George Yates Trophy: Hilton ‘G’ 359 Heaton ‘E’ 399.5

A curious crowd converges on the Hilton Table Tennis Centre for this clash between 8th placed Division Two side, Hilton and 4th placed Division Three side, Heaton.

This is television to whisker-faced Dave Parker, worth more than the bus fare to Barry Walsh and a chance for Steve Hunt to glimpse numerous rivals.

Entering the green-curtained den are Heaton’s no-nonsense crew: Dave Jones Jnr – affable but deadly; Phil Beales – self-deprecating cruise ship king; Dave Jones Snr – 71-years-old yet with the footwork of a ballerina.

The handicap of 72.5 looks generous to a team of this standard – the equivalent of two points per game – but then I have only previously witnessed Alan Bradshaw from the Hilton camp. Gary Hilton and Tony Eardley remain a mystery.

It is Bradshaw versus Beales first – the tallest players here. Both have experience in abundance. Both are rangy and lethal when an opportunity presents itself. 8-11: a stumbling start for Bradshaw – timing off a little, a tap of his gold watch signalling the need to improve.

Up in the clouds where these fellas gaze at the 9 feet by 5 feet table with its intersecting 6 inch net, play must seem slower, the opponent slightly mechanical at times. Bradshaw, snapped reverse-lollypop backhands when on fire, when in his element, manages to salvage the second set (13-11) – find his way back to earth.

Two 11-9s follow – the traditional four-set cup match showcasing Beales’s impressive rolling forehands and cross-table backhands but ultimately bowing to the Bradshaw combinations.

Gary Hilton next – bright eyes, a tiny Mohican forged by his receding hairline. He is up against Jones Snr, Phoenix Knights of Harmony barbershop singer. It appears grim for the ‘A cappella’ maestro: 6-11 and 0-5 down in the second.

A quitter he is not though. An intense expression hammers across his face like a rivet on a high-rise development. Early backhand top spins level matters for Jones Snr (11-9). Hilton fights back – timely forehands picking out the corners (9-11) – but it’s the Phoenix man with his patient strokes who grabs the fourth (12-10).

Eardley now – momentarily tucked up in bob hat, glasses and large-collared coat. If there was a table tennis hell, he would be there chopping a burning ball back at you. He has a tough, ugly game but also a sixth sense. Jones Jnr contains him (9-11, 12-10, 6-11, 11-7) and is immense on the night.

Division Four: Harper Brass ‘C’ 4 Meadow Ben ‘C’ 5

The fifth tier in the Bolton Table Tennis League is hotting up – starting to take shape. Meadow Ben – in pole position – arrive at Harper Brass’s blossoming Mecca like VIPs in a Vegas restaurant: Alan Weall, their 75% man – a cross between the Dalai Lama and Bobby Charlton; Alan Hibbert, 74-years-old yet still formidable; John Parker, tall, well-spoken – a hint of Julian Assange about him.

Meadow have a healthy 66% win record between them this season compared to Harper’s still respectable 60%. Such statistics often crumble within minutes though – fall foul of the ‘contrasting styles’ philosophy.

Faizan Bhura, Harper’s 19-year-old wonderkid, kick-starts the evening. He is up against Weall who has removed his red fleece (Lama-like robe) and now stands in Lonsdale pants and Dunlop Green Flash ready to trade shots.

9-11. Bhura worryingly throws away a 6-2 lead in the first. Frustration rarely toys with his mind, however. He looks unnerved – his focus immediately shifting to set two. 11-7. Much better from him – steady rallies and such an easy style. 11-9. Bhura nicks the third; Weall puffing slightly – hand on his left thigh.

Weall, I notice, has an extremely elegant serve. Fingers outstretched, the ball flat on his palm, he releases the white, 40mm celluloid like a magician would a dove. Bhura lets him back in: 5-11. The enjoyment on Weall’s face is marvellous to see. He is still fighting the young, still weaving around, until…Bhura changes gear. Great lift from the Harper teenager clinches the win: 11-4.

Kaushik Makwana now – a mercurial player if ever there was one; sometimes brilliant, often egregious. His opponent, Hibbert – white hair, understated threat – laps up the generous Makwana high balls: 11-3. We immediately witness the changing fortunes and probability-busting fate of the Harper secretary though: Hibbert succumbing to vicious Makwana backhands (4-11) in the second and conceding a 9-8 lead in the third (10-12).

