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.

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?