4 hours of work. 2 cricket matches. 2 nights out. A single pub quiz and only a bit of sleep. On Friday evening, after getting home from a long and arduous day in the office, I made a vow for the upcoming weekend. With the Saturday morning alarm clock set for 7:45am, and an offer of what was to be the first of two nights out on the table, I had a decision to make. Be sensible and go to sleep and be awake for tomorrow, or bloody well go for it.
I mulled it over for a while. But not for very long. I'm Mitten. And I went for it.
What ensued was an absolutely manic weekend. I've had these in the past, but throughout this one, I simply marvelled at how I was able to just keep on going. Its as if someone had planted social viagra in my dinner on Friday as I just completely forgot about the moments in which I would potentially regret my decision of going into town on Friday night. It felt as if I was friends with everyone in the room and I was receiving similar attitudes back. Usually, in most places, you tend to keep to your own little group, but on both nights out, for some reason, I was speaking perfectly comfortably to complete strangers as if I had known them for years. I was an incredibly confident person, and it made for a much better weekend on the social scene.
I wasn't that tired on Friday despite the long day at work as I went into town, and to The Rose, with Master Kettle. We had a few drinks in there talking about this, that and the other before I went off to the Barley for a bit of camp dancing with Sarah, Will and the crew. It was good fun, as I completely ignored the prospect of an early start and just enjoyed it. For the first time ever, I wasn't put off by the idea of working in the morning. Waking up on Saturday was positively simple, (I genuinely think this was down to my attitude), as I walked to work in the spitting rain with a smile from ear-to-ear. What was going on here? I had been asleep for about 3 hours... Why aren't I deathly tired with a monstrous hangover?
Work was... Work. It wasn't great, but it wasn't bad either and as I walked out at 1pm, Red Bull in hand for emergency reasons, I pondered on a positively simple stint that lacked negativity and adverse contemplation. I was still at 100% on the happiness rating, and I couldn't work out why. It obviously wasn't a bad thing, but I shouldn't be like this. I had to crash at some point. I had slept for 3 and a half hours out of the last 28. With the prospect of a 45-over cricket match and another promised night out before I reached my bed again, I wouldn't have been blamed for suddenly feeling the full force of exhaustion. But I didn't.
Reaching the Bury, I had the can of Red Bull and got on with preparing for the match. I have never really had much success with Red Bull in the past. I've found it gives you a momentary boost of energy, but after 20 minutes, you're back at square one. This time however, I must have picked up an extra sugar version, because by the time the game had started, I was switched on. Our opponents Pavenham batted first, and we bowled poor again, but for the duration of their innings of 265, my head was so clear and focused. When it got to Sunday evening, I considered what would have happened in that match if I had brought myself on to bowl... And you'll find out why in a minute... So we were chasing an unlikely 266 for victory, but after a pacey start, we found ourselves in a fairly good position at 120-3 at the drinks break. The Red Bull was still in my system, as I went out to bat at number 3 in the 2nd over and proceeded to try and rip the leather off absolutely every ball. I used the excuse, "I'm not really that fussed" as a reason as to why I wanted to hit most of the balls miles, but in all honesty, I had illusions of a monstrous hundred that would secure us a brilliant yet unlikely victory. I connected with a few, and raced to a pretty quick 41 before being bowled. Never mind.
It was at this point where I felt it. The crash. It had all caught up with me, and as I de-padded in the changing room, I was tempted to put my head down and sleep for as long as time allowed me. But a voice in the back of my head stopped me.
"What did you say to yourself on Friday evening?"
The answer? "If you're gonna do this, you're gonna do it properly. All or nothing".
I had already committed to the weekend to end all tiresome weekends, and was nearly halfway through, so I decided to carry on. I went back outside to cheer on the rest of the batting line-up, who did very well indeed in getting so close to the 266 required to win. We fell 27 short.
After cleaning up, collecting the match fees and writing up the scorebook and team cards, I was off home. At this point it was about 8:30, as the post-match rigmarole takes a good hour to complete. I had told Abigail that I was to meet her at 9pm but this was literally impossible. Once again, I let my guard down and contemplated an early night. I text Abigail saying, "I'm tempted to give this one a miss". However, I sat myself down and started talking to myself again:
"All or nothing boy. All or nothing. You'll be fine and dandy with a few JD's down your neck".
2 minutes later, I had texted Abigail again. "Scrap that, I'll come anyway. I won't be ready for 9, but I'll meet you in town at 10.30!"
This gave me enough time to have a shower, have some food, enter the full scorecard on to the league system, (a job that apparently takes "5 minutes", but in practice, takes about 30), and head off. I was all done by 10pm, so headed round to the local pub on my own for a couple of quick JD's before getting a cab. I do this sometimes, as they only charge £2 for a JD and coke. Plus, being local, I tend to see someone in there I know and can chat to. Sure enough, I had a brief conversation with a fellow cricketer about the season so far over a couple of drinks and half an hour later, I was in a cab.
Here we go again.
I met Abigail and her friends in Chameleon for what was an incredibly strange start to the night. I got on well with Abigail's friends as I bought a round in, (naturally!), and we danced downstairs to various songs. We were pretty mad, but not as mad as two ladies who were going absolutely mental on the dancefloor in front of us. At one point, one of them grabbed my drink, (at this point, a JUG of vodka red bull which Abigail bought me to help "wake me up!") and proceeded to pour it over my head. Being that drunk however, she only succeeded in tipping the ice on top of the jug over my left shoulder, which was a relief and a half. Momentarily, I was annoyed but almost as quickly as the feeling of annoyance had hit, it was replaced with an attitude of, "it really isn't worth kicking up a fuss about", and we just carried on. The lady had stumbled off in fear of social repercussions.
