Not the East Wintergarden,
Canary Wharf
“HC2” or the Element in our Makeup which Governs
our Likelihood of Losing at Squash
Day3 in the Gulag
Lately I have been feeling like the proverbial mad professor, flushed with
the
discovery of my recent findings. In my minds eye I see as if in a mirror my
image returned to me as of a monster with haphazard look and sticking out
hair,
rising metaphorically from behind the sofa, a wicked glint to the eye.
I think I have recently discovered the serum opposite to the ideal Killer
Instinct component and with a following wind I shall soon be able to
patent it
as antidote to same. Perhaps best described as the Instinct to be Killed it
harks back to the inspired teachings of the Knobbly-kneed Gentleman Player
(come
self-confessed Cad) named Hardy Clarke (after whom I have named this
product).
At his peak (or more appropriately at his trough) in the mid-seventies HC
demonstrated constantly in his teachings how it was possible to retrieve a
losing position from what threatens to be a hopeless victory. In a
long-winded
record of his research he educated the ordinary playing public toward the
goal
of appearing not to care about a negative score line and even to proudly
aspire
toward such a result.
For example he derided Jonah Barrington and was scathing about his penchant
for
playing boring squash, pinging the ball 150 times down the same side wall
until
the opponent nodded off. He poo-pood his spin-serve which after an age in
the air glued itself to each wall in turn so that you had to decide which
wall
to smash your racket against.
I did one time play in the same team as him (HC) at Hornsey, a club which
for
some reason (probably shabby run-downess) gave a good home to the
unremarkable
and which he frequently mentions in his book The Squash Racket. I can't for
the life of me remember whether he played below or above me or what results
we
both got. I am pretty sure however that we were both on the Underachieving
Team
; in fact as I recall all of Hornsey was in that fraternity together.
I must have looked suited to playing 1 as I cannot remember challenging or
for
that matter being challenged all the time I was there (a number of seasons,
maybe 4?). I travelled down faithfully from Hertfordshire to make up the
numbers
and had a great time socially but feel that on reflection I was largely
treading
water. Although I get a typically disparaging mention in his book I cannot
remember playing him let alone narrowly losing to him as he asserts(he would
wouldnt he and come to that I would wouldnt I!)
As to whether you fall into the Jekyll/HC2 or the Hyde/non HC2 category and
to
understand the complexities involved you have to go to the heart of the
issue by
studying those who, like JB and unlike HC and PF, do not or do not appear to
possess any HC2 in their makeup.
These people can currently be listed as follows : Peter
Alexander(Suffolk)(plays
as if he were 20 years younger),Keith Jones(Berkshire)(looks laid back and
15
years old in height but is made of solid steel),Mark Woodliffe
(Gloucestershire)(a picture of concentration and fitness), James Ockwell
(Middlesex)(looks 20 years younger and a pop star), Ian Bradburn
(Lancashire)(brutal exterior but kindly manner), Phil Ayton(Sussex)(gives
nothing away by his demeanour, looks like a businessman),Peter
it-is-not-a-game Gunter(Middlesex)(grim determination, absolute fitness and
humourless lack of ruth) and latterly Eamon Price(Hertfordshire)(who I have
not
seen yet)-to name but a few.
Day 2
There are any number of people waiting in the wings to strip these of their
status should they falter. Their individual records however have more than
proved their ability to repeat the success formula at each new age level and
seem unlikely to fail. All play as if on autopilot above the Earths
atmosphere
rarefied and calm but with an undefinable degree of urgency.
A ladyfriend of mine once said about Mike Taylor ex(14th century)
Warwickshire
no 1, a frequent sparring partner of mine(although naturally I never won,
once
losing in 5) : he plays as if it is his last chance to be on court or at
least
to win. Out of the mouths of babes! She had never touched a squash racket in
her life (apart from one of mine when I caught her attempting to smash it
against the grate!)
In addition to such high profile names are those that lurk just below the
surface of the water ready to snap up a title from nowhere when the mood
takes
them. They decide one year is a good time to take it on and out of the blue
proceed to win a national title, even if nowhere near at the young end of
the
age group (Mr Thorpe at the tender age of 48 winning the Over 45s Nationals
for
example, then retreating back into his shell).
I can't name any more than two at the moment they being Derek and Steve
Preston
of Dorset(more of him later). If you mention the former in any changing room
containing players similarly lacking in HC2 they instantly recall moments of
crises past when DT had managed to pull the fat out of the fire thereby
securing
a vital result for the team.
I recently reacquainted myself with this old friend from the wilds of
Hertfordshire (in deepest Abbots Langley in fact) and all the old mixed
emotions
flooded back. Whilst always recalling me old mate to all and sundry as the
man
whom you would entrust your life to if you could appoint anyone to play for
it,
I had this nagging doubt in the back of my mind. Maybe this very willingness
to
admit such a thing was indicative of a willingness to roll over and say die
the
minute either he or SP hove into view.
