The Mob
Clapham Softball Club
The Mob vs The Devil Strays
Location: Hampstead Heath, not the pitch we played on last year.
The day that is now etched in the history of rivalries was Tuesday 9th June 2009, year of our Lord. Picture the scene: skies overcast, Devil Strays warming up or sitting nervously, clad in burgundy red; The Mob gathering like the Mongol hordes, ready to pounce on enemies and charge into battle. A few concerned "we're wearing the same colour as them" Mobster looks are destroyed in a heartbeat by the arrival of Trish and her bag of goodies - out flew the customary red and grey, numbered and nicknamed Mob shirts and we proceeded to scare the enemies and nearby wildlife with our bare torsos. Once in our battle uniform, The Mob took the field for practice and showed the Strays a selection of missed hits and dropped catches - best to get them out of the way early thought this author...
Suddenly there's a flurry of activity - the blues have called time on our shambolic display of luke-warming up and we've got to play ball - down to the tune of one doctor (Emma, we need to see photo evidence that you were tending to a corpse), we are up to bat and Sam leads out at the start of what proves to be an all important morale boosting innings - Paul D and Mark "Rando" are round the bases with ease, benefitting from mistakes at cutoff and in the outfield. Before you know it, we've led out with a respectable score of 5 on the board, and we assume our positions in the field to see what the Strays have in reply.
With a few runs to catch up, the Strays managed some long balls and scored 3 in an otherwise forgettable innings. It's time for the mob to show them how it's done once more - it's our second innings and we're intent on furthering our lead. Sam gets round to 2nd in the blink of an eye and decides to show some attitude by inviting them - nonchalantly, mind - into a rundown scenario. Sam is trying to hold back the laughter and may have been heard screaming "ha ha, you can't get me" in time with the chuckles from his team-mates as he slides past a buffooning pyjamaed Devil and under another's arm and is "safe" (until next time) back at 2nd base. Paul D drives another ball hard into orbit and Sam's appeared back at home plate. The drive isn't quite enough to land Erika at third so she remains at 2nd with Paul at 1st base, but the Mob have another run on the card. Kendell is up to bat - you could hear a pin drop as bad pitch after bad pitch sail past her to the author's cries of "she doesn't need it" and even louder shouts of "good eyes" from those that can tell these things. Kendell walks to 1st and our infamous Canuck takes up his position in the batting box. Unleashing his fury, the otherwise mild-mannered Greg opens a Canadian caravan full of whoop-ass on the ball, bringing Erika and Paul back to their team who are waiting with hands up, ready for the hi-fives. This innings feels like one of legend and Sarah is up to bat, her blonde flowing locks waving in the wind. Bending knees at just the right point, weight on the correct foot and with eyes glaring steely at the pitcher, this had the makings of something monumental. The ball is set free from the pitcher's hand and sails towards this keen batswoman, this inanimate object clearly scared in the knowledge this may be the last time it is usable as anything other than a drinks coaster. At this point Sarah asked the author to scratch her hit from the match report, so this is dutifully done - the wind up was impressive. Next up is Mark who offers up a comfortable hit and brings Kendell and Greg safely home, leaving him confidently standing on base. Meech (where's the nickname on the shirt?) tactically shows the Strays the colour of her bunt and puts her best foot forward in the direction of first but the ball beats her there. Captain Tom's locks are flowing more than Sarah's (or at the very least growing more than any of us) as he whacks a ball high and hard but unfortunately into the wily hands of their left outfielder - a player we would have done well to have sabotaged before the match. After all that, the Mob have scored another respectable 5 runs and it's the Strays' turn.
Kendell, Greg, Paul and Erika make up our infielders, under the keen captainship of Tom who is pitching magnificently. Trish takes up position in the outfield along with Mark, Sam and Sarah. The Mob are on fire - with gloves sponsored by Superglue, legs warmed up from all our recent runs, and eyes on the ball, we set forth to hold their first 3 players at first or send them back to the hole they came from (and I don't mean north London). The fourth Stray has a short hit to catch by Erika at 3rd base while their batter at first forgets what a fly-ball is and starts galloping towards 2nd. The look of embarrassment on his face was priceless as he realises that his walk off the field signifies their zero-scoring 3-up-3-down innings. It's working - the months of hard work, Martin's fitness training and fine leadership are paying off - the Mob are a proper team, proud to play wherever our quivering opponents will have us, and destroying the hopes and dreams of the Devil Strays with each play. It's time to teach them to bat again...
