Epic moments in cricket vol 1

Bet she's an Essex girl. I'd put money on it.

Bit...bit... she's SutEfrican

Northern slut
1.06

Nobby Cheese wrote:Northern slut
1.06

You'd hit it mate

I'd crawl naked across 200 metres of broken glass just to throw rocks at the cart taking her jam rags away.

Bet she spits.

She's a South African and you can't speak Afrikaaaaans without hawking a loogie

Nobby Cheese wrote:I'd crawl naked across 200 metres of broken glass just to throw rocks at the cart taking her jam rags away.

At the other end of the scale, I all but picked a fight with a bloke at Old Trafford today for trying to fuck off the world by adopting football-style snarky fucking cunt chants in the members area.

Cracking days cricket, went a lot closer to the wire than it looked at several points, it was Warwickshire's to lose and they kept leaving us in with a glimmer. We lost it an hour, hour and a half before the end but you could see a few Warks anuses were twitching with four or five overs to go as we were keeping to the 14 an over we needed and hanging on by a thread.

When the game is over, though, there was a Warks cunt who was ten yards behind me at ten o'clock who shouted the same fucking shit on and on for eighty overs, every ball, the pissed up cunt. He was that fucking loud you couldn't hear the person next to you talk if he was blaring out again.

Game's over, though, we've had a fun day of trains, cricket and the odds and ends of a day out. Cue further shitbag in his fifties to stand up by an exit (again, in members) and in a CB40 game, starts shouting "You're going down with the Worcester". Well, you mean spirited fucking cunt. Any empathy I had towards the showing your side put on today has gone because bastards like you with your fucking football schadenfreude don't deserve trophies. I gave the bald bastard an earful, he called me a poor loser, I told him it was CB40, you prick, and you're a fucking sore winner to go on about a completely different tournament and that going down means fuck all when after 77 years we're still the current champions and we stole it on the last day from right under your nose, fuckface.

We were on a tram back to Piccadilly after and a clutch of Warks lads got on after getting off a connector, two stops to go. We'd seen them in non-members, they'd been on the pop all day but they were as genial a bunch as you could hope to see, had a bit of a gab with them, sharing notes about the game and how Ian Blackwell looks like being one shave away from a D wing prisoner who has a secret pie supplier and the best way to get him out of his ground is to pitch a Mars bar on a length [Warks lad said "send two - he wouldn't bother making the journey for just one"]. I hope if they do win, those lads get a ticket and the cunts from members don't because one of them is visiting the other in hospital because he got a kicking elsewhere for his fucking mouth.

NotBert wrote:
I hope if they do win, those lads get a ticket and the cunts from members don't because one of them is visiting the other in hospital because he got a kicking elsewhere for his fucking mouth.

The train back had a woman who is apparently 30 next week who was between Piccadilly and Lime Street who was offering to kick fuck out of someone both at Piccadilly and Lime Street despite being at neither. Fucking time travel and dual existence aside, had the journey been another ten minutes, I'd have breached every social protocol and fucking decked her as my patience finally emptied out about two minutes before the train did.

Had to get a train out and the three things about it was
(i) the fucking tins, bottles, spirit bottles and (amazingly) discarded insulin pen in the carriage would suggest that the cleaning crew weren't brave enough to take on an inbound to Liverpool after 9pm
(ii) two lesbians sat opposite me and the kids. Easy to explain to them if questioned but I thought if it were twenty years earlier, they'd be set fire to and pissed on with petrol
(iii) gang of women sat by the toilet opening the door every time someone went in, pissed up and showing that 21st century pissed groups of under 25s of either gender are the most fucking appalling breed ever, worse than can pyramid squaddies in the 80s, even. What is impossible to explain is when a woman stands up and throws her cunt forward shouting "DO YOU WANT TO SEE MY WANNY" as the height of humour. As it was they didn't ask.

The kids didn't care about the women kissing. Why would they, they were doing no harm, they didn't even notice? The fucking drunks they despise, though.

