TANG: WHAT NICKNAMES TEACH US ABOUT SPORT AND LIFE

Societies across the world mark the transition into manhood in a range of ways – and the world of the village cricketer is no different. For the emerging village player there is a point when you move from being one of the youngsters and start to be recognised as a person and player in your own right. It’s that time when you get your nickname.

It’s an exciting time – but one where a young player needs to proceed with caution. Your nickname will say with you until they lower you into the ground or scatter your ashes at long-off.  It will be shouted at you across the outfield and will spread like a virus beyond cricket to work and college, girlfriends and siblings.  

Nicknames say a lot about you, more about your friends and a lot about Cricket. Farmyard and Crofter are firmly of the view that there is a strong relationship between the quality of your team’s nicknames and on-field performance.  When Super Cat led out The Master Blaster and Whispering Death you just knew what you were getting.

More on this below as we explain England’s capitulation down under.

It’s a thinking man and woman’s game with scope for creativity – so if the best you can come up with for a mate is Smithy, then perhaps you are not the man to work out how your left arm wrist spinner should be using the breeze. When you hear a skipper shout ‘get loose Dave/Simon/Imran’ to his bowler you should be sniffing blood. If the call is ‘get loose Bullet/Simple/Immers then you know these guys hunt in a pack.

To some extent the first rule of nicknames is the team that’s cruel together stays together.

But how do we get them in the first place? For many it marks the transition to manhood. The young ‘uns who break into senior cricket are typically referred to by the first names for a year or so. Anything too cruel or crude needs to be explained to dad (usually not an issue) or mum (potentially more challenging) so for a while first names prevail…and then out of the blue something sticks, sometimes obvious and sometimes so warped and tangential to any sane person’s thinking that virtually all of your future introductions are spent explain while you are called Dingo or Slasher or Cupcake.

There are 3 species of Nicknames.

The first are based on what you are already called and are subdivided into to two sub species:

Obvious: add a Y or IE (as in Trotty) or shorten (as in Carbs or Bres)

Associative: where a name is used in conjunction with a another word – The late Graham Dilley was known as Picca, and very few Rodneys get to play without being called Plonker every week.

The other two species are ‘Appearance’ (which could be physical or clothing related) – such as Beaky; and ‘Event’ when you are named after something stupid you have done (brain yourself on the low beam in the home dressing room, come round and you are forever ‘Hard Hat’).

For a young player making his way on the team they play every week knowing that their name – the transition to manhood could happen. They need to think about the story of Tang. A young man keeping wicket with orange pants putting in an appearance every time his gets set to take the ball. Long leg predictably shouts ‘We have got an Orang-utan keeping wicket’.

Actually that would be unpredictable – the actual version is cruder and he says ‘Orange -u-tang’. Of course long leg really should have said we had a baboon keeping wicket – but two overs later our young keeper is forever ‘Tang’. You can run through the eternal looped conversation yourself now ‘Why do they call you Tang?’

‘It’s to do with some pants’.

It so often is.

So what is a young man to do? At a club where there already quite a few animals so to speak, eating your tea with two hands would almost certainly mean you’ll be ‘Squirrel’ and the guy with the big nose crawling around looking for his contact lens will become ‘The Anteater’.

You could, off course, try to set the agenda. If your surname can take it, add a Y or IE and slowly start to use it.  Answer your phone with a casual ‘its Jonesy’. You can even try to grab yourself a name like tiger – wear a few stripes, go for black and orange – but get it wrong and remember – it’s a life sentence. For every ‘Tiger’ there is a ‘Deckchair’.

Maybe it’s best to take what the cricket gods have for you, whatever it is, it means you have arrived.

…and now back to the international game. England’s ‘bowl dry, percentage cricket’ is reflected in the names they use for each other – Cookie, Swanny, Broady, Bres, Carbs. The coach Andy Flower is called Andy Flower – while the Aussies have replaced Micky Arthur (known as Micky Arthur) with Boof. It explains a lot and it’s no wonder that England might look to Ashley Giles – and man with two nicknames in the Hall of Fame: Wheelie Bin and King of Spain.

