Lankan style and Grove minced rather. The plan was that Kahlu would biff a few boundaries in a restrained manner and Grove would present a straight and sturdy bat; thus with a little yin and a touch of yang the required run rate would be met without wickets falling.

Kahlu was out bowled within a few overs swinging at a straight one on a slightly lethargic pitch. Preece then dragged his sickly corps to the crease but never looked at the races and was out caught and bowled cheaply. This brought a vexed Green Gibbo to the crease to once again play the captain’s innings. A few overs later with the run rate creeping up Grove said “you bat sensibly, I am going to bat like a twat”, shortly thereafter he swished lazily at one outside leg and was caught.

Tall Toole and Iggy both decided to take a leaf out of Kahlu’s book and swung at straight ones. The horrifying thing about Iggy’s dismissal was that it was his second golden duck in two matches. If he has a golden duck next week he will be the victim of a ‘Tipple Buttock’.

When TT was out to a decent low catch, which the trouble making tree could not interfere with, Team Green Gibbo were in trouble. Although the outfield was spacious and slow Team Foe had managed to hit a fair few boundaries and our brave boys were noticeably failing to reach the rope. As Team Foe guffawed Grove, who was umpiring, suggested to them that the reason for this was that they were at least three stone a man heavier than our brave boys. “Are you calling us fat?” enquired one of the foe. “I suppose I am” replied Grove. “Good  point well made” replied the foe.

Retiring to square leg Grove watched the jet black clouds that had just flooded Nailsea pass a few miles to the west on their way to Bristol. Glancing down he noticed a corps lying face down in a ditch just outside the boundary. Closer inspection revealed this to be a comatose Preece. The foe refused to resuscitate him on the grounds that none of them had not brought their rubber gloves with them, they did however take the opportunity to check his pockets for loose change. Coming round Preece muttered something about Green Gibbo making laying him in green pastures.

Green Gibbo, who had been not out in his last two epic batting performances, suddenly had a mental fit and ran himself out for 45 thus shattering what remained of the cult of his infallibility.

Team Gibbo limped to on to 155 for 8 in their 40 overs.

Thus Team Gibbo had been dispatched by the foe. With better catching and a batting performance which was slightly better than complete crap things would have been different… just the same as last week.

Green Gibbo won man of the match and Garnier’s catch won the Cider Moment… exactly the same as last week.

As Team Green Gibbo relaxed with ill-deserved beer in the bar Garnier appeared somewhat hot and bothered with a hatched in his hand. “That’ll teach it; chopped the fucker down” he puffed.

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