Division Three: Irlam Steel 4 – 5 Lostock

I did not go to the Hilton Centre on Thursday. I went to the Octagon Theatre. Or at least, that is how it felt. From the undulating sarcasm of Lostock’s Arfat Khan (“Yes – go for a winner every time”) to the newfound poise and control of Irlam Steel’s Neville Singh, this was a delight, a pain au chocolat wrapped in almonds.

Each match had its stage, its actors and the grand sweep of opposing styles. And what better way to start than Singh Vs John Nuttall. For a fleeting moment Singh was in the lead (1-0), living with the Lostock bruiser (5-6) and genuinely re-born. Such a state of play could not remain though. Odds exist for a reason and I would put my house, my family and the loose change in my pocket on Nuttall.

It is not that he hates losing. There is nothing Herculean about him either. He is just…good, incredibly in-tune with the vibes of the game. And I cannot see anybody beating him this season – certainly not in the league. The bookies’ dream will march on, as he did here: 11-5, 11-4, 11-2.

Irlam’s 75% man, David Yates – by contrast – has had a worrying start to the season. Beautiful technique, big shots but a little too polite at times – his Driving Miss Daisy backhand loops affording the opponent too many opportunities to smash.

His first match was a formality against the slightly nervous, Khan (11-5, 15-13, 11-4), whose early affinity with the net did not help his cause. What followed was the real test though versus Mike McKend. McKend’s ragged and unorthodox style had already been exposed against the lowly ranked, Singh (a huge coup for the latter: 12-10, 11-6, 11-8) but – as typified the evening – surprises were many.

Yates throws the ball up too much as if in an exhibition match playing ‘keep it in’. McKend, happy to forage on such generosity, edged the first set 12-10. A comprehensive beating in the two sets that followed (11-3, 11-7) gave the impression that McKend, despite his ugly push shots, could play this game with a piece of firewood.

The other five matches, sprinkled with Khan’s self-deprecating humour (“Rotten!”), produced a tightrope victory for Lostock: Matt Hood 3-2 Khan; Hood 3-2 McKend; Yates 0-3 Nuttall; Singh 0-3 Khan; Hood 0-3 Nuttall.

Division Two: Bolton Uni ‘B’ 3 – 6 Hilton ‘E’

This was supposed to be the Wilson Parker Show. Hilton’s young gun didn’t disappoint and neither did his teammate, Roy Alty, but in terms of upping one’s game and playing at a new level no.3, Jean Smart firmly stole the show. One point only to the red, Stiga-attired table tennis queen yet the fight and resurgent play behind this seemingly meagre number was immense.

Bolton Uni took an early lead in this match through the compact and wily, Kirit Chauhan. With his knees bandaged to the hilt, Chauhan demonstrated that one’s mastery of the game is still superior to fitness. Visible to the crowd was him feeling his way back into the sport after a year out, and his safe serves and acute top spins slightly edged the bombing forehands of Roy Alty (11-9, 12-10, 11-7).

16-year-old Parker, next up in his dazzling lime-green top, berated himself with an early verbal tirade: “Get your head together!” More followed in later matches: “Stop stretching – get to the ball!”; “This is rubbish!”; “Lift it!” Opponent, David Jones, clearly not in the same bracket, yet improving steadily, frustrated Parker in two of the three games; his anti-static bat spray assisting but failing to overwhelm his young opponent (11-7, 11-3, 13-11).

Smart, seen rushing into the car park for this match at 7.09pm after a late call up, admirably coped following some early nerves. Her initial opponent, Andrew Gregory – commencing his 3rd season in the league – has a powerful, if energy-sapping serve and a high success rate when stepping heavily into his shots. 11-4. 13-11. It looked ominous for Smart, but then came the increased belief, the autopilot, lollypop backhand and her willingness to turn defence into attack. 9-11. 8-11. Extra authority from Gregory in the 5th set though – five consecutive points – helped this one home: 11-6. (Cruel, but deserved.)*

The next three matches (Jones 0 – 3 Alty, Chauhan 3 – 0 Smart, Gregory 0 – 3 Parker) left the evening precariously balanced – Bolton Uni and Hilton each with three wins. Smart’s magnificence then returned, her unforced error rate tumbling from around 30% to 10%; incredible consistency and tantalising, angled chops from the Bolton-born, Hilton
doyenne in her demolition of Jones (9-11, 13-11, 11-5, 11-4).