The Mob's neatest display of team management means that we're top of the order once more and Sam leads off again, much to the pleasure of a relieved Dave who is a bit lost in his scoresheet by this point. Their outfielder fumbles the ball to the ground and Sam throws himself horizontally at 3rd base, which is speedily and dutifully dislodged. Paul aims for Essex with our next big hit, after which the innings eventually concludes uneventfully with some outs courtesy of their handy left outfielder.
The Strays are frantically grabbing at the tatters of their performance, trying to regain some form of dignity and maybe even a run or two - by this point the score is running at a stupendous 12-3 in our favour, so it's ours to lose but they know they need to change something in order to even stand a chance against our almighty all-round performance. They send their 1st-base-coach to the side of the field with an invisible softball manual - he's pulling every rule and "top tip" out of somewhere and yelling them at his team. Mark catches - another out. Sam catches another - that's one more out. Their base coach's instructions reach desperation as he is overheard saying "run at anything Sally" - we assume their entire team was going by the name of Sally by this point. Before you could say "Jiminy Cricket sniffed my wicket" they're out for zero runs again and we grin our way back to the batting box - known quite rightly as "home" by this point in the game.
Greg pops a ball out from a nice pitch, and lollops round to 2nd as his team watch on, giggling like school girls. Kendell's mind wanders and she comments inappropriately when she spots some chaps playing javelin rather dangerously in the low light. Greg's home. Mark's out at 2nd, and all of a sudden Tom's appeared at 1st with Meech at 2nd. Now it's Trish's turn to demonstrate her slug truncheon. We score just the one run and pass the bat on, as this author takes the field in place of Mark, who takes notes from the sidelines.
The Strays come back with a huge hit to the outfield - not what we had come to expect, and their first batter is home with ease. Trish and Jack collide in the middle of the outfield to assumed and undeserved screeches of abuse at the latter - Jack clearly stopped running once the call was made, and yet the ball kept on going. Ignoring bruises and dirt the run scored as a result, The Mob field on. Their pyjamaed player, known by Mark as "Big Bird" manages to bat 2 runners home in a "ridiculous" display of particularly soft-ball. The Strays seem to have been swatting up on technique and tot up 4 runs in their 4th innings, bringing the score to 13-7.
It's the Mob's 5th and Sam leads out again(!), followed by Paul who is lucky that their 2nd baseman is useless at hacky sack - fumbling the ball to the ground using every available body part, their mistake means that Sam's scored again and Paul is safe at 2. Mark takes the notebook once more, and it's Jack's turn at the ockey - everyone foresees big things and not even the sky's the limit. Power bunt from Bremer impresses tactically, and the face-first slide into an out at 1st lets the team know what they've been missing during the preceding innings.
Strays to bat again, and Mob indecision gives them 2 easy runs early doors. By the time their pitcher is up to bat, they've got loaded bases and he unleashes an inconveniently almighty hit into Camden. Jack and Sarah chase the ball, but by the time it's back in the same borough they've racked up another 3 runs. Could it be? The Mob falling apart before our very eyes? Kendell is concerned and quiet - we hear no more shouts of "way to back up," "way to tie yer laces man" or "way to Amarillo" from first base - she means business and so should the rest of us. Paul and Kendell team up on a short hit and while Kendell's airborne, jumping for the catch from shortstop, their batter is able to slide underneath and is safe. Bases loaded again, Paul lands a safe and important catch. Another run, another out - this is getting closer by the second and not in a good, back row of the cinema kind of way. A big throw in from the outfield and we've finally managed the third out - they've scored 6 and frustrations are running high for us.
Surely the Mob won't score another fat zero? Well, unfortunately that's exactly what happened - they dispatch us with a quick double play and a catch and it's changeover time once more. Luckily (rather than skilfully by this point) we manage to hold them to no runs in their next innings that follows our quick turnaround: an over-confident hit is no match for Greg's sticky fingers - the fight back has begun! Or has it? Super Sam proves he's human after all, dropping a catch in the outfield, and you could taste the frustration in the air - heavy and fraught with danger. Paul redeems the team with a catch at shortstop as a huge freight train rumbles past. Mark reminisces of watching "Brewster’s Millions" and Sam is back once more and up to his old tricks - catching anything that moves. Their sixth innings is over and just like the Mob, they haven't chalked up any runs - phew!