We went to loads of places on Saturday night. We went to Yates and burned to death in the warm atmosphere before moving on to Hi-Fi which put me off a bit for unspeakable reasons, before Abigail's friends decided to call it an early night. Clearly they didn't have my stamina, as me and Abigail headed off to the only place where you can pretty much guarantee a sociable and enjoyable night. The Barley Mow. Of course. It was a good night as we spent it in the company of an extraordinary mix of friends, both old and new, and danced and chatted the night away until the witching hour. I had forgotten about my tiredness thanks to a mixture of enjoyment and "that" jug of Red Bull. However, as the clock struck 3:15am, the music turned bad, and it was time to call it a night. We walked to the high street, where there is usually an assortment of taxi ranks and a splattering of late-night revellers falling over, with Subway in hand. What greeted us however when we turned the corner on to the main road was absolute chaos. All the taxis, bar a few, were on strike. Somehow, this knowledge had escaped me, so after buying a bottle of Oasis, I got my walking boots on and prepared for the hour long walk home.
It was laughable. Literally. At this point, I did not know that the taxis were on strike for a perfectly good reason, (a taxi driver had been attacked, so all of them decided to stop as their safety was not guaranteed - fair enough), but at the time, I saw it as a bit of karma. "Serves you right for coming out whilst being very tired!" I was absolutely exhausted, but I thought and thought and thought about how well I had done up to this point. When I finally walked in the front door, at 4:11am, (I remember the exact time for some reason), I went upstairs and crashed on my bed.
And before I knew it, the alarm was going off. It was 11am on Sunday morning. The sun was up, and another cricket match lay ahead. We only just scraped a team of 11, against high-flying Clifton who lay 2nd in the league, and I got the feeling that it was going to be a long, long day. We have struggled much more than I had anticipated in the Sunday division, as we lay in the relegation zone before the start of play. Clifton are not renound for their ... Etiquette... Putting it lightly. We've had trouble with them in the past. None of this added up to a good day of cricket.
I was tired. I had slept pretty solidly for 7 hours, but it wasn't really enough. I needed more, and I just knew it was going to be an uphill struggle all day. Losing the toss and being asked to field first wasn't the greatest result either, but needs must. Here goes.
We did well. Very well. Our team - scraped together in the late evening hours of Saturday - were all playing well. We took regular wickets, with only their opening batsman scoring any runs and we had them at a very good 130 odd for 6 before I ran out of bowlers. We only had 4 players in the team who had bowled at all that season, and two of them had used their allocations, another had picked up a slight injury and the other was starting to get very wayward despite a good start. We still had 15 overs left. Who should I choose to bowl?
My mind went back to a saying of my Dad's. "If you want a job doing, do it yourself". And then Hodgy, number 3 batsman and team joker, ploughed into the deliberations, confirming my brief and comical thought.
"You should bowl a few overs mate, get the ball nipping about a bit!"
That was it. I would bowl. For the first time since the beginning of the 2011 season, I had ball in hand. I could feel the slight scepticism from within the ranks. The thoughts of, "Oh, we're now going to throw our good start away" circled the now grey skies in thought-bubble form. My first ball was leg-side, but wasn't called a wide. A dot ball. Positive.
Running up for my 2nd ball, I could not have imagined what would happen. When I have bowled in the past, it has taken me a good over or two to get warmed up. Not this time. As I released the ball, I saw the ball head towards the off-side. That's good. Then I saw it hit the pitch and nip back in off the seam. I then heard the slight noise of the ball clipping the top of the off-stump and then the screams of derision from the wicket-keeper and then the rest of the team as they realised I had clean bowled a guy with an absolute dream of a delivery. I have never seen a wicket celebrated so vociferously.
I had planned on only bowling a couple of overs, but I carried on. In my short spell, I only conceded two boundaries, both of which were outside edges, and bowled no extras. I also got out their opening batsman for 83, although that was more because of a loose shot to cover more than my excellent bowling. I finished off their innings, bowling their number 11 for a duck, leaving me with my one of my best set of bowling figures ever of 4.5-1-14-3. (4 overs and 5 balls - 1 Maiden - 14 Runs - 3 wickets).
Just call me the all-rounder.
We had bowled them out for 162, and Clifton's cockiness had taken a sudden blow as they realised they didn't have anywhere near the runs they had expected. After the tea break, I walked out to open the batting with Ben, pretty confident that we could overhaul their score. The first over of our innings was quite extraordinary. Ben despatched the first ball for a one bounce boundary before following it up with a classy flick through mid-wicket for four more. For being so good, the opening bowler decided to face up to him mid-pitch. It was a scene quite unlike ones you'd see at this level, but more in the most fiery of patches in a high-pressure international match. Nose to nose, words were exchanged before the bowler finally decided to walk back to carry on his over. Usually, I would choose to not get involved, but I was so pleased at our fantastic start that I decided to wade into the argument.
"Don't know about you, but I thought you were only supposed to chirp when you didn't bowl shit."
He wasn't happy. I can't remember what he replied actually, but he bowled the last ball of his over, (a predictable bouncer that sailed way over Ben's head), and trudged to fine-leg. We were 11-0 after 1 over. I got a single run off the next over, against a much more sedate (and handy) opening bowler, before facing the strike against Mr.Fiery for the first time.
One of my weaknesses in this sport of cricket is not reading what the bowler is thinking. It's a tough skill, but I simply cannot get one step ahead of any bowler. I don't have the anticipation of the game to succeed in that remark. However, on this occasion, I knew exactly what was coming. This idiot of a bowler might aswell have just shouted to the whole vicinity that he was going to bowl a bouncer, and sure enough, when I saw the ball pitch short, I rocked backwards and pummelled it for my first boundary. Sure enough, once again, he bounded up the pitch to have a few words in my direction.
"Lucky you got bat on that, or your fucking nose was gonna end up in Kempston"
My reply?
"The ball's gone that way mate. (Points in the direction of my shot). Go and fucking fetch it."
It was quite unlike me. I don't usually use bad language when a bowler decides he's going to try a few mind games, but this guy was a literal moron. His first 7 balls had been hit for 15 runs. Any bowler with half a brain cell would know to keep quiet and maybe try and keep it tight. He didn't. He proceeded to carry on bowling short. I ducked under the next ball, and then guided the next to fine-leg for a single.
"Wanted to get off strike against me then? Couldn't handle the pace!".
"It's called batting mate. Shame your team is just shit at it."
I even impressed myself with that line. Unfortunately, with the score on 21-0 off just 4 overs, the heavens opened. I implored with our guys to get the covers ready and as the rain became torrential, they ran on and did their work as we rushed off to keep our kit dry. The rain was very bad. Without the covers, (that we only discovered we had a few days earlier), the game was off. But 20 or so minutes later, the rain relented, and we were back out there. However, the old-fashioned sheet covers meant that some of the water had seeped through, staining the pitch with unpredictable wet patches, meaning dodgy bounces. Naturally, Clifton tried to find excuse after excuse to not carry on, knowing the game was slipping away from them extremely quickly, but I kept a level head and (rightly) said it was solely the umpires call. Despite the umpires being from our side, (we don't get neutral umpires at our level!), I just knew they were going to be fair about it. Almost too fair!
The game did get back underway, and we were coasting before I lost concentration and drove a ball straight to mid-off. At 66-1, chasing a revised target of 138, I was still pretty confident of victory, but a couple more quick wickets, (including that of Ben's for 47), meant I was quickly quaking in my boots. I could not bear it if we managed to lose this game from a winning position to a bunch of morons. 66-1 quickly became 102-5 and Clifton could smell blood. However, with the pressurising words of the Clifton team ringing in my ears, the heavens opened once more. Once again, we put the covers on, (amazingly, Clifton tried to claim it was hardly raining!), and we raced out to the middle to save the pitch. As soon as we did though, the rain stopped and the players were back out again. I was now umpiring by this stage, with nerves through the roof. We had to win. We had to.
We lost another wicket fairly quickly, leaving us on 111-6. We still needed another 28 runs to win, and with 4 wickets remaining and our recent history of bad collapses, I was absolutely desperate to get over the line. Trying to keep my head on whilst umpiring was difficult. Clifton appealed vigorously for any ball that hit a batsman's pad or any play and miss. My mind went back to my refereeing days as the bowlers and a couple of the fielders posed intimidating statements in my direction, but my refereeing days also taught me to keep calm under pressure, and I carried on refusing their ridiculous pleas for wickets.
Cameron, our number 7 pinch hitter, was somehow immune to the sledging going on around him. I'm not certain he has the brain cells to process it all to be honest, but he hit a monstrous six down the ground followed up by a surprisingly gracious square drive to seal the game for us and I couldn't help but let out a muted, "Get in!" from my spot at square leg. Shaking hands with the opposition was easy, even if a few of them shook my hand a bit too hard, but it was all fine, because we had won. When I got back to the changing room, I let out a not so muted shout in delight. It was a brilliant victory, and ever more sweetening as we had beaten a team we had not enjoyed facing in the past.
The fact remained however that I was horrifically tired. Once the immediate euphoria of the win had died down somewhat, I found myself at home watching the final moments of England's defeat in the Champions Trophy final, contemplating the final item on the weekend agenda - the pub quiz. I could not let my social side down now. Not while I was so close to completing the most busy of weekends.
I was off again.
It was a good evening, even if there was only 3 of us. Plus I won some lemon meringue pie for being crap at bingo. Generally, you can't complain! I got home at 11.30pm, and after a brief stint of catching up on Facebook and Twitter and coasting through a copious number of e-mails, I shut the laptop down for the final time that week, and I smiled.
"Mitten. You're good."
Monday 24 June 2013
Monday 17 June 2013
Cricket Can Be Dangerous
I've been playing this sport for nearly 6 years now. I've been hit on the head by a bowler with a very hard ball, albeit whilst wearing a helmet. I've slid on the ground trying to dive to get in and cut my arm open. I've torn a hamstring and then went on to get a 100. Cricket is seen by many as a largely boring and uneventful sport, where players stop for a cup of tea after a couple of hours and then start again. Players in white clothing, chasing a small red ball to the boundary edge, and repeat. But every now and then, it can get pretty messy...
A couple of years ago, I witnessed a player break his leg on a cricket pitch whilst fielding a ball that was slowly approaching him. It was innocuous at best, as he went down and then stayed down, without any hint of anguish, and announced to the vicinity that he had broken his leg. Sure enough, after walking over, (no rush), I saw his left leg hanging in a weird looking direction. We opened the white gate of our club to let the ambulance in. I imagined this was the last time I would see an ambulance on a cricket pitch.
Oh, how wrong I was.
After Saturday's game was called off after 10 overs due to rain, we approached Sunday's game as our only opportunity of the weekend to impose ourselves on a division that we have hardly set alight this season. It was a tough game, away to Henlow, who had already beaten us once this season, and had managed to hit a mammoth 280 in their victory the week before. The atmosphere was pretty relaxed beforehand as I lost the toss (naturally), and we were put into field. After a comfortable enough first 20 overs, where Henlow had reached 88-2, (after two pretty good catches from yours truly), they then went on the rampage. Punishing terribly bad bowling, they managed to amass another 120 odd runs in the first 11 overs after the drinks break. (They finished on 308 - but I didn't see the final 8 overs for reasons you are about to find out...) As captain, I had pushed the field back to try and stem the flow of runs, although I had found myself at a pretty normal position, closer to the wicket than the majority of my teammates, who were patrolling the boundaries attempting to stem the flow of runs. It was the 32nd over when their batsman, (already way past 50 off an impossibly low number of balls), skied one high into the blue sky. I back-peddled, high in confidence after my two good catches earlier, and attempted to position myself to take a comfortable catch. However, I couldn't quite get back quick enough as the ball just sailed over my head. Now, for some reason I decided to leap backwards and attempt to take a ridiculous one-handed grab over my shoulder. If I had taken it, it would have been the most outrageous catch in cricket history. I didn't catch it. And what's more, I had over-rotated. I had a brief thought of, "Oh shit", before my head crashed into the hard ground below me and my neck went with it, and then the rest of my weight followed on top. I knew those takeaways had been a bad idea...
Ouch.
Severely winded, and in a fair amount of pain, I remember seeing a lot of stars and a pain down my back as I lay completely totalled on the green, green grass of Henlow Cricket Club. Part of me expected to just get back up and run it off, holding my arms up to get air back into my lungs after being winded. Almost like being hit in the stomach very hard by a football. But I couldn't move. I genuinely lay there trying to get up, and my head and neck felt like it was being held down by a tonne of bricks. Is this serious?
Before I knew it, I had many players stood over me, and as I looked up at them, I could only see outlines of people, struggling to make out individuals amongst the stars and the glare of the sunshine which was shining right in my eyes in the position I had landed. I would have moved to avoid it, but I couldn't. At this point, I realised that:
A) My game was definitely over.
And B) I might be in a bit of trouble here...
I think that's what everyone else thought aswell. I overheard that someone had called an ambulance. I just lay there with my eyes closed. "Just relax, this ain't as serious as everyone is making out". I then starting singing R Kelly 'Ignition' in my head, as people gesticulated around me to tell me to keep talking and communicating. I wasn't really interested in that. I just wanted to imagine being on stage in front of thousands of obeying fans as I sang 'Ignition' and a few other songs in my head that happened to be on my iPod playlist from pre-drinks the night before.
It was an awfully long wait. I still couldn't move, and my attempts at trying to were quickly stopped by the surrounding few who hadn't buggered off for an early tea break. The back of my head hurt from where I had landed, and it was probably about 40 minutes until the paramedic turned up. I remember thinking how I was going to go to hospital in the back of an estate car, but then he called for a "proper" ambulance and after another half an hour, I was in the back of it, strapped to a spinal board with a brace around my neck. It certainly looked far worse than it actually was. As Saggers proved as he then proceeded to take pictures to put on Facebook. Muppet!
I'm fine though. I spent a lot of time on that spinal board, which inadvertently makes the pain in your back worse, and then went to a very chilly X-Ray room and found out there was no permanent or serious damage, and then I was allowed to go home, albeit with quite bad back and neck ache. Then I went to the pub! Only me...
It was quite a scary experience though. For an hour or so, I thought I was in big trouble, but it soon occurred to me that I wasn't, as I began joking around with the paramedics, and Saggers who had kindly accompanied me to the hospital, even if he was documenting it on social media! The staff at Lister Hospital in Stevenage, (the closest one to us at the time) were also absolutely superb and as hospital visits go, that was certainly the most comfortable and almost uncomfortable. Comfortable in terms of being paid attention to, and uncomfortable for obvious reasons.
Waking up this morning was pretty difficult as my back refused to function for half an hour, but I should be able to play this weekend. Quite a turnaround if you saw the pictures and nothing else, (one absent teammate thought I was literally dead!)
What is it with me and weekends? Always a story...
A couple of years ago, I witnessed a player break his leg on a cricket pitch whilst fielding a ball that was slowly approaching him. It was innocuous at best, as he went down and then stayed down, without any hint of anguish, and announced to the vicinity that he had broken his leg. Sure enough, after walking over, (no rush), I saw his left leg hanging in a weird looking direction. We opened the white gate of our club to let the ambulance in. I imagined this was the last time I would see an ambulance on a cricket pitch.
Oh, how wrong I was.
After Saturday's game was called off after 10 overs due to rain, we approached Sunday's game as our only opportunity of the weekend to impose ourselves on a division that we have hardly set alight this season. It was a tough game, away to Henlow, who had already beaten us once this season, and had managed to hit a mammoth 280 in their victory the week before. The atmosphere was pretty relaxed beforehand as I lost the toss (naturally), and we were put into field. After a comfortable enough first 20 overs, where Henlow had reached 88-2, (after two pretty good catches from yours truly), they then went on the rampage. Punishing terribly bad bowling, they managed to amass another 120 odd runs in the first 11 overs after the drinks break. (They finished on 308 - but I didn't see the final 8 overs for reasons you are about to find out...) As captain, I had pushed the field back to try and stem the flow of runs, although I had found myself at a pretty normal position, closer to the wicket than the majority of my teammates, who were patrolling the boundaries attempting to stem the flow of runs. It was the 32nd over when their batsman, (already way past 50 off an impossibly low number of balls), skied one high into the blue sky. I back-peddled, high in confidence after my two good catches earlier, and attempted to position myself to take a comfortable catch. However, I couldn't quite get back quick enough as the ball just sailed over my head. Now, for some reason I decided to leap backwards and attempt to take a ridiculous one-handed grab over my shoulder. If I had taken it, it would have been the most outrageous catch in cricket history. I didn't catch it. And what's more, I had over-rotated. I had a brief thought of, "Oh shit", before my head crashed into the hard ground below me and my neck went with it, and then the rest of my weight followed on top. I knew those takeaways had been a bad idea...
Ouch.
Severely winded, and in a fair amount of pain, I remember seeing a lot of stars and a pain down my back as I lay completely totalled on the green, green grass of Henlow Cricket Club. Part of me expected to just get back up and run it off, holding my arms up to get air back into my lungs after being winded. Almost like being hit in the stomach very hard by a football. But I couldn't move. I genuinely lay there trying to get up, and my head and neck felt like it was being held down by a tonne of bricks. Is this serious?
Before I knew it, I had many players stood over me, and as I looked up at them, I could only see outlines of people, struggling to make out individuals amongst the stars and the glare of the sunshine which was shining right in my eyes in the position I had landed. I would have moved to avoid it, but I couldn't. At this point, I realised that:
A) My game was definitely over.
And B) I might be in a bit of trouble here...
I think that's what everyone else thought aswell. I overheard that someone had called an ambulance. I just lay there with my eyes closed. "Just relax, this ain't as serious as everyone is making out". I then starting singing R Kelly 'Ignition' in my head, as people gesticulated around me to tell me to keep talking and communicating. I wasn't really interested in that. I just wanted to imagine being on stage in front of thousands of obeying fans as I sang 'Ignition' and a few other songs in my head that happened to be on my iPod playlist from pre-drinks the night before.
It was an awfully long wait. I still couldn't move, and my attempts at trying to were quickly stopped by the surrounding few who hadn't buggered off for an early tea break. The back of my head hurt from where I had landed, and it was probably about 40 minutes until the paramedic turned up. I remember thinking how I was going to go to hospital in the back of an estate car, but then he called for a "proper" ambulance and after another half an hour, I was in the back of it, strapped to a spinal board with a brace around my neck. It certainly looked far worse than it actually was. As Saggers proved as he then proceeded to take pictures to put on Facebook. Muppet!
I'm fine though. I spent a lot of time on that spinal board, which inadvertently makes the pain in your back worse, and then went to a very chilly X-Ray room and found out there was no permanent or serious damage, and then I was allowed to go home, albeit with quite bad back and neck ache. Then I went to the pub! Only me...
It was quite a scary experience though. For an hour or so, I thought I was in big trouble, but it soon occurred to me that I wasn't, as I began joking around with the paramedics, and Saggers who had kindly accompanied me to the hospital, even if he was documenting it on social media! The staff at Lister Hospital in Stevenage, (the closest one to us at the time) were also absolutely superb and as hospital visits go, that was certainly the most comfortable and almost uncomfortable. Comfortable in terms of being paid attention to, and uncomfortable for obvious reasons.
Waking up this morning was pretty difficult as my back refused to function for half an hour, but I should be able to play this weekend. Quite a turnaround if you saw the pictures and nothing else, (one absent teammate thought I was literally dead!)
What is it with me and weekends? Always a story...
There is a Problem with this Equality Thing...
I got drunk again at the weekend. It started off pretty quietly, yet ended quite well, but the overriding thought from Saturday night lies in the very real thoughts of everyday life. Sorry to harp on about this yet again, (read on and you'll find interesting views), but on 5th June, the Gay Marriage Bill passed its 3rd reading in the House of Lords. With only a couple of inevitable stages to go before it becomes law in the UK, I have to admit, I have a couple of concerns. Not with the principle of equal marriage itself, but instead the conduct of homosexuals in general.
The thought behind the Same Sex Marriage Bill is one of equality. Its the idea of homosexuals being equal to heterosexuals, which is of course right and proper, but whilst out and about on my almost weekly Saturday night jaunts, I did wonder whether this was true or not. Whilst having a few drinks in my local LGBT bar, The Barley Mow, there were a few things that jumped out at me that suggested the opposite of what I, and the LGBT community, desired. Are we really like heterosexuals?
There are many horrible things happening in the world regarding LGBT equality. Only recently, Russia introduced a "Section 28" style law that banned "gay propaganda" and similar things in the country, and homosexuality remains illegal in many others. This is of course abhorrent, and I'm both proud and privileged that the UK possesses the opposite attitude. But the LGBT community is almost demanding equality in this country, yet, at least on the "gay scene", we're completely different. I don't quite know how to put this, but when it comes to Saturday night at least, the difference between an LGBT bar and any other bar or club is absolutely STAGGERING. I hesitate to use the word "normal", but I'll use it to differentiate. In a "normal" bar, you get guys trying it on with girls, as is usual, but it isn't so easy. Many guys have to work hard for it, yet in any gay bar I've been in, you don't have to do anything. One gay guy will walk up to another, and literally within 10 seconds, they've disappeared down each others throats. I'm skirting around the issue. What I'm trying to say, is that gay guys are much easier. I use the word "easier" in the context of, "easier to pick up". They're more promiscuous, more flirty and, dare I say it, easier to get into bed.
I'm sorry, but its true.
I've waited for 7 months to find a time where I can comfortably say that the stereotype is wrong, but I still haven't found that time. When you see gay guys getting picked up so easily, you have to wonder whether there are gay people out there who have it in them to stay faithful, (example later). That's a horrible thing to say, (and obviously, there are), but I've been going to gay bars for a long time now, and they have ALWAYS been full to the brim with guys "trying it on". I hadn't been in the Barley Mow for 10 minutes on Saturday before a guy began to come on to me, and I was thinking, "I haven't been here for very long." ... And before you start thinking anything, no I didn't.
I don't wish to boast, but this isn't a one off. Every time I go to any gay bar, there is always someone who tries it on. You don't see that in "normal" clubs. There's always a few people who are looking, but when most of the people in there are looking around for someone else, you do have to question why people go out... I've always gone out for a fun night of socialising, drinking and dancing. It seems, from my experience, that a lot of the gay community go out to look for a mate for the evening.
I don't quite know how to explain it without sounding bad. I'm going to go into abstract mode, and ask you to use your imagination. When I was "straight", (i.e. I hadn't come out yet), I hardly got any attention from girls. There were a few, sure, but even when people thought I was straight, no one was interested really. Now I'm openly gay, and going to gay bars, the amount of guys around are just ... crazy. It's madness.
Gay guys are promiscuous. There is no doubting that. There is a stereotype going around that gay guys are "easy". I'm programmed to challenge stereotypes. But... I'm sorry, I find it hard to deny this one. I've taken my time to come to the conclusion, but its certainly not false. Not EVERY gay guy is easy, obviously, but there are so many out there who are only looking for one thing. It's extremely annoying. And it certainly damages the fight for equality. Most definitely. A few more reasons why gay people are much more promiscuous:
1) In evolutionary terms, men are naturally more promiscuous. It has always been the case that the men have been the "hunters". When two men are hunting each other, there is almost a mutual agreement there already. You don't have to work for it.
2) The LGBT community have spent their entire lives being judged, so therefore they don't worry about being judged further for appearing "easy".
3) From my personal experience, LGBT bars and clubs have a much more sexual vibe to them. I'm fairly sure the majority of people would agree. For instance, in my local LGBT bar they have "cum shots", "Jake's Juice" and a few other drinks specifically named for that purpose. They don't have that elsewhere. I mean, they even hosted a "Jonny Winters" night there...
(For those of you who don't know what Jonny Winters is, think Ann Summers for gays...)
Homosexuals look for equality, but they do not help themselves. This is a fact.
The most frightening example, (the example that has prompted me to write this), comes from Saturday night and a man in his 40s. No, he wasn't trying it on with me, but he was with someone else and that's a pretty normal sight in this small yet perfectly friendly establishment. I wasn't paying much attention, but some time later, I was standing next to him at the bar and noticed a ring on his finger. Being drunk at the time, I asked him what it was and he said it was a wedding ring. I then asked him one question:
"So is that your husband over there waiting for you is it? What's his name?"
It was a perfectly innocent question, as I presumed that chap was his husband, but it wasn't.
"That's not him", he said before turning away to resume his hunting of the waiting middle-aged man on the other side of the room. I was staggered. This man was wearing his wedding ring out in town and then just openly flirting and chasing another man. Looking around, I saw a lot of other people simply trying to hook up with others. The majority of the people in there were not enjoying themselves, but simply on the hunt for someone to go home with.
It was pretty simple to make a comparison, as we left that place to go to the "straight" Saturday night jaunt, Hi-Fi. It was full of people who were just dancing and enjoying themselves, with very little of this "hunting" going on... Unless you count the chap I met outside who was trying to chat up a girl and tried using me as his mate, "Craig". Yeah, I'm not called Craig...
I don't think I've written this at all well, but I'll leave it as it is anyway. Of course, there are many, many LGBT people out there who are faithful, and don't go chasing anyone with a pulse. But the impression I've got after being out in the open for 7 months, is that the gay way of life is most certainly different.
And "easier".
The thought behind the Same Sex Marriage Bill is one of equality. Its the idea of homosexuals being equal to heterosexuals, which is of course right and proper, but whilst out and about on my almost weekly Saturday night jaunts, I did wonder whether this was true or not. Whilst having a few drinks in my local LGBT bar, The Barley Mow, there were a few things that jumped out at me that suggested the opposite of what I, and the LGBT community, desired. Are we really like heterosexuals?
There are many horrible things happening in the world regarding LGBT equality. Only recently, Russia introduced a "Section 28" style law that banned "gay propaganda" and similar things in the country, and homosexuality remains illegal in many others. This is of course abhorrent, and I'm both proud and privileged that the UK possesses the opposite attitude. But the LGBT community is almost demanding equality in this country, yet, at least on the "gay scene", we're completely different. I don't quite know how to put this, but when it comes to Saturday night at least, the difference between an LGBT bar and any other bar or club is absolutely STAGGERING. I hesitate to use the word "normal", but I'll use it to differentiate. In a "normal" bar, you get guys trying it on with girls, as is usual, but it isn't so easy. Many guys have to work hard for it, yet in any gay bar I've been in, you don't have to do anything. One gay guy will walk up to another, and literally within 10 seconds, they've disappeared down each others throats. I'm skirting around the issue. What I'm trying to say, is that gay guys are much easier. I use the word "easier" in the context of, "easier to pick up". They're more promiscuous, more flirty and, dare I say it, easier to get into bed.
I'm sorry, but its true.
I've waited for 7 months to find a time where I can comfortably say that the stereotype is wrong, but I still haven't found that time. When you see gay guys getting picked up so easily, you have to wonder whether there are gay people out there who have it in them to stay faithful, (example later). That's a horrible thing to say, (and obviously, there are), but I've been going to gay bars for a long time now, and they have ALWAYS been full to the brim with guys "trying it on". I hadn't been in the Barley Mow for 10 minutes on Saturday before a guy began to come on to me, and I was thinking, "I haven't been here for very long." ... And before you start thinking anything, no I didn't.
I don't wish to boast, but this isn't a one off. Every time I go to any gay bar, there is always someone who tries it on. You don't see that in "normal" clubs. There's always a few people who are looking, but when most of the people in there are looking around for someone else, you do have to question why people go out... I've always gone out for a fun night of socialising, drinking and dancing. It seems, from my experience, that a lot of the gay community go out to look for a mate for the evening.
I don't quite know how to explain it without sounding bad. I'm going to go into abstract mode, and ask you to use your imagination. When I was "straight", (i.e. I hadn't come out yet), I hardly got any attention from girls. There were a few, sure, but even when people thought I was straight, no one was interested really. Now I'm openly gay, and going to gay bars, the amount of guys around are just ... crazy. It's madness.
Gay guys are promiscuous. There is no doubting that. There is a stereotype going around that gay guys are "easy". I'm programmed to challenge stereotypes. But... I'm sorry, I find it hard to deny this one. I've taken my time to come to the conclusion, but its certainly not false. Not EVERY gay guy is easy, obviously, but there are so many out there who are only looking for one thing. It's extremely annoying. And it certainly damages the fight for equality. Most definitely. A few more reasons why gay people are much more promiscuous:
1) In evolutionary terms, men are naturally more promiscuous. It has always been the case that the men have been the "hunters". When two men are hunting each other, there is almost a mutual agreement there already. You don't have to work for it.
2) The LGBT community have spent their entire lives being judged, so therefore they don't worry about being judged further for appearing "easy".
3) From my personal experience, LGBT bars and clubs have a much more sexual vibe to them. I'm fairly sure the majority of people would agree. For instance, in my local LGBT bar they have "cum shots", "Jake's Juice" and a few other drinks specifically named for that purpose. They don't have that elsewhere. I mean, they even hosted a "Jonny Winters" night there...
(For those of you who don't know what Jonny Winters is, think Ann Summers for gays...)
Homosexuals look for equality, but they do not help themselves. This is a fact.
The most frightening example, (the example that has prompted me to write this), comes from Saturday night and a man in his 40s. No, he wasn't trying it on with me, but he was with someone else and that's a pretty normal sight in this small yet perfectly friendly establishment. I wasn't paying much attention, but some time later, I was standing next to him at the bar and noticed a ring on his finger. Being drunk at the time, I asked him what it was and he said it was a wedding ring. I then asked him one question:
"So is that your husband over there waiting for you is it? What's his name?"
It was a perfectly innocent question, as I presumed that chap was his husband, but it wasn't.
"That's not him", he said before turning away to resume his hunting of the waiting middle-aged man on the other side of the room. I was staggered. This man was wearing his wedding ring out in town and then just openly flirting and chasing another man. Looking around, I saw a lot of other people simply trying to hook up with others. The majority of the people in there were not enjoying themselves, but simply on the hunt for someone to go home with.
It was pretty simple to make a comparison, as we left that place to go to the "straight" Saturday night jaunt, Hi-Fi. It was full of people who were just dancing and enjoying themselves, with very little of this "hunting" going on... Unless you count the chap I met outside who was trying to chat up a girl and tried using me as his mate, "Craig". Yeah, I'm not called Craig...
I don't think I've written this at all well, but I'll leave it as it is anyway. Of course, there are many, many LGBT people out there who are faithful, and don't go chasing anyone with a pulse. But the impression I've got after being out in the open for 7 months, is that the gay way of life is most certainly different.
And "easier".
Monday 10 June 2013
What The Future Holds
Been a while...
I'm slightly concerned this evening... By a few things. I won't beat about the bush.
1) I think my friends are going to move away soon. For some reason, I thought as soon as they'd finish university, they'd come "home" and find a job in Bedford, but of course, that's nonsense. Some might of course, but the majority are talking about staying in their university cities and finding work there. Or finding work anywhere - not necessarily Bedford. It makes sense when you think about it. Someone said something yesterday, as we were coming home from the now weekly poor effort at the pub quiz, that despite it being the "summer", people just were not coming back. At least not for any length of time. People were staying put, and all of a sudden, it dawned on me that I might lose friends. Through distance more than anything. What happens if all of them stay put?
Of course, people find partners and look to build for the future, and I've just got a horrible feeling that I'll be left stranded. I can only think of a couple of people who don't have girlfriends or boyfriends, and sooner rather than later, they'll be looking to set up a home for themselves and move on. I think to my Mum and Dad, who must have had friends when they were at school and their young adult years. It sounds a tad harsh, but I can't actually think of anyone that I would consider as a "friend" to my Dad. Just today he mentioned seeing "people from school for the first time in years" in the upcoming Golf Day on Friday, and I wondered if that would be me in 20 years time. My best friends becoming, "people from school I haven't seen in years" when I eventually become middle-aged. I don't want that at all.
In my mind, I have visions of going out every weekend with my friends and living it up, but of course, that won't happen for much longer either. People grow up eventually, and I don't want to. What's more, I reckon I'll have a much harder task in finding a partner myself, (less people to choose from first of all), but a whole host of other reasons may mean I'm alone. Sorry for sounding ridiculously pessimistic, but ... You just don't know do you...
2) My job is getting increasingly more boring. I was thinking today, I need something more active. At least more vibrant and social, not just cooped up in my little box all day, on my own. I don't mean "active" as in, "outdoors and adventurous", just more... Busy. People to talk to, things to do, no infuriating customers who you have to be polite to because its "good customer service". You hear of people in these office jobs who spend all day gossiping and chatting. I don't really have anyone to talk to, and slowly but surely, its starting to grind me down. Twitter can only take you so far. Just looking back at my brief working life so far, I've had a good job but with very long hours, a job with a good amount of hours, but were highly unsociable, a job with good hours but I couldn't actually do it, and now a job with an okay amount of hours, and I can do, but with no one to enjoy it with. I just can't find that balance. I even tried a bit of self-promoting on Twitter this afternoon, bigging up my own achievements at reaching the title of 'Manager' by the age of 22, but it didn't really work. Some people seemed impressed, and one chap who I don't know received a bit of a positive as he is struggling with exam stress. Seeing someone who screwed up their exams reach "management" at 22 certainly helped his self-esteem, so that's a plus I suppose. But it didn't really help me.
I put "management" in inverted commas for obvious reasons.
And 3) Usually the saviour of my summers, the cricket season, has all of a sudden become... Uninspiring. I'd almost go as far to say it was slightly arduous. Whether its because I have become organiser-in-chief I don't know, but I'm just not enjoying it this season as much as I used to. Or as much as I should be. Someone has just had a go at me for leaving the benches in the clubhouse, (despite those being the instructions), and I just wonder how much more I have to do to make everyone happy. Sure, the other guys have started chipping in with helping out on match days, which I'm thankful for, but I find myself in a quandary. Two games finish at the weekend, (both of which we won), and instantly, it starts again. Getting 11 players for Saturday. Getting 11 players for Sunday. Seeing if anyone can be bothered to turn up to training on Wednesday. Asking availability and trying to make everyone happy, and make sure everyone gets a chance and making sure we have our best 11 out for Sunday especially. Sometimes it just gets to me, and again, faced with this task this week, I realised I have a lot on my shoulders when it comes to our senior section. And I'm not sure I like it.
Just today, walking to work, I could feel the onset of a bad stage coming on. It's not often I get such strong feelings of oncoming inner torture, but I can most certainly feel it this time. I've just got a horrible feeling that the next few weeks are going to be tough. As I've briefly mentioned, I've got this Golf Day on Friday. I used to love playing in those, so much so that I couldn't sleep the night before, but at the moment, I've got a dour sense of foreboding at the alarm clock going off at 6.30am. I'll just not be able to do it.
I'm not in the best place at the moment, and for some reason I feel horribly guilty about it. This isn't good. What's more, there is the potential for some very bad news indeed that may come my way in the next couple of weeks...
Sigh...
I'm slightly concerned this evening... By a few things. I won't beat about the bush.
1) I think my friends are going to move away soon. For some reason, I thought as soon as they'd finish university, they'd come "home" and find a job in Bedford, but of course, that's nonsense. Some might of course, but the majority are talking about staying in their university cities and finding work there. Or finding work anywhere - not necessarily Bedford. It makes sense when you think about it. Someone said something yesterday, as we were coming home from the now weekly poor effort at the pub quiz, that despite it being the "summer", people just were not coming back. At least not for any length of time. People were staying put, and all of a sudden, it dawned on me that I might lose friends. Through distance more than anything. What happens if all of them stay put?
Of course, people find partners and look to build for the future, and I've just got a horrible feeling that I'll be left stranded. I can only think of a couple of people who don't have girlfriends or boyfriends, and sooner rather than later, they'll be looking to set up a home for themselves and move on. I think to my Mum and Dad, who must have had friends when they were at school and their young adult years. It sounds a tad harsh, but I can't actually think of anyone that I would consider as a "friend" to my Dad. Just today he mentioned seeing "people from school for the first time in years" in the upcoming Golf Day on Friday, and I wondered if that would be me in 20 years time. My best friends becoming, "people from school I haven't seen in years" when I eventually become middle-aged. I don't want that at all.
In my mind, I have visions of going out every weekend with my friends and living it up, but of course, that won't happen for much longer either. People grow up eventually, and I don't want to. What's more, I reckon I'll have a much harder task in finding a partner myself, (less people to choose from first of all), but a whole host of other reasons may mean I'm alone. Sorry for sounding ridiculously pessimistic, but ... You just don't know do you...
2) My job is getting increasingly more boring. I was thinking today, I need something more active. At least more vibrant and social, not just cooped up in my little box all day, on my own. I don't mean "active" as in, "outdoors and adventurous", just more... Busy. People to talk to, things to do, no infuriating customers who you have to be polite to because its "good customer service". You hear of people in these office jobs who spend all day gossiping and chatting. I don't really have anyone to talk to, and slowly but surely, its starting to grind me down. Twitter can only take you so far. Just looking back at my brief working life so far, I've had a good job but with very long hours, a job with a good amount of hours, but were highly unsociable, a job with good hours but I couldn't actually do it, and now a job with an okay amount of hours, and I can do, but with no one to enjoy it with. I just can't find that balance. I even tried a bit of self-promoting on Twitter this afternoon, bigging up my own achievements at reaching the title of 'Manager' by the age of 22, but it didn't really work. Some people seemed impressed, and one chap who I don't know received a bit of a positive as he is struggling with exam stress. Seeing someone who screwed up their exams reach "management" at 22 certainly helped his self-esteem, so that's a plus I suppose. But it didn't really help me.
I put "management" in inverted commas for obvious reasons.
And 3) Usually the saviour of my summers, the cricket season, has all of a sudden become... Uninspiring. I'd almost go as far to say it was slightly arduous. Whether its because I have become organiser-in-chief I don't know, but I'm just not enjoying it this season as much as I used to. Or as much as I should be. Someone has just had a go at me for leaving the benches in the clubhouse, (despite those being the instructions), and I just wonder how much more I have to do to make everyone happy. Sure, the other guys have started chipping in with helping out on match days, which I'm thankful for, but I find myself in a quandary. Two games finish at the weekend, (both of which we won), and instantly, it starts again. Getting 11 players for Saturday. Getting 11 players for Sunday. Seeing if anyone can be bothered to turn up to training on Wednesday. Asking availability and trying to make everyone happy, and make sure everyone gets a chance and making sure we have our best 11 out for Sunday especially. Sometimes it just gets to me, and again, faced with this task this week, I realised I have a lot on my shoulders when it comes to our senior section. And I'm not sure I like it.
Just today, walking to work, I could feel the onset of a bad stage coming on. It's not often I get such strong feelings of oncoming inner torture, but I can most certainly feel it this time. I've just got a horrible feeling that the next few weeks are going to be tough. As I've briefly mentioned, I've got this Golf Day on Friday. I used to love playing in those, so much so that I couldn't sleep the night before, but at the moment, I've got a dour sense of foreboding at the alarm clock going off at 6.30am. I'll just not be able to do it.
I'm not in the best place at the moment, and for some reason I feel horribly guilty about it. This isn't good. What's more, there is the potential for some very bad news indeed that may come my way in the next couple of weeks...
Sigh...
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