One more win for victory. Alty obliged: 3-0 against Gregory. Parker completed the torment by burying Chauhan psychologically: 11-8; 11-5; 11-9.

* Result expunged. Gregory unpaid ETTA subs. Revised match result: Bolton Uni ‘B’ 2 – 7 Hilton ‘E’

Honour can be a rare attribute in this modern age of sport. We think of it as decency, doing the right thing, conceding a little ground, or craving glory with the approval of those around you. Dr Samuel Johnson’s 1755 dictionary defined it as: “Nobility of the soul, magnanimity, and a scorn of meanness.”

There are numerous examples of conduct which is the opposite of this: the 1983 boxing match between Lewis Resto and Billy Collins Jr in which trainer, Panama Lewis removed most of the padding from Resto’s gloves and soaked his hand tape in plaster of Paris (the brutal, Panda-like image of Collins Jr after the fight still shocks one to the core); Diego Maradona’s ‘hand of God’ in the 1986 World Cup quarter final between England and Argentina which needs little elaboration; Rosie Ruiz’s 1980 Boston Marathon ‘win’ (it later transpired that she had “jumped out of the crowd close to the finish line” complete with mock sweat and a face of agony).

The incident I most remember was during the 1990 World Cup when Dutchman, Frank Rijkaard spat at German, Rudi Voller – not once, but twice. It was a despicable act by any measure. Eight years later he would manage the national side. Such ‘reward’ symbolises the inherent unfairness and apparent lack of reckoning in sport. The old adage ‘what goes around comes around’ seems to have lost its wings.

With this in mind, I stumbled upon a redemptive tale in Bolton Table Tennis’s Division Three. Hilton ‘K’ – having finished 2^nd and being entitled to promotion – decided to send only half their squad into Division Two. This was to enable coach and no.4 player, Brian Young to further progress 58% man, Mathew Fishwick into the 75% bracket before the harsh winds of Division Two kicked in.

After numerous shuffling of squads, this left a promotion slot open to the team in 3^rd, Walkden Meths. Approached by the league’s general secretary, they went away to think about it. The eventual response from players, Richard Whittleworth, Steve Kelsall and Neil Unsworth was effectively ‘No, ta.’ They would rather feel the thrill of promotion for real without any hand outs. “We usually finish in the bottom four. This season was a blip. We’re blokes in our fifties who aren’t supposed to improve.”

Do you applaud such words or laugh? Follow them with intrigue in 2013/14, I would say.

In June 1978 Gordon Pearce from Bristol founded football’s ’92 Club’. I recall my school friend, Simon Westwood proudly joining their ranks having visited every ground in the football league with his enthusiastic father.

Such an achievement was certainly not common and still isn’t. Travelling the length and breadth of the country is expensive and requires devoted friends or family to accompany you or simply believe in your dream.

A little known rival to this select group (and one which I am founding now) is ‘The Sixteen Club’. This represents the number of venues which exist across all five Bolton Table Tennis winter divisions (2013/14).

There are fifty-seven teams this coming season, twenty-five clubs, approximately 200 players but only sixteen ‘stadia’.

I have visited and played in exactly half of these. And that is the great conundrum. It may seem like an easy club to join but examining each division’s forthcoming travels reveals anything from heavy-duty monotony (a slow canter to ‘The Sixteen Club’) to a wonderland of variety.

Division One’s teams are the unfortunates. A mere three venues (Heaton Cricket Club, Hilton Table Tennis Centre & Little Lever Cricket Club) await them. Should any players claim to have got lost en-route to an away match then an immediate enquiry will no doubt be set up.

Compare this to Division Four’s Kerouacian ‘road trip’: Eight venues for the league’s minnows – a gluttony of halls, gymnasiums, basements, churches and sheds. It is as if the gods wish to take their petrol or simply test their skills thus improving them.

A slight rotation of the map reveals the league’s ‘outreach’ clubs or pioneers to be Ramsbottom to the north, Radcliffe east, Flixton south and Albany -Chorley’s new boys – west.

Two of these – Flixton and Radcliffe – only have teams in the Premier Division, so unless you’re a top side or happen to meet them in the cup, the chances of you joining ‘The Sixteen Club’ are remote.

