Match Report

Octopus CC v Henleaze Old Boys
Sunday 4th May 2008 in London

By SJ Smith

Ode to the HOB Tour

We Henleaze Old Boys

We happy few

On cricket tour

To visit Stu

The third year running

Piled in a van

Joined this year

By Mike and Sam

Pete and Jo

Came down on the train

Fresh from a wedding

Livers in pain

Arrived at the ground

A mud-ridden wreck

Before our eyes

An artificial deck

Beer cans strewn around

All muggy and hot

The HOBs weren't very

Pleased with their lot

Skip Smith won the toss

We took to the field

Hoping for wickets

Rocky refused to yield

He smashed the ball

All over the place

Sweat pouring down

Arbuckle's face

The anger was boiling

And Leigh took the ball

But he went for sixteen

It was starting to gall

But we soon pulled it back

And wickets did fall

The Octopi had

Their backs to the wall

Ed bowled like a god

And nipped out a few

Trahar watched from the side

And looked like a Jew

In came the otter

With his goosy demeanour

Once he was fat

But now is much leaner

It didn't help much

After one lusty blow

The otter was gone

Caught out by Skip Jo

So the Octopi crumbled

Under hobber's might

The fielding superb

The bowling so tight

The total was meagre

One-twenty-five

Our best-ever effort

The game was alive

As Phil and Ed

Strode out into bat

Stu and Rocky steamed in

On a funny old track

Their dodgy new ball

Hooped all over the place

And Ed copped a beauty A

nguish etched on his face

A number of Hobbers

Came and then went

It was all left to Sam

After a night in his gaseous tent

He cut and he drove

Like a man with a plan

With comedy facials

Typical of a Lamb

He made twenty-seven

Which was just the ticket

But was running out of partners

And surrendered his wicket

The closer we got

The more we'd believe

But our ninth wicket down A

nd here comes Leigh

With Ogilvie bowling

And the Old Boys tense

Ashford stood firm

Looking immense

Ten runs required

Our last pair in

Nerves-a-jangling

In the quietening din

In came the goose-arm

With his long ranging leap

Bowled a straight quick one

Leigh collapsed in a heap

The ball had thundered

Into his pads

Out LBW

So disheartened the lads

Watching on from the side

Cups filled with the Valley

They looked like a veritable

Bunch of scalleys

Sympathy for Leigh

Was in short supply

Apart from the kind

And gracious Octopi

Writhing around

In pain and agony

Leigh shook like a shitting dog

Clutching his knee

The poor sod had gone

All pale and white

He looked just like

A dead man might

The end of the match

We'd lost the game

But that was incidental

To poor Leigh's pain

Two nights in the hospital

And a very sore knee

Was the pinnacle of the weekend

For poor old Leigh

The Old Boys went out

For a night in the city

Thinking of Leigh

Their hearts full of pity

Tales of paramedics and ambulances

Swirled with the booze

Soon there was a comedy

About Leigh's bad news

We went down to Soho

And to a gay bar

Which for Ashford and Phil

Was a step too far

We left without sampling

Their finest tipple

And mourned the loss

Of Stu's third nipple

Or maybe his clit

I can't remember its name

Either way, piss-taking

Was the name of the game

We progressed to a club

With the music pumping

The Old Boys hit the dancefloor

And got the place jumping

Skip Jo then took

A turn for the worse

Fell asleep on a stool

The Lizard-Lounge curse

We made our way back

In a number of cabs

Got into our tents In dribs and drabs

The morning arrived

With news of poor Leigh

In for two nights

With his accurs-ed knee

After messing about

We piled in our bus

Ash cracked open the booze

With minimal fuss

The traffic slow-moving

So Ashford hopped out

To replenish the lager

"top man" was the shout

To his great misfortune

The day was stinking hot

He worked up some sweat

Catching up with us lot

Happy and drinking

But creating a stench

Sarj placed his arse

Either side of a bench

Continual farting

Is a dangerous game

Sarj woke up with piles

In hideous pain

There's a lesson in that

For Mr bulbous knob

Never disrespect

The house of HOB

But last shout goes

To the unfortunate

Leigh Where did you get

That crumbly knee?