Again, this time in the seventh, Sam's up first - greedy for the action, he rotates his bat above his head, lulling their pitcher to give him something tasty. The second base takes another pummelling from his upturned studs as he slides in again, but he's left out there on his own - Erika's big hits seem like something of yesteryear as she's out, promptly followed by Paul's unfortunate out by catch in the outfield. Sam still manages to romp home and shouts of "He's had his Shreddies" are heard emanating from the Mob camp. We only score that one run before we're nervously totting up scores for what is likely to be the Strays' final chance at the title of "Best team that day on that pitch in someone's opinion".
The Mob have a lead of three - it's close but no Lewinski... Erika dashes their hopes and dreams on their first hit, catching a high ball and they've got just 2 outs left for the match. It's another Devil of a drive into the distance, to a Mob unison of cries to the tune of "Drat and double drat." The Mob's lead is reduced to just 2 runs and we're wondering where we went wrong (see the last few paragraphs if you're still wondering). The Strays come out with a couple of base hits and they've got runners at 2nd and 3rd. An overthrow into 3rd from a distraught Samuel allows their runners home and the game is tied - uh-oh. A sneaky hit past third brings another of their runners home and we have all but lost the will to live. The Strays have bloody done it; they beat us at our own game.
The rivalry runs deep, and it was most likely at its deepest in deepest darkest northest London that night. If you've got this far in this report then you've got the stamina required to help the Mob back to our former glory - do not despair, we will triumph. Next week...?
Final Score: 13-14 to the Devil Strays. Dammit. (I think that's the right score - in the confusion and the crying and the blaming and the whining and the sobbing at the end I forgot to write it down.)
by Jack
The day that is now etched in the history of rivalries was Tuesday 9th June 2009, year of our Lord. Picture the scene: skies overcast, Devil Strays warming up or sitting nervously, clad in burgundy red; The Mob gathering like the Mongol hordes, ready to pounce on enemies and charge into battle. A few concerned "we're wearing the same colour as them" Mobster looks are destroyed in a heartbeat by the arrival of Trish and her bag of goodies - out flew the customary red and grey, numbered and nicknamed Mob shirts and we proceeded to scare the enemies and nearby wildlife with our bare torsos. Once in our battle uniform, The Mob took the field for practice and showed the Strays a selection of missed hits and dropped catches - best to get them out of the way early thought this author...
Suddenly there's a flurry of activity - the blues have called time on our shambolic display of luke-warming up and we've got to play ball - down to the tune of one doctor (Emma, we need to see photo evidence that you were tending to a corpse), we are up to bat and Sam leads out at the start of what proves to be an all important morale boosting innings - Paul D and Mark "Rando" are round the bases with ease, benefitting from mistakes at cutoff and in the outfield. Before you know it, we've led out with a respectable score of 5 on the board, and we assume our positions in the field to see what the Strays have in reply.
