Lo! Upon the ancient Roman way,
Ware’s gallant band did ride to fate that day.
Their chariot rolled to Camden's cricket field,
Where sun and fate their judgment would not yield.
The coin aloft did Ware’s hand command,
And thus they chose to strike with bat in hand.

Fair Alex, noble knight of opening stand,
With Sir Steve Price did bravely take the land.
Yet cruel Fortune, that scornèd dame,
Did mock their strokes and foil their honest aim.
The field they fought upon was short and wide,
And arrows struck from Camden’s steady tide.

Yet lo! A warrior from distant shore,
Young Dexter—bold of arm, with heart of yore—
With ball in hand did mark his ware-born name,
Two foes he struck, and won his righteous fame.
Then Sam the spinner, wizard of the pitch,
With twirls and turns their line he did bewitch.
Yet only one he felled—too cruel the score,
While Camden's steel did cut the field with roar.

Sir Jamie toiled, with valiant might he threw,
And Joel's enchantment spun the stumps askew.
But though these knights did battle hard and true,
The foe’s great wrath with willow did pursue.
Each stroke a storm, each blow a cannon’s call,
And many a ball was lost 'mongst tree and wall.
Two hundred thrice less one they did amass—
A mount too high, too steep for Ware to pass.

Act II – The Noble Stand

To arms again! Brave Andy Milton did rise,
With blade so bright it caught the morning skies.
His thirty-three, a song of purest grace,
Till cruel bounce did end his bold embrace.
Then Dom, the calm within the stormy tide,
Did hold the line with patience as his guide.
A flick, a tap, a saving stroke so light,
To spare his wicket from the stumps’ fell bite.

Sir Sam once more did strike with noble flair,
And Steve Price smote the bowlers through the air.
With six and four, he raged against the fate,
Yet time and wickets both would not abate.
Dexter stood once more, a soldier brave,
Though all around him fell to early grave.

Young Jamie, swift of foot, was caught in strife,
A run-out foul did end his fleeting life.
And then—alas!—the final bell did chime,
Their century reached, but lost to fleeting time.

Epilogue – The Tragic Resolve

O Ware! Thy hearts are brave, thy spirits high,
Though beaten down beneath a Camden sky.
The gods of sport do smile and frown alike,
And test the souls who to their field do hike.
Yet lo, next week, another tale shall rise—
Another dawn beneath the cricket skies.
So speak, brave warrior—art thou free again?
To fight for Ware, through glory and through pain?

Welcome to the cricketing equivalent of a midlife crisis in whites: Ware CC, where the pitch is prepped by Julian – our “groundsman”, and I use that title as loosely as his grasp on lawn care. Honestly, the surface looked like it had been attacked by a herd of moles with anger issues. Naturally, we won the toss and thought, “Let’s bat first!” Because why make logical decisions when chaos is on offer?

Opening the batting were Parker and Price – the Morecambe and Wise of Ware cricket, only with less dancing and more swearing. They put on yet another 50-run partnership. Parker chipped in with a mighty 4 – he’s now legally required to bat with a tea spoon – while Price smacked 31, presumably fuelled by the same ego that made him open the bowling later.

Enter Hugh, swashbuckling like a pirate who brought a butter knife to a sword fight – stumped on 20 after making it look like he was auditioning for Dancing on Ice. George strolled in next, batting so classily you’d think he’d been raised in a cricketing monastery. He finished on 21 not out, backed up by Liam (42 runs and possibly half a pint of sweat), Kev (15 – steady as ever), and Sam (also 15, which is either runs or his emotional age on the pitch). Final score? 209. Which is coincidentally the number of excuses Nick Griffin will need for not turning up – more on him later.

Bowling time! And guess who fancied himself an all-rounder? Price again – yes, the man’s got more jobs than a dodgy CV. He took two early wickets, no doubt wondering if he could field at slip, keep wicket, and umpire at the same time. Jack, as always, bowled beautifully and got rewarded with… absolutely nothing. Honestly, the man's more unlucky than a bald man in a shampoo advert.

Then the wickets started falling like British hopes at Eurovision. Dee, Kev, Liam and Kyle (yes, with a “y”, because normal spelling is too mainstream) all got in on the act. But the final blow? Will T – the tail-end terminator. He came in hotter than a Greggs pasty and tore through the tail like it was printed on tissue paper. Honestly, if strike rate were currency, he’d be a billionaire.

And all of this... without our captain Nick Griffin, who was sunning himself on holiday ins