Stamina is the thing with Makwana – often his brutal slayer – but luck is with him this time: 8-11, 13-11.

Enter Haroon Khan. He has referred to each of the opposition tonight as ‘John’ as if in an unfamiliar pub addressing various barmen. Parker doesn’t mind because that is his name, but the scoreline suggests otherwise: 11-5, 11-3, 11-6.

A 4-1 lead courtesy of Makwana and Bhura duffing up Weall and Parker looks ominous for Meadow. Cue comeback (4-4) and Hibbert, the white knight felling Bhura.

Division One: Bolton University ‘A’ 1-8 Hilton ‘B’

A can of Dr Pepper lingered on the umpire’s table tonight. Had it been a doctor of medicine or psychology – as opposed to carbonated cola – then we might well have had a different outcome.

As it was, Bolton University’s Graham Clayborough, Sam Evans and Kirit Chauhan fell away in the second half of this eagerly sought encounter; their belief shot through a little, their Division Two skills from last season not quite making the grade in this higher league.

Hilton, their opponents, are a curious proposition: Dave Scowcroft, the northern mauler; Eddie Simon, something regal and chic about him; Alan Ingerson, southpaw maestro when his energy levels allow.

Clayborough opened Bolton University’s account with a cagey, yet decisive 3-2 win over Simon (7-11, 11-5, 11-9, 9-11, 11-5) but any thoughts of it being a harbinger of success were painfully dashed.

Evans, Aztec shorts, black top and Stiga trainers certainly looked the part and his loose grip of the bat had the wondrous effect of arching the ball from his favoured left-side of the table at times.

Against Scowcroft though, the man staring him down, things are never simple. With only one straight-sets loss so far this season (versus Bethany Farnworth), Scowcroft – even on a relatively off-night – displays the bounce and vigour of a young greyhound. There is a conspicuous upping of the tempo when he comes to the table. If he was on a sinking ship, you sense that he’d be first to the lifeboat – circumventing the “women and children first” protocol.

An 11-7 and 11-2 start for Scowcroft suggested this match was going with form until Evans’ deep, ripping forehands and fine-length loops unsettled the Hilton man (11-13, 8-11). The story had to inevitably end with a Scowcroft win, however – his trusted backhand dispatching Evans in the final set 11-6.

Ingerson followed this up with an equally shaky performance in what was billed the ‘Little and Large Show’ – Chauhan giving up one foot in height. 11-2. 5-11. 11-13. 11-7. The Hilton giant appears, at times, too dependent on his cranking top spin, but then the bewitching blocks mix up his game and he somehow ends with a smile (11-7); the weary, mopping of his face before the 4th managing to galvanize him.

The climax was a subdued, yet rich victory for Hilton: Evans 1-3 Simon, Graham 0-3 Ingerson, Chauhan 0-3 Scowcroft, Evans 0-3 Ingerson, Clayborough 0-3 Scowcroft, Chauhan 0-3 Simon.

Division Two: Meadow Ben ‘B’ 8 – 1 Harper Brass ‘A’

The road sign ‘Elderly people crossing’ I now realise is not just a polite request to slow down, but a taunting, mocking generational laugh aimed at the young. The post-60 brigades wish to draw you in, have you think that they are decrepit and foolish, when in fact their strength, power and alertness are quite astonishing.

Meadow’s Mike Audsley, Jim Bollard and Ian Wheeldon are a case in point. Sure, they play on questionable home turf where the ball travels faster and the table appears shorter, but their collective ages belie the doom mongers. They may dodder, yet once ‘in the zone’ they are transformed into gladiators.

We have travelled here tonight – Dave Brookes, Ray Isherwood and I – into the unknown. Meadow is a curious mix of the dominant (Audsley – 82% win percentage in 2012/13), the unpredictable (Bollard – 54%) and the steady (Wheeldon – 31%). Looking at their play versus Dave Brookes – who needs to shoot off early – I think I see those very numbers tattooed to their bats.