[footnote: Orang-utans are classified in the genus Pongo]

What Not To Wear with Farmyard and Crofter

The requirements are as simple as you could wish for - white shirt, white trousers, white jumper (with options around sleeves), white socks and white boots – which these days are really shoes but we love to doff our burgundy caps to that time ‘back in the day’ when you would whiten your footwear with something that looked like a bumper pack of tippex.

Such simplicity should ensure that uniformity on a Saturday is achieved and that the team really look like a team as they stride (limp or hobble) onto the manicured turf (as long as the mower hasn't been broken again) in advance of battle.

This is rarely the case in Village cricket as a desire for individuality and poor personal standards tends to warp the team photo in a way that suggests there is a cricket scene in ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’

While smart players tend to be very similar the scruffs are scruffy in their own individual way with each item of apparel tinkered with or neglected in its own way  as the dressing room egos dress themselves up in displays of peacock type proportions, youthful slovenliness or the soup kitchen poster boy look. These "idiosyncrasies” can be viewed as an adorable part of village cricket life and as a display of confidence and character by the liberal minded but they always include the Three Ds…

There are the deluded (wearing their district under 14 cap ten years on), the increasingly rare Dandies (Cravat, Straw hat while umpiring) and the Disgusting (old kit that houses the North West Agricultural Research Board’s mushroom collection).

Farmyard sees this kind of non- conformity as a statement of unnecessary individuality bordering on defiance of the necessity for togetherness. There’s no ‘I’ in team but there are currently 4 or 5 scruffy gits who could be entered for the Turner Prize – or if they stand still for long enough could be recycled by accident.

Yes Standards Are Standards.  One thing our current touring national team do well is “Looking good" - matching shirts, caps, trousers, sweaters and boots. If they didn’t have that they would have nothing.

So what to do – well analyse your own Village Idiots from head to toe and apply Farmyard’s commandments – yes I am coming down from the mountain with a set of rules scribbled on a mini bat signed by the 1973 touring New Zealanders. I am your Moses and I will lead you to the Promised Land (subject to prompt payment of 2014 match fees)

CAP - club crested and maroon is exemplary and plain maroon is acceptable as it shows the player has made an effort. However, a garish coloured black & gold or green & orange striped old school / club effort is worthy of a heavy fine and the player should be dropped - you are no longer playing for Old Sodsonians in the Wessex Div 2 where you once (allegedly) scored 1500 runs before the end of May. You are now playing in our Cheshire spud field, thou shalt wear maroon and you shall attempt to up your average from last season's less than impressive 11.2 batting at 3.

SHIRT - club crested and piped with maroon is exemplary whilst a white collared dress shirt is acceptable - you are, after all, a schoolboy, accountant or policeman giving your valuable time for the good of your club. A white collarless t shirt is unacceptable and you will be fined heavily and dropped. You are a cricketer in Cheshire and certain standards are expected – the press could turn up any time.

If you wish to attend the ground dressed as an ice cream van driver then go ahead – but make sure you bring your bloody van.

SWEATER - piped in maroon or plain white are acceptable. Absolutely NO evidence of other colours or team badges shall be visible as it will make you look like a ringer (admittedly VERY unlikely) or ineligible.

After the promotion scandal of 1971 we cannot afford to have our name dragged through the mud again and we now have Clubmark to think of (You may, however, wear a West Indies sweater as the colours are more or less the same and I am convinced that they got the idea form us.)

TROUSERS - laundered and pressed with the club crest on the outer thigh is exemplary - your weekly selection is an absolute guarantee. If your whites are grassed stained, creased and have a faint aroma of stale sweat you are bordering on the unacceptable as you appear to be a slovenly youth. You will be monitored and you must exhibit the brains to read the instructions on the washing machine.  

It’s also worth saying that a few ‘previous’ grass stains can helpfully give the impression that you have thrown yourself about a bit – and remember clean trousers going home say one thing and one thing only – game off, I have been in the pub all day and the text you got at 430 about the great teas was a fingers crossed job.

Draw string elasticated baggy pyjama type jogging bottoms in cream (particularly if combined with collarless t shirt) are unacceptable and you will be fined and dropped.  This is not the 1990s, you are not MC Hammer – but it will be Hammer Time.

SOCKS - white, clean and sweet smelling: Exemplary. Off white or grey due to age or poor washing will be acceptable as long as they emit no overpowering smell in the confines of the changing room.

