An “East Midlander” by trade, as part of the new constituency divide Wilkinson has been reassessed and reclassified as a bona fide “Northerner”. He is currently self-employed as a potential lyricist and stylist to Rihanna, following spells as bleach maker, chicken fryer, bet taker, brick layer and a somewhat mysterious 18 months in prison. Wilkinson likes interviews and enjoys the jocularity of feedback, such as “you had very little to recommend you” and “please try again when I’ve left”.
Physical Pedigree Captain of the “worst university football team ever to soil the name”, Wilkinson was one of the legendary back four that conceded 9 goals in 36 action packed minutes. But he’s not just a footballer. Wearing the yellowing whites of Derby Congregational he also scored 1 not out in a losing innings that spanned 37 deliveries, an hour and two pints and a half. Interviewed by the Normanton Gazette, Geoffrey Boycott later described it as ‘the most boring thing since Enya’.
Born out of desire to add one more to the already ample list of semi-casual, highly non-competitive sports teams which he has organised, Stephen ‘Skipper’ Howe elected himself Captain and lead catch-taker of the GreenSox. Earning respect from his team mates, primarily through his insistence that he owns a slip cradle, Howe displays the finest qualities of a true captain. The real soul of the GreenSox, he is always able to rouse team spirits through an eloquently delivered pre- or mid-match rabble-raiser, and altruistically batting himself far too low down the order.
Physical Pedigree Topping last years’ averages for ‘running own team mates out’, Howe displays handsome evidence of classic training with bat and ball, with his trade-mark ‘secret slow one’ being the undoing of many a south London jobbing batsman. Howe’s focus has been on protecting his average, and ‘upskilling’ his leadership and cricket strategy competencies, an area which, according to popular media, still needs more work. After receiving a comprehensive lesson in how to play cricket from the Stockwell Bus Depot Veterans’ 7th XI, the Newton Poppleford and Budleigh Salterton People’s Gazette cruelly noted that, ‘Howe didn’t have a clue what he was doing. He stood dumb in the centre of the park, crippled by indecision about field placements, as both morale and the team’s bowling averages dropped through the floor.’ On a separate occasion Twitter nearly broke such was the callous reaction to Howe’s undeniably gentlemanly, but tactically inexplicable decision to invite ‘that really good batsman’ back for a second go at slogging the Sox’ when the opposition were a man short.
Catapulted as an infant from the Protestant industry of Coventry to the languid puzzlement of the city of Bristol, this good-natured koala of a man struggles to extricate himself from characteristic lethargy on an almost quarterly basis, during which time he may or may not emerge from the 1980s. Gangster-savvy and urban-wise, Formela balances chronic addiction to dairy products with a nigh-on insatiable desire to be doing something else. Undoubted academic and literary abilities occasionally peak through Ben’s languid flat-top, whereby they roll their trousers into their socks, immerse themselves in Eastern European football stadium trivia and high-five the waitress. Predictions of Formela dominating the 2013 batting and bowling averages are greeted with wry-smiles by his parents, who thought he’d be working in a think-tank by now.
Physical Pedigree Legend dictates that prior to a horrific knee injury the FO bowled at upwards of 80mph. Said injury also curtailed promising careers in athletics, football, polo, swimming, surfing, wrestling, tennis, badminton, boules and the Eton wall game, all of which Formela played to a national level. Identified by the Kingston Herald as one of ‘Five elegant mavericks prone to dog-ugly dismissals’, Ben approaches the 2013 season with his burgeoning reputation under threat from growing scepticism that he did hit Marcus Trescothick for four that time. About as safe a pair of Green Sox hands as you can get.
L.R. de Glossop
The team’s Belgian representative, De Glossop, is currently working as a media marketing mogul. This follows spells as a big-burger operative and eating tester for McDonalds and as a freelance N64 consultant. Another aspiring author, De Glossop has numerous poems unpublished, most notably his recent work entitled, ‘Ring-a-ding-a-ling’ (2005).
