Which took place on the 26th day of August in the midst of Highbury Park, Moseley.
So it's that time of year again, The Grand Pheasant Championship of 2008 is looming, so here at last is the long-awaited write-up of last year's tournament. Apologies once again for the delay, but speaking as a competitor on that fateful day I was only recently able to come to terms with the outcome. Rhythm were robbed (i.e. terrible - ed.). What follows is an account of events as they transpired, and although I have tried to keep my emotions in check wherever possible, the wounds are still fairly fresh as I'm sure you can appreciate.
The Pheasanteers
L-R: The Sly Duke, The Vagrant, The Butcher's Boy, The Scientist, L'Agent Provocateur,
General Bardot, Le Hareng Rouge, The Refrigerator, Vlad The Impala, The Zookeeper.
Click to enlarge
The hexagon of craig was of little use to us this time round, as several teams of yesteryear failed to qualify. The fact that in order to do so they only had to turn up was neither here nor there, and this commentator suspects that fear of humiliating defeat may have been the primary motivator.As it turned out, they were right to be afraid - the word of Pheasant had spread significantly since 2006, heralding the arrival of the game's first Eastern European entrants, Slovakia. After last year's bitter experience with Murdoch PFC, The Zookeeper delved into his murky past and discovered that his great granddad's aunt's second cousin's (thrice removed) tutor's dog once bit someone from Bratislava, thus enabling him to represent the country alongside the mysterious Vlad.
Also new to the competition were the even more mysterious Bardots PFC. An intriguing prospect hailing from the former Portuguese island colony of Bardosia off the West coast of Africa, the team consists of General Bardot (self-proclaimed Grand Master of Bardosia since 2004) and his terrifying counterpart known only as The Refrigerator. If the game was looking for another Pauls PFC, it had found it.
Twice-champions Les Grenouilles were forced into a lineup change as L'Emminence Grise, stalwart of the French attack recalled to serve the mighty Coq on the Prussian frontier, made way for a tall dark pale stranger.
The Craig
Craig was to occur in the form of a league, whereby each competing team would play each other. Three points would be awarded for a win, one for a draw, and none for a loss. Any similarity to the league system employed by the English Football Association is not entirely coincidental: the annals of history tell us that pioneer pheasanteers were deploying this method years, nay decades prior to its use in the world of soccer.
I digress. The two most successful teams in the aforementioned league would then battle it out for the URPA Cup in a final match.
Perhaps the news of changes in the French camp gave the home nations a boost of confidence, but there was little evidence of this as the reborn Grenouilles kicked off with an easy win against perennial underachievers Melody. By the time the Englishmen had finished waving to their many admirers in the crowd they were 2-0 down and staring at the wrong end of a drubbing. Although they managed to claw back a game it was too little too late and their tournament had started in the same disappointing manner as the last had ended (which would entail that they lost to a couple of unwieldy halfwits, which wasn't the case - ed.).
Next up came the dashing Rhythm. Age only enhances the appeal of this classic pairing (!?) and their arrival sent a wave of excitement around the rapidly swelling crowd (swelling in terms of numbers, that is). Their opponents were newcomers The Slovaks, who swaggered onto the court and looked truly terrifying! Of course those who recall last year's abject performance by the Leatherboys will know that, in the world of Pheasant, image is no substitute for skill. Imagine the crowd's surprise 4 games later when, after some impressive tight volleying, blistering service games and gutteral snarling, the gallant Rhythm had been defeated 3-1.
The Slovaks in action
Normality was restored with Les Grenouilles' crushing victory over the tournament's other newcomers, The Bardots. The latter's choice in headware may have been a tad questionable, but their sheer exuberance quickly earned them cult hero status. However, it would appear enthusiasm can only carry you so far (as 2006's recipients of the wooden twig, The Pauls would doubtless testify), and the 3-0 scoreline was a fair reflection on a one-sided affair.
By this time the gentle rhythm of an afternoon of Pimms and cake in the park had obviously lulled Melody into a trance, as they were trounced 3-0 by the increasingly impressive Slovaks. This was Eastern Europe at its most ferocious and an unfocused Melody buckled under it like a squirrel beneath a sperm whale.