Bollard is aggressive, direct and has sufficient spin on his serve to weed out Division Two impostors. Brookes, lover of rallies, grinder of the opposition, unfortunately goes long with numerous smashes. It is Bollard’s: 11-5, 11-6, 8-11, 11-5.

Audsley next for the Bolton joiner. 7-11, 11-9, 6-11. Brookes is frustrating him. Audsley is a little rusty but reluctant to de-couple his pure game. The old technique surfaces just in time: 12-10, 11-7.

One more chance for Brookes, otherwise it’ll be a contemplative drive to Preston to pick up his son. It is tight, but Wheeldon takes him in straight sets: 12-10, 11-6, 15-13.

It is my turn now. Ray has yet to arrive, so it’ll be consecutive matches. Not ideal – too much sweat. I take the first set off Audsley (7-11) but then the old lion tears into me: 11-4, 12-10, 11-7.

My next opponent is Bollard. He talks too much – describes each point. You feel like gagging him, throwing him in a cellar. If he wasn’t so worthy of his place on the table tennis circuit, you probably would. Too much for me: 11-5, 11-3, 10-12, 11-8.

Wheeldon cuts me down (11-7, 10-12, 11-2, 11-7) and the already torturous evening gets worse.

Isherwood finally arrives, panting like a bloodhound. Some of the old magic – please! Bollard 3-0 Isherwood.  Audsley 3-0 Isherwood. Wheeldon 2-3 Isherwood. Whitewash avoided!

Division Two: Ladybridge ‘B’  2 – 7  Ramsbottom ‘D’

Ladybridge Community Centre: kids’ plastic chairs – red, blue, green – are stacked in the corner. The place doubles as a nursery and one gets the sense of an invisible, miniature crowd.

I notice the table, a Tibhar Smash 28/R – named after its founder Tibor Harangozo. It is of good quality. No problem there.

Home player, John Cole is first out against Ramsbottom’s precocious 15-year-old, Dominic Siddall. Nerves often blight Siddall’s early play. I witnessed his first two sets of the season and he went from stuttering Lada to revved-up Subaru.

It is a similar story now. Cole – wiry, glasses, red top – hits him out of the initial set courtesy of his deep, wrist-accentuated forehands (11-4). The second set also goes his way (11-9); his ability in keeping the ball in-play quite unparalleled.

But then the Subaru fires up. Siddall shows incredible maturity in the third, retaining faith in his forehand top spins and examining – really examining – the approaching ball. 11-8.

Cole seems to speed up – lose a little focus. 11-7 to Siddall and we’re now into the fifth; the sodden prison sentence which no player enjoys.

A lovely rally: short, long, long. Siddall takes the lead (5-2) but then loses the next six points (5-8). It is perilous. 57-year-old Cole – instinctive returns when faced with smashes – is somehow in front.

It appears to be man versus boy until…more resistance from Siddall – the streak of his orange, grey, black and white top haunting his opponent (10-9). Cole serves long. Siddall bridges the 42 years of nous and wisdom (11-9).

No such pain for Rambottom’s Timothy Fields versus Ladybridge’s Andrew Scully. He is in a hurry; occasionally to his detriment, but not tonight. 11-4. 11-8. 11-8.

The hand drier starts up in the gents. Seconds later, Ram’s no.3, David Cain makes his entrance. I am not expecting much. He has been out of the game for twelve years bar a few matches.

Brian Greenhalgh, quiet authority, stands opposite – uncanny resemblance to Paddington Bear’s Mr Brown underneath the six strip lights which give this place its glow.

3-2 down, Cain seems shattered already. The perspiration glistens. He is a grafter though, albeit with anti-rubbers: 11-8, 11-6, 4-11, 11-4.

The absence of John Birchall is a big miss for Ladybridge. More pain (Scully 0-3 Siddall, Cole 0-3 Cain, Greenhalgh 0-3 Fields) before salvaging some pride: Scully 3-2 Cain, Greenhalgh 3-0 Siddall, Cole 2-3 Fields.

Premier Division: Nomads B 1- 8 Ramsbottom A

History has walked before me when it comes to witnessing the games of Ramsbottom’s Michael Moir and Richard Lightowler. Both are proven masters – Top 75 ETTA-ranked players in 2012.