Country's finished.

A) Thank fuck I live in the sticks
B) Thank fuck I've had most of my lfe now.

Nobby Cheese wrote:Country's finished.

A) Thank fuck I live in the sticks
B) Thank fuck I've had most of my lfe now.

We were only on the train as a [prepare for irony] treat because we use the car in the main. I wasn't aware of how bad it had got but with the dark and the seemingly backlit lawlessness, it felt like I was a crowd extra in Blade Runner

society really is a cesspit.

we're up to our necks in filth.

blubbing and choking on it.

Like it was yesterday

And within a day Carlos Brathwaite hits four sixes in four balls all over the ground, an unbelievable sight, to win the T20 World Cup.

I don't quite know the back story but it seems he was a competition winner (hence where he is) who, had he made the catch, would have won a trip to Dubai on top

Got to play on the top ground yesterday, which as of Saturday, became a Liverpool Competition Premier League ground again as the Firsts sealed promotion with a winning run akin to City's to win the league last season, with their twelfth win on the spin (none intended)

I don't play many games (I am there as a doting father as my 14-year-old son is working his way into the club sphere) but am always available (the Crohn's makes committing myself a minefield, a leap of faith and too much of a thumbing of my nose at Fate all at once) but as a Club 4ths v Club 5ths on the top ground, there aren't many chances I'll get to play on one of the finest settings there are for cricket and I made myself available for it as last game of the season. The boy and I have played alongside each other a couple of times, so that bucket list item has been met and yesterday, I got to bat, bowl and take a catch off my lad's bowling on said top ground.

I have had far worse days.

The story above also neglects to mention I had a slide on the wet pitch on bowling and pitched my ankle back/forward. Seemed all right, a bit of a wrench at worst. Fifteen days on I went the walk-in to check it wasn't broken. It wasn't, but it was a progressive hurt and a manacle brown bracelet around my leg and at least I could worry less over it.

Bizarre to have an injury that improved for being walked upon and got progressively worse rather than static or better but again, worth it. So I'm old, so fucking what?

No, I'm old.....I was 70 last month and can't walk 20 yards any longer.

You have my every sympathy, Tone.  Age is that last fucking joke by the supposed God that asks us to be good people who worship him while he takes the fucking piss out of us on an hourly basis.

An example - nursery nurses are put in uniforms to inflame fathers who by definition are at their fertile peak and also fathers of the kids they're looking after (I found this hilarious as an actual older father as I was old enough to have fathered the nursery nurses and so incited the twat God by ruining his fun).  Also, men's sexual peak is at around 18 when they're struggling to get any because of their being still petulant boys in comparison to the more experienced, less petulant boys we are twenty years later.  By the time you've got a handle on the game, your own pink handle doesn't piss in your eye any more if you try to go after you've just seen a bra strap under a seethrough top.

Women's sexual peak is reckoned to be about 45.  Which means at 18, not only are they designed to inflame the hornymost you, they are also designed not to enjoy it as much despite you being able to go again and again, it's like Tower Bridge.  And at 45, when they're all over it, you can only manage a fraction of the former angle and need 8 hours sleep and a sports drink before it'll point anywhere again.

And that's just the sex paradox...  The one concession is that the 18 you wouldn't be interested in the 45 her, and the 45 you wouldn't be interested in the 18 her, which is probably more damaging to the woman who'd possibly cougar the young gun while they mature earlier and older blokes aren't a stretch of the imagination.  Like I said, twat God.

Can't really disagree with any of that mate.

Have to admit I feel it a bit of a wry circumstance. After 50, if you see an outright stunning nineteen-year-old, I find I just want to applaud her. The forty-year-old woman whose neuroses have gone along with her self-perceived imperfections, though, "Les, I'll play". It's like we're hard wired to get the horn around age-appropriate women.

Which means we can admire the hard bodied twenty-somethings and lust over the older women. I do like that sweet spot...