It was a small party of fifty-year-old blokes who had just about squeezed their gout into their loafers that ventured into the Wroclaw night life. In homage to the missing potato, and much to Professor’s chagrin, we convened at The Irish Bar to sup the most expensive pints in town. It was here that Skip informed us that there was good news and bad news regarding the cricket. My thoughts immediately turned to the Serbia tour, knee-high grass, 45 minutes of sleep and coach journey across borders. However, any concerns were soon calmed by a plethora of cheap drinks at the only ‘rock’ bar in town. To Professor’s frustration, a round cost less than a single Guinness at the Irish bar, although by closing time nobody cared how much the drinks cost. Thursday or not, we had eased ourselves into the tour.
I feel terrible. Plane flu, obviously. I therefore decided to give the cultural section of the tour a miss, which saw the Quokkas hunting for dwarfs and witches that jump off bridges… or something like that. With the culture box ticked, normality resumed at the Chopper bar, which seemed to offer the perfect combination of beer, pierogi, meat and more beer. This was followed by a return to the rock bar, where we successfully attempted to drink our way through their top shelf. It’s amazing how quickly time flies when you’re discussing weight-loss injections, Trans-Siberian train journeys and desert-island wedding proposals, but eventually hunger got the better of us. Fortunately, the Konspira communist-themed restaurant provided traditional meat feasts, with hidden rooms full of Solidarity memorabilia on the side. Preparation for international cricket would not be complete without 1.5-litre cocktails, which may have contributed to Egg losing his phone, mind and all sense of direction. At a time when professional sports teams bring their own pillows with them, I am not sure a service-station forecourt supports the best pre-match sleep.
Despite a quorum of Quokkas making breakfast, some dressed in full whites, the 10am start seemed a tad optimistic. Why do all hotels cook bacon and sausages under what appears to be a 12-watt light bulb? I digress. First up was a game against Jaguars Wroclaw Cricket Club. Actually, three games, although the third was declared unofficial. Apparently, there are limits to what counts as international cricket. When Google Maps Street View shows the venue to be a set of garages in the middle of a concrete jungle, you know the pitch might do a bit. When you arrive to find a car perched on bricks, with tyres, pallets and assorted white goods scattered around a 40-year-old astroturf football pitch, you start to feel slightly overdressed in whites. Skip had warned us that the cricket might be “a little unorthodox”. You’re not kidding. Still, we have played on worse and despite the surroundings, we had ourselves an international game of cricket to play.
Jaguars Wroclaw Cricket Club 115-6 (Professor 4-20, Skip 1-9, Marcus 1-20) beat Quokkas CC 34 all out (Slick 6, Professor 5, Faggie 4)
The Quokkas bowled first, and it quickly became apparent that our hosts, armed with their hollowed-out bats, knew what they were doing. They regularly dispatched the Quokkas into the neighbouring tennis courts on their way to a healthy total. Our “quick” bowlers, Faggie and Marcus, took a bit of tap, while the even more pedestrian were only fractionally harder to pummel. That said, Professor, something of a tour specialist, revelled in the conditions, claiming four wickets, including one courtesy of a middle-stump yorker. His words, not mine. Out in the deep, Seagull grabbed three catches, but numerous other chances went down. We are generous like that.
In reply, our batting was, well, dreadful. There were ducks for Evil and Marcus, but nobody made double figures. The ball was too bouncy, surface too hard, blood-alcohol levels too low, tyre smoke in my eyes… there we no shortage of excuses. Our hosts suggested our bats were too heavy, but the reality was that we were simply inept or still drunk, or still drunk and inept. Not sure which. Thirty-four all out. A promising start to the tour.
Jaguars Wroclaw Cricket Club 122-6 (Seagull 2-2, Faggie 1-3) beat Quokkas CC 89-8 (Skip 28, Seagull 16)
Once Slick and Faggie had raided the local shop of everything vacuum packed, we were ready for a rematch. There was some improvement, although the catching still left a lot to be desired. Paolo produced the kind of drop that brings into question his manhood, never mind his international cricketing credentials. Our bowling was much better, but 33 runs from a single Paolo over rather put paid to our chances. In reply, Skip batted very well for his 28 and finally brought ‘Plan-F’ to fruition.
