The Curmudgeon

YOU'LL COME FOR THE CURSES. YOU'LL STAY FOR THE MUDGEONRY.

Monday, August 20, 2012

England Crash Out

And the tension is running high here at Blimsey Follocks Stadium as Crimpole's team badger up to the waffle end and start the preliminary dingbats, with Woofter looking supple despite the episode in Brighton. Borgle, of course, has been moved up the playing order to take advantage of his various infarctions which means Fimbley's on the benches and Ruttingpole is bringing up the tail-end chuffer. Blanchflower and Wrigley are cutting up a few practice tweaks while the opposition get their mobleys checked by the umpires, and it's looking like a fine day's sport as a packed audience does its level best to stay awake.

And they're off!

And Gumboyle makes a rousing start with an inbetweener up the cockles to Flotsam who wallops it through to Blasingob without a second's pansy. Murdibor for the opposition blimps the cradocks at silly womble and Cruttingen's lob is out with the hattenstones. Gumboyle pursues but Borgle furgles it at the boundary and Murdqvist pins him by the leftward gusset. Woofter tries to rankle the jimboes and...

...fails. And now the opposition are really getting into it, with Murdblint cadging a boss crumpet along the way. Blanchflower hunkers on the low-beam jaffacake but nobody squelches and Murdski's daisycutting leaves Badvole tainted in the slops. Woofter hobbles a middling badger-shaver, but Borgle is nowhere and it ends up at the wrong end of the crevice for Murdwart to blow away.

Still all to play for!

And Blanchflower is rampant despite the reticulating crampons which caused the side so much grief in Pennsylvania, and he fraggles a superb one to low badger before Wrigley gums it up. Cruttingen tries for a sliding flummox but Murdqvist gets his pongo in the way and that's seventeen up the widdecombe for our side. Woofter tries to muckle the slimbeam pollexfen for a quick double back poodle and...

...fails. Murdblint literally cascades along on three legs with all engines pounding and his eyes on the duffel, and many in the crowd have at least one eye partly open as Blasingob warbles for criminy. Murdowicz engages in some cynical cheese-paring and Flotsam bashes weed, but it all goes for nought as Borgle makes another tibia-trasher and virtually everyone on the field is temporarily applecrumbled. That'll be porridge at garter-time, or I'm much mistaken.

And now it's four days later but referee Sampson Hurlingbottom seems to have sorted things out and it's Grimsnatch in for Cruttingen and Flotsam off to midfield to cover the downward craggers. And Murdovic launches with a pillion-cruncher that would surely have fascicled Wrigley had Blasingob been less quick on the furgle. Gumboyle gets his warts off and snaffles a clary on the way, but Murdqvist herringbones him sideways and there's a bit of a barney in the off-wombat cuddlers. Woofter tries to haggle a touch from Grimsnatch and...

...fails. Still almost everything to play for as the opposition go thirty-one and two seventeenths ahead and the stadium is electric with rapid eye movement and occasional hypothermia.

And now the game is really porking away as Murdovic rams a great carping littlejohn slap into right field, but Crimpole gets a hand to it and it drops head-first into the trough for Ruttingpole to chase back into the off-length beezers. Murdenko boggles a quick one up to badger's fossick and it's Blanchflower who throttles it and whacks it off to posset. Flotsam whangs a gotcher down the visitors' oesophagus leaving Murdbørg looking rather surprised and Borgle's ratcheting up the privets while the sun shines and the crowd is getting to be quite well rested as Woofter attempts a boggust on the opposition's Bézier line and...

...fails. But Murdblint's right in there and finagles the boundary for another seventeen and two-fifths and the scoreboard is quite literally not a scoreboard any more.

And now the torsions are thoroughly northampton and Murdblint goes for a goolie, or possibly two, right up through the middle and curving across down the upper straight as Borgle wimples it for all he's worth and Blanchflower's there with a massive baxter and Murdwart gets to it but his socks are off-beam as Wrigley damps and tamps and the opposition dangle for a mighty dribble by Murdowicz as the final hooter goes and as the teams file out Murdski very sportingly exchanges shirts with Woofter who tries it on and...

...fails.

5 Comments:

  • At 8:31 p.m. , Anonymous The Judge said...

    Truly the Empire was won on the playing fields of St Cake's (senior games master: S. Unwin)!

     
  • At 10:38 p.m. , Anonymous Madame X said...

    This is why I will never understand cricket.

     
  • At 1:40 a.m. , Blogger Philip said...

    The matches last for days and can end in a draw even if one side scores more than the other. What's not to understand?

     
  • At 11:14 a.m. , Blogger phil said...

    you just made that up didn't you?

     
  • At 8:49 p.m. , Blogger Philip said...

    The post or the comment? As a matter of fact, the comment is not only perfectly true but almost certainly plagiarised from somewhere, while the post was made up many months ago.

     

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