Grand Slam

Surveying the mass of black vests circling the lumpy field opposite Sparrow's Den near Hayes, Kent I shared Phil Killingley's fear that this was too much to ask.  Not only was Ranelagh trying to win an unprecedented mob match grand slam, four victories in a season, but attempting to do it in the tougher year, with away fixtures at Orion and Blackheath Harriers, the two historically strongest clubs.  Still, thanks to captain Phil's phenomenal efforts a large mob had made it over to Blackheath's superb clubhouse on a Sunday morning, unheard of in mob match history - Blackheath have decided that they get a larger turnout on Sundays, presumably the result of the parkrun effect - although it made my journey easier despite having to leave Cirencester early.

From the start line announcements before the two club crys that rang out along the valley, it appeared that Ranelagh outnumbered Blackheath slightly, both clubs impressively turning out over 60 runners, but was the mix sufficient to get enough near the front to get the scoreboard rolling so to speak?  On that initial 800m circuit it didn't look good: second claimer Jon Pepper was already stretching away for Ranelagh but then it was a mass of black vests chasing him down.  (Phil later stated that his heart sank when he saw the initial position profile.)

For those of us in the 'engine room', the domestiques in cycling parlance, all we could do was get our blue vests ahead of as many black ones then let the maths happen.  For me that was difficult: after 40 years of mobs I knew the course but as well as being fearful of my ability to keep going on what is without doubt the toughest course on the circuit, I also had the advantage of knowing about the bottleneck created by a stile after just half a mile, so I started 'fast' purely to avoid a queue.  This worked well and with a modicum of fitness built up from regular easy lunchtime running for a few weeks despite ongoing pain in my hip from my Piriformis Syndrome, I was able to retain my position for the first few miles.  Once the brutal hills kicked in I knew that I would go backwards but it was just a question of ploughing on through the mud, over the stiles and up & down the steep undulations.

The reception along the finishing straight was something I'd never before experienced at a mob: all the Ranelagh top finishers were lined up cheering each blue vest approaching; once I'd done my bit I joined in cheering the rest of the team.  It was clearly nip & tuck but there was a big roar when half a dozen Ranelagh runners finished in line.

Phil and the rest of us were still nervous in the tea room awaiting the result.  Eventually the Blackheath President stood up to announce the final score: with some pauses to stretch out the unbearable tension, he eventually gave the news that we craved, a win for Ranelagh and a first ever grand slam in the 134 year history of the club.  What an achievement and well done Phil and his assistants, magnificent.

Phil Killingley with Blackheath President Dick Griffin
and the famous Pelling-Ratcliffe trophy.

In forty years of churning out four mobs a season, I have never experienced the camaraderie pervading the team in the way that it currently exists.  I've finished in every position from 1 to 44 (except 36, must try to engineer that next winter), as well as some more ignominious ones, but my 47th on Hayes Common will always remain my most important contribution to the club in these wonderful old fixtures.