A dejected Vagrant wonders where it all went wrong
The next game saw The Bardots sizing up against Rhythm. With both teams obviously smarting from heavy first match defeats, this started off in a fairly cagey manner, and with neither team wishing to take any chances the first game ambled along inconsequentially until all of a sudden we were at deuce on The Sly Duke's serve. After a smart Refrigerator return and a panicky double fault from The Duke it was game not Rhythm, amid boisterous cheers from the crowd who were sensing a momentous turnaround for the underdogs. Fools. Horrified at losing face in front of so many eligible ladies, Rhythm stepped up their game. Not that they needed too, however, as the The Bardots quickly plummeted to hitherto unobserved depths of awfulness to concede the next three games on the trot and hand Rhythm a much-needed victory on a plate.
The General performs the peculiar Bardosian celebration ritual
(something of a rarity this afternoon)
At the halfway stage of proceedings the table, therefore, was as follows:
Team |
W |
L |
D |
F |
A |
P |
Grenouilles |
2 |
0 |
0 |
6 |
1 |
6 |
Slovaks |
2 |
0 |
0 |
6 |
1 |
6 |
Rhythm |
1 |
1 |
0 |
4 |
4 |
3 |
Bardots |
0 |
2 |
0 |
1 |
6 |
0 |
Melody |
0 |
2 |
0 |
1 |
6 |
0 |
With Les Grenouilles and The Slovaks both needing just one win to all but guarantee a place in the final, the next match was a mouth-watering prospect as they went head to head. A 2-2 draw with no break of serve does not really to justice to the blistering frenzy of balls and buckets which ensued, and it garnished both teams with a mere point and left the crowd none the wiser as to who would finish top.
At the other end of the table Melody and The Bardots were yet to register a single point. That embarrassment was soon at an end for Melody however, who managed to triumph 3-1 over their partners in mediocrity, not that it mattered much to the crowd who were more intrigued by the to-die-for picnic spread brought out by our glorious hostesses.
Feeling refreshed and revived, Rythm (sic: a drummer who cannot spell 'Rhythm'. Words fail me... ed.) and Les Grenouilles delivered one of the games of the tournament. The craig swung back and forth and for a while it looked as though Rhythm might pull off a famous victory and put themselves within reach of the final. Sadly as the pressure mounted, the famously volatile pair had a momentary lapse of friendship and let slip a 2-0 lead as Les Grenouilles fought heroically in one of the greatest comebacks the game has ever seen to earn a place in the final for the third year running. For Rhythm the draw was a commendable result but it left them relying on a 3-0 Bardosian win over the seemingly-unstoppable Slovakians in the final game as well as a 3-0 victory themselves over old rivals Melody, and the disappionted crowd was left to wonder what might have been.
A bemused Les Grenouilles try to hatch a plan to dislodge plucky Rhythm
They of course fell at the first hurdle. Facing a Melody team still inspired by the mortal insult of seeing Rhythm progress to last year's final in their stead, they managed only to hold serve at the second time of asking and lost 3-1, dashing any remaining glimmer of hope. Melody of course were playing for pride by this stage, having performed so woefully in their first two games, and one wonders what they could have achieved if they'd hit their stride earlier. Rhythm were quite inconsolable, and were seen having stern words with one another. Reports that the Sly Duke was heard muttering "You mean I missed Gardener's World Live for this?" into his moustache are unconfirmed.
A looping Melody lob for victory as The Butcher's Boy flails his meaty appendages in vain
Sublime hat-removal by both competitors: young pheasanteers would do well to emulate such skill
The final game of the first (and mercifully only, for residents of Bardosia) group stage saw another punishing display from The Slovaks as they proceeding to wipe the floor with The Bardots shortly before ripping them to shreds, dunking them in the lavatory, casting them aside like a putrid mango and grinding them into the dust with their Bratislavan boot heels (metaphorically speaking, naturally - violent conduct is frowned upon by URPA). This saw them finish at the top of the table as the bookies' favourite and in serious danger of upsetting Les Grenouilles' apple cart.
