COMPETITION

The great game

Jaspistos

In Competition No. 1773 you were in- vited to write an account of a sporting contest with the title, The Day We Played Mars'.

For the life of me, I can't remember which game was played in Maurice Richardson's original story (printed in the long-defunct Lilliput), but since our team was led by Engelbrecht, the dwarf surreal- ist boxer, the rules and proceedings were probably wildly eclectic. You stuck on the whole to cricket, football and rugby, although one competitor ventured on bowls, and several chose to interpret Mars as the well-known Bar manufacturers. Sporting behaviour of the future was generally predicted as low: 'A naked woman, ranting against Spatial Prejudice, streaked to the Martians' aid, giving the police an excuse to stop the match' and: 'We are disappointed,' admitted Martian captain V. X. Quurkon in his flawless Etonian. 'Things haven't always been like this. I remember when Dan Dare brought a team out here in the Fifties. .

The prizewinners, printed below, get £20 each, and the bonus bottle of Aberlour Single Malt whisky goes to David Barton.

I had sent a copy of our rules on the assumption that these would apply, but now, as I watched the saucer slowly descend, I realised how insular I had been. However, as an overpowering heat enveloped the ground, I forgot such trifles and craned to catch my first glimpse of an alien. What a disappointment! The Martians, out of courtesy to their hosts, had assumed human form. After we had exchanged greetings I

broached the subject of the rules with their captain.

`Yours, naturally,' he answered with a cou1. teous bow. 'We only have one: nothing to eat for four hours before a game. We would consider it a social gaffe if anything were left on the proverbial plate at the Winners' Feast. HappilY we have won all our matches to date, otherwise we wouldn't be playing you, would we?' he asked, jabbing a mischievous elbow into my ribs.

'I suppose you hold the feast at a local hotel?' I hazarded.

'Oh no, the referee leads the losing side into the pavilion and we eat them there and then, while our blood is up. But that's the whole porn; of sport, isn't it?' Thereupon he made towar°,

the changing rooms. (David Barton).

Some eyebrows were raised, I can tell you, when Mars appeared on the fixture list; but when Simpkins explained it wasn't the chocolate people but the planet, the stuffier members were appeased. Fortunately, it was a home fixture. They'd acquired an MCC handbook, so they knew the rules better than us, but they'd no kit. So our batsmen were soon in trouble; couldn't make the little green blighters out in the field, Y'see. And we've no sight screens, so their bowlers' side-armers curling in from around mid-on had us all at sea. Result: all out for 57.

Their reply got off well. Never called for a rim, just seemed to know. Then our lbw's were turned down because they argued all their limbs were arms. Dawkes — the QC, y'know — Pointed out that in that case they'd been bowling Illegally with their legs. So we agreed three of their limbs to be arms and lent them sweaters to Show which. But that left us four legs to bowl at, and the wickets soon tumbled. At 57 for 9 they declared, 'to avoid possible dishonour'. We couldn't find a law against it, so a tie it was. Best result, actually. (Noel Petty)

Interplanetary harmony was the raison d'être, but the whole event was fraught with difficulties. Even as the players emerged, the Pan-Galactic telecasting authorities were insistent that the green baize of our earthly snooker tables be sprayed blue to ensure the visibility of our Opponents' arms. And as for the rules, given that the Martians possessed at a minimum four limbs on their upper body,the concept of 'sing-

les' and 'pairs' competition was open to inter- pretation.

These matters resolved, our team captain, 'Typhoon' Higgins (great-grandson of an emi- nent sporting ambassador of yesteryear), amas- sed a huge break in the opening frame, but with cue ball perfectly aligned to pot the final black a gesticulating opponent sprang to his feet, pluck- ed the remaining balls from the table and proceeded to insert them within a concealed facial orifice. Unfortunately, these were the early days when sporting etiquette had yet to be universalised. 'Typhoon', misconstruing this gesture of capitulation for one of enmity, proceeded to empty his whisky glass over his opponent, pausing only to head-butt the Venu- sian referee before storming from the arena.

At this point the truth of the old maxim, 'sport and politics do not mix', was suddenly brought home to me. (Merrick Moseley) Although half our size, their speed and agility would have been too much for us were it not for their continuous courtesy. Each time one of us made a good pass, for example, three or four of them would run across, vigorously shake his hand and say in their rasping, well-rehearsed voices, 'Jolly good show, old bean' or, 'By jingo, ripping footer, what?' Their research had apparently been somewhat selective as well as slightly out of date. When we scored, they lined up and gave three cheers. They declined to score themselves more than once, kicking the ball at our goalkeeper and patting him on the back when he stopped it. They seemed to believe that what we meant by 'sportsmanship' was simply enjoying the game and being good losers. That evening we watched a Premier Division match on television. Clearly it worried them. At the end their interpreter inquired tactfully: 'First there is time of violence and hatred, then there is spiffing goal when half have quick gleeful shag together and other half is sad. Are you happy here on earth please?' We had no answer to that. Yesterday they returned to Mars. They were as polite as ever about if or when they were likely to return. (Charles Chadwick)

No. 1776: Parish news

Tennyson thought Wordsworth's flattest line was, 'A Mr Wilkinson, a clergyman'. Peter Levi counters with a Tennysonian rival: 'But Dora stayed unmarried till she died'. You are invited to include them both in up to 16 lines of a blank-verse local tale. Entries to 'Competition No. 1776' by 23 April.