Woodham Mortimer Cricket Club

The “Yipes” can be defined as the following: ‘The loss of fine motor skill in athletes’. But can this term be associated with our very own Ian Ball? Firstly, Ian is a batsman (despite his wicket tally showing 18 victims #whodidballypayoff?) And therefore, can batsman get the yipes? Should we class our Ball as some kind of strange yipes all-rounder? The term yipes also implies the ‘loss’ of something. Is it possible to lose a you’ve skill never had? Can we count the nudge for single down to fine-leg a skill? It’s a run I suppose, but what happens when they put three behind square? And does the yipes only apply to athletes? I’m not knocking Ball’s age, but he does start every conversation off with “during the war.” Of course I jest. Our Bally isn’t talking about the Second World War. He’s talking about the Boar War. I mean this fella is so old he has pants and socks older than me. Can you smell that, that’s called jealousy.

But a fine figure of a man our I-Ball is. The club’s second leading run scorer only behind D. Fannon. Ball has hit three marvellous centuries for the club, his highest 120* against Bluehouse (never heard of them either – must have been a pre-war game I think). If you scan your eyes across a cricket encyclopaedia (or just ask Manu) it/he will tell you how the fielding position ‘slip’ was named after our very own Bally, because whenever the ball would fly off the edge it would either ‘slip’ out of his hands, or he would slip over in the process trying to snatch a belter of a catch. But when he does take a screamer, my god. It’s like watching a Gazelle. A Gazelle that’s been shot a couple of times and half-eaten by a lion mind you, but a catch is a catch. Now in the winter of his cricket years Bally has taken up the role of the old wolf. The calm head of the 1’s. The satirical comment waiting behind the bat. The salt of the earth kind of guy, ready and waiting to supply sweets to the team like a dirty old man at a playground. Mind you, as dirty old men go our Bally ain’t half bad. Heart and teeth of gold. Has offered to give his bat to the British museum after he has hung up his boots. They just don’t make them like this anymore. 

If Humpty Dumpty and a pair of promiscuous (look it up Cam) wicket-keeping gloves ever had a love child you would get a little something like our Nigel. Like his dear old father Dumpty, who couldn’t be put back together again, our Nigel also appears to be shot to pieces in more places than one. I mean what is it with you wicket-keepers? First you moan that my bowling is too far down the off-side then you tell me its too far down the leg side. Are you never happy? Our Nigel is a rare breed. With what knees he has left he leaps to any wide ball like a gazelle, one that was once a fine prancing animal but has since been shot a few times and half eaten by a lion. Who needs knees anyway?

Don’t let the profile picture fool you. This chap is one of sophistication and charm, sporting his beloved trilby hat that compliments the twinkle in his eyes whenever he turns up for a match. No one is quite sure where our beloved Nick came from, and to this day I don’t believe we have bothered to ask. Rumour had it that he was caught sleeping in the containers one night by Nathan. Other rumours suggest that Nick is one of those forest people and after watching us through the trees for a few years he crept up to the clubhouse, stole some whites and made out to be a cricketer interested in joining. Wherever you have come from mi’lad, we are glad you have!

An ever faithful member of the club Nick is the mastermind behind the 400 new tea and coffee mugs we have stored up in various locations around the clubhouse. But that’s not the only contribution Mr Goode has made over the years. In a match against Leighton Orient in 2016 Nick hit his high score of 69* (ONE SHORT of a 70) – the cheeky chappy – Connor Hayman’s favourite number. After hitting the half-century, he retired to give the other players a game, blooming nice guy our Nick. But it’s a good job that Nick left his pads on because in the last over of the game, needing 6 runs to win, Nick found himself chucked back into the fight like one of his handbag throws. A deathly silence followed. Skipper Jeeves couldn’t look. Camera phones at the ready. Could he do it? Could he write himself into Woodham Mortimer folklore and hit a six of the last ball. It’s a good job the bowler gave him a half tracker because our dear Nick did just that, smacking the chap back past his head for maximum.

We haven’t seen our Nick hit runs much since – ever prone to the injury, like the cut finger, or bumped knee he decides to use when stopping the ball – and the unfortunate case of shock he suffered upon hitting that same very six. We wish you a speedy return to Goode Nick.