Loud colours or non-matching football/rugby socks are unacceptable and thou shalt be fined. This is a cricket club - choose your sport and dress accordingly. It is not a place for cross dressing (unless there is a fundraising element)

FOOTWEAR - spiked or pimple rubber soled sports shoes designed for the purpose of playing cricket. There shall be no coloured laces, luminous basketball boots or Dunlop Green Flash plimsolls which will have you skating around the square exhibiting a complete inability to remain vertical. Remember – you are not MC Hammer – or RUN DMC – or Dappy from N’Dubz. Sneakers are verboten!

So there you have it Farmyard’s commandments – a guide to the simplicity of dressing correctly for the sport that we all love.

As England have shown, a smartly turned out team is not always winning team but at least we won't look like a group of Village Idiots….

TRANSFER WINDOW OPENS: Blog Secures Big Signing

Following the unprecedented interest from around the globe our humble blog can announce that it has secured the services of an expert blogger on a permanent deal.

Leading our output in areas such as personal grooming, equipment and fashion the celebrated man of letters Farmyard will be posting regularly to Crofters fans via the blog. On signing up Farmyard said ‘there’s only one place to be read these days and it’s a pleasure to sign on the digital dotted line’.

Following his anonymous article on new bats many fans recognised the man behind the wisdom. We have already had numerous telegrams addressed to Farmyard c/o the Croft score hut – and most are seeking advice on a range of both personal and sporting issues.

The Blog is pleased to announce that from next week Farmyard’s Agony Aunt Column (advice from the Farmyard) will start to answer your requests for help and guidance – but for those of you who can’t wait (i.e. all of you) Farmyard’s advice on cricketing attire will appear this week.

I have seen the future and it's.....

So its 103 sleeps ‘til the new season – or more accurately we are 138 essential maintenance tasks away from a new campaign. The fixtures are out and (subject to the selection committee*) players can plot their summer’s enjoyment. Inevitably it includes wincing as they realise they will miss a plum trip to a country idyll with great teas while on holiday – but be back home around midnight on the Friday for the game played by the canal, just past the gasworks, at a ground with a micro-climate that resembles Rekjavik in March.

But the fixtures signal the start of the pre-season period. For some involves a dry January and  dusting off the trainers – for most it’s reading about the latest 4:3 diet craze over a mug of tea and a family size pack of hob nobs. But for virtually everyone it’s time to think about new kit and personal targets – and in some cases predictions – and Crofter loves a few sporting predictions and can’t help but recall two figures who wrote theirs into sporting folklore.

In 1964 the then Cassius Clay told the press he’s knock out Sonny Liston in the 8^th round – and while that fight ended with a technical knockout after 6 it is said that Ali’s famous poems predicted the exact round that 12 of his fights would stop in.

At the other end of the spectrum, Scotland Manager Ally McCloud, on departing for the 1978 World Cup in Argentina, was asked what he would do after the world cup – his answer ‘Retain it!’  It is thought he‘s the first manager to talk about retaining the Jules Rimet trophy before winning it.

While Ali walked the walk, Ally just walked.

For the Village tonker/medium pacer there might be some sensible, modest targets. Get picked; don’t get injured; don’t be in the  dressing room when the skip gets a first baller. They might even stretch to a playing based target like qualifying for the averages or doing better than last year.

But perhaps cricket isn’t the game for being too specific – you can be run out without facing a ball, get a duff decision or simply wander around at mid-wicket doing your stretches for a full 45 overs to no effect and bowl zero overs. But Crofter has heard some predictions that fall into the ‘bold’ category – big runs in specific games.

Now in my book 5 tons to order means a £440 Salix presented at the end of year awards  by grateful teams mates – and when it happens the lucky recipient can echo Ali at the end of the first Liston fight and shout that ‘they shook up the world’.

Time will tell, and come September we’ll know whether we have seen ‘The Greatest’ or been on the march with Ally’s army.

__________________________________________________________________________________

*Crofter will be covering the mystical cult that is the Selection Committee in a future post

IT'S NOT ME IT'S YOU

CHOOSE YOUR WEAPON
Crofter understands that there is a special bond between a man and his weapon of choice – and to guide us through the emotional complexity we have an expert on hand to share his most recent experience. Like a top of the range Salix the close season sees him needing no more than a light sanding and a quick wax to look at his best – but blimey, he goes on a bit…..

