onionbagblog

To the Oval! …on Wednesday morning - especially early on Wednesday morning, what with a 10:30 am start time for the County Championship in September.

The journey in was smooth. I arrived at Liverpool Street to find a platform smelling of sick. I was hoping this wouldn’t be a sign of things to come as I had a big bag of BOOZE stashed away with me.

Liverpool Street was interesting. I stepped onto the main concourse and almost had to duck as half a dozen Feds ran past with their rifles. The PA announced that Inspector Sands was needed. We all know what’s happening next, right? Maybe it was related to the sick incident. It was time to get the fuck out ASAP.

But nothing would stop me getting in the way of my Too Good To Go cheapo food bag that I had to pick up from Starbucks.

Police rifles, Inspector Sands, platforms reeking of chunder; It’s all about me and Too Good To Go right?

You can spot the old boy Championship geezers a mile off on the tube journey down to SE11. It’s an easy game of Eye Spy: 55+, usually with a rucksack and with a weathered face. Welcome to the club.

This could possibly be my last day of cricket this summer down at The Oval - and also for Surrey as well. I was planning to celebrate in style. I’ve been BOOZE free for five weeks now. How the fuck did that happen?

I was a little concerned yesterday, thinking that the game might be over and done with before lunch on day two. There was some batshit crazy bowling taking place on Tuesday. Twenty wickets falling within a day is not your usual County Championship scorecard.

Truth be told, I wanted to see Glamorgan bat out at least the first two sessions. This would at least mean I get value for money for my freebie Championship ticket.

Glamorgan didn’t disappoint. They managed to achieve their first 50 run opening partnership of the season since Sussex, way back in June. Note to any visiting teams down at The Oval this year: don’t worry, Dr. Surrey is here to help you.

It was all rather sedate. I actually managed to doze off for a short while.

Luncheon came and went. We departed to the Oval Table of Dreams for a quick knock-up. I was well and truly knocked up, trailing 4-0 as the Oval bell started to ring once again.

We switched our position to the Pavilion for the afternoon session. Different surroundings, same scenario. I dozed off.

Something had to change. I wanted to go out on an absolute fucking high for one final time this summer. We made the strategic move over to the Peter May, and I wasted no time going on the piss.

I took my life in my hands wearing a Forest gilet amongst the Peter May Palace boys. It’s them that’s got the problem, not me.

Sitting in front of us was the most delightful artist type chap. He was sketching away at various crowd scenes in front of him. He would have had a field day if there was an all too rare sighting these days of Mr. Hairy Back Man.

Surrey were making bloody hard work trying to skittle out a very resilient Glamorgan side. The floodlights came on. This seemed to add a little extra energy to the Surrey attack. The breakthrough came from young Blake Thomas.

Late in the afternoon, Lobby took up his seat in the Peter May behind us. There was no chance of dozing off here.

The tea interval came and the spectators were invited to inspect the wicket. We watched in horror as some Bright Young Thing strolled right out into the middle, completely barefoot. We had earlier witnessed some Surrey players gobbing in the outfield. This was a major OCD fail.

Booze and conversation kind of took over for the evening session. I’ve watched the most cricket ever this summer, both IRL and on the telly. I’ve loved every moment of it.

I took a moment to look around the old ground for the final time this year as the Umps knocked off the bales. When an old cricketer leaves the crease, etc.

But wait! What’s this?

There’s fighting talk of a possible trip over to HQ next week to see The ‘Sex against Northants. It might be Championship Division 2, but it could be a taste of things to come for Surrey next season.

C’mon the ‘rrey!

This was a strange one. The cover suggested some long-lost 1950s American rock and roll, my kind of music right now. A quick read of Wikipedia reveals that the album was actually released in 1998, and don’t be fooled by the album cover art; this is not rock and roll but blues.

So far so good. I’m always a bit of a sucker for the blues. Plus there was some added soul and funk promises within the wiki paragraph that I skim read.

I fired up the album on Spotify. Boy, he can sing, and yes he was a boy when he recorded this, being only 17 years of age. It’s not quite your typical white blue eyed soul but he has a bloody good pair of lungs on him.

