One again it looked like the Comics would have ten, as Coops woke on Saturday to the news that an overweight, red-headed, northern psycho had taken his own life after it had spiralled out of control following getting his heart broken (hi Alan), but as it turned out it was Raoul Moat, not Tofty (Tofty could never hide for a week with that gut sticking out of the undergrowth), and instead of death we had life, with the resurrection of Duncan Fudge after his tragic falling versus Wandsworth two seasons ago. So 11 men took to the field with high hopes of upsetting John Fisher at an initially unappealing Croydon Postal Services ground that turned out to be a great place to play.

Coops lost the toss and John Fisher chose to bat. The pitch looked poor but played very well and the outfield was like glass, so to keep them to 229 was a pretty decent effort. Roan was the pick of the bowlers, while Will and Archie bowled well with little luck. The fielding was generally not too bad, although Tofty and Archie put themselves well into the bone zone with some spectacular drops. Archie somehow put himself within close range of four tough ones to become the first man to suffer the ignominy of "bone selecta", possibly due to visibility issues after spending an hour in darkness in the back of the van on the way there, with just McBain's McRemains for company. Meanwhile Tofty's final over drop not only condemned him to the bone but also damaged his trigger finger. It was a tough day for our hero, as his damaged digit forced him to bat at 11, while for the second time this month he was treated with scorn by big West Indians while holding his balls (hi again Alan).

230 to win should not have been that tough, especially once Coops and Phil continued last week's form by swiftly putting on 72 for the first wicket. But the rot began as Phil holed out unnecessarily at long on, before a running mix-up between Coops and Macca led to the latter's dismissal. Perhaps this was due to the difference in speeds, with Coops' sub-23 minute Chase Challenge time not matched by the slow plodding of his partner, his speed blunted by lunchtime waddles with the Llama. Coops then missed a straight one, Roan holed out tamely, as did Healy, and the game was up. Fudge and Mohit chipped in with a few but ultimately we fell around 40 short, a very disappointing effort with some dreadful shots against mostly very ordinary bowling. An opportunity lost.

Archie and Tofty were left with the unpleasant task of drinking the bone, a task made more unpleasant than usual by the fact that the tea included a giant bucket of wings, which were left to stew in the sun during the second innings. Archie had to drink nine bones compared to Tofty's one, and it's no guarantee that either man will live to see next Saturday, due to salmonella poisoning and self-inflicted gunshot wounds, respectively. Meanwhile, the Comics enjoyed the 3rd/4th place play off, with Roan the Clapham Grand Octopus successfully predicting a German win, while Phil Uragay. Indeed, the squeaky eagle seemed uninterested in the football, preferring instead to whisper sweet nothings to the local tramp who had wandered in.

Following last week's missed opportunity, a win was vital against struggling Battersea Ironside, but the omens were not good midweek, with many key players missing. A Gumtree ad was posted with one player needed, and among the replies was this:

hello not on pc all day. friendly chris experienced slip fielder ONLY, LEFT HAND middle order bat, right arm seamer can get to shep bush PLEASE TEXT CHRIS 07722441551 CHEERS

The temptation to bring in Shenners was great, after his unforgettable debut, but Matt got the Gumtree call instead, swelling the kiwi count to three (almost enough for another misguided coup). Late drama ensued on Friday night though, as Macca threatened to pull out through injury. Time has not been kind to our man, as his balding pate, colourblindness and lack of pace was added to by a bad back, caused by carrying too many bags of clothes from the charity shop, but he bravely battled the pain to leave Shenners confined to his cell.

Not much to say about the game really. Coops lost the toss, allowing the Comics to bowl on a spongy pitch under cloud cover. Battersea are not great, and would have struggled badly but for some woeful and lethargic ground fielding, as too many easy runs came from misfields. Coops took three wickets with his outswingers, while new boy Matt took two. Archie dropped one again and Brett's nightmare in the field was topped off by a rare drop to drink the bone. Mohit and Coops took sharp catches, but apart from that it was poor, and we were lucky to be only chasing 179 on a small ground with fast outfield. Macca hid at slip all game and touched the ball once, while John, a natural in the Shenners role, talked a good game at gully despite being unable to catch anything (except probably AIDS the night before with his childhood sweetheart).

