CAPTAIN’S REVENGE 09 > The Gypsies v Captain Cook Hamilton’s way And as I stood there cloaked in my recently purchased whites in the clover patch at fi ne leg, fasci- nating at the bees’ industriousness before they leapt into the tenebrous aft ernoon skies, I thought on their obliviousness to the import of their labours and of my morning stool, the size and colour of which I had reported to Maman earlier in a brief missive slipped under her door, and the inevi- table disappointment on her reading, fi lled me with a sudden sadness slowing my movements and causing my nose to run and the restarting of a pancreatic ache, which could only be relieved by thoughts of today’s match against Captain Cook, and soon I felt an exciting turgidity in my trou- sers as I brushed against myself deep beneath my four layers of undergarments knowing that soon I would be safely covered in my bed, head beneath my pillow, smelling the sweat-warmed blankets and the comforting scent of cold urine in my chamber pot, my only fear being the new, Lindsay Cohen-shaped lamp shade which gave such an unfamiliarity to my intimately observed surrounds that I would only manage to calm myself by deeply inserting my index fi nger and thinking of cover drives, until my panic passed and I was then able to face the long sleepless night. Th ese thoughts occupied me temporally whilst nearby, away from the grotesquely twisted shadows thrown by the scored trunks of the acacias bristling against the harsh light of the summer sun, the Gypsies toiled on Rowland Park to dismiss the opposition, an act so in contradiction to any sense I had of my- self in this world or the next, or even of the sensation of the harsh leather surrounding the ball as it fl ew around and toward me, its arc tracing a parabola bisected only by the motion of a delicate breeze that never threatened to lower the oppressive temperature enveloping my corporeal form, isolating it from interaction with surrounding events that I would come to know only as mosaics across a scorebook. And soon enough, there arose a cry from the other players; the opposition had been dismissed for 163, with Wesley-Smith, chief architect of their demise, taking 4/34 and presid- ing with a certain hirsute fecundity that defi ed any physical context. I traced my fi nger in the damp earth as I sat on the sideline, waiting while Futon-Smythe and B2 quacked causing, at 4/33, a mild panic to subsume the team, and which in myself was only repulsed by my more urgent concern in making my way to the middle without allowing the apparition of Alain Jones naked, wearing only a pubic wig on his head, to overwhelm me as it had just two nights prior as I lay in bed, suff ering the unspeakable night-horrors that had befallen me since the loss to Saggy Green. Nevertheless, I made swift progress as if in a dream, hitting boundaries that would later loom large in the shower recesses of my mind, yet when Gref (24) and Gray (26) were dismissed I felt strangely light, as a bloated dead toad would, observing as if through a veil the actions of my partner Ando who in making 45, swatted sixes and carried me toward that long-cherished century, and when I reached it I felt strangely subdued, dissociated from myself, knowing that everything and yet nothing had changed, betrayed by the feeling in my pants. All that was left was to again wander in that clover, spectating on the endless insectival existences that passed beneath my feet as I fi elded, the last rites of the Cookians presided over all too quickly, as they collapsed up the anus of their own ineptitude. Th e Gypsies 265 defeated Captain Cook 165 & 33 10 > The Gypsies v Ryan’s CC Hamilton’s way What is happiness? hat is happiness? For some, happiness can be boundary. But aft er one such fermented delicacy, Futon- found through devotion to a personal faith, Smythe complained to the bowler that there was some while others prefer the company of friends like hair in his cheese and an argument ensued, whereupon WMimi MacPherson, Paris Hilton, or both. the batsman suggested that the bowler’s hair extensions Sampling a fi ne wine, hitting a six to bring up your 50, exceeded the ICB maximum of 10% fuzziness. Subse- lending an ear to Wagner’s Ring or coming up with the quent measurement proved this to be correct, but the end perfect sledge. For the Gypsies, it’s hard to go past the result was Jed heading back to the pavilion for 18, most