Physical pedigree: A member of what has since been described as the “worst university football team ever to soil the name”, De Glossop became a double barrelled name on the Muai Thai Boxing scene in Thailand circa 2003. He says he was “attracted to the short silk shorts”. His looks were improved by facial injuries received “in combat” and a seeming unquenchable thirst to get kneed in the face made him a fan’s favourite (that’s one fan). The Pattaya Mail’s headline described him as ‘the new Van Damme – but blimey, only less good at fighting and more Belgian’. There was no room to write anything else.
Long considered a master of the pregnant pause, recent academics have questioned whether Bason’s delayed responses to others’ comments are more sinister than initially assumed. Qualified as doctor of medical terminology, Joe refuses to push his knowledge onto the world, responding to doctor-esque questions with quizzical shrugs, disinterested nail-cuticle discernment or prolonged and vociferous laughter. His three-door hatchback remains one-step ahead of the General Medical Council courtesy of superb judgement on when to leave the city, and a well-meaning face.
Joe was talent-spotted by the Northampton, Abington and Northamptonshire Telegraph at the age of 7, which described him somewhat unkindly as ‘a wild-eyed terror, bearing down on the skittles like an inflamed colt’. His love of sport took him through the entire gamut of tall-positions: centre-back, second-row and serve-volley badminton doubles, before settling into the role of first-change spin king that he has filled with such distinction since summer ’06, when he skittled Bristol University second XI from the pavilion balcony. Whilst the Sox still passionately debate Joe’s medical credentials (to this day preferring to retain the keeper-glove-becladden Nick Piercey as team first-aider), they have nevertheless accepted him as one of their own. Turns it both ways.
George Clarkson was born in Nottinghamshire, the bastard son of the Earl of Sherwood and the social-climbing housewife of a ninth generation coal-miner. Equally at home in the splendours of Newark Castle and the lifeless salt flats of The Wash, Clarkson spent his childhood mastering and then redefining the concept of officer class. HM Government’s Civil Service came on bended knee in 2010, a move bearing instant dividends when in 2011 Clarkson defied the apathy of Ministers to slay the many-headed hydra of ATOL insurance policy, an achievement sufficiently weighty as to obviate the need for future job descriptions. Now an established Departmental gun-for-hire, depicted on the Rail Executive organogram by a Celtic cross (PB6), Clarkson occasionally strays from his subterranean layer to ask terrifyingly prescient questions about the Department’s direct award franchise systems.
On the field George’s metronomic line and length saw him win (2012) and retain (2013) the Bowler of the Year trophy. In 2014 George took to hiding the trophy in grit bins, storm drains and privet hedges across South London, surreptitiously observing the hides for hours until discovery, before sauntering casually towards the finder to claim the trophy. In such instances George would use his passport to verify his identity. George’s passport is held in a silk and cotton pouch of bright turquoise which he affixes to his inner thigh with a silver clasp, cross-stitched into his pantaloons with rigging from the Mary Rose.
Once described by GQ Magazine as having ‘an eye for colour’, North East Somersetshire’s Chris Jones is the bedrock upon which middle order Green Sox batting collapses are laid. When not heaving wildly at medium pace dobbers on lifeless tracks, Jones can be found gliding lithely through Whitehall corridors, insouciantly intimidating rivals with his sartorial panache, or altruistically fixing job rotations on behalf of senior sub-committees.
Physical Pedigree A former Toolstation Western Football League First Division South journeyman centre-half, Chris often draws on past experience by spreading his arms wide and bellowing ‘shape’ at the entirety of the 3rd floor before throwing up gang signs and engaging in elaborate handshakes with pretty girls. The Nempnett Thrubwell Bugle recently quoted him boasting, ‘I’ve got the whole HS2 Senior Civil Service front line in my back pocket’, adding, ‘The only one that keeps me awake at night is Gooding. He’s very direct and attacks the space with pace to burn. He’s got genuine quality and is always a handful at this level. He continued, ‘The hybrid bill should be our priority but what’s important is I’ve already got six new jobs lined up.’
