Men squash Newcastle and ease to win
UNIVERSITY OF YORK FIRSTS 3 vs. UNIVERSITY OF NEWCASTLE FIRSTS 0
BUCS Northern Conference 3A, Wednesday 4th February 2009
The drama of squash is lost on some people. The smell of the rubber, the squeak of the varnished floor against fleet-footed rubber soles, the metronomic thwack of ball against wall seemingly echoing the throbbing heartbeat of the racket-wielding pugilists. Unlike tennis players, squash players are not divided by a net, but must smell the sweat of their opponents and see just how white the whites of their eyes really are. It is UFC within a concrete cage. One might forgive Joe Normal down the pub for overlooking the beauty of the graceful dance that is squash, but we could certainly not extend this concession to the players themselves. In this game, York’s players were so confident of complete and total domination of their opponents, that they barely celebrated victory, merely greeting it with the predictable indifference that meets nailed-on certainties, such as death.
York arrived late and left early with victory coming off the York Squash seconds production line like a Model T Ford. It was the most routine of routine victories. None of any of the three players lost a game. It was though, a not insignificant match, with first playing second and promotion at stake. None of which seemed to bother the agile York number three Tom Davenhill, as he fulfilled his pre-game pledge of ‘victory or retirement’ by comprehensively mauling Benjamin ‘Ben’ Turnock 11-5, 11-4, 11-8. Turnock was unable to cope with Davenhill’s drop shots, his backhand a particular weak point. Davenhill had guile and agility, Turnock had no answer. In the second set, dejection met scatology as the primal scream of ‘Oh my fucking God’ marked game point to Davenhill, which he accordingly took with a delicate drop shot. It was similar story in the third game, with Turnock’s lazy volley into the tin compounding the gulf in class. Davenhill swaggered to the balcony to greet his harem of adoring devotees to be told that the York number two, Matt Pollen had simultaneously conquered his opponent. He winked knowingly: victory was assured.
Pollen is an enigma, some weeks playing squash, others absent with no explanation and no trace of his whereabouts. His talent, though, can always be relied on. His unprecedented use of the double-handed backhand shocks his opponents in the early stages of matches, by which time he has usually pulled away. Newcastle’s quasi-moustachioed Ward was unable to cope with the depth of Pollen’s shots, walking away with an 11-4, 11-2, 11-1 defeat. Like Davenhill, Pollen was unmoved by glory, simply stating that squash was his ‘meat and drink’ before turning and walking off toward the horizon.
With the result already decided, all that was left was the dead rubber between wunderkind Callum Fraser and Robbie Atkins. Atkins took on the role of the Japanese World War Two soldier, who hid in the jungle for twenty years after the end of the war, unconvinced by the desperate calls of his father that defeat had come.
Fraser is undefeated in all his time at York and was understated, but confident, before his game. When confidence precedes triumph, it is called ‘confidence’, when it precedes defeat it is called ‘complacency’. Ultimately for Fraser, it was confidence. But he seemed threatened when, in the first game, Atkins marched into a 4-0 lead. Fraser had yet to get going and seemed almost to be phoning-in his performance. But he pulled things back, and narrowly won the first game 11-8, without ever really getting out of second gear. In the second game, Fraser really started commanding the T, moving his opponent around at will, wringing anguished cries of despair from the forlorn Atkins who never pushed Fraser out of his well-padded comfort zone. The only emotion Fraser showed was in furtive glances to the balcony, like a gladiator asking Caesar whether his beaten opponent should be spared or killed. ‘Kill’ was the tacit response. Fraser metaphorically followed the command. He cruised to victory, at two points striking the ball off the back wall, more out of laziness than showmanship. The final point of the match was ended when the crestfallen Atkins struck his serve into the tin.
It was then, a comprehensive triumph for York. The players were hopeful that promotion could secure more funding to fix the heaters on the courts, most of which are defective. Then again, York squash seconds are on fire at the moment. When you’re this hot, who needs new heaters?
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