Likewise, the top teams would need to lose their memory muscles over consecutive seasons and generally implode in order to play the bottom-rung sides unless the cup affords them a trip to Spa Road (home of the dauntingly noisy Bolton Lads and Girls Club).

It is an interesting concept then. Excelling as a player will bring you more cup matches but the luck of the draw will ultimately decide your ‘TSC’ eligibility.

I think I first picked up a table tennis bat in May 1981 at the age of ten. It wasn’t at the obligatory Silverwell Street or Horwich Leisure Centre – they came after – but in the forests of Yugoslavia. I was instantly mesmerised. What a simple, eloquent sport – how could anyone not enjoy this titanic game?

I felt like hanging around for six, eight, ten hours. Let my parents bring me lunch, tea and the occasional snack, but leave me be. I had a paddle in my hand, the soft winds of the Balkans cooling me down and a variety of opponents including my elder brother. I had found the centre of the universe and needed little else to be satisfied.

Unbeknown to me, the great John Hilton had become European Champion the year before – slaying the previous two winners, Gabor Gergely and Jacques Secretin on his way to the title. In many ways it was the beginning of a new craze. The Swedes took over the European stage not long after, but people were starting to care about this little game.

By the time I started secondary school I was half decent – trips to Silverwell Street augmenting my play and making me feel like an astronaut bridge-walking to his rocket. Arriving at the table via the notoriously long entrance at Silverwell, past reception and the badminton courts, I felt alive – ready to trade shots and do battle.

My elder brother, Stephen liked to encourage my attacking play but was essentially toying with me, demonstrating the power of his defence. Eight, twelve, fourteen feet away from the table and he would frustratingly return my every smash – fling the ball up in the air only for it to parachute down on my side of the table.

Although very much working class, our parents managed to buy a table for us in 1982 which we made use of in the back garden weather permitting. Such an investment proved effective. I was busy turning over most people my age at Withins including the Adidas Samba-wearing games teacher, Mr Smith while my brother went on to win three table tennis titles at Smithills College while taking his A-levels.

A different forest – the film, Forrest Gump was released in 1994, and together with Commonwealth hero, Matthew Syed (1997-2001) no doubt inspired the generation after us. What inspired you?

There are typically 22 match nights during the September to April winter season. Survival (not finishing in the bottom two) tends to mean having to accumulate about 70 points from a possible 198. A close inspection of the statistics over the last two seasons suggests this golden number is actually 65.5 – in other words three points (3/9 wins) per evening.

To some teams this is achievable – no doubt an insult to their talents, psychological strength and general fitness. Mid-table stalwarts and those going for promotion or titles will rarely be swamped by such concerns. For the rest, it is the equivalent to football’s Premier League target of 40 points – the cradle by which the club’s prestige and status is secured.

There have been wacky seasons – Division Three’s Irlam Steel in 2011/12 losing all 22 team matches, yet finishing 10^th thus surviving. This was down to the heroics of David Yates who won all but twenty of their 68 points. Some teams don’t have the luxury of a big fish in their small pond. It speaks well of Yates that he has hung around and not deserted his less gifted teammates.

Loyalty is quite a common attribute in table tennis. There are the multi-team set-ups like Hilton who shift squad members around each season in harmony with the progress of their young players, but mainly clubs consist of friends – alliances unlikely to be broken up because one player excels.

The ‘hacks’ this season (2012/13) – teams with less than three victories to their name – have been Heaton ‘A’ (Premier Division: won 0), Farnworth SC ‘A’ (Division Two: won 1), Farnworth TTC ‘B’ (Division Three: won 2), Meadow Hill (Division Three: won 2) and Hilton ‘L’ (Division Four: won 1).

Inside each team, of course, is a fuller story which transcends the harshness of a league table. Roy Caswell – general secretary and Meadow Hill’s respectable 46% man – has crucially been without the full-time services of no.1 player, Roy Platt. Farnworth TTC ‘B’ lost the services of star man, Malcolm Ferrier at the turn of the year.

These things matter, but there can be no hiding from the remaining squad members’ inability to ‘read’ the division – understand its foibles and styles. Tactics – the need to adapt one’s game to the opponent – become more important the higher you climb. Not grasping this or at least half-studying the form can be fatal.

Sometimes I tire of playing at the same old clubs, leisure centres and schools. They are mostly warm, accommodating and adequate places but not particularly unique.