I’m all for encouraging optimism and experimentation amongst young talent but it did feel a little bit overplayed and bloated. It sounds as though he’s singing just for the sake of it. The blues are more of an annoying US radio style that has ambitions to stray into horrid rock territory.

⭐ ⭐

Soul Mining is one of those albums I really should have got around to buying back in the early 80s. I finally did get to own a copy on CD a couple of years ago. As ever with my ever-growing pile of CDs, I’ve yet to play it.

It’s also one of those albums that already feels familiar. The tracks were pretty much the soundtrack to me growing up. You heard them nonstop on the radio and also whilst out and about at the youth clubs. This Is the Day is the perfect pop song from the period and brings back incredibly strong memories of early teenage years in 1983.

What’s telling about this album is that many of the issues addressed are still relevant 40+ years later: social isolation, economic breakdown, and a general feeling of despair, yet with some personal hope always being there to see you through.

A very decent debut.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Another day, another ride. Chapeau!

The plan was to hook up once again with the 40+ riders. An impending weather forecast of doom and the bloody long schlep out to the meetup point close to Chelmsford put me off. This ain’t going to end well, right?

I decided to roll out myself on a fairly semi-serious 70 km loop circuit.

As ever, the route I plotted into my Beeline Velo 2 almost fell over before I even left Sunny Colch. I had to go through the half-town, half-city in order to get the exit point I wanted for the lanes.

Colchester is bloody hellish for cyclists. It’s always been this way. I can’t see it changing, to be honest. There just isn’t the willpower or even the political imagination.

Truth be told I came close to going up after being pushed into the fringes of the roads, with very little scope for me to command the cycling space.

Finally I was free. Thank fuck for that. I reached the lanes and had a pretty decent route for the next 3 hours or so.

I’m loving riding the road bike right now. In a few weeks' time I may have to shift to the Rally electric but whilst the weather holds the roadie is just perfect. I was even cycling with a small rucksack.

I was vaguely familiar.

When people bang on about how they love indie music and then name absolute shite such as Kasabian, 1975 and Bastille, I despair. That’s not indie. That’s mainstream wank from pretty boys who want to play up to whatever indie once was. Fuck all that shit.

Step forward PJ Harvey. What a killer debut release for the much-missed Too Pure label. Indie was never about the music. It was more about the spirit and the ethos.

Jesus and Mary Chain are perhaps the most fuck-you indie band ever. PJ captures that spirit and even adds a little music to the mix.

This is such a confident, ballsy debut. It’s brilliant that it comes from a female singer-songwriter. She drags you in with an almost war cry like vocal style. You’re not going to mess with PJ, right?

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

A half decent evening session down at the sailing club. This was my second hour of table tennis for Monday.

Live to spin, spin to live, etc.

It was bloody stuffy upstairs in the sailing club loft. My style of play reflected all that energy as I reverted to brute force to batter my way through my opponents.

Five minutes in and this led to a smashed ball.

Whoops.

It seemed to be working however. Somehow I managed to beat the best player.

He didn’t take it in the best of spirits and demanded we play a grudge match out again. I called it a rematch but he stuck with grudge. It’s him that’s got the problem, not me.

He got the better of me but only just. I thought it wise to call it quits before taking home a 2-1 defeat.

We finished off with the usual doubles. We had a tight game with my partner and I leading 20-19. I gambled the house on a killer spin shot that landed pinpoint on the corner of the table.

I was so happy I could smash another ball.

To the Odeon in Sunny Colch! …on Monday afternoon. Yeah you know the routine by now. If it’s a Monday afternoon then it must mean it’s the cheapo cheapo grubby Fiver Odeon cinema deal.

There was no dilemma in selecting the choice of movie for this afternoon: the Oasis Don’t Look Back in Anger documentary - or rockumentary, if you will - was being screened.

But wait! What’s this?

The cheapo cheapo grubby fibre deal had seen a price increase to £7. Apparently it’s something to do with this being a limited screening before it shifts over to Disney+.

I surprised myself by being on time once again. This meant I had to sit through all the crappy adverts ahead of the trailers.

