| KEVIN PERKINS | |
Never mind smelling the flowers, don’t forget to take time out to see the satirical side of fishing life and grab a laugh along the way as well. So here’s a regular column from Kevin Perkins to remind us that life is for laughing at, or taking the p*** out of, whenever we can. |
Alternative SportsCricketAH WELL, THE school summer holidays are well under way and those of us with teenage kids will know how easily the little sweethearts get bored because there is ’nuffink to do’. By way of a change this year, rather than try and drag my own teenage son off ‘just’ fishing, I thought we would try some other sporting activities. Recalling my success on the playing fields whilst in the upper forth form, the noble art of leather on willow was proposed as an eminently suitable subject for an alternative ‘lads and dads’ pastime. The requisite equipment was purchased: bats, balls, pads (leg, chest and thigh), gloves, helmets, whites, (ahem) ‘personal’ protection, and several hundred pounds and one very happy retailer later (if you think starting off fishing is dear, try cricket!) we set off to do battle dressed like some modern day gladiators. Luckily, a local cricket club runs a third XI who are in need of our services (or are very, very desperate to get eleven players together, particularly on a Sunday, more particularly when the World Cup is on, and even more particularly when England are playing…..). Anyway, it is suggested that we might like to attend a net session beforehand, just to get our eye in, and to ensure, in my case, that those silky batting skills, demon bowling and cat-like fielding reflexes are still there after all those years. But it’s just like riding a bike, so you never forget, do you? A quick thrash in the nets and it will all come flooding back. After a two-hour mid week net session (with some of the 1St XI players in attendance, in my defence) I had a knee swollen like a balloon from trying to recapture my fearsome bowling speed of old, and evidence of my slightly lax defensive batting stokes was plain to see from the two particularly vivid purplish/yellow bruises I now sported on my torso. Still, copious amounts of strapping around the knee, and liberal amounts of Ralgex applied to a few muscles, which hadn’t seen action for a while (well all right, all over my body!) and prescription strength painkillers taken every four hours meant I would be fit for the big match at the weekend. I would have to say that we did quite well, all things considered. I wasn’t quite the oldest player there, and the youngest was about eleven, so fairly even ability levels resulted in a close match that we only lost by two runs (oh, and about 18 overs) and unlike some of our team I did at least manage to hit a couple of balls before succumbing to a wickedly deflected ball which the opposition’s demon thirteen year old bowler very luckily managed to pitch into a rut by the crease. After our innings was over, and due to my strapped knee, I fielded in the slips, and quickly managed a spectacular one-handed catch, which if it hadn’t already bounced once before it got to me would have had their opening batsman out long before he went on to score a half century…… Then we turned to golf The cricketing adventure continues, I have collected a broken finger on the way, along with a further assortment of bruises, one on the already swollen knee, but my best score is now up to nine, so I am improving, I think. As this only takes up two days of the week (remember this is the school holidays) another boredom buster was sought out, and we turned to golf. A couple of cheap clubs were bought (bank account still recovering from cricket gear purchases) and we set off to the local municipal course for a session on the driving range. This was the first time for both of us, so having picked up our ‘bucket o’ balls’ my son and I set off with some trepidation. Arriving on the tees, I was a little disappointed to see that the furthest marker was ‘only’ some two hundred yards away; I could see me whacking a lot of balls over the fence at the end off the range. Looking back, that was perhaps a little over optimistic on my part. Well, all right, as it turned out, that was a lot over optimistic, as neither of us vaguely threatened to hit the end fence with a ball. The fences at the side of the range, well that was a different matter, they got a damn good peppering. In fact, whilst ‘shanking’ (I think that’s the correct term) yet another ball exactly 90 degrees to the left of where I was standing, I began to ponder about the similarities and anomalies between golf and fishing. To begin with, casting is the most basic premise in angling, we have to be able to get a bait out to our quarry, unless, that is, we are going to be able to somehow persuade the fish to come out of the water and take baits from traps we have cleverly set up on the banks. So why is it that we don’t have access to ‘casting ranges’ similar to golf driving ranges where anglers can practice their casting abilities, whether it be accuracy or distance that we need to brush up on? Then again, can you imagine the amount of egos that will be punctured when certain anglers find out that their imagined 140 yard casts are found to be falling a little way short of that mark in reality (and in some cases a long way short of the mark)? Back to the analogies, golfers lug all their gear around on wheeled carts just like us anglers, except that during the course of 18 holes, a golfer could have walked four or five miles pulling his cart. No angler is going to travel that far from his car in a whole season. Let’s face it, have you ever, ever heard of anyone having to change a tyre on a carp barrow because it was worn out? I don’t think so. And of course, with golf, having booked a slot, you turn up and are guaranteed to get a game, you don’t have to sit on a bank for hours, even days, and end up catching nothing. Plus the cost of a day’s golfing is comparable with a day’s fishing, and apart from the odd lost ball, there are no ‘extras’ that you just have to have when you go fishing. You all know that you go into a tackle shop with the express intention of only buying the bait you need, for your next session, but then, as you’re there, you might as well have a look round. Some new line is always a wise investment, and a few more hooks never go amiss, a couple of weights, and/or feeders just in case, oh yes, and some swivels, not quite sure what size, so best to get three packs of different sizes to be sure. And even as the assistant is totting up your purchases, something bright and shiny on the wall behind the counter has caught your eye and is begging you to buy it. Whatever it is, you just have to have it, but because you don’t want to appear ignorant, you are praying the assistant slings it in the bag and doesn’t ask if you have got the right size/colour/what species are you using it for before you get it home and try and find out what it is. Then there is the clothing; both anglers and golfers are known for their somewhat eccentric tastes when it comes to sporting apparel, the difference is that golfers can go back to the clubhouse and change out of their clown suits before they go home (Mr A Nellist might like to take note). In fact, these clubhouses have lockers, showers, restaurants, bars, in truth, you might not want to go home, and it’s all a far cry from the laughable amount of ‘facilities’ offered to anglers. Hmm…I wonder if I put the (hardly used) cricket gear and all my fishing tackle on eBay I might just scrape together enough to get a set of Callaway clubs…Ahhh, but why that particular make you ask. Well if you think some anglers are tackle tarts, they are positive amateurs compared to golfers and their gear! |