No other truth could be indicated however. Having spent half of my UK squash
life in Hertfordshire and the majority of the rest in Dorset, one or other
of
these nemeses has always been evident at crunch moments. You all know the
feeling, you proceed smoothly through the draw knowing that at some stage,
usually the last, you are to be faced with the same situation all over
again.
Amiable enough on the surface a deadly composure quickly settles over them
the
minute the contest starts. You find yourself having to return to the place
you
last hit the ball from quicker than you want to. You discover that your best
shot is both readable and reachable however many times you play it. You also
find that should you proudly execute a shot deep into the back corners, it
will
be dug out and returned in kind or attacked when you least expect it.
I have never beaten DT even in a Friendly and in 13 visits all in finals
(most
of them county age group tournaments) managed to beat SP once only. SP is
not
high profile nationally but is one of those enviable people who seems to be
able
to adapt to most sports like an old hand.
People may be more likely to know him from National Racketball age group
events
or those 4 racket combo events that I can never remember the name of but
incorporate table tennis, badminton and tennis as well as of course squash.
He
is also a more than useful county cricketer and in younger days was ranked
7th
in the world in full contact karate. Many is the time when he has won all
his
County squash matches at the weekend sometimes playing on painful blood
blisters
and winning 3/2.
Therefore on that solitary winning occasion I was to be found leaping about
the
gallery behind the glass back with one spectator observing I was just as
excited when I got a pay-rise , Instead of accepting gracefully (and
gratefully)
at face value that I had won I proceeded to bring my doubts to the surface :
I'm
sure I've played as well as that before and still lost to you etc. Whereupon
I
was immediately reassured by my opponent that he was playing well and had
the
previous week beaten a young player in the final of something in
neighbouring
Hampshire. However the nature of the beast is to still be stewing about it
15
years later!
Day One
What makes it worse is that players with no HC2 in their DNA also do not
need to
shout and scream at markers at any point or for any reason whatsoever. I
pride
myself on my fairness but whether I am or not the business of dealing with
unfriendly marking, hostile opponents and runs of bad luck are another thing
altogether. Occasionally you will encounter an opponent who regards the
playing
of squash as life and death and sometimes will act accordingly i.e. it is
between you and him who gets the last Rollo!
Sometimes this type of player allows himself to believe anything but that he
is
engaged in a leisure activity. He proceeds to put everyone under pressure by
impeding, taking double bounces, protesting and so on. Oddly these same folk
tend to be nice as pie in the bar afterwards as if you have somehow been
instrumental in shaking them out of a bad dream and are so relieved that
they
will do anything for you.
Very few home-grown markers, out for a nice friendly evening, are keen to
face
this situation head on. They might ignore the more extreme incidents by
sitting
on the fence time and again regarding it as an occasion when the two players
should sort it out for themselves. Suddenly you are alone with only someone
to
keep the score and you know you are in trouble. Depending on how extreme the
antics you struggle on trying to focus despite the distractions (much the
same
as you might keep your head down when encountering a group of boisterous
youngsters out to cause trouble).
I suppose what I am saying is that those with HC2 in some measure will not
cope
well and may rise to the bait and be reduced to the level of the opponents
behaviour. I suppose what I am saying is that HC2-less people overcome and
prevail. I suppose what I am saying is that I wont.
As to National events I have been known to dip my toe in the water and at
last
got the message. At least one season I was drawn to play Moussa Helal both
in
the British Nationals and The Open in the first round in the same year. I
was
quickly reminded of a colourful example given to me once by a cricket
observer
who said that if the club cricketer was faced batting against a top class
fast
bowler he would never see the ball and just hear the thud into the wicket
keepers gloves. It took a similar length of time for both those matches to
be
over!
Day Zero
You haven't even got the consolation of facing gamesmanship. In National
Tournaments I have never seen playing or played against the type you
occasionally come across in your travels in the club game. There is nothing
to
go up against except the other players talent and quiet resourcefulness.
Whilst
some of these same people may be tempted to sound off in a Team situation in
a
County Weekend, when playing for themselves alone they remain quiet as mice.
So the only bad thing about the whole experience is that you feel inadequate
losing. Everyone has been perfectly friendly and courteous and given access
to
the ball-the atmosphere has been great from start to finish but once again,
unless there is a plate, there you are watching others going through their
paces. I have always had this favourite saying that whilst I was entering
there
were a lot of gritty Northerners and me.