This is how it ended up:
| Match 1: | Grenouilles 3 - 1 Melody |
||||||||
| Match 2: | Rhythm 1 - 3 Slovaks |
Final Table |
|||||||
| Match 3: | Bardots 0 - 3 Grenouilles |
Team |
W |
L |
D |
F |
A |
P |
|
| Match 4: | Melody 0 - 3 Slovaks |
Slovaks |
3 |
0 |
1 |
11 |
4 |
10 |
|
| Match 5: | Bardots 1 - 3 Rhythm |
Grenouilles |
2 |
0 |
2 |
10 |
5 |
8 |
|
| Match 6: | Grenouilles 2 - 2 Slovaks |
Melody |
2 |
2 |
0 |
7 |
8 |
6 |
|
| Match 7: | Bardots 1 - 3 Melody |
Rhythm |
1 |
2 |
1 |
7 |
9 |
4 |
|
| Match 8: | Rhythm 2 - 2 Grenouilles |
Bardots |
0 |
4 |
0 |
3 |
12 |
0 |
|
| Match 9 | Rhythm 1 - 3 Melody |
||||||||
| Match 10: | Bardots 1 - 3 Slovaks |
||||||||
The Final
And so to the climax of an enthralling day's craig. The presence of Les Grenouilles at this stage will come as no surprise to anyone, but the irresistable rise of The Slovaks from anonymity to the very uppermost echelons of this magnificent sport could only have been foreseen by The Oracle herself and a handful of foolhardy gamblers. Any fears that The Slovaks would succumb to the pressure were soon allayed, and their refusal to go quietly into the gathering dusk made the 2007 final one of the all-time classics.
Craig gets underway in the 2007 Final
After winning the toss Les Grenouilles elected to serve first and The Slovaks, receiving at the Railway End, held their own admirably against L'Agent Provocateur's onslaught until 40-30 when a remarkably silly unforced demolishment by The Zookeeper resulted in game not The Slovaks.
A sheepish-looking Zookeeper rues a costly error
Angered by his compatriot's mistake, Vlad wielded his serve like an iron rod and bludgeoned Les Grenouilles into submission to level the tie. However, his raging demeanour was adjudged to be rather unseemly by some, and stand-in adjudicator The Vagrant (the Umpire at this stage was tucking into a slice of victoria sponge) was left with little option but to award two silliness points as The Slovak deliberately struck the fence in celebration (below).
Visibly affected by such ungentlemanly behaviour, Le Hareng Rouge allowed his serve to be broken which handed the Slovaks the lead at a crucial stage. Could this be it? The title finally wrestled from French clutches? The crowd certainly thought so and were quite vociferous in their support of The Zookeeper as he stepped up to serve for the championship. Clearly one should never write off the French however, as they played their little Gallic hearts out to make another enthralling comeback, break serve back and set the game up for a thrilling finale at 2-2.
All eyes were on the florin spinning above the fence. It landed. Tails. Slovakia to serve. Cue a brief conversation conducted in harsh whispers and clearly charged with emotion. The Zookeeper emerged with the ball despite having only just lost his service game, which raised a few eyebrows and caused his comrade to glare sulkily in the direction of their opponents (mind you, he'd been doing that all afternooon anyway). Two blistering aces later The Slovaks were cruising at 30-0, but in an incredible turn of events a double fault and double demolishment on the next service flipped the scoreline to 0-30. The French needed no more invitation than this and a delicious drop volley saw the Eastern Europeans stranded on the baseline and on the brink of annihilation at 0-40. A vintage rally ensued for the final point, with The Slovaks clearly aiming for a Barnaby bonus to try to salvage some points and mount a fight back, but the French were equal to every attempted thrust until a desperate lunge from Vald The Imapala sent the tablet wide and The French into raptures. The Zookeeper sank to his knees in despair and Vlad aimed a torrent of abuse at his team mate. If the match hadn't already finished The Vagrant would probably have given a third silliness penalty but there seemed little point in aggravating him further.
The wooden twig recipeints present the trophy to the victors, while The Refrigerator makes some tactical rearrangements
For the newcomers it was just one step too far and they fell, deflated into the welcoming embrace of a bottle of Borovicka or some other foul-odoured concoction. For everyone else it was time to reflect on another squandered opportunity to wrench the URPA trophy from Gallic hands. Will they ever be beaten? This year's pheasant tournament is only weeks away - register your team now and try to win back some pride for Dear Old Blighty, or Dear Old Slovakia or Spain or whatever tribe to which you belong...
World Pheasant Championship 2006
World Pheasant Championship 2005
Play pheasant, or be only half alive.
