The 16th May 1992, a gloriously hot
and sultry summers day. Tong, at that time in the Dales Council First
Division were visiting the lovely Wharfedale ground of Arthington. Like
many dales grounds the cricket field was almost perfectly square being
a donation of a field from the local landowner. Car parking was in an
adjoining field amongst the cow claps (turds/pooh/plops/shit) and offending
animals.
Arthington win the toss and elect to
bat and soon Tong players are scampering in chase of fast receding balls.
One of these was given chase to by yours truly, who in diving (some
say I fell over) to stop the ball managed to damage my left shoulder.
Lying in pain on the ground I was most concerned that the batsmen were
still running, but thankfully realising my predicament the umpires had
called "dead ball". First to me was doctor 'George' Hornby
who immediately set to a diagnosis - dislocated shoulder - so he attempts
to reinsert it. No movement there so he decides that it must be just
badly stained. Fat Boy Rule by this time had made his way to the other
side of the ground - just in case there was some blood involved.
With assistance I was aided to the
pavilion and my arm wedged vertically underneath my cricket 'coffin'.
Play then continued.
After a while Nicky Button's mother
came over. Now she was (and may be still is) a nurse looking after terminally
ill cancer patients and she obviously saw something in my complexion.
Insisting we get ourselves off to the nearest hospital immediately I
screamed my way into her small car (having removed the 'coffin' first).
Now, the 16th of May 1992 was also
famous locally for another reason, Otley Show Day, and where was the
nearest hospital - Otley of course. What should have been a ten-minute
journey therefore took nearer half an hour. Eventually my personal nurse
dropped me off at casualty, having removed my cricket spikes since that
wouldn't have gone down well on the polished hospital floors.
Now any sportsman who has been injured
and has had to go to hospital will know that arriving there still wearing
your playing apparel is testament to a 'self-inflicted-injury'. Sympathy
was therefore low on the casualty staff agenda, and had it not been
for the fact that I was the only client they had (the drunken oafs from
the show not having fallen in yet) I would have gone well down the waiting
list.
Once the nurses had managed to extract
my arm from my Tong shirt, it was fairly obvious that my left shoulder
should not have been level with my left ear - a major dislocation. Whilst
waiting for the largest doctor to become available I explained to the
nurses the help 'doctor' George had been on the field. Once I told them
that he was a dentist there was some discussion as to whether the fall
had dislocated the joint or George had!
The arrival of an extremely large and
athletic doctor was followed by much sweat, pain and bad language -
for which he apologised. Apparently I had just about passed out, but
my muscles were in a complete spasm and therefore the only way they
could continue was to completely knock me out - which they did.
I came to some time later in a small
sideward surrounded by local Otliensians who had started to 'fall' out
of the bars in the show field. Time was getting on but I had been assured
that someone from the club would come and get me at the end of the game.
At just after 8.00pm I recognised the voice of George approaching down
the corridor together with limp gained from the match. The nursing staff
thought that he should have some of his own treatment and offered to
'fix' it for him.
Refusing their offers George helped
me to his car and accompanied this with an in depth description of how
he had gained the team a draw by batting out for 7 runs in a little
over an hour.
I enquired as to where my gear and
car was and he said that we were meeting the rest of the team at The
Fox (remember The Fox?), where he had also arranged to meet a number
of other friends after the game. It was only a short journey from the
hospital to The Fox at Bramhope but when we got there, there was no
sign of my car or the team. Which Fox??!!
At this point I was stood shoeless
in the car park wearing my complete set of whites and sling. Horner's
decides that he will rummage through his boot and finds me a casual
shirt to wear in place of my Tong shirt. Naturally I made quite an impression
in a very full Fox. Drinks and sympathy were heaped on me (excellent
on top of anaesthetic and pain killers) until it was announced it was
my round! Money was leant and I was pointed at the bar with a fairly
large order - thankfully I was fairly well 'gone' by now and though
I remember ordering I don't recall how I got the drinks back to the
group. Perhaps the locals were a little more sympathetic than my 'friends'?
'Doctor' George and Jackie finally
took me back to their house via the local pizzeria and put me to bed
with two more painkillers - I felt nothing for the next 12 hours! Whilst
I dozed arrangements were made to regroup my belongings at my pad in
Rodley, which was an excuse for those gathered to empty my fridge of
any beverages.