perfect January; top of the table, and giving a lippy bunch of it from shots over third slip. of jumped-up, self-disturbing 6th-graders the thrashing Th is brought in Hamilton, fresh from his maiden ton they richly deserve. and he played beautifully for one of the fi nest ducks From the moment the selectors required a meeting to seen for many years on the Park. Tap then attempted to choose the team and Mike Bailey’s predicted rain failed headbutt one through square leg and was forced to retire to materialise, the Gypsies knew that Ryan’s were cactus. hurt. Unfortunately, his brain had become dislodged by Gilligan, due to either a boating accident or a complete the blow and he spent the next seven hours in Casualty. lack of guts, failed to front, leaving only 9 Bryans to face When asked for his details on arrival, he replied “I’m a the music. Batting fi rst saved them from chasing 400+, teapot. Pass me the parrot and kiss me you fool!” but not from a fi red-up attack. Keith the Umpire was fi rst At this point in previous seasons, the Gypsy batting to go – giving himself out aft er realising he couldn’t see may have folded under the sustained attack from the the other end of the pitch or hear their opener cut one in fermented milkman, but this side boasts more depth than half from Yak. Fortunately, John Chalmers was making Dirk Wellham’s book My Life – A Leibnitzian Journey, one of his frequent toilet stops nearby and agreed to take which caused a schism in the great Tasmanian Shield over offi ciating duties, and once the caught behind was side of 1984-85. (David Boon apparently described it as re-introduced as a dismissal method, the Ryans’ collapse “fucked” and tried to set fi re to Wellham in the nets.) But was on. Futon and Junior set about making the Ryan’s pay for Now, the species homo pommius has never been daring to turn up with only 9 players, and when Futon known for its fi elding, but the Gypsies’ own pommy smashed 10 from an over to raise his bat for the 50, the bastard surprised everyone, including the batsman at the Ryan’s were done for. It was left to Mackenzie-Pitt-the- runner’s end when he threw down the stumps to run out Elder-Ethelred (29no from 3 balls) to put the fi nishing the Ryan’s top-scorer. English selectors could do worse bitch-slap to a resounding victory. than to add the name Malcolm-Frazer Mackenzie-Tuf- Down the pub later, the Skipper rang in to congratulate nell-Bumfl uff -Andrew-Dribblebotham III to their Ashes the lads: “In respect of petal my umbrella tip fanderol shortlist. Th e Ryan’s had come into the match under- lotus squiggle the third, humbug!” he spluttered, before staff ed, under-brained and under the impression they resuming construction of his footy card mansion. He was were a genuine show, but aft er being 2/112, the Gypsy later diagnosed with Von Bismarck’s Disease, prescribed bowlers put paid to that by routing them for137. a handful of gravel by an escaped schizophrenic and told Th e Gypsy batting decided to skip the entrees and to lash himself to the north pylon of the Sydney Harbour mains and go straight for the Cheese platter, and here bridge four times a day for a week. they were not disappointed. Th e Hyphen & Smith open- ing combination sampled a selection of short, sharp but Glebe Gypsies 4/138 defeated Ryan’s CC 136 inviting fromages, many of which were dispatched to the 11 > The Gypsies v Kingsford Apaches “Tell your story walking, Sunshine!” aving completed an unbeaten January and of 57 was played under extreme duress – he was clearly dispatched the pretenders from Ryan’s, the still suff ering the eff ects of last week’s blow to the head Gypsies would now have to confront the team and repeatedly called for a phillips-head between overs Hthey feared most – themselves. Top of the table status to re-affi x his new metal plate. guarantees access to all the good things in life and With the Gypsies cruising at 3/110, B1 predicted everyone wants a piece of you, so it was no surprise that he wouldn’t have to bat, but that quickly became that the Gypsies team that fronted the Apaches had the 6/114 and he came in facing a heft y fi ne. Vanstead’s same look as a Labour Party MP doing the late sitting soft dismissal for 8 also provoked a fi ne, but that was aft er a session at the Macquarie Street Members’ Bar mainly due to his insistence on reading aloud long pas- – groping wildly with no real game plan.