One particular one for some shitty sugar drink started to play out. It was part of a promo package with the Premier League. All the usual Big Six cartel crappy clubs featured.

I had an internal grumble to myself saying, “Where the fuck are Forest?”

Towards the end some fella popped up wearing the pinstripe kit of last season.

I rose like a Trentside salmon from my seat at the Odeon and let out the most almighty U REDS!!!!

It was something of a Pavlovian response. Oh dear. I think I embarrassed myself, especially so since, rather surprisingly, the average age for the Oasis film must have been 65+.

I had zero interest in taking out a second mortgage to buy Oasis tickets last summer. Been there, done that, etc.

I have the memories that I need, stretching back to the Electric Ballroom, Glasto and then the shitfest that was Knebworth.

I had something of a passing interest last summer, hopeful that they could still pull it off and it wouldn’t end in tears, or even a disaster.

Watching the film is where I am at right now. I don’t want to be stuck in North West London at 11 pm, having big sweaty blokes hugging me and spraying me with overpriced piss-poor lager. I think I found my demographic with the coffin dodgers in the Sunny Colch Odeon.

This film was really rather lovely. It wasn’t the all-bravado dick measuring competition that the documentary could have been.

We started with the backstory, which is familiar to millions, etc. There was some pretty rapid editing going through the Oasis story and the split backstage in Paris.

What then became clear, as the film documented the early rehearsals through to the UK gigs, and then the wider world legs of the tour, is what the band actually mean to their fans.

This wasn’t a film about two brothers putting aside their differences - although that is covered quite extensively - but it was more about what Oasis mean to the fans. It was also a generational film showing the power of music to unite families.

Oh yeah, the music was bloody LOUD. I always thought that Oasis unplugged was an idea that wasn’t going to work. I’m pleased that we upgraded the extra £2 as part of the cheapo cheapo grubby fiver deal to experience this in the cinema.

The interplay between Liam and Noel, both on stage and behind the scenes, is quite delightful. You can see the tension during the early rehearsals. The main question was: will he or won’t he show up? In the end Liam swaggers in, sings his songs, and then buggers off.

It becomes clear during the rehearsals how Noel is the leader. He dictates the music, the direction, and where each band member should be taking it.

But this seems to have been a softened approach as the rehearsals and then the live performances play out. Noel doesn’t hold back in explaining how he has found a new respect and even love for his younger brother. It really is quite moving.

Perhaps the best quote during the film, unsurprisingly, comes from Liam:

“I care a fucking lot about not giving a fuck.”

It all gets a little emotional toward the end. Some of the most moving shots are of the crowds dispersing at the end of various gigs.

You see a blokes standing on their own, looking like they have PTSD. Tears are flowing and they’re looking around trying to find some meaning to it all.

That meaning is probably best left with Noel having the last word:

“All was forgiven without saying a word.”

To the University Table of Dreams! …on Monday morning. The students are still a week away from returning. We had the entire Sports Centre to ourselves.

A decent warm-up started the session: corner to corner, forehand to forehand, backhand to backhand. TWAT it as hard as you can.

I’m starting to feel that maybe warm-ups aren’t adding anything to my game. Soon I found myself 4-0 down, with my opponent laughing at me.

We were also attracting interest from the viewing gallery above, with some staff members assembling to also add to the humiliation.

“Shall I play left-handed to make it a fair game?”

…asked my playing partner, the cheeky cow.

This was the inspiration I needed. One of the best rallies we’ve ever played then took place. I went from 4-0 down to coming back to 4-4.

“The tension is rising”

…remarked my opponent.

“Yeah, for you, love, but not me.”

5-4. GEDDIN! Take that! Who’s laughing now? Ha bloody ha.

It wasn’t quite Forest away at Highfield Road in the League Cup, 1991. If you were there then you know.

But I’ll take it anyway.

I enjoyed this a lot more than I was expecting. For some reason I thought this would be pop tat. But nope, there are some deep heavy beats. It almost has a mixtape quality to it. Her vocals are not of the diva variety, which gets right on my tits. Instead they’re quite considered. She knows when to open up and then pull back again, depending on what’s happening around her. A really decent find and possibly an artist I should look a little more into.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

To the Essex Sports Arena! …early on Saturday evening for the first home fixture for the Rebs' Division One men of the new season.

