2014

 

 

Thursday

Thursday, 1st May

Prologue.
Father Abraham had seven sons.
Seven sons had father Abraham.
And he never laughed, and he never cried.
All he did was go like this…….
Please continue in old boy style until you are comfortably naked.

Sitting pretty in your birthday suit?  Superb, now you are fully qualified to peruse the following at a medium pace!

Thursday – Yes Thursday….

As the participants of the 3rd annual Old Boys Pro-Am golf challenge may testify, there is a fine line between the perspicacious and the imbecilic. The intrepid few competitors of this year’s event proposed an early arrival and with little to no objection, a glorious return to the mean streets of Bangor was witnessed by many a poor student on the Thursday evening.

The plan of action for the short-sighted McIlroy wannabes and Mickelson imitators was that of a civilised catch up over a few light refreshments, followed by a good night’s rest.  Nothing better before letting battle commence on the St Deiniol Golf Club you might think!  Well thinking is not what Old Boys do best.

It was already too late in the game to switch tack with Mr Hoppit en-route from France [an epic journey to be aided by an airport collection from Mr Owen].  Mr Megson – attempting to make up for lost time following a year’s absence – had returned to join Mr Edwards in Oxford, ready for an old school road trip. Mmm Bop and the Lion King I hear you say? Don’t mind if I do….

With Mickey-Mouse watches synced, the grand arrival was something even stalwart Mr Prosser would have been proud of.  Synchronised it wasn’t… but pretty damn close!  Dr Scorch was impressed. And so the story of Old Boys 2014 began to unfold.

Mr Hoppit having hopped, skipped, and jumped his way to Bangor would bring proceedings into play by declaring a man-sized hunger, and demanding the rest of us should stop ‘fannying around’ and advance to the BV to avail of the kind offering of curry from Landlords, Chris and Bethany.  Scram was gratefully consumed by all, and no-one more so that Mr Hoppitt, who at which point continued his annual Old Boys tradition of somehow dichotomizing into the holy Binity.  Cue the company of Mr Sibson, accompanied by Mr Townsend (who was in for a long weekend…).

With cumin-filled guts, Mr Owen took upon himself to risk relieving us of same by instigating various light hearted reminders of “Mr Chairman” activities.  The spectacle of multiple forced shots was strangely well received by several local publicans (including Rascals, who I think provided a tray of free shots. Maybe).  Mr Batley especially would come to regret the events of his evening….

A quiet beginning to the weekend drew to an end with Mr Owen throwing some ‘Oi old bird’ out of the team room where she seemed determined to mount Mr Williams whilst the remaining mathematicians among us calculated how 5 fits into 3. Snug sleeping arrangements upon the 3 beds…. Sleep happened. Eventually.

 

Friday

Friday, 2nd May

Pink!  It’s all about the pink.  When a man deems himself suitably attired for a round of golf, and it isn’t pink, well then it’s just not suitable!  The one exception may be that of Mr Megson, but we shall come to that.  Mr Edwards and Mr Owen donned themselves (in the bright hours of Friday morning) in as much of the aforementioned shade as humanly possible (some might say Mr Edwards resembled George from Rainbow), and ventured down to Mikes Bites for the greasy hangover cure, and stories of how many times Mr Batley had already thrown up.

Bellies full yet again, the boys took advantage of a fine taxi service laid on by the wonderful Dr Scorch (I think we said thank you, but if we didn’t, I’ll take this chance – thanks!!). With Soracha (who already had a secret special detour in mind – all would become clear shortly) ferrying everyone to the golf course we yet again demanded that club open the bar for us early so we could have a nice beer.

Owing to several hangovers, and Mr Megson being old, Mr Edwards having eaten Small Paul and Mr Hoppit simply thinking golf was ‘s@#t’ the decision to hire buggies for this year’s round was really a cunning plan to transport various forms of alcohol.

Swinging (in the non car keys-glass bowl sense) that day was not to go smoothly.  Mr Prosser and Mr Jones (Jonesy) had already broken the upsetting news that they were behind schedule on the A55. With various profanities hurled into the atmosphere, a drink fuelled round commenced.

Mr Townsend displayed great promise in his quest for glory upon the greens, but the wheels would be coming off his wagon fairly soon.  A fine swing would soon diminish to a rather hazardous swipe.  History will most likely never retell of the rather uneventful first three holes, but when the group dissected upon hearing the news of the tardy arrival of Mssrs Prosser and Jones….. Well that is stuff that will live on in the realms of Bangor folklore forever.