I feel like a fraud and bounder in their company, a Division Two scrapper who needs weaning off his basic table tennis rubbers.

It is Nomads’ Paul Brandwood up first against the polish of Moir’s game; Brandwood, deadpan expression – drier than a case of American Ginger Ale; Moir, stubble-faced, unaware that he has conceded just two sets this season.

They are privileged to be playing on the Cornilleau 740 – the finest table for miles. Brandwood, unemotional, strips down to his 1980s shorts. He must mean business. His form this season has been erratic, but with Ramsbottom in town, perhaps there has been some pre-match meditation, a transcending of his normal mindset.

11-9. The first set to Moir. 11-2. A crisp, angled forehand to compound matters. This isn’t looking good. One question has always been asked of Brandwood: Can his innate skills thrive in matches or – to quote Ian Botham – “Is he just good in the practice nets?”

Seeing him close hand, you know he could play blindfolded. Nonchalance would be an understatement. 3-0 down though. He is nearly on the canvas. But then… something radiates his game. Brandwood refuses to bow out. 9-11. Finally, he has summoned up a little nerve and put his pride on the line.

Moir compliments him but knows his own stash of energy will be too much. Indeed it is. 11-6. Serves with a little extra sauce on them. Early backhand returns. Nobody completely beats Brandwood – defeats are often self-inflicted.

Nomads’ Dennis Collier is next versus Andrew Jackson. Collier is the chopper extraordinare – a defensive guru. He often runs out of space such is his tenacity. His enemies tend to be stray storage heaters, fire extinguishers, chairs, radiators. Every inch is essential to his game.

He begins well. 11-6. 17-15. Each point is operatic – wondrous to watch. Jackson then unsettles him – mixes it up (9-11, 14-16). “Ohhh!” Collier feels the drudgery, the heaped effort but brings it home: 13-11.

Lightowler now. The Dewsbury beast. He looks like a man who has returned from four wars, who feasts on 16oz steaks, tosses cabers for fun and wrestles with his cousins pre-match. Too strong for Sean Toland (3-0) and symbolic of Ramsbottom’s superiority.

Division Three: Lostock 7 – 2 Hilton ‘K’

There was a moment tonight around the start of the penultimate match (Mike McKend Vs Brian Young) when Lostock’s John Nuttall and Arfat Khan burst down the clubhouse stairs to be with a couple of adoring female fans. In many ways it was timely – a micro-VE Day; not quite the capitulation of Nazi Germany, but more to do with an unfortunate Safron Newhouse foot injury.

It wasn’t a conscious celebration but it did coincide with an ‘over-the-line’ 5-2 lead. The whooping gaiety, whilst not exactly on a level with the noise generated by the May 1945 Piccadilly Circus crowds, was poignant nonetheless (Nuttall, strengthening his Churchillian reputation after each campaign and Khan, languid yet surprisingly lethal).

I had entered this curtained cove knowing that there were a couple of serious IDC gunslingers present – Hilton’s Mathew Fishwick (newly-crowned Division Two champion*) with his ‘bionic’ right arm and Lostock’s Nuttall (Division Three champion) with something of the amphetamine-laced Speedy Gonzales about him.

Both had early matches which should have consumed a good portion of their dominant spirit, yet with the exception of Fishwick/Khan (3-2) this was a cakewalk, a channel-changer, a lumpen no-show.

Brian Young, blue and white Hilton top proudly clinging to his chest, was the first faller – a nondescript, out of character performance producing a mere eight points against the unforgiving Nuttall (11-1, 11-4, 11-3). Khan – fight and humour ever-present – succumbed to Fishwick’s battle-hardened game (11-3, 6-11, 11-5, 9-11, 11-5). Newhouse, inhibited by the damage to her tendon, allowed Nuttall another free ride (11-6, 11-2, 11-2). McKend – commendable huff, puff and valour but insufficient to halt Fishwick’s finely-tuned splendour (11-6, 11-9, 11-8).

Other battles played out: McKend, a slight scare versus Newhouse, before chugging home (13-11, 2-11, 11-7, 12-10); Khan comfortable (11-9, 11-13, 11-4, 11-5) with Young…the latter’s right knee bandaged, his surname now a misnomer; Khan more impressive against Newhouse – his doggedness toughing it out (11-9, 13-11, 13-11) although Newhouse missed set point with a free smash in the second when 11-10 up; McKend compounding Lostock’s lead (6-2) with a 3-0 thumping of Young.

