As you may be aware Gentlemen, on the 27th of October we witnessed a battle of gigantic proportions. I hope I set the scene for those of you who were unaware of this contest here.
As we entered the Town Crier pub that fateful morning the air was thick with testosterone. We all ordered our first refreshments of the day and settled down to what I believed would be a jovial chat. As usual I supped on my first Guinness of the day and started to read the fine tome that is The Daily Star. As I glanced over the top of my paper I happened to notice Mr Shaw had a scowl on his face. Obviously I could not let this pass. I asked the obvious question:
Mr Millward: “What's wrong mate?”
His face nearly exploded in anger.
Mr Shaw: “Where is that fucker? Who does he think he is?”
I tried to calm him down:
Mr Millward: “Its ok mate. He is probably just running a little late”
Mr Shaw: “Running late…………………………………….RUNNING FUCKING LATE. Who the fuck runs late on a day as important as this? I have spent a whole month in the gym getting ready for this day. Hours spent away from my beautiful, loving Wife and so many missed opportunities with my Daughter.”
I sensed the anger boiling over and quickly grabbed my mobile phone. I quickly searched for Mr Hawkers number. My hands were shaking so badly I nearly phoned one of those 0845 numbers, but that's a different story altogether.
Mr Millward: “Where are you mate?”
Mr Hawker: “I am just running a little late. I will be there in about ten minutes”
Mr Millward: “Get here quickly mate. Shaws about to kick off”
I feel no shame in admitting that as I put the phone down my thoughts turned to my own safety. How was I going to relay the news to Mr Shaw? I could not face it. I ran like a little Hollis/Girl to the nearest empty toilet and hid until I knew it would be safe to come out of hiding.
As I sat on my porcelain hideaway my phone buzzed. It was a text message.
“Where are you? I am in the pub”
It was Mr Hawker. I was saved. That man is a hero.
As I re-entered the bar the mood had changed significantly. Mr Shaw wore a smile as big as a half moon and Mr Hawker was sitting comfortably by the bar. I let out a sigh of relief. But Gentlemen time was ticking away and battle lines were beginning to be drawn. We all downed the last of our hearty ales and ventured outside to get our taxis.
Now I will fast forward 6 hours.
Much alcohol had been drunk during this time and as much as I tried to get Mr Shaw and Mr Hawker to have a game together Mr Shaw would not allow it.
The jibes had been thrown back and forth all day between our two gladiators. Fearing fisticuffs I had to step in several times to calm things down. But then the time was upon us.
We cleared a lane and warned the other bowlers around us that war was about to commence and if they had children with them it would be better if they left.
Strikes came thick and fast. At one point I thought could the impossible happen? Are we going to see perfect game? Sadly I was wrong and as the game ramped up in intensity all the friendly banter disappeared and a feeling of menace descended, smiles disappeared and the laughter stopped. It was at this point that I started to back away. I was not going to put myself in the firing line.
The game was so close as they entered into the final frame that nerves became frayed and the tension finally got to one of our gladiators, Mr Hawker. I could see he was in some kind of distress and as the sweat poured down his face I called a time out. The look of fury on Mr Shaws face had me bolting for the exit dragging Mr Hawker behind me.
We both lit up a cigarette and he relayed his fears to me about loosing. I hadn’t realised how fragile he was. This man of iron was a towering giant to me. He is to all outward appearances a patient man, but inside he burns with a blazing urgency and idealism. This is the man God had in mind when he created man.
To hear him talk like this shook me to my very core. I had to act quickly. What should I do? Then it dawned on me.
I should quote some of Bruce Willis finest lines to him:
“It's time to prove to your friends that you're worth a damn. Sometimes that means dying. Sometimes it means killing a whole lot of people.”
“There's no settling down. Its going to be blood for blood and by the gallon. These are the old days, the bad days, the all-or-nothing days. They're back! There's no choice left. And I'm ready for war.”
“The Valkyrie at my side is shouting and laughing with the pure, hateful, bloodthirsty joy of the slaughter... and so am I.”
“I got you now, ya little bastard. Let's see you hop around now.”
“Aim careful, and look the devil in the eye.”
“Be prepared, son. That's my motto. Be prepared.”
“You can scream now if you want.”
“Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!”
With those words of encouragement ringing in his ears he extinguished his cigarette and marched back to the alley like a man possessed.
As the final frame commenced it was Mr Shaw who was first up to bowl. Three impressive bowls saw him retain his lead. Mr Hawker would have to call up his last reserves and bowl the frame of his life. His first two bowls were wayward to say the least, but he still scored. His last bowl would make or break him. I could wax lyrical about the last bowl but thanks to the wonders of modern technology I have embedded it below.
Mr Hawker you really are the best around.