Every man has their price, and for Tom this price is a bottle of St Tropez and a packet of Skips. He is consequently signed up to play for every cricket team in Whitehall, several of the football teams and even enters the odd water polo regatta with his team, The Dynamite Dolphins. He draws the line at Softball though. Winner of the inaugural Tom Newman Taylor Dedication Award, Tom is known to just two Green Sox, and to the others is a fleeting thought, a memory of a time that they are not sure existed. Those that know him are beginning to have their doubts.
Physical Pedigree As opening batsman for St. Winifred’s in the Posh Schools of London League, Newman-Taylor averaged over 50, from one innings, with his trademark blend of flouncy off drives and wispy leg glances. Caught up in the success of his solitary appearance, his mind soon began to wander onto the occupations of the flesh. He developed a year round ‘glow’, grew his hair to resemble his hero, Russell Brand, and surrounded himself with a bevvy of beauties. He quickly found himself dropped down the divisions until he wound up in the Nivea for Men Southern League of Occasional Civil Servants. Reflecting on the rise and fall of his once promising career, Millie Trumpington-Smyth of St Matilda’s Catholic School for Girls said: “hehehehehe – oh yeah, I remember Tommy…I had to scratch that bitch Victoria until she bled to get him to even look at me” Everyone else said: “Who?”
Rav is a professional officer of the Roman army after the Marian reforms of 107 BC. He is an automatic selection for his versatility and dexterity in standing up to the wicket and for his skill in the use of his bat; in short for his expertness in all exercises. He is vigilant, temperate, active, and readier to execute his orders than to speak. In reverence, the Green Sox often enjoy dressing Rav up in armour, military sandals, and a Roman helmet with a big plume of feathers on top.
Physical pedigree Rav’s old man was a boxer. Very slick and he had guts. Number five in the world. That’s not too bad is it, considering he wasn’t really much more than a blown-up light-heavyweight. He used to fight drunk. Pretty good too in a way, but horseshit really. It’s the reason Rav often eschews his bat, placing his trust in his naked forearms to carve fast balls to the boundary, a style described by Wolverhampton’s Star and Express as ‘absolutely bostin yampy’.
A key member of the Green Sox since the club’s foundation, Stewart Agnew has been involved in some of the club’s least embarrassing defeats and has even invented an pioneering unyielding fielding system known as Agnew’s Laps. Raised North of the border, this noble Scot found early fame as cross country runner, unsuccessful Pointless applicant and Lager Enthusiast. The only member of the club to have created his own board game based on the noble code of the samurai Stewart has never won a single match of the game he has personally created. Bravely overcoming his fear of flying, Stewart spent a peripatetic year in China, teaching, exploring, learning and attempting to get a game of Pokey Pokey going.
Physical pedigree: One of the most natural sportsmen at the club, Stewart’s debut for the club witnessed the most sustained bit of counter hitting ever witnessed at Belair Park as he crashed successive sixes back over the bowler’s head, despite not wearing his glasses, not understanding the rules, nor even facing in the right direction. Starting out as the Scottish Chris Gayle his style has since gone full Boycott with his trademark shot ‘The Sentinel’ ready to be deployed if things get a little hairy. A much loved member of the squad, injuries have cruelly ruled him out of appearances in recent seasons but he’s still found time to turn up and play a forty over game in his girlfriend’s pyjamas. When asked to provide comment on this sartorial depravity, The Rotherhithe Advertiser led with ‘Oh my lord, I wish I could un-see that’.
Andrew first caught the public imagination in 1972, when he demanded of the midwife that had just that moment delivered him a full inquiry and lessons learned exercise into just what the fuck he was doing here, how much it was costing the taxpayer for him to be born and wouldn’t it be more efficient if he had stayed where he was anyway. Having explained all this he hunched his shoulders to his ears, blew out his cheeks and said ‘we are where we are’. Raised in the shadow of a petrol station/Chinese restaurant and a highly successful older brother (Cobbler), Andrew is as a result unable to emerge into direct sunlight without a large hat, judicious amounts of suncream, the lingering smell of diesel and chow mein and a full session of intensive family therapy.
