This year's tour report, gentle reader, starts with a specially commissioned ballad. It was penned by our poet laureate with the aid of her three noble assistants, read on:
Sir Richard and the Curse of Mount Ambrose
At Ambrose on the
mount
The runs we tried to count,
Sir Richard of Eltham
Tried so hard to belt'em
That nought was the final amount.
A
little leg spinner aged ten
Started the rot way back then;
The bails were sent flying,
Which left poor Rich crying
And sorted the boys from the men.
With
Rambo he partnered next year,
And only a leg bye to cheer.
Th score was just one,
Sir Richard got none,
It had happened again - oh dear!
In
2004 Rich went back,
His Nemesis in the attack,
Older and wiser
And pumped up on Tizer
He obviously still had the knack.
By
2006 he was rocking.
A fine captain's knock with much blocking,
He returned to his hell,
It did not go well,
A duck that was golden - How shocking!
A
Ducksman fine and true
Made the air go blue -
We dared not mock
As Richard said "COCK!"
And the total of ducks just grew.
Rich
needn't have made an apology
It's all about cricket psychology.
Of the tour he said "Super,"
Sped home in his Cooper,
And the curse entered Ducksmen mythology.
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This years'special tourist page is awarded to Henry who broke his camping duck in the most magnificent style.