Festivities over, I clambered into the attic to deposit decorations redundant now for another 11 months. The solitary 20w bulb throws dim light but my eyes are drawn to the battered wheelie bag tucked away in the corner with the tell-tale rubber handle peeking out at me.
It’s hard to know what to say and I only manage ‘It’s been a long time’. But at least I am not doing the deed by text – I have manned up and done it face to bat face.

I sit in the dim light, and hold her in my arms for one last time. She was once flawless - so smooth and beautiful. Her face was so perfect and she promised endless summers of relentless joy. As with many relationships that had started with such anticipation, the years pass and the attraction fades.
I look at her now and see the hairline cracks and blemishes and it’s a look that has had its day. There and then I realise it really is over and I resolve to replace her with a younger model.
I am walking away – or more precisely going backwards down the loft ladders and trying to avoid injury. I am descending into the depths of bitterness. It has been HER fault that I am repeatedly caught at mid-on and mid-off. She occasionally forces the pie chucker as far as long on, but nowadays she never gives me the satisfaction of seeing the cherry disappear into the field like she did when we were in our Honeymoon phase.

Now she has simply stopped trying - despite my increased age and experience.
‘It’s not me love, its you’


And so, for the first time since 1991, I am back on the market for a new partner... I am offering Saturday days out around rural and not so rural Cheshire with me and my fine group of acquaintances but also the joy of being squeezed into the rear of various brands of vehicle and have views from foot wells and parcel shelves of the surrounding areas as it streams by the windows as we are habitually late for away matches.
As the Brontes might have written ‘Our arrangement shall be mutually beneficial’ and see me dispatching snarling bowlers' balls with minimum of fuss and maximum of speed, whilst in return, I shall rub her down regularly with a high quality oil.

 So, how do I go about the courting process and choosing a new partner in this modern age? Well in a nutshell – I found love online.

With the Strictly theme and cries of "SEVEN" now emanating from the lounge I know that I have plenty of time to conduct my research. I settle down with this new-fangled Google and the total might of the world wide interweb – and wonder whether I’ll need to update a selfie (whatever that is)
Having read Ranulph Feinnes, I know that when embarking on any great quest, it is imperative that one should thoroughly research that with which one is to be faced, so that one's judgement should be sound and true in the arena of the decision.
Having entered my Google search "Best modern cricket bat" the computer screen lights up with a veritable feast of shapes, brands and colours. This is not going to be a simple decision!
In my day, a man was in one of two camps - i) Gray Nics - outrageous scoops and curves a la Samantha Fox or ii) the more traditional Linda Lusardi as exhibited by Fearnley or Slazenger.
Now the magical electronic screen was flinging images that got my pulses – it could be something exotic – or a really brash & lurid, totally upfront wild looking ones from the Southern Hemisphere and then of course the English Roses – your Salix and Worsop Stebbings…


Its love at first, second, third and fourth sight on each site. I need to apply some self-control.
I move frantically through on line forums, review sites, electronic magazines and then finally reach the Aladdin's Cave that is YouTube. I find myself in a world of enlightenment.
I am told about grain structure and grades of willow, and their utmost importance to the "Ping" I will get from my new blade.


I am told, at great length, of the elaborate facial pressing my wood will endure and subsequently given a lesson in physics and dynamics. Apparently, the flatter the blade, the more of it will hit the ball & thus the ball is guaranteed to fly further over long on and into the fields beyond...
My heart fills with joy...


How I have missed the thrill of leaning nonchalantly on my bat, wearing lopsided grin whilst a less than athletic outfielder catches his sizeable paunch on the top of the fence and plummets face first into the field on his quest to retrieve the said ball.

(He should also have read Fiennes and thus discovered, in advance, that there is a gate behind the sight screen)


I am told that my new blade will benefit from massive 40mm edges, long sweet spot middle driving area and pronounced bow. All of this sounds marvellous.


I am told how my new love should be oiled, lightly sanded, toe dipped and protected and then carefully "knocked in" by either machine or by hand. Some retailers are offering to do all of this for me but the old fashioned gentleman in me thinks that this would be tantamount to cheating on her before we had even taken our relationship passed the first gentle net.