Physical pedigree: Andrew has shown good application and early promise as he moves towards the stretching goals that he sets for himself. In 2014 he poisoned two other Green Sox’ minds and bodies with a blend of a powerful and ideologically pure lecture on the causes and consequences of the TfL accounting practice changes of ’08, and pink champagne. He was unaffected by both. Andrew excels at pursuits. A cricketer, Andrew exudes insouciance at the crease to the point that some have even questioned whether he moved any part of his body to play a shot. However he is the Sox go-to man in a crisis, able to dismiss to any passing camera crew the painful dismantling of the top order as merely a product of the bowlers ‘doing their job’ and that ‘to be honest I’d rather they took their time to do things properly than took unnecessary risks with the certainty of winning the game’.
If Dave ‘the Rocket’ Grocott played well every week he wouldn’t be so inconsistent. The lad’s got genuine pace at this level with a simple action that is only a few yards away from producing inch-perfect deliveries. He’s run out more batsmen than you’ve had hot dinners and he’s not too bad in the field either. He singlehandedly won us that game at Isleworth, spends his off-seasons in Malawi sprint training and designing logos, and once injudiciously fingered Steve’s brother in front of the whole squad.
Physical Pedigree: Dave don’t give a fuck. He don’t give a fuck about your average, he don’t give a fuck about your career, and he don’t give fuck his Dad was a copper during the miners’ strike. He rang a Director-General on her deathbed, brought Heathrow Airport to a standstill, and is the proud father of ten piglets that he loves more than anything in the world. The Malawi Nyasa Times called him ‘the most parsimonious British Prime Minister since Thatcher’, yet he altruistically sold his multi-coloured pussy wagon to Bobby Wu for a song. The Green Sox love David Grocott.
Gurshabad Jaspal joined the Greensox as part of the much vaunted youth policy intake of 2016. Known as MC Shittywhistle on the Theydon Bois grime scene, Gursh made an instant impact with a series of lusty blows, flowery mows and a general inconsistency that runs right to the heart of the club ethos. An Essex man through and through, when he’s not being kicked out of The Sugar Hut for ‘deeply, deeply scabrous behaviour’ he can be found attempting to emulate his hero Brian Harvey by running himself over whilst eating a jacket potato.
A fan of lean organisations, Gurshabad joined the growing list of Greensox innovators1, when he developed a system of simultaneous bowling and umpiring, declaring ‘That’s out’, at the end of his own delivery stride and pioneering a form of stand-up comedy that doesn’t have any jokes in it. Gursh also assumed deputy leadership of the nascent Greensox Street Fireworks Deployment Unit in his first season, in addition to his residual moonball responsibilities. When asked by reporters of the Walthamstow Fabricator to comment on the pressure of two high profile roles he responded, ‘Fam, she’s a bonafide bae from the giddy up – tonight I was aiming for downtight and then everything got enfringa and now I’m bare vexed and ting’. On being passed the transcript, GCHQ’s initial response was, ‘We understood the bit about a big bag of daytime flavours and needing to go and have a dance, but we can’t make head nor tail of the rest.’
- See Stewart Agnew’s infamous ‘Agnew’s Laps’, George Clarkson’s persistent use of ‘The Twig’ and Andrew Ashton’s patent late-night-cerise-health-tonic, ‘mind-rotter’.
Young Richard Parker says it will be ‘great to miss more school’ after breaking into the Green Sox first team in 2016. ‘My snapchat has gone mad,’ said the Yeovil teenager. ‘It’s been properly mad, to be fair.’ The lad’s got no fear and takes on shots other people turn down because he’s excited, and, at his age, to be playing alongside his heroes as he is doing is great.
Physical Pedigree: Richard Parker is handsome, sporty, and clever, has a sense of humour, is caring, understanding, brave, gentle, strong, and agreeable. He has golden hair, a wonderful tan, and caramel eyes. Interviewed by the Bucklers Mead end of term newsletter, his school coach described him as ‘average. But he’s got a good team around him now so if he keeps his head down and does what he’s told he might turn out to be fair.’