And so came the Nuttall/Fishwick showdown on the rickety Dunlop table. I had hoped for something to enliven the evening, something to hook me like a good film. Enter “the fastest mouse in all of Mexico (or Bolton)” – no mercy, no fear (11-7, 11-2, 11-7). Rare to see Fishwick so lost.

* Exception made – eligible for Div2 IDC due to declined promotion from Div3

Little Lever’s Phil Riley has an intense, stone-like face. He resembles a camper with his grey, baggy shorts and sky-blue top but there will be no polite frying of bacon and eggs tonight. He is a bear catcher – a grizzled human with few smiles and little diplomacy. A late entrant to the Individual Divisional Championships, Riley wishes to cut through the shaking of hands and traditional pre-match warm ups and just make a grab for the trophy.

The draw is kind to him. Only seven Premier players have entered this still-respectable cup out of a possible forty and Riley has avoided the ‘group of death’ (Barry Elliott, Jordan Brookes, Dennis Collier and David Bolton). The other ‘half’ following a late withdrawal from maverick, Paul Brandwood consists of Frenchman Frederic Turban, ‘Animal’ Andy Kaye and Phil Riley.

All of them have pedigrees of sorts; the most notable being Elliott – Closed Championship Singles Winner (2013) and reigning IDC Champion (2012). His trophy cabinet requires the handiwork of a joiner each year it is rumoured.

Group Two unfolds as expected: 44% man, Riley edging past weaker opponents, Kaye (3-1) and Turban (3-2); the latter keeping his nerve to qualify nonetheless at the expense of Kaye (3-2).

Group One is the bedraggled show everyone expected: Elliott 3-0 Bolton; Collier 3-2 Brookes; Brookes 3-2 Elliott; Collier 3-2 Bolton; Brookes 3-2 Bolton; plenty of permutations going into the last match (Elliott Vs Collier) with no one mathematically through.

Elliott, reluctant to cancel the services of his joiner, relentlessly attacks the Collier mettle. Home (3-1)! Another semi-final.

The ensuing ‘last four’ match against Turban proves to be academic (11-8, 11-7, 11-2) – Elliott toying with him near the end, his ‘impossible’ backhand top spins ripping through the Turban defence.

Not so with Brookes Vs Riley. A flat, forehand whack of near-petulance clinches the first set for Brookes (12-10) but what follows is a lunging, Desmond Douglas-like master class from Riley. Absolute conviction and intent seal it for him (11-7, 11-5, 11-9).

The worthy final sees underdog Riley facing the 84% might of Elliott. Riley, respectful of nothing and with the reach of a Bornean orangutan, reverses a 7-9 deficit to take the first set 14-12. Aggression and speed ease home the second (11-6). Is there an impostor on the premises? No – Elliott has simply met a hungrier opponent. An excruciating ending sees Riley crowned champion (8-11, 6-11, 11-6).

Other IDC finalists:
Div1 Derek Watmough Bob Bent (RU)
Div2 Mathew Fishwick Steve Hunt (RU)
Div3 John Nuttall John Barker (RU)
Div4 Ray Isherwood Keith Phillips (RU)

Division Four: Meadow Hill 6 – 3 Harper Brass ‘C’

The Shed: home of Meadow Hill – a mighty place, an intimidating place, an orange-walled palace with the odd loose plank beneath your feet. This is not a venue for the cowardly nor the complacent, nor the capricious. Big players have fallen here – Adele Spibey, David Yates, Graham Wilson, Dave Bevitt, Dave Jones Snr. I could go on.

At full strength tonight, the Meadow Hill line up consists of league secretary, Roy Caswell, the somewhat giddy, Jackie Smith and the finely chiselled, speed merchant Roy Platt. The opposing camp has wily southpaw and elder statesman, Kaushik Makwana followed by ‘Happy’ Haroon Khan and the diminutive, yet dangerous Faizan Bhura.