There are exceptions to this rule but strangely in my event I was more often
than not faced with deadpan craggy types with impenetrable accents and dour
as
the day is long-also equally as dogged. Often like their persona with no
particular flair to their play they would proceed to read everything I did
or be
able to change direction in time if not. Their strokes in reply were
invariably
effective, as little wasted as their words-always to the point and always
designed to go straight to your heart and cut you dead without a consolation
game. That way they would spare what little energy we all have, old as we
are,
for a more evenly matched opponent in the next round.
There were also the delightfully charming exceptions. Who could not fail to
be
honoured to be cut to ribbons by the mercurial Howard Cherlin (also
Middlesex-this county has a lot to answer for!) who makes an art out of
being
Southern. Smiling all the while from the sheer joy of living and even more
at
the somewhat quirky marking decisions ( no nastiness or sarcasm whatsoever
as he
would be just the same when losing later to Mr Parke).
Delighting justifiably in his own talent and in the spikiness of competing,
slightly disadvantaged with one thinner calf, he would compensate admirably
with
an unreadable last minute twist of the wrist which Hiddy Jahan-like could
either
wrench at the ball producing an irretrievable rocket in a scarcely
believable
direction or caress a drop to the near nick ; or it could just as easily and
with the same action mutate into a floating lob which could not have been
guided
into a better or more agonisingly slow trajectory by all the scientists at
NASA.
He would say to me I know I've got you when you start joking.
I don't want you to run away with the idea that I am a complete no-hoper.
Quite
the reverse in fact. Many is the time when I have put someone to the sword
in
the first round and, feeling encouraged by this success, have wrongly
assumed
the next match against a seeded player will be equally competitive. The
trouble
is that the draws tend to be small and crowded with those with a proven
success
in such events.
Like Hardy Clarke himself should a B Event be introduced as seems likely
into
the ever more popular Veterans sections, I would be keen to see if a Plate
was
also included in that before entering!
Finally a word about the Sharp End. One of the constant sources of amazement
is
the number of squash players growing old disgracefully. I thought that Keith
Jones narrowly losing to a South African in the Over 55s final a couple of
years ago in the British Open and taking an hour and twenty minutes to do it
must have been some sort of record.
Day -minus One
Now I find that an upstart called Eamon Price from this neck of the woods
somewhere has trumped that-albeit in the Over45s in the latest British
Nationals. He beat the previously imperious (in the Closed) Peter Gunter 3/2
in
one hour and forty minutes! As far as I know that is not only a record for
age
group (particularly that one) but may have been a deal longer than any match
from the Main Draw the same year.
I have seen Mr Gunter play and he is not one to lie down I can tell you. On
the
contrary I have seen him up against Rob Wadkins from Weston-Super-Mare, a
class
act with all the shots and movement to match(also the ego). I saw in the
later
stages Peter, with the play slipping away from him, rocking on his legs his
eyes
glazed going back to receive serve. All the gallery looked at each other and
murmured. Incredibly the match swung back Peters way and he won. It was
almost
as if Rob could not quite gain the belief that his opponent could ever be
his
for the taking. I quite understand believe me.
Squash is mercifully full of unpredictability. Such is the fascination
engendered by this facet that anything seems possible. For example all those
years ago when Ross Norman suffered a parachuting accident and it was
thought he
would struggle to walk never mind play squash, he held two fingers up to the
world and proceeded to find his way back to the top and compete and win in a
series of important semi-finals earning himself the right to be thrashed by
Jahangir.
It was he who declared that although Jahangir had only lost two GAMES but no
matches over a five year period he, Mr Norman, was looking forward to the
combination of circumstances which would lead up to the victory he was
training
toward. This combo would include he himself feeling and playing well and
having
easy rounds to the final. Also correspondingly it would be necessary for
Jahangir (whose name significantly means tiger in his native tongue!) would
have to start under the weather, encounter troublesome opposition in the
early
rounds and not be playing well to boot(and presumably be harassed by fat
bluff
men with posh voices armed with rifles and mounted on elephants).
Sure enough the perfect storm occurred just as he predicted in a tournament
in
Paris when finally Jahangir was beaten and by someone with a rebuilt hip and
a
crystal ball! Also it has to be said by someone with perhaps more than his
fair
share of those similar vital appendages so necessary to the continuation of
life.
This brings to mind the rebuilt Mr Price. That is to say the formerly
successful
stockbroker who was able to retire and concentrate on squash seriously from
the
age of 40 from being just an average club league player (according to Gospel
Dev). He could afford his own personal trainer and coach so he got them. He
had
the time and unlike so many before him he must have had the commitment. Just
like the marauding Northerners I have encountered he must have the necessary
fibre apparently also without the flashness. I look forward to seeing his
further results and possibly see him play.
For surely there is a prime example of another admirable being completely
unencumbered with HC2!
If Mr Gunther is listening perhaps he would like me to supply him with some
of
my new serum and for some additional payment to arrange a hit on Mr Price.
Your Raving Reporter
Supervet