Coops and Phil and like the Greenidge and Haynes of the Ram Surrey League, and brought up their fourth stand of 70+ in six attempts. It was an untroubled run to 94 before Phil slashed a long-hop to gully. The dismissal made the normally placid man very angry, and he proceeded to smash his helmet against a back door in the mens changing room (not for the first time I'd wager). Brett fell two balls later for 0 and when Macca, having had a lucky escape a ball earlier when one chap tried to catch a sitter in his left nostril, played the same shot as Phil to also make a globe, the collective nerves were jangling. When Coops fell for 82 to a ridiculous caught and bowled with 56 still needed it wasn't looking too clever, but Mohit and Matt struck a few lusty blows to ease the nerves. Neither saw the job through to the end, but luckily we had the calm head of John. Healy had described him as worse than Shenners, but he batted solidly without flair, surviving only on forward defensive and leave while letting the wides rack up. Basically he was like a thinner, human-coloured Healy, but slightly better in the field, and certainly a better player than Fudge, and he smashed the winning runs with a few overs to spare.

A quick chat with Miguel from Battersea confirmed that McBain was alive, which we did not know, and that no one in the Sunday team liked him, which we could have guessed. And then it was off to Berrylands for pizza, Brett's bone and plenty of jugs (calm down Tofty, you LEGEND). I did have a very funny line to put in about Tofty for Alan, but he has banned me from using it, and threatened to put me top of his list if I did. I'm taking the threat seriously, judging by the hissy fit he had when taken off, and the swelling rage from being called Raoul even by members of the opposition.

Bit of a disappointing one this. Ultimately a comfortable defeat but for the second week running some lacklustre fielding and clueless batting turned a very strong position into a hefty loss. Coops won the toss and inserted Sheen Park on what looked like a run-laden pitch and barren outfield, but Archie bowled a great opening spell, removing both openers, including their child prodigy. He also appeared to account for superstar Jayman second ball but it seemed LBW is the only law Roy Goldsmith doesn't know about (although to be fair he was consistent, allowing Rob to escape getting a duck and get a duck anyway). Macca kept things tight while Tofty struck twice, before Coops claimed Facebook bragging rights by removing his good friend Jay second ball with a booming outswinger. Jay actually walked, as did Roan later on, before a hold-up in play while the ground was buzzed by a squadron of flying pigs. From here the wheels came off slightly as catches were put down, tempers frayed (with Coops and Macca having their annual swearathon), easy runs were given up and Sheen Park reached 225. Dunster in particular was very downbeat in the field, perhaps pondering what new identity he would be given by the Ministry of Justice, and wondering how he's going to groom innocent glamour models with internet access for the next five years. He looked concussed, while Mohit actually was concussed, sporting a plaster over a head wound gained during the week when he came across the husband/father of the mother/daughter combination.

This seemed unlikely to be enough, we pondered at tea, while Jay revealed he had been perving over Coops' daughter on Facebook (that's fine Jay but don't go sending her any of those Ashley Cole-style pics off your profile), and when Coops and Phil racked up 21 off the first two overs it was looking very easy. However, it became harder to get the ball away, and Sheen Park's two dibbly dobbly openers kept it tight. Phil got a good one, then Healy, Rob and Brett succumbed meekly and the Comics were in all sorts of trouble. Kesha bowled his usual superb spell, Coops made 43 but holed out, and while everyone else chipped in no one could make a meaningful score. Tofty struck a few lusty blows at the death but in the end we were nowhere near. Roan's 24 took the Dunster deficit to a nice round £200, while Ratboy was almost timed out, as it took him the best part of three minutes to get out of his deckchair to bat.

And so it was off to the posh pub for plenty of booze but no bones, as there was only quail's eggs and caviar on the menu. This got many out of drinking the bone, namely Tofty, Ratboy and Healy (for his now weekly evasion on the boundary), plus Macca, though he was already on his way back to snuggle under Poppy's thumb. Women wearing the trousers was a theme of the night, as the Comics and the Sheen Parkers were castigated for their foul language by a lady sitting nearby while her husband sat their silently. She did have a point, and the language was curbed (ie, we sat there in silence) until the fcking fat cnut took her enormous arse out of the place shortly afterwards. Tofty lost his car keys, but luckily they were found later on in Coops' pocket. On a serious note, can I please ask that whoever put them there, please consider Tofty's fragile emotional state. No one knows what will send him over the edge, but we should avoid things that might (Hi Alan). If you must play practical jokes, please play them on Phil instead.

With the 4.3 miles back fortuitously navigated, Coops got home to the sad news of the death of Alex Higgins. This leaves a hole for a new entertainer, but step forward Roan 'The Hurricane' Haarhoff, who runs into bowl like a 61-year-old alcoholic with cancer, and is so called because he storms through the Clapham Grand ripping away women's clothes, before potting a succession of pinks and browns.

21/08/10 -