And so it begins. That’s my Saturdays booked up pretty much all the way through until the run-in to the playoffs in April.

It was a little weird arriving on campus fashionably early for once. Term time is still a week away.

In the absence of students it seems that the University was holding some kind of conference or gathering for fire officers. I must have counted a dozen fire engines, plus plenty of uniformed fellas walking around. It may have been a health and safety audit.

No such health and safety audit was needed in the Arena. Volume set to max, plenty of energy on the court, fun times only.

It was good to see many familiar faces and the old crowd behind the scenes as part of the Rebs operation.

Meeting and greeting us at the door was Queen B. Spoiler alert for any kids reading: I think Queen B is a new Queen B once again this season. Same costume, slightly different physique, and different vibes when it comes to the dance moves.

The students may not be around just yet but there were plenty of kids turning out to cheer on the men’s Division One team. The Rebs certainly know how to market these games. There’s been a considered push over recent weeks in the run-up to the season opener.

We flashed our season tickets and were immediately handed over a shiny new lanyard for the season, plus the obligatory tote bag with a freebie drink inside.

Tuck in.

We made our way to our usual seats just behind the home benches. Another nice touch this season is that season ticket holders have got their own reserved backrest covering.

It’s been a little awkward for the Rebs Division One team, who are currently coach-less. Joe Hart did a fine job steadying the ship last season. He has gained a rightful promotion to be an assistant up in Caledonia with the men’s Super League team.

The Rebels did announce a few weeks ago the return of the Division Three team, with all-round Rebels good egg Jordan Ashley taking on a player-coach role. He dominated playing in the Division Three team a few seasons ago and has been coaching some of the more junior teams since then.

There’s been a rapid-fire quick promotion for Coach Ashley to look after the big boys in Division One, as the search for a more permanent solution is found.

The bench, meanwhile, looked familiar. There are a few new faces here and there but it’s good to see the core roster from last season being retained by the Rebs.

This includes a well-deserved captaincy role for Tyrese Hudson, who is becoming something of a Rebels legend. He knows his own abilities on the court, but always puts the team first and is a reassuring constant presence.

Recruitment looks decent with pace aplenty. We do seem to be lacking some kind of big bruiser D player to bully around any tricky players that rock up at Our House.

Thankfully Worthing were pretty much similarly matched in terms of physique. I couldn’t see beyond their crappy shorts, which appeared to have a couple of clouds sewn into the design, right on the back side of the players.

Classy.

The game tipped off. Study the buffers. This could have been a disaster for the Rebels. Worthing were all over the home team. No one wants to see that on your own court.

Rebels somehow found their calm and managed to slow down the Worthing charge. The home team played a scrappy first quarter and were fortunate to only trail 27-16 at the first buzzer.

The second quarter was bloody awful viewing for any Rebels fans. Worthing were able to sink their three-pointers whilst every effort from the Rebels fell short. A punishing run by the away team took them to a 25-point lead at one stage.

Some three-pointers were finally sunk by Johnny Mac. Rebels cut out the scrappy approach to play and realised instead that the way to beat Worthing was through pace.

The away team were clearly frustrated on three occasions in the second quarter. They were timed out with the shot clock.

Unlucky.

The halftime break came. We just about managed to dodge the Kiss Cam on the big screen. Our mugs flashed up for a few seconds before the refs blew the whistles to restart the game.

Rebels were trailing 44-36 as the third quarter got underway. They managed to close the gap with some smart moves, with Worthing having their lead reduced to 63-55 entering the final quarter.

This was always something of a slight stretch too far for the Rebels to overcome. What they did well with the new interim coach and new players was to contain Worthing. They made the away team work for their 86-73 point win.

And so not the result we wanted for the Rebels but not the disaster this could have been. Coach Ashley didn’t look out of place and he clearly has the respect of some of the players who are more senior than him.

Up the Rebs.