With a few runs to catch up, the Strays managed some long balls and scored 3 in an otherwise forgettable innings. It's time for the mob to show them how it's done once more - it's our second innings and we're intent on furthering our lead. Sam gets round to 2nd in the blink of an eye and decides to show some attitude by inviting them - nonchalantly, mind - into a rundown scenario. Sam is trying to hold back the laughter and may have been heard screaming "ha ha, you can't get me" in time with the chuckles from his team-mates as he slides past a buffooning pyjamaed Devil and under another's arm and is "safe" (until next time) back at 2nd base. Paul D drives another ball hard into orbit and Sam's appeared back at home plate. The drive isn't quite enough to land Erika at third so she remains at 2nd with Paul at 1st base, but the Mob have another run on the card. Kendell is up to bat - you could hear a pin drop as bad pitch after bad pitch sail past her to the author's cries of "she doesn't need it" and even louder shouts of "good eyes" from those that can tell these things. Kendell walks to 1st and our infamous Canuck takes up his position in the batting box. Unleashing his fury, the otherwise mild-mannered Greg opens a Canadian caravan full of whoop-ass on the ball, bringing Erika and Paul back to their team who are waiting with hands up, ready for the hi-fives. This innings feels like one of legend and Sarah is up to bat, her blonde flowing locks waving in the wind. Bending knees at just the right point, weight on the correct foot and with eyes glaring steely at the pitcher, this had the makings of something monumental. The ball is set free from the pitcher's hand and sails towards this keen batswoman, this inanimate object clearly scared in the knowledge this may be the last time it is usable as anything other than a drinks coaster. At this point Sarah asked the author to scratch her hit from the match report, so this is dutifully done - the wind up was impressive. Next up is Mark who offers up a comfortable hit and brings Kendell and Greg safely home, leaving him confidently standing on base. Meech (where's the nickname on the shirt?) tactically shows the Strays the colour of her bunt and puts her best foot forward in the direction of first but the ball beats her there. Captain Tom's locks are flowing more than Sarah's (or at the very least growing more than any of us) as he whacks a ball high and hard but unfortunately into the wily hands of their left outfielder - a player we would have done well to have sabotaged before the match. After all that, the Mob have scored another respectable 5 runs and it's the Strays' turn.
Kendell, Greg, Paul and Erika make up our infielders, under the keen captainship of Tom who is pitching magnificently. Trish takes up position in the outfield along with Mark, Sam and Sarah. The Mob are on fire - with gloves sponsored by Superglue, legs warmed up from all our recent runs, and eyes on the ball, we set forth to hold their first 3 players at first or send them back to the hole they came from (and I don't mean north London). The fourth Stray has a short hit to catch by Erika at 3rd base while their batter at first forgets what a fly-ball is and starts galloping towards 2nd. The look of embarrassment on his face was priceless as he realises that his walk off the field signifies their zero-scoring 3-up-3-down innings. It's working - the months of hard work, Martin's fitness training and fine leadership are paying off - the Mob are a proper team, proud to play wherever our quivering opponents will have us, and destroying the hopes and dreams of the Devil Strays with each play. It's time to teach them to bat again...
The Mob's neatest display of team management means that we're top of the order once more and Sam leads off again, much to the pleasure of a relieved Dave who is a bit lost in his scoresheet by this point. Their outfielder fumbles the ball to the ground and Sam throws himself horizontally at 3rd base, which is speedily and dutifully dislodged. Paul aims for Essex with our next big hit, after which the innings eventually concludes uneventfully with some outs courtesy of their handy left outfielder.
The Strays are frantically grabbing at the tatters of their performance, trying to regain some form of dignity and maybe even a run or two - by this point the score is running at a stupendous 12-3 in our favour, so it's ours to lose but they know they need to change something in order to even stand a chance against our almighty all-round performance. They send their 1st-base-coach to the side of the field with an invisible softball manual - he's pulling every rule and "top tip" out of somewhere and yelling them at his team. Mark catches - another out. Sam catches another - that's one more out. Their base coach's instructions reach desperation as he is overheard saying "run at anything Sally" - we assume their entire team was going by the name of Sally by this point. Before you could say "Jiminy Cricket sniffed my wicket" they're out for zero runs again and we grin our way back to the batting box - known quite rightly as "home" by this point in the game.
Greg pops a ball out from a nice pitch, and lollops round to 2nd as his team watch on, giggling like school girls. Kendell's mind wanders and she comments inappropriately when she spots some chaps playing javelin rather dangerously in the low light. Greg's home. Mark's out at 2nd, and all of a sudden Tom's appeared at 1st with Meech at 2nd. Now it's Trish's turn to demonstrate her slug truncheon. We score just the one run and pass the bat on, as this author takes the field in place of Mark, who takes notes from the sidelines.
The Strays come back with a huge hit to the outfield - not what we had come to expect, and their first batter is home with ease. Trish and Jack collide in the middle of the outfield to assumed and undeserved screeches of abuse at the latter - Jack clearly stopped running once the call was made, and yet the ball kept on going. Ignoring bruises and dirt the run scored as a result, The Mob field on. Their pyjamaed player, known by Mark as "Big Bird" manages to bat 2 runners home in a "ridiculous" display of particularly soft-ball. The Strays seem to have been swatting up on technique and tot up 4 runs in their 4th innings, bringing the score to 13-7.