It is Caswell versus Makwana to start. Too many net points hinder the first game but it is the astronomy-mad Caswell who takes charge (11-7). Makwana swings at the ball sometimes as if scaring off a burglar. His shots can be erratic and overblown – the opposite of calculated consistency. The next game emphasises this: 11-3. He is in trouble and we have barely taken our seats. Hard to believe Makwana beat Lostock’s Adam Francis back in January.

Caswell, new season, new menace about him despite the jovial air doesn’t take long to put Makwana to the sword (11-4) – low, backhand serves, great length and a certain pep to his game all contribute to a sure first win on the night.

Smith, resplendent in white chinos and with a permanent grin doesn’t appear to understand fear. His early shots against Bhura suggest an unmasking of his often too latent ability. 9-6 up and looking solid, but then…where is his tactical nous? There is almost a refusal to wrap up a game without his bombing forehands. Bhura exploits the blind spot, his young mind learning all the time: 12-10, 11-4, 11-4.

Real no.1 (ignore the scorecard), Platt now takes his position. He reminds me of a slightly aloof and well-spoken Roman. In fact, his coordination is that of a chariot racer. There is no dithering from the 68-year-old and his range of shots is exceptional. Khan, in ‘clubbing’ green shirt, feels the pain immediately: 11-3. Ominous forehands from Platt whistle past him. Another 11-3 before Platt saves himself for the later matches (11-8).

Such is the destruction (Caswell 3-0 Khan, Platt 3-2 Bhura, Platt 3-1 Makwana, Caswell 3-1 Bhura), bar the Smith misadventures (two 3-1 defeats), that I cannot look anymore.

Division One: Hilton ‘B’ 6 – 3 Heaton ‘C’

This was a meeting of the grey-haired crews; each player sporting a debonair mane of sorts. Hilton, after two narrow 5-4 defeats were glad to welcome new signing, Alan Ingerson plus stalwarts, David Scowcroft and Steve Hathaway. Heaton, yet to register a point following promotion trooped in with Paul ‘Mad Dog’ McCormick, Stephen Woods and Dave Hall.

The evening started as expected – Scowcroft overpowering Woods 11-3, 11-5, 11-6. Hilton’s no.1, playing behind dark glasses, with a slightly demonic aura, immediately made his presence felt. There is swagger in abundance, bounce and unrelenting belief in this man. Woods, unfortunate to meet him fresh out of the blocks, was made to look like a ponderous milk man.

The second match offered hope to Heaton – the gravel-voiced McCormick using plenty of elbow in his serves to conjure an 11-9 initial set. Ingerson, back in the big time following his heavy-hearted transfer from BRASS, took the next set, however (11-8); superb top spin and forehand resistance clearing the way.

The third set was pivotal – McCormick 5-2 up, then 7-6 but suddenly the self-admonishing cry of “Greedy swine”; a point not there to exploit, thus Ingerson in the ascendency (12-10). The moustachioed marvel narrowly completed matters (9-11, 11-3) – a vintage final game demonstrating his canny ability to switch to back hand top spin.

It was cruel for McCormick – his 7th long match of the season ending in yet another defeat. There is something of the mud-splattered war veteran about him; the victim of strong artillery yet still somehow running.

Hall, receptive to the Heaton bugle call having witnessed the slaying of his teammates, leapt into the table tennis jungle, weapons packed. 11-9 – opponent, Hathaway unable to respond to a clinical, forehand blaster. Ragged in the second set – perhaps overwhelmed by his team’s need of a win – Hall stumbled (5-11). Up again though, shifting the imaginary branches from his face, Hall penetrated the Hathaway camp – unglamorous forehand pushes and relentless chops flummoxing his opponent: 11-8, 12-10.

Relief from the Heaton bench. Finally, an individual win. Normality returned though: Ingerson smashing Woods 3-0; Scowcroft – his injection of speed too much for Hall (3-0). 4-1 to Hilton but then the fight back – McCormick, two match-points down (8-10), willing himself: “Dig in…Deep breaths”. 12-10. Hallelujah! (3-2 versus Hathaway). Hall, two sets down, but then the rhythmic chops (3-2 against Ingerson).

Victory? Alas – no. Hathaway 3-0 Woods. Scowcroft 3-0 McCormick.