Faggie: “Yes, yes, yeeees… fucking run!”
Skip: “…………….……no.”
Faggie was not amused. Evil Dave cackled like a Wroclaw witch.
Obviously, this didn’t help our cause, but you can’t have your cake and eat it. Despite the second defeat, everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, and a short ten-over bash completed the day’s play. Decent knocks from Healthy (aka Marcus), Evil and Professor won’t be entering the Quokkas record books, given the unofficial status of the third game.
Having decided against buying socks adorned with the Pope’s face from the hotel gift shop, we rehydrated with cherry beers before taking shelter from a rainstorm in an inviting Japanese restaurant. Afterwards, the tour party split into two camps: those happy to follow some young Czech techno fans on a blind tour of the city, and those who preferred to go blind drinking Delirium. Neither option offered the sort of preparation one might recommend ahead of the second leg of an international cricket tour.
“Oh, I forgot to mention, we need to catch a train to Poznan, which is about 150 miles north, followed by a 50-mile taxi to a factory outside Wrzesnia. It should take us about three and a half hours.”
“What time does the game start Skip?”
“The opposition suggested 9.30am.”
“Tremendous.”
Brummie Quokkas, eat your heart out.
Having chosen the death-by-Delirium route, this little jaunt through Poland was about as welcome as a Malcolm Marshall bouncer. However, on arrival we could at least see an actual cricket pitch, albeit one of the matting-on-concrete variety. There was also a reasonable outfield, a marked boundary and two covered seating areas. Pretty impressive stuff. The neighbouring dormitories provided adequate changing facilities, too. If only there had been time to take advantage of the double bed.
Poznan Flex Films Europa Factory Team 117-5 (Evil 4-12) beat Quokkas CC 116-7 (Evil Dave 42, Marcus 18, Faggie 14, Seagull 10)
Despite Skip’s best efforts, we were put into bat by a very keen factory manager. With an early flight to catch from an airport 150 miles to the south, seeing your lift to the airport depart just as the first ball whistles past your ear is not ideal. Being caught off the sixth ball of the match wasn’t great either. But thanks for coming, Locky.
Egg: “How long do you think Paolo will last?”
Seagull: “One ball.”
Egg: “….correct.”
Great start. Thankfully, Healthy and Faggie put a few runs on the board, but both departed just as they were getting going, and at 65-5 we were in trouble. Or were we? Evil Dave was up next and proceeded to smash the ball to all parts (Ed: mostly midwicket and cow) on his way to a glorious 42. It was a fine innings and begged the question, is Evil officially an allrounder now?
In reply, we had their opener caught behind early doors. Or did we? Apparently, walking despite a huge edge is not a thing. Seagull was still grumbling when the same batsman nicked the next ball straight to him where upon he promptly dropped it. Nice work. One that didn’t go down was another of Skip’s amazing slip catches, snaring their skipper off Faggie’s bowling. Sadly, that was about as good as it got and our opponents won at a canter. A lack of a scoresheet prevents a more detailed analysis, but Evil claims he took four wickets and who is going to argue with the devil?
A very tasty biryani, provided by our hosts, boosted energy levels enabling us to play a second game. Sadly, it had absolutely no impact on cricket ability levels.
Poznan Flex Films Europa Factory Second XI 100-4 (1-8 Nial, Seagull 1-9) beat Quokkas CC 66-5 (Faggie 26, Seagull 19)
In a ten over game chasing a sizeable total, a fast start is essential. Skip, Egg and Yak combined to score three runs from nineteen balls, leaving us with a mountain to climb. To be fair, the bowling was pretty rapid and a biryani can only do so much. Seagull did hit a few fours, and Faggie obliterated the bowling in the last three overs, but it was too little too late. So, it was five games played, five games lost, but we had avoided COVID, being spooned by naked Todd, or spending time in hospital to remove a 5.5oz leather-wrapped cork sphere from your head. I’d call that a success. A tour would not be complete without cherry wine, beer fountains, schnitzels the size of bin lids and pork knuckles that even Skip struggled to manage. Luckily, we found all of those things on our final night.
Dzieki.
See you at the dinner.
Seagull