I had a theory a while back that a hidden society resides outside of the orthodox ETTA umbrella and leagues; people loving the game, playing whenever they can – during lunch hours, after work, necessary ‘scraps’ and ‘ding-dongs’ because table tennis affords us a monarchic state of mind.

Where would I find such a world though – tables maybe not accessible to the general public, venues mightier than Meadow Hill’s “large shed”? I work in Manchester and so given China’s relative peerlessness in the game over the last 20 years (a Wang/Zhang dynasty of late), I immediately thought of Chinatown.

The area is bordered by four streets: Charlotte to the north; Portland (east); Princess (south); and Mosley (west). The plan was to visit a few restaurants inside this half square mile cordon – see if a world of basement-playing stars actually existed.

Once within it – this mini-20^th century Chicago to my mind, full of bustle and character – I entered the premises of the first restaurant that took my eye. New Emperor, perhaps understandably, was not an auspicious start to my tracking down the hidden tables in this section of town. “No, no, no,” came the startled response from the waiter or manager with other things on his mind.

Hunan, China City, Happy Seasons, Little Yang Sing, China Buffet and BBQ all followed (in what order I cannot recall). At last I stumbled upon people with a low score on my ‘startled-ometer’, those willing to assist in whatever capacity without the automatic assumption that I was mad.

The big, bespectacled man at Happy Seasons kindly crossed out the restaurants that had closed – farewell New Hong Kong, Dragon City and Pan Asia. The pretty manageress or accountant at BBQ offered me a seat, a smile and a brief history of the area (Ping Hong in 1948, Manchester’s first Chinese restaurant).

So sixty-five years on – surely there was something beyond the dim sum and bamboo shoots. The trail hotted up with my visit to Great Wall. “Speak to Bonnie. Yang Sing. Princess Street.” I scooted over there. Sure enough, they have a ‘Ping Pong Cha’ evening once a month. Not the earthy, underground TT I was looking for, but a small result for my endeavour.

The process of digging and researching for a column each week can unexpectedly enrich the subject you have in mind. Sometimes I need good sources, inside knowledge, ‘the beef’ from more experienced players. The narrative will always be mine but they inadvertently hone it with their reactions, responses and behaviour.

In the course of attempting to compile a list of each division’s danger men (and women) for 2013/14, I have run up against succinct replies, general reticence and flim-flam. In short, people don’t always give you what you want. Occasionally the great nuggets surface in amongst the chaff though; players who understand that table tennis needs raw and honest coverage – something to fire its sails.

Let us start with Division Four. It will be a weaker division in September (Nuttall, Francis & Grimwood all departing). This should clear the way for St Paul’s Rory McIntyre and Ladybridge’s Philip Stewart. Expect a 90% win record from both. Joining them near the top of the averages – provided he changes into trainers and shorts – will be James Storey, Harper Green’s resident worker (deceptive speed from the big man). Farnworth’s Andrew Gregory – wounded and hurt following relegation from Three – should quickly adapt his superior game to the demands of this division. Finally, my wild card: Bolton L&G’s Faizan Bhura (bidding wars may ensue).

Division Three will be a beautiful and rarefied setting next season for a handful of very strong players. I am certain the cream will rise: Lostock’s John Nuttall – undefeated in Four and will be too hot to handle for most of Three’s constituents; Heaton’s Dave Jones Jnr – his own harshest critic (Summer League battles have toughened him); Walkden’s Richard Whittleworth – passionate and fierce (a giant); Hilton’s Mathew Fishwick (solid coaching behind him) and wild card, John Barker (relegated but technically sound).

Division Two is my level next time out following successive promotions with BRASS. I am no fool though and expect weekly beatings from most players, especially Meadow Ben’s Mike Audsley and Heaton’s southpaw, Paul McCormick. The new boy, Wilson Parker will set this league alight (his entourage alone unsettling some). My wild card has to be Hilton’s Bethany Farnworth (again, a relegation faller).

The top two divisions (One & Prem), I am told, will have Ladybridge’s burgeoning Steve Hathaway mixing it with Little Lever’s Duncan Hadfield, and Flixton’s Louis Rosenthal threatening the dominance of Ramsbottom’s Michael Moir.

Finals Night. The last competitive run-out before September. Not quite the significance of a Warburton Cup Final or Closed Championship, but important to many players – a useful gauge as to their standing across all five winter divisions; an empirical assertion that one’s form curve is either upward or downward.