I am also told of the benefits of "oversized clefts" but I was always in the Miss Fox camp anyway so I am staying mainstream and old-school.

Following the bombardment of information I am left with many choices...


Weight? - In my younger days I could handle a heavier partner but now, mainly due to my dodgy back, she will need to be lighter to aid maximum manoeuvrability. Weights are usually given "naked" - prior to grips, toe guards & facial protection. Some players hold the exact weight "dressed" to be very important. I, however, can't see how 1oz here or there will prevent me from waving uselessly and repeatedly at successive deliveries wide of off stump - I plump for Medium.


LH or SH? - However much I would love to go for it and be brash, it has to be a short handle. After all, I am only of a medium height and I would look like I had borrowed my big brother's blade. I am also not brave enough to brag or quick enough to engage in the inevitable double entendres that would ensue in the changing room.


Oval handle or Round? - click either box with my eyes shut.


Natural or Scuff Face Protected ? - Always protected for the first season - easy to wipe down and maintain the new look beauty.



Colour and style of grip? - pink, green, orange, white, black , blue, striped, swirls, flags of some obscure nation or even personalised?!? Diamond grip, max trio grip, spiral grooved grip..blah blah blah... Black and whatever.. Too flash invites ridicule from the wags that always occupy the slips or who wear the silly gloves and baby pads behind the wicket.


Choices made, I proceed to the "Checkout" and without even clapping anything other than a virtual eye on my new love, I enter my credit card details. I have been totally seduced by the idea that all of my cricketing woes, my weekly failures and my inevitable Sunday sulks due to lack of form will be eradicated when I press the "Place Order" icon.
Despite the fact that it costs the equivalent of a 2nd hand 2 door run-arounds it will be the saving of my "career" and will be worth every penny. If the wife asks, I will deduct at least £150 from the price paid, advise her it was in the sale & an absolute necessity, and then drone on & on relentlessly about how wonderful the internet is because they are sending me a free bat cover to go with it.


 And so, in early January, my pre-season is well under way. My new love will be winging her way to be very shortly carefully secured in bubble wrap and by free courier service. I will not mind one jot that I will wait from 0700 - 2200 on Wednesday for my delivery slot and lose a day's holiday from work in the process. This is my summer. This is my route to regaining past glories. This is my way to rocket my average above last year’s which did no more than nudge double figures.
I am very much looking forward to practicing forward defensive shots in front of the mirror in full gear for the whole of February & March. I am also looking forward to the admiring glances and accompanying noises of appreciation from my club colleagues when we cricketers come out of hibernation when the clocks go forward.


I may even go as far as organising a Question & Answer session in the bar on "How to Choose a New Partner" because, due to the wonders of male impulsiveness and modern technology, I now know all about it – or more accurately I know more about it than the rest of them.
Roll on the new season and the birth of a relationship more beautiful than anyone could ever have imagined.
As the song says.
Love, love changes everything.

The Year's First Round Robin Text

One of the rules, or more accurately commandments, of village cricket is that you get merciless stick for doing anything badly and derided for taking it too seriously if you do a job well. No job places you on the horns of this dilemma quite like being the indoor captain.

Ours has opted for the 'doing the proper job' option and kicked off the bank holiday with a text checking availability through to (wait for it..) 27 February - in order to deal with 'selection pressures'. This is a mythical Nirvana like state where a club actually has too many players for a team on any given date.

So until the end of Feb we'll be working on essential skills like taking catches off a wall - and having a mid week visit to the pub.

New Year, New You

So 2014 is with us, the nights get lighter and thoughts turn the coming season. It might be all too much for Swann at 34 but for the Village forty and fifty somethings it means only one thing - long protracted discussions about getting in shape, shedding a few pounds and new bats - and of these topics it is the last that will be addressed with dedication and gusto. As for the others its anyone's guess - but a call to arms has been issued for pre-season circuits - this year featuring instructional videos on Pilates projected onto the club-house wall. Whether this is inside or out we are yet to be advised.

While much of the talk of getting is shape is simply hot air - pre-season amateur hour guarantees it with team bonding based on letting everyone know what you have just had for your tea (but not in a conversational way).

The Crofter will keep you posted on progress (or lack of it)