The ‘young-uns’ led the way while Mr Owen and Mr Edwards waited for the other pair to appear. ‘What’s that coming over the hill is it a monster…?’ Mr Megson came on a speeding return, where sitting beside him in his buggy, Mr Hoppit appeared to have shrunk and lost all of his hair. On closer inspection, it appeared Mr Reilly (McTavish), an Old Boys stalwart and legend, had secretly returned from his three year Italian exile to grace us all with his presence. Given his insistence that he absolutely couldn’t on any account make it this year (while clandestinely making surreptitious plans with Dr Scorch), no one was expecting that! Best Old Boys surprise for most of us by a long way! Mr Edwards suddently realised Reilly (who had arrived from Italy devoid of any golfing wear) was somehow wearing Edwards’ clothing – how could this be?! SOMEONE had broken into his luggage. Those pesky furtive secret keepers.  Mr Edwards immediately regretted everything. Everything!

After far too many hugs, some whoopin’ and a-hollerin’ (in an American style), some force-feeding of Jaeger (and Baileys!) to the Old Stars that were following us, golf re-commenced. The Old Boys were back, and this year we were hitting it hard!

 

Saturday

Friday, 2nd May

Pink!  It’s all about the pink.  When a man deems himself suitably attired for a round of golf, and it isn’t pink, well then it’s just not suitable!  The one exception may be that of Mr Megson, but we shall come to that.  Mr Edwards and Mr Owen donned themselves (in the bright hours of Friday morning) in as much of the aforementioned shade as humanly possible (some might say Mr Edwards resembled George from Rainbow), and ventured down to Mikes Bites for the greasy hangover cure, and stories of how many times Mr Batley had already thrown up.

Bellies full yet again, the boys took advantage of a fine taxi service laid on by the wonderful Dr Scorch (I think we said thank you, but if we didn’t, I’ll take this chance – thanks!!). With Soracha (who already had a secret special detour in mind – all would become clear shortly) ferrying everyone to the golf course we yet again demanded that club open the bar for us early so we could have a nice beer.

Owing to several hangovers, and Mr Megson being old, Mr Edwards having eaten Small Paul and Mr Hoppit simply thinking golf was ‘s@#t’ the decision to hire buggies for this year’s round was really a cunning plan to transport various forms of alcohol.

Swinging (in the non car keys-glass bowl sense) that day was not to go smoothly.  Mr Prosser and Mr Jones (Jonesy) had already broken the upsetting news that they were behind schedule on the A55. With various profanities hurled into the atmosphere, a drink fuelled round commenced.

Mr Townsend displayed great promise in his quest for glory upon the greens, but the wheels would be coming off his wagon fairly soon.  A fine swing would soon diminish to a rather hazardous swipe.  History will most likely never retell of the rather uneventful first three holes, but when the group dissected upon hearing the news of the tardy arrival of Mssrs Prosser and Jones….. Well that is stuff that will live on in the realms of Bangor folklore forever.

The ‘young-uns’ led the way while Mr Owen and Mr Edwards waited for the other pair to appear. ‘What’s that coming over the hill is it a monster…?’ Mr Megson came on a speeding return, where sitting beside him in his buggy, Mr Hoppit appeared to have shrunk and lost all of his hair. On closer inspection, it appeared Mr Reilly (McTavish), an Old Boys stalwart and legend, had secretly returned from his three year Italian exile to grace us all with his presence. Given his insistence that he absolutely couldn’t on any account make it this year (while clandestinely making surreptitious plans with Dr Scorch), no one was expecting that! Best Old Boys surprise for most of us by a long way! Mr Edwards suddently realised Reilly (who had arrived from Italy devoid of any golfing wear) was somehow wearing Edwards’ clothing – how could this be?! SOMEONE had broken into his luggage. Those pesky furtive secret keepers.  Mr Edwards immediately regretted everything. Everything!

After far too many hugs, some whoopin’ and a-hollerin’ (in an American style), some force-feeding of Jaeger (and Baileys!) to the Old Stars that were following us, golf re-commenced. The Old Boys were back, and this year we were hitting it hard!

 

Sunday

Sunday 4th May – the morning after the big day!

Sunday came, and so did most of the Old Boys.
With a record number turning up at Treborth, and the majority of BOSOM coming along to view in this years sporting prowess, it promised so much.  After getting 27 players stripped and out onto the ruggerball pitch, which was to be home to this years game, Mr Chairman generously donated 5 of the younger players to the student team in order to make numbers a bit more even and give everyone more of a game. This was a decision he would be made to personally regret some time later, while chasing the younger guys around the middle of the park.

The most senior cast kicked off the game, with welcome returns from 2 Old Stars who started at each full back, Mr Reilly and Mr O’Briens annual stint up front being usually overshadowed by the never ageing Mr Prosser. Mr Curtis adopted his all new position of centre half and started well, mainly because nothing was played in the air. A good game was had by all, with no performances worthy of any special mention. For once the Old Boys played as a team (could this be the end of Giddo and Mr Hill?!) and winning what in all fairness was a closer game than the 7-1 victory suggests. All thanks again to the students for hosting the game and getting in the spirit of things throughout. 2014 MVP winner was awarded to Chris Davies for being unfairly better than most of the rest of us.