Truly committed table tennis connoisseurs stick it out until now – book their holidays in late July or August. They understand the need to extend the seven-month season to nine, sacrifice pleasure for an often greater feeling – that of pulling off new shots and defeating someone two divisions above you.

There are characters galore at the Hilton Centre tonight. It is an intensely hot evening. Too hot. It feels like a mountaineers’ base camp though such is the camaraderie and good humour.

I examine a few of the faces: Barry Walsh – in his seventies but with a knowing twinkle in his eye; Malcolm Rose – known as ‘Magic’, a fighter extraordinare; Alan Bradshaw – always ready with the chocolate after a match as if marooned; Brian Young – keen to regale those around him with a famous tale; Richard Reading – Bolton’s answer to Father Christmas.

It feels like an extended family. The warmth of these individuals is quite affecting. There isn’t an obvious hunger about them when it comes to the game, but once in the table tennis cauldron, the pit – beware!

The best four teams in this 20-team tournament have been Dynamo, Hilton B, Coburg and Barcroft – steered admirably by Wilson Parker, Annie Hudson, Jim Hewitt and John Scowcroft. Dynamo – magical in many ways – remain the only undefeated side (W 8 D 1 L 0). It has been a round-robin master class. And their knockout clash against fellow divisional winners, Hilton B proves to be comfortable: 13-5. Champions, Dynamo!

It is one half of this summer crew that I wish to mention and pay homage to in closing: 18-year-old Mathew Fishwick. Just the one ‘T’ in Mathew which is a shame as this boy deserves two. The obvious acronym (TT) would have been quite fateful given Fishwick’s transformation into an extremely competent player.

His name, in the same company as Lindsey Thornton and Andrew Rushton courtesy of The Ralph Palmer Memorial Trophy for ‘Most Promising Junior’ (2011/12), will be spoken of much more in the coming years I suspect. He has “worked patiently and tirelessly”. Expect a 75% win record 2013/14.

Coburg’s Bob Bent (Div 1 / 55%) is an enigma. He has the appearance and manner of an uncompromising and offhand army sergeant and yet his serves have something of a 1920s jazz-injection about them; highballs with plenty of sophistication and liquor. It is the cutting prowess of the play which deceives lesser opponents – has them spellbound and fumbling.

Jefco’s Jeff Saunders – an unknown statistically speaking – equipped with penhold grip and raw belief, has little attacking ability but the clever knack of de-beautifying the game. His chopping, side spin returns – feet away from the table – are like menacing caveats: NOT MUCH VARIETY BUT I NEVER GIVE IN.

Bent, immediately wary of this wild card before him, somehow scrambles his way through the first game (11-9). His cheeks are puffed out, his legs heavy. He has the look of an escaped prisoner being chased by bloodhounds such is the relentlessness of Saunders.

Jefco’s unseeded grafter takes hope from the initial battle and duly wins games two and three (5-11, 9-11). With his grey mop of hair and black T-shirt, there is a hint of the ageing rocker about Saunders, an unwillingness to let the music stop.

Momentarily, it does (11-6 Bent), but Saunders prevails (9-11) through sweat, his millimetre-perfect chop and the canny methodology of a dull executioner.

Next up is Coburg’s Mark Speakman (Div 1 / 20%) and Jefco’s mighty Dave Jones Jnr (Div 3 / 67%). Speakman streaks ahead (11-8). He possesses a blistering backhand which unleashes the fury of the table tennis gods at times. Wearing his trademark blue and white top, he is, for the moment, preying on the seemingly unoiled game of Jones Jnr.

Jones has a habit of whacking his left thigh with the bat when things are going wrong, as if seeking out blood or life amid the numbness. Kick-starting his game, a semblance of his ability, he begins to produce what I know he is capable of: 4-11, 6-11. Not one to rein in the high-risk shots, he is, all of a sudden, unforgiving, acutely adaptable. 10-12.

An early 3-6 lead for Jefco; Jones narrowly avoiding a cataclysmic five-setter which can chew up your insides and leave you shaking like you’re about to enter an examination hall.

The doubles (2-3) pushes Jefco further ahead, Speakman learns how to master Saunders (3-1), yet Jones adds to Bent’s five-set woe (2-3). 10-13 Jefco. Exceptional.