It was to be the hottest day of the year so far, and the expectation of a nation was once again assigned to those half-wit footballers who represent our country in the game we so proudly invented.

The Dream

What a day to look forward to. Imagine the scenario: a sumptuous game of competitive cricket, but in the middle we all stop for two hours for pizzas and beers as we watch England cruise into the quarter-finals of the World Cup, having smashed one of our fiercest foes in the game, Germany, 4-0.

To top it off Wayne Rooney hits a hat-trick to start his journey to winning the golden boot and then good old Crouch who’s brought on as a late sub spanks a scissor kick from 30 yards to secure our journey on this momentous world cup story. What a day this was going to be!!

This was surely our 1966 moment. We would be the ones who were there, to be able to tell the next generation what it was like in 2010. Forget about ’66 we could now bore people to death for the next 40 yrs about the ’10s .

The Reality

Mmm. I often wonder why I, and many others, put ourselves through this torment every four years. I say four and not two years because you can never guarantee England will even qualify for the following tournament nowadays.

Anyway I should quickly switch from dream mode to reality in case any of you have no idea what I’m talking about.

The Game

We put our good friends Actonians into bat after their captain had a few words in my ear concerning his team’s worries about us as opposition. We apparently looked keen, fit, energetic and lively. Who would ever have thought the Tabard Pilgrims would have been so described?

Good of him to say so but as Club Captain of this great club of ours I started to feel responsible for the health of their players.

We set the field for the first ball of their allocated 30 overs. Juggs was set at the far end of his run dribbling from his mouth and rubbing his feet against the ground, just like a crazed bull would do before his attempted charge towards the matador.

Juggs piled down his run and – wham bam thank you mam – “Got him!” was the cry as Bumpy took a simply breathtaking catch at gully.

Not really sure if he knew too much about it but well done Bumps for the piece of brilliance we all just witnessed. That is surely a leading contender for Champagne Moment of the Season.

My Guilt

0-1 off one ball! Responsibility and guilt started to play on my mind, and seeing a young lad with a helmet coming to the crease having never played a senior game of cricket before filled me with horror. Juggs was already ready to deliver his second thunderbolt. I felt I should talk to the captain and to ask if he wanted us to slow it all down a bit – you know, less aggressive and all that sort of stuff.

I darted over to square leg, where he was umpiring. Barely registering me he dismissed my comments and told us to get on with it – and how right he was as the youngster proceeded to make a near half-century. What a fool I now felt and that offer of my palm of generosity would now forever be closed to any other side we face.

Our Figures

Our bowling and fielding was pretty fair with Sven coming out top dog with two for 28 off seven.

Our six bowlers all tried their hearts out, but we could only get five batsmen out, and one of those was a run-out.

Ming was involved in the run-out and, boy, did he let us know about it. To be fair he also took a pretty good catch at mid-on but he didn’t want to stop crowing about that one for the rest of the afternoon!

In fact he was so impressed with his ability he also felt it necessary to get on the blower to talk up his athleticism to his lady love, just so he might receive that little extra cuddle he was so obviously pandering for.

A contender for Champagne Moment of the Season? I’ll let those who were there decide.

We completed 25 overs at 2.45, 15 minutes before the moment our great footballers would kick us all to glory.

The Nightmare

Pizza and beer is like strawberries and cream – they go together beautifully at the right event. A chomp of pepperoni pizza washed down by the golden fizz fits perfectly to the backdrop of vuvuzelas and a flatscreen TV watching The Glorious Gland.

Beers in hand we cheered, we shouted and… finally we consoled. When the fourth goal went in for Germany we left the clubhouse in disgust to continue the rest of the game.

How could we be so foolish as to stop a game to watch those overpaid, overweight, unfit heathens!?

Never again, I say – or at least until the next New Golden Generation (what a load of rubbish that is!) make an appearance that gets the whole nation excited. I can’t see it in my lifetime, although I can dream I suppose!

A trifle short

The final five overs were delivered and the hosts completed their innings for a very respectable 161.

Armed with that bitter taste of being dumped out of the World Cup, Edgar and Bumpy strolled out to the middle to execute any delivery as if they were being bowled mini Wayne Rooneys.

Edgar was quick to return to the clubhouse, scoring 11, and was replaced by my good self.

We stuck around for a bit until we all decided it was about time for a traditional Tabard collapse and leave ourselves with a mountain to climb.

Moggie and Juggs were the standout batsmen and got us to the last over, needing 15 to win.

Juggs tried hard but it wasn’t hard enough. His bull-like attitude couldn’t quite get us over the line and was sadly bowled leaving us 11 short.

A day to put to rest

We lost for the second time in a day, which is always a bit depressing. However, at least the Tabard showed some bullish qualities, unlike those certain England footballers who couldn’t produce a lion between them.