Karl Rand

1. FULL NAME: Nigel Karl Rand (known as Karl)

2. NICKNAME(S): Wilf, Wilfred

3. DATE OF BIRTH: 11 September 1961

4. CLUBS PLAYED FOR: Durham School Bradford University, Nottingham Hospital Porters, Basingstoke, Twickenham

5. TWICKENHAM CC DEBUT: 1989 v. Roehampton (a)

6. BATTING STYLE: RH not as good as I used to be

7. BOWLING STYLE: Maturing into a useful slow bowler

8. PREFERED FIELDING POSITION: Wicket keeper, Short square leg though usually end up at backward point due to my athleticism in the field, or is it just bad captaincy?

9. CAREER BEST / CLUB BEST SCORE: 110 / 106*

10. CAREER BEST / CLUB BEST BOWLING: 4-13 (at school!) / 3 – 24 for the Sunday 2’s

11. BEST TCC MOMENT: Skippering the boys to a win on tour v. Barbados

12. WORST TCC MOMENT: Drinking with Les

13. FAVOURITE GROUND: The Green

14. LEAST FAVOURITE GROUND: Broom Road

15. ONE ITEM EVERY CRICKET TEA SHOULD HAVE: Egg Mayo Sandwiches

16: BEST THING ABOUT TWICKENHAM CC? The complete political incorrectness of its members

17. ONE THING YOU WOULD CHANGE ABOUT CLUB CRICKET? Ensure over rates are adhered to

18. ALL TIME FAVOURITE CRICKETER(S)? Alec Stewart, Shane Warne

19. OTHER SPORTING HEROES? Any Newcastle No. 9, Will Greenwood, Reg

20. FAVOURITE FOOD? Are you taking the p*ss?

21: FAVOURITE DRINK? Alcohol, particularly Marston’s Old Speckled Hen and Single Malts

22. FAVOURITE MUSIC? Sadly for someone who is 46 I still listen to Zane Low so changes all the time. However no-one will ever surpass Martin Fry and ABC – ask me for a rendition!

22. FAVOURITE MOVIE(S)? We Were Soldiers, Kevin and Perry Go Large and Leon

23. ANYTHING ELSE TO ADD? No-one should ever take to a cricket field that hasn’t read the following poem

Vitai Lampada
("They Pass On The Torch of Life")

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night --
Ten to make and the match to win --
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote --
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'

The sand of the desert is sodden red, --
Red with the wreck of a square that broke; --
The Gatling's jammed and the Colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks:
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'

This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the School is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind --
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'

Sir Henry Newbolt (1862-1938)