A convicted felon and notorious thief, Liverpudlian Doherty has previously been self-employed as a shoplifter, cat burglar, swindler, and mugger. With a loving family and privileged education behind him, this young talent has ambitions to diversify into embezzlement, pickpocketry, hijacking and porch climbing. Tom embedded his reputation as a run-stealer in his rookie season, pinching a top score in only his second match, an innings described by The Ham&High as, ‘Larceny. Ugly, ugly, larceny.’
Physical Pedigree: Tom won many admirers after overcoming a controversial hometown loss to Alex Curran-Gerrard in Maghull’s Loveliest Hair 2009 by unexpectedly pipping Mark Hately to the town’s Greatest Calves title the following year. A man with a discerning eye on the extracurriculars, Doherty pens a culture column about life in the capital for Everton fanzine Sticky Toffee Pudding. His most recent filing read, ‘Mate, at the moment, I’ve been deep into London’s cultural heart and influential attrachhhtions. Everyone knows I loved The Lion King but Wicked was different class. Fook me.’
This talented property speculator hoards empty real estate in towns he doesn’t live in, facilitating their decline before selling them on at a tidy loss. He blames this calamity squarely on HR, despite line-managing the Green Sox’s top female prospects, and was once caught pinning his talent manager against a wall roaring, ‘you stupid ignorant son of a bitch dumb bastard. I could’ve been Deputy Tachograph Inspector Secretary if it wasn’t for you. Fuck you.’
Physical Pedigree: A Warwickshire Academy graduate with a massive downstairs area that he once threatened to reveal to the whole squad on the tour to Bristol that we didn’t go on, Fowler is the Club’s Premier Finger Spinner who always takes wickets thanks to his imaginative variations such as the off leg full bouncer trap he sets for silly deep gully corner. Ben also leads the club in mid-air stops and was reviewed in the ECB’s Scouting Review 1992, which reported ‘never in the course of human history has a man scored so many aerial fours nor been awarded so many LBWs in the nets.’ Big arms, big emotions, and a big heart.
Born in Nottingham, Ben ‘Mad dog’ Stansfield, showed academic prowess unmatched by his peers from an early age, mastering the alphabet by his 18th birthday, and managing to spell his own name by his mid twenties. A position as leader of Nottingham City Council surely beckons. Currently CEO of a leading SME, Stanners is solely responsible for dragging UK PLC out of the economic quagmire. He is currently the only member of the Greensox to be given a royal pasting by the Nottinghamshire constabulary for attempted high treason.
Physical Pedigree Second in command of the Greensox sledging unit and a dogged and natural competitor, Ben is the man you want on your side regardless of what the game is, if only to preserve your own tibia and fibula. The last man to challenge him to a game of cribbage is currently under observation at Guy’s and St Thomas’s. He’s kicked more footballs over Peckham railway lines than you’ve had hot dinners, something which the Telegraph Hill Advertiser refers to simply as ‘The Shame’.
Known informally as Derby’s Answer To George Clooney, Mike bolsters the ranks of the Greensox East Midlands contingent. Currently employed as senior lecturer at Kings College London with sole responsibility for management and implementation of ‘The system’, following spells as barman, member of Derby’s most successful band since Alan Bates and premium-value-pringle-delivery-into-music-festivals logistics expert.
Physical Pedigree A cultured and intelligent right back, Mike has plied his trade across many a league, and has never failed to take the opportunity to break his wrist in any of them. Whilst plying his trade at Mickleover Jubillee, Mike claims to have ‘taught Will Hughes everything he knows’. Expect Will Hughes to deploy ‘the system’ any time soon. When asked about Salmon by the Normanton Gazette, Hughes said, ‘Sammon? He’s fucking shit, he can’t pass, he’s poor in the air…oh Salmon..blimey, what a looker. I certainly would.’