Sunday evening began with a scheduled meet at Varsity. The older amongst us deciding it was a good idea to opt for solids and subsequently not so wisely opting for dog bowls . The newly appointed chairman began his destruction of the younger generation by pulling out an old favourite – the matchbox game. Utter confusion ensued when exactly none of the rules were explained, nor some of the more classic Mr Chairman rules. Mr Williams suffered immensely when those round the table discovered that Mr Holden was actually good at throwing a matchbox on a table…. Mr Jones made the most foolish request of the night ‘Mr Chairman may I please go outside to answer this call from my girlfriend?’ after refusing this request, and not being allowed to speak to his girlfriend, Mr Jones was handed the new favourite punishment of Mr Chairman, now to be christened shot v clothes race.

Onwards…. Mr Chairman took the crew on to the Yellow Pub (that’s still yellow – one constant in Bangor at least!) where a punishing game of coin stack killer lasted for a good hour, before failed attempts at 21 with an increasingly drunk Mr Holden and Mr Williams were interrupted by the late arrival of MVP Davies. Suitably greeted with another shot v clothes race, he was invited to join the table. Several more guffaws and punishments were handed out, before Mr Chairman put a plan into action. The younger guys were told to behave themselves, respect the older guys and to go and get some food before assembling in the Globe. That is all they were told. Mr Prosser and Mr Jones lay in wait with knowledge of further fun and games.

Waiting patiently around a large table, with a seemingly strange gap left at the head of it where Mr Chairman would usually sit, the table mused to themselves and others about what was going on, and more importantly, why they weren’t playing games. Patience boys, patience! Enter the fray, Mr Jones and Mr Mohican, to lead the table once more in homage to days gone by. Games flowed (nearly) punishments flowed (freely) and a fantastic time was had by all. Except possibly Mr K Williams – who had to run to the toilet to throw up. And take a shit, simultaneously! Quite a feat you might think!  Well for Mr Williams, sadly it could only end in disaster.  Having already spewed all over the toilet, and found him-self in such a state whereas he did not realise such, he proceeded to sit on his own reclaimed dinner.  Quite the mess!

Mr Holden and Mr Williams were left sleeping at the table, and Mr Megson, who seemingly developed the strange notion that nobody would get angry or punish him if he marked his territory by impersonating a dog and pissing on people’s legs. This was mildly amusing until he chose Honorary Chairman Jones as his next victim…it was at this stage that he begged Scorch to take him home, while Chairman Edwards and Mr O’Brien, Mr M Williams went to the BV to clear space for the traditional home of the Sunday Sing Song.

On arriving in the BV, Mr Edwards cleared an area, to be joined by the others with drinks. To our surprise we were soon followed by Mr Megson and Scorch, who had come to retrieve the room-key for poor flagging Mr Megson. Within seconds of being carried into the beer garden (by a significantly less than impressed Dr Socrch) Mr Megson’s third, forth or possibly fifth wind set in, and suddenly wide awake and full of verve, he swiftly began to perform a traditional Old Boys song…solo. Mr Williams tried to join in, but was promptly told to sit down and enjoy the performance. What followed, I can honestly say, is one of the funniest things I have ever seen at an Old Boys weekend. Mr Megson proceeded to sing his own version of Father Abrahams (on his own) in front of the entire BV beer garden. While taking his own shorts off, he tripped himself up and stacked it backwards into a wall. When he finished his song, he hadn’t realised the boys had removed all of his clothing from the area, and were in the process of auctioning it off amongst themselves. Mr Megson was then left with no clothing, but in a generous offer from Mr Chairman, he was donated the sum of £3 and sent back into the pub in order to purchase a new outfit. He returned triumphant in an array of tshirts acquired from the Rugby Old Girls, who I can only presume were sick of the sight of another naked boy wandering around.   Even in such a state the ‘piss-bandit’ was still capable of pulling off some amazing slight of cock.  With some of the Old Boys watching his every move in the toilet he could still manage to leave a trail of piss on their legs. David Blaine has nothing on this guy!

When we were finally joined by the rest of the Old Boys, led by Mr Jones, drinks were purchased and the troops were rallied. For the next 30 minutes, Mr Jones and Mr Davies led the group in a non-stop rendition of traditional Old Boys song, after songs, many of which were completely new and alien to the younger Old Boys and current students. We are all thankful for the PC nature of all of his lyrics…and none of the younger Old Boys and students were so shocked they couldn’t speak for laughing. No, none at all! But seriously – this is why we all should look up to the older generation, and learn what they know before it is lost to the Old Boys.

So continues one of the best Sundays I have had in a long long time at Old Boys. The entire group moved to Paddys for karaoke, where the tradition of Hero was hijacked by the entire team. Tops were removed, chilli vodka was drunk. Memory was lost.

On a personal note from Mr Chairman, this was the best Old Boys weekend I have ever had. Thanks to everyone who attended, and everyone who helped make the charter gala the success it was. I hope to see you all next year!