Pictoral history of the Battle of Rowington Green
There is nothing like a spot of entertainment by a band of minstrels at a quiet village inn to entice Giants from their slumber. Saturday 24 August in the year of 3rd year of G-odd was no exception. News of a merriment had come on the wind from Rowington to The Yubby and as the sun past high overhead The New Yubby Giants grabbed their kit bags and made their way eagerly along The Fosse. Now the Giants like a fine oak table laid with sheets and fine silver from which they feast heartily, but the first table they found when they came open the Tom o’ the Wood was an immaculate soil table held together by grass cut short as rotating blades can achieve. A happy band of mortals clad in white was nothing but an invitation to The New Yubby Giants to fiddle about in their sacks and come up with wood bats, leg guards and abdominal protectors. Umpires Baldwin and Izod called for a contest and a contest there was.
For an hour there was no thought of musical extravaganza, only battling gritty cricket as The Knights of the Rowington Table made first use of this feather bed track. Even tearaway Giant The CliMAX-Kid was made to look tame on this surface and it was not speed or brute force that gained him a wicket, but subtle change of pace. Perhaps not subtle, but downright filthy was the tactic of Skeletor to bring the Giant Squealer into the attack after only 10 overs. Nothing can move much slower than a ball launched by The Squealer and yet it had enough legs to snick the outer edge of Sir Smudger’s bat and be caught in the gauntlets of The Giant Face. Now anyone with half a brain would expect Giants to roll over a team of mortals after this start, but Sir Smudger’s Page Boy had other ideas. He was stubborn as the mule that brought The Giants Sacks along the Fosse and proceeded to bat till tea, though a noise as the ball past his barely utilised edge sounded much like a snick to all but the umpire when Duckie bowled and The Kid caught.
So the Giants were made to toil. Chances were created but Giant hands were not as harmonious as the strains of music that drifted across the battle field from 3 hours past midday on the sundial. Even composure was lost in effecting run outs. Only Flighty, whose chest had been tighty, as a consequence of some bronchial plague possible brought about by allowing close proximity of young and infected wenches, showed the way with a high catch at extra cover that could so easily have gone wrong had the ever willing Face made a dash for it. This removed Captain Scott and followed the dismissal of Sir Dale the Gauntletier for 43 bamboozled by Duckie.
As The CliMAX-Kid smashed down the castle more in frustration than with any expectation of achieving a run out on the last ball, the Giants had to concede that they had conceded 218 and many of their pathetic attempts in the field had been much to the mirth of local beer swilling mortals gathered round the edge of the battle field. But food is a tonic to a Giant and guts-ing down bread, ham, cheese and cake soon made them feel un-human again. Anger with themselves turned to a steely determination not to let the mortals have the last laugh.
For an hour there was no thought of musical extravaganza, only battling gritty cricket as The Knights of the Rowington Table made first use of this feather bed track. Even tearaway Giant The CliMAX-Kid was made to look tame on this surface and it was not speed or brute force that gained him a wicket, but subtle change of pace. Perhaps not subtle, but downright filthy was the tactic of Skeletor to bring the Giant Squealer into the attack after only 10 overs. Nothing can move much slower than a ball launched by The Squealer and yet it had enough legs to snick the outer edge of Sir Smudger’s bat and be caught in the gauntlets of The Giant Face. Now anyone with half a brain would expect Giants to roll over a team of mortals after this start, but Sir Smudger’s Page Boy had other ideas. He was stubborn as the mule that brought The Giants Sacks along the Fosse and proceeded to bat till tea, though a noise as the ball past his barely utilised edge sounded much like a snick to all but the umpire when Duckie bowled and The Kid caught.
So the Giants were made to toil. Chances were created but Giant hands were not as harmonious as the strains of music that drifted across the battle field from 3 hours past midday on the sundial. Even composure was lost in effecting run outs. Only Flighty, whose chest had been tighty, as a consequence of some bronchial plague possible brought about by allowing close proximity of young and infected wenches, showed the way with a high catch at extra cover that could so easily have gone wrong had the ever willing Face made a dash for it. This removed Captain Scott and followed the dismissal of Sir Dale the Gauntletier for 43 bamboozled by Duckie.
As The CliMAX-Kid smashed down the castle more in frustration than with any expectation of achieving a run out on the last ball, the Giants had to concede that they had conceded 218 and many of their pathetic attempts in the field had been much to the mirth of local beer swilling mortals gathered round the edge of the battle field. But food is a tonic to a Giant and guts-ing down bread, ham, cheese and cake soon made them feel un-human again. Anger with themselves turned to a steely determination not to let the mortals have the last laugh.