It's the Mob's 5th and Sam leads out again(!), followed by Paul who is lucky that their 2nd baseman is useless at hacky sack - fumbling the ball to the ground using every available body part, their mistake means that Sam's scored again and Paul is safe at 2. Mark takes the notebook once more, and it's Jack's turn at the ockey - everyone foresees big things and not even the sky's the limit. Power bunt from Bremer impresses tactically, and the face-first slide into an out at 1st lets the team know what they've been missing during the preceding innings.
Strays to bat again, and Mob indecision gives them 2 easy runs early doors. By the time their pitcher is up to bat, they've got loaded bases and he unleashes an inconveniently almighty hit into Camden. Jack and Sarah chase the ball, but by the time it's back in the same borough they've racked up another 3 runs. Could it be? The Mob falling apart before our very eyes? Kendell is concerned and quiet - we hear no more shouts of "way to back up," "way to tie yer laces man" or "way to Amarillo" from first base - she means business and so should the rest of us. Paul and Kendell team up on a short hit and while Kendell's airborne, jumping for the catch from shortstop, their batter is able to slide underneath and is safe. Bases loaded again, Paul lands a safe and important catch. Another run, another out - this is getting closer by the second and not in a good, back row of the cinema kind of way. A big throw in from the outfield and we've finally managed the third out - they've scored 6 and frustrations are running high for us.
Surely the Mob won't score another fat zero? Well, unfortunately that's exactly what happened - they dispatch us with a quick double play and a catch and it's changeover time once more. Luckily (rather than skilfully by this point) we manage to hold them to no runs in their next innings that follows our quick turnaround: an over-confident hit is no match for Greg's sticky fingers - the fight back has begun! Or has it? Super Sam proves he's human after all, dropping a catch in the outfield, and you could taste the frustration in the air - heavy and fraught with danger. Paul redeems the team with a catch at shortstop as a huge freight train rumbles past. Mark reminisces of watching "Brewster’s Millions" and Sam is back once more and up to his old tricks - catching anything that moves. Their sixth innings is over and just like the Mob, they haven't chalked up any runs - phew!
Again, this time in the seventh, Sam's up first - greedy for the action, he rotates his bat above his head, lulling their pitcher to give him something tasty. The second base takes another pummelling from his upturned studs as he slides in again, but he's left out there on his own - Erika's big hits seem like something of yesteryear as she's out, promptly followed by Paul's unfortunate out by catch in the outfield. Sam still manages to romp home and shouts of "He's had his Shreddies" are heard emanating from the Mob camp. We only score that one run before we're nervously totting up scores for what is likely to be the Strays' final chance at the title of "Best team that day on that pitch in someone's opinion".
The Mob have a lead of three - it's close but no Lewinski... Erika dashes their hopes and dreams on their first hit, catching a high ball and they've got just 2 outs left for the match. It's another Devil of a drive into the distance, to a Mob unison of cries to the tune of "Drat and double drat." The Mob's lead is reduced to just 2 runs and we're wondering where we went wrong (see the last few paragraphs if you're still wondering). The Strays come out with a couple of base hits and they've got runners at 2nd and 3rd. An overthrow into 3rd from a distraught Samuel allows their runners home and the game is tied - uh-oh. A sneaky hit past third brings another of their runners home and we have all but lost the will to live. The Strays have bloody done it; they beat us at our own game.
The rivalry runs deep, and it was most likely at its deepest in deepest darkest northest London that night. If you've got this far in this report then you've got the stamina required to help the Mob back to our former glory - do not despair, we will triumph. Next week...?
Final Score: 13-14 to the Devil Strays. Dammit. (I think that's the right score - in the confusion and the crying and the blaming and the whining and the sobbing at the end I forgot to write it down.)
by Jack
The Mob Roster
Greg Howarth, Jack Bremer, Mark Carroll, Paul Duthie, Sam Gibb-Cohen, Tom Getgood
Emma Davis, Erika Hertel, Kendell Kennedy, Mich Antonik, Sarah Hamnett, Trish de Souza
Man of the Match:
Emma Davis, Erika Hertel, Kendell Kennedy, Mich Antonik, Sarah Hamnett, Trish de Souza
Man of the Match: