Wobbling at the Point of Delivery

 In my father’s day the great attraction of bowls was, and I quote:

“Vernon boy, its cheap as chips!”

How times have changed. My father must be turning in his grave up the allotment.

Nowadays lots of clubs have their own different coloured tops just like football teams. Some even change them every other year!

I can still vividly recall the day my father handed me my first white bowls shirt. There were tears in his eyes.

“Vernon,” he said, “look after this it belonged to your Great Great Uncle Ivor. Wear it with pride son.”

He was too choked to say any more. Great Great Uncle Ivor must have been a big bloke because it reached down below my knees. I had to tuck it in my trousers which severely restricted my ability to bend and helped me develop my own distinct bowling style. I believe that was my father’s plan from the start. He was always a great thinker about the game.

Anyway, I became curious about Great Great Uncle Ivor and began asking a few questions. Turns out he emigrated to Australia very suddenly back in the day.

“Transported to a better place,” was how my mother put it.

My father kept strangely quiet on the subject. I think he was a bit jealous of Great Great Uncle Ivor lying on the beach all day drinking the amber nectar and eyeing up Aussie beauties in bikinis (if Harry/Harriete from Maerdy is reading this I mean real girls mind).

Talking about Australia they take their bowls very seriously over there, too seriously if you ask me. Have a look at this video made by John Patrick Tiplady discussing appropriate clothing for lawn bowls, sounds too bleeding expensive for my liking. Afterwards I’ll tell you how to get your hands on some cheap clobber while performing a delicate social function at the same time.

How much is that little lot going to cost then? Here’s a much cheaper option although you may need to buy a copy of the local paper for a few weeks and check the obituary columns. If your luck’s in there’ll be a couple of suitable entries. After all, none of us are getting any younger are we, especially us bowlers. Now you have two options:

1.     Trawl the local charity shops until suitable items of clothing and equipment surface. This is the tactic preferred by one of our members known affectionately as ‘Lefty’. He has been so successful that most of us are wearing and using recycled clothing and equipment. Jealous of our capacity to survive in times of economic austerity some of our opponents refer to us as ‘Deadwood Bowls Club’. We rise above such petty remarks.

2.     Make direct contact. It is always neighbourly to offer our condolences when a fellow bowler passes on to that Great Rink in the Sky. I always phone to offer mine to the grieving widow concerned (too be honest a few of them don’t always sound that grieving). Tact is all important in these situations. I usually say: “Sorry to hear about your loss Mrs Doe, John was one of our best players. What size shoes was he by the way?” At this point, overcome by emotion and touched by my concern many bereaved spouses simply put down the phone. Best to give them a couple of days before trying again.

I don’t know what kind of club Mr Tiplady is a member of but apparently a lot of breeding goes on behind the scenes. He didn’t mention what kind of breeding though. Nothing like what goes on behind our local Youth Club I hope. One of our members breeds pigeons and another breeds ferrets but I think it’s going a step to far to try and breed champions. Tampering with peoples genes is not natural. No good will come of it mark my words. 

Another thing Mr Tiplady went on about in his video was the need to wear protection against the sun. You can tell that video wasn’t made in Wales. Welsh bowlers spend half the time in wet suits wiping their glasses and slipping off the mat. On one particularly wet day last summer my Lead and Second did a passable impression of Torvil and Dean before disappearing over the banking. We’re more likely to get dry rot than melanomas. It might be alright wearing flat shoes in sunny Australia but in Penypont you need something with a bit more purchase.

Mr Tiplady would never succeed in getting some of our members to stop “wobbling at the point of delivery”. Raymond tells me the severity of the wobble is directly related to the number of beers consumed in the pub beforehand. It’s a wonder most of our bowlers can remain upright for the duration of the game. We had one who was particularly prone to adopting the horizontal position when attempting to deliver his wood. I recall one very embarrassing occasion that probably cost me a call up to the Welsh Veterans Squad.

As a top skip me and three of the boys had been selected as a rink to represent our club in a County match against a visiting team from Worcestershire. I knew we had a problem when I saw who they’d chosen for Lead. Herbie's nickname was ‘Horizontal Herbie’ and that should tell you all you need to know. To make matters worse the game was played in a club that had its own bar. Prising Herbie away from the bar was like trying to winkle a muscle out of its shell. I was all for dropping him in a vat of boiling water but we didn’t have one handy.

We eventually manoeuvred him unsteadily onto the green. He didn’t just wobble at the point of delivery he lurched so violently from side to side that two of the opposition began displaying symptoms of sea sickness. It was then I realised our fatal error. The selectors always made sure that whoever played Second to Herbie was young, fit and strong because they would have to hang onto Herbie’s leather belt to stop him hitting the floor after he’d let go of his wood. Mog was none of those. After the first end you could see he was struggling. To be fair Herbie is not a small bloke and Mog isn’t exactly Arnold Schwarzenegger. By the third end Mog’s back gave out and he let Herbie go.

Herbie hit the green face first with a sickening thud. The alcohol must have deadened the pain because he got straight back up, wobbled a bit and smiled. Five ends later it was obvious Herbie was going to stay down. Nobody rushed to give him the kiss of life because by now he was reeking of Guinness and had started to dribble. We clustered around him looking for signs of life. After about three minutes he began snoring so we guessed he wasn’t badly hurt. We decided to break early for tea. Hopefully by the time we got back Herbie would have come round.

Our strategy worked. After tea we returned to find Herbie wandering around the green mumbling incoherently. He didn’t answer to his name but he was able to finish the game on two feet. We lost quite heavily thanks to Herbie. He did touch the kitty once but it didn’t count because it was on the next rink. We decided not to stay for a drink afterwards and shepherded Herbie back to the car. He slept all the way back oblivious to the disgrace he had brought upon our club. We propped him up against his front door, rang the bell and drove off quickly before his wife could answer. She’s never liked me, says I’m a bad influence on her husband. There’s only one bad influence on her Herbie and his name is Arthur Guinness.

Before I go I have to mention I am still looking for a proper sponsor for this blog. To be honest I want to ditch Rowlands and his book. I’ve been getting very peculiar looks lately. The other day one of the junior members asked me about Mavis Jones and the incident in the air raid shelter. How many times do I have to explain that I dropped my conker and was trying to find it in the dark? I’ll will definitely have to get round to reading the ruddy thing.

Next week I shall discuss the mental aspect of the game. Believe me I've known a few nutters in my time. See you then. 

Lawn Bowls and the Power of Brylcreem.

Hello again, Vernon Lewis, Top Skip, here.

Today I’m going to explain why:

•  (i) this particular coach thinks using two fingers is acceptable on the bowling green and 

• (ii) how Brylcreem can give you the edge in a tight match.

When I started bowling as a young lad I had to be very careful what hand signals I used on the green. Most of the bowlers in those days were ex-miners with short tempers and no sense of humour. Hard to believe now but back then I was a bit naïve and thought everything my father did was universally acceptable practice. 

The game against Wattstown proved it was not.

The Wattstown boys were always a touchy lot at the best of times and Saturday afternoon was never one of them. It was the first round of the Carruthers Cup and the score was level. Our rink was the last left on the green and the rest of the bowlers crowded around the edge like they were circling a couple of prize fighters locked in mortal combat. The opposition skip, a beast of a man called Mansell Ketley, was about to bowl. We were holding shot and you could cut the tension with a knife.

My father was our skip and stood behind Mansell as he prepared to deliver his bowl. He looked down the rink straight at me and shook his head sadly just like he did when the bailiff loaded another piece of our furniture onto his van. For a moment I was transported back to our bare little living room staring at the back of the beefy bailiffs as they struggled to get the sofa out through the front door. I raised my two fingers in a gesture of defiance as my father had taught me. A deathly hush followed by a sharp intake of collective breath whistled around the green like an oncoming storm. Mansell slowly put down his bowl and then the storm broke.

I see his purple face looming larger and larger in my recurring nightmares as he stomped down the green towards me. My father bless him, always sensitive about my welfare, covered his eyes with his hands. His was the first face I saw when I regained consciousness. He offered me his hand and pulled me up to my feet. I can still remember the sadness in his voice as I wobbled unsteadily in front of him.

“Vernon,” he said, “we bleeding lost again!” 
Then he turned and trudged forlornly back to the club house.

But I digress. Here’s the video teaching bowlers how to use two fingers so they won’t get clobbered by bad tempered opponents with no sense of humour.

Bit too technical for me, I’ll be showing you a simpler method in a future post

Now here’s how Brylcreem, who would be a brilliant sponsor by the way, can give you the edge in a tight game. Sadly Brylcreem has gone out of fashion since the invention of hair gel. You know the stuff, sort of liquid Viagra for your follicles. In my reckless youth I used to be a Teddy Boy and any kind of Viagra would have been a ‘no no’ in those tight drainpipe trousers we used to have to wear. If your flick-knife ever went off in your pocket you were in deep trouble let me tell you.

For this method you will need:

i) a healthy dollop of Brylcreem smeared all over your hair (which you then comb neatly);

ii) two absorbent rags. It is very important you keep one rag in your left trouser pocket and one rag in your right. NEVER MIX THEM UP.

Now imagine the game is going against you because the opposition is wicking off everything under the sun. After the completion of a particularly depressing end kick the woods back making sure at least two of your opponent’s lands in the ditch. Run you hand through your pre-prepared Brylcreemed hair and sportingly pick up your opponent’s woods with your generously smeared Brylcreemed hands. Now reach in your LEFT pocket and wipe your hands on the clean rag. The next time your opponent attempts to deliver the affected woods they will squirm out of his two fingered grip like startled catfish. Sportingly hand him the rag from your LEFT pocket, he’ll assume it’s Grippo.  

Some of you out there will probably say that I am being unsporting or that there is even an element of cheating in this tactic. I say to you, “All’s fair in love and bowls!”

Now, as I promised, my first video shot by our captain Jack Pryce and produced by Raymond. Raymond says he’s already posted it on YouTube and I could be on my way to celebrity status. Tell you one thing for a start, they won’t get me parachuting into that bleeding jungle!

In my next post I'm going to tell you beginners how to get your hands on cheap clothing and equipment. No it's not that eBay thing although some people will probably whinge about it being it in bad taste. There's always one moaner.
See you in a fortnight.

A Blog About Lawn Bowls

Following the outstanding success of my book ‘7 Top Tips for Top Skips’, which has had over 30 downloads and counting, I have been urged to write a blog. “What’s a bleeding blog?” I hear you ask. I certainly did when Raymond first suggested it. I had visions of a confused Oriental gent lost in Cardiff and desperate for the toilet wandering around muttering, “Where nearest blog pleese?”  For the benefit of those readers who don’t live in Penypont ‘bog’ is a word we use to describe what our overseas friends call the ‘can’ or ‘loo’.

Apologies, I digress, the last thing I want is for my first blog post to be just about a load of s**t. I have to admit when Raymond went on to talk about blog posts my imagination shifted into overdrive. Perhaps Oriental councils are more strapped for cash than we are in Wales but the idea of replacing a public toilet with a post smacked of desperation to me. Imagine having to wait in line behind a couple of staff bulls and a poodle when you’re caught short on the way home from the club. This was obviously before Raymond explained that a blog post was a page of information posted on the world wide web or internet.

To be honest I didn’t have a clue what he was on about. I think he could see that. He suggested I take a year off bowls and concentrate on writing my blog. Jack Pryce, our captain, was very supportive, a bit too supportive for my liking. “Take as long as you like Vern,” he said, “we’ll struggle on without you for a season or two. The world of bowls needs you.” I couldn’t argue really after the comments I got back from readers of “7 Top Tips for Top Skips”. Here’s just a few:

“Never read anything like it. . . unbelievable!”“ Gwyn Rees (Treasurer Rhondda Indoors Bowls Club)

Is this man for real?” Anon

“Great advice if you’re ever going to play a transvestite or a woman in surgical stockings!” Harry or Harriette (Maerdy, Rhondda)

          "Thank you very much, a GREAT publication."  Warren Miller (Australia) 

“I’ve always been amazed how you handle those big balls of yours Vernon. Now all has been revealed.” Jimmy Sparrow (Ynyscynon BC)

(I’d better explain that this last comment refers to an incident I described in ‘Top Tips Number Two’)

There were other comments but they tended to be on the bitter and sarcastic side. Envy is a terrible thing. Raymond said he was going to make my book available directly from my blog. All I have to do is tell everybody to look up in the top right hand corner and ask them to provide their name and email address – whatever that is.  I just nod as if I understand what he’s talking about half the time. Too brainy for his own good that boy, probably end up inventing something that will do more damage to the environment than plastic bags. I blame whoever helped him with his homework.

My father never fell into that trap. He made sure I was a fit and healthy child. “Vernon,” he would say, “nip up the shop and get me a packet of fags there’s a good boy.” In the winter this was a chore he would make me repeat two or three times a night. Sometimes he would vary the route so I wouldn't get bored and send me down the bookies instead. By the Spring I was built like a greyhound but with severely chapped legs. My mother was very supportive too and always ready with useful advice. “Don’t talk to strangers and don’t chew on your balaclava,” she would say as she pushed me out through the front door. I will always be grateful for the sacrifices they made. Without them I would not be the man I am today.

Raymond suggested I include some coaching videos from somewhere called YouTube and give them my own rating so people will know what’s worth watching and what’s rubbish. He wants us to make our own video, says it will only take a morning, then he’s going to post it somewhere and if we’re lucky it will probably spread like a virus. I told him straight, “Raymond,” I said, “I want to pass on my vast knowledge of the game of bowls not start a bleeding epidemic.” That boy seriously worries me on times. Oxford my arse!

We also need sponsors according to Raymond. Sponsors are business people who will pay to be linked with my blog on account of me being a Top Skip. I did warn him I would not have my good name linked with surgical stockings or any other kind of sexual appliance. This is an educational and motivational blog I reminded him. You know what they’re like at that age, all exploding hormones and acne. To listen to them you’d think they invented sex. “Raymond,” I explained gently, “sex is almost as old as the human race itself.” You should have seen the look on his face. Someone had to tell him.

At the moment our only sponsor is one of our members, Phil Rowlands. One book and he thinks he’s Enid Blyton. My wife Megan has started reading it. To be honest she’s getting on my nerves a bit. Every now and then she peeps up from the bit she’s reading when she thinks I’m not looking, stares at me, smirks, then goes back to reading the bleeding thing still chuckling to herself. I’ll have to get round to reading it seeing as I’m one of the most important characters. But getting back to the issue of sponsors, what this blog really needs is sponsors with a bit of class, not to mention cash! My vote goes to Brylcreem and Henselite.

Right, I think that’s enough for today. Don’t want to overload your brains with too much information. Next week we’ll take a look at why this so-called coach encourages new bowlers to use two fingers – it’s not what you think. Also how Brylcreem can give you the edge in a tight match.

If you haven’t already read “7 Top Tips for Top Skips” what are you waiting for? Sign up and grab a copy because if you don’t your next opponent definitely will.

Also next week our ‘viral video’ – whatever that means – will be ready, so Raymond assures me. He’s negotiating with Mel Gibson to play the part of me.

See you then.

Vernon Algernon Lewis