At the age of ten, I opened my favourite ever late birthday present.
My mum came home from work, strolled into the house with a slight spring in her step and told me to help get her something from the car. Inside, I saw a green and yellow cardboard box with 'Drakes Pride' emblazoned over the front – I immediately knew what they were. I ripped open the box and was greeted by my personalised, blue speckled bowls, completed with a chiselled Chelsea badge in the middle – I know, but I was 10, remember?
Fifteen years later, I reached through multiple cobwebs and a hefty spider to drag my old friends from the back of the cupboard and into the sunlight. After eight years of not playing bowls, I issued a challenge to a colleague, around seven desks away from my team. Here is how I – a former county level carpet bowls player – fared against Daily Express digital royal editor and England level international lawn bowler Emily Ferguson.
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First and foremost, I must set out some essential context. At nine years old, I decided to start playing carpet bowls. Inspired by my late grandmother who loved the game, I played with my older brother who was also a skilled player that went on to represent his county. You may struggle to believe this, but there was a brief period in our community where bowls was, sort of, the ‘in’ thing to do in the deepest and darkest parts of rural Essex.
We both played at the Jacks Centre in a small village called Latchingdon, an approximate 30 minute drive from Chelmsford. After one practice session, I turned out to be quite good at the sport. From that moment, I continued playing until the age of 16, juggling it with Sunday League football commitments and summer tennis competitions – bowls was, by a country mile, the sport I was best at.
I came second in a huge tournament called the English Bowls Youth Development Scheme, made a strong account for myself at a national tournament (drew all three matches), won four club competitions and even earned three call-ups for the Essex U25s team.
Were it not for my preference on playing football, I may have earned a lot more. I achieved all of this with the aforementioned same set of bowls I received in 2009. Four educational stages and three professional positions later, I was still using my blue beauties. Could they inspire me to a seismic upset?
Ten years on from my last Essex call-up and eight years after I last cast one of my beloved blue beauties, I was asked to take on Ferguson – an elite level player with an astounding bowls CV.
With three weeks notice, I went back to my club for some much needed practice. I felt strangely confident, as I insisted on playing at an indoor bowls club.
Outdoor and indoor bowls are completely different sports. Indoors, the carpet surface is fast and smooth, requiring you to bowl with more width and less speed. Going from a carpet to a lawn surface feels like you are hurtling your woods down a bowling alley. As well as having to bowl with more speed and significantly less width, you also have to take into account any potential bobbles or mini slopes that may alter the direction. After regathering some form at my club, I was shocked to hear that we would be playing outdoors at Blackheath and Greenwich bowls club – an outdoor surface where Ferguson is a member.
As well as significantly greater talent, experience, and nous, the England player even had home advantage. I protested and told my editor my head would be handed to me if we played outside. His non-reassuring response was: “Paddy, you still have more chance of beating her than anybody else in the company.” For more context, I had only played outdoor bowls once – on a family holiday in Bath, with borrowed bowls that looked and felt like cannon balls.
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Nevertheless, I proudly wore my old Essex shirt, that had been at the bottom of my wardrobe for the best part of a decade, and Ferguson donned her England kit. My Chelsea bowls took on Ferguson's swish, pink and blue speckled woods. I insisted on playing two trial ends before we got serious.
I deliberately put one bowl in the ditch, dropped another short, and aimed to get the other two in line with the jack, so I could get a feel for the green. While I did this, Ferguson casually put all four of her efforts around the jack, forming a bowls bully circle my poor Chelsea bowls were destined for. Then we were off.
The first end began like I envisaged. My first three woods were likely nearer to Stamford Bridge than the jack. Ferguson ominously put her bright pink and significantly girthier woods into the danger zone
What are your thoughts on my performance? Let us know in the comments section below
However, on my final wood, I managed to find the range and width and got it into the mix. It was not close enough to claim the end, but it did cut my opponent down from four points to just one – maybe the gap was not so big after-all? Before the game, my aim was to claim three points in a first to 21 format. This may not sound like much. However, I imagine a county level tennis player would be thrilled if they managed to take even three games off Andy Murray.
As the second end began, Ferguson continued to effortlessly cast her woods into the danger zone and I struggled to even come close. On my final effort of the end, I drifted around her bowls and landed inches from the jack – the end and the point was mine.
Bowls is a sport known for quintessential, British politeness. It’s well mannered, sophisticated, and, at times, agonisingly couth. The other players competing on the rinks adjacent were dressed in white and grey and spoke to each other in an old fashioned soft and polite manner. What would they have thought when they saw me fist-pumping and laughing as I celebrated claiming a point?
The match was only 1-1 and there were many more ends to play. In the next two ends, Ferguson’s quality began to show. She claimed two points and then followed up with two more in the next pair of ends – each shot was close to sublime and almost unbeatable. Whatever sport you play, 5-1 never looks good, but it is a lead which can be eviscerated with one outstanding end. However, this hope was extinguished when Ferguson placed one bowl directly behind the jack and another just to its left.
As I stepped onto the mat, something incredible happened. Whether it was a sense of confidence or unsubstantiated hubris, I decided to gamble by trying to drift inwards instead of firing my wood down the middle like a missile. On my final effort, I exquisitely pushed the jack against her bowl and then onto my own one to claim the end – 5-2. In the next end, I claimed another point with another wonderful drift – 5-3. I then chose to vary the game by casting a short jack. I thought the shorter distance would make the game more similar to my experience on the carpet – I could not have been more wrong.
Before I knew it, Ferguson scored three points in one end and a reachable 5-3 scoreline changed to 8-3. Then, the crucial end followed. I had one wood five inches from the jack and another eight inches away. Unfortunately, Ferguson placed one of her woods in between, slicing my lead on the end from two to one. The same hubris and confidence from end five returned. I tried to knock her second bowl out in the hope I could claim three in one end. If executed right, this was game on. As I released the bowl, I was certain I did it. The pace was perfect and the width looked promising.
Unfortunately, ‘promising’ gets you nowhere in this sport. Instead of taking out Ferguson, I knocked out my own bowl – it turned out to not be the only time to see something in Chelsea blue make things harder for themself. As well as taking out my bowl that was the shot, the sheer momentum from the other one knocked out my third wood. I was one bowl’s width away from claiming three in one end. Instead, I gave her two points. What could’ve been 8-6 turned out to be 10-3. Ferguson kept on placing the jack short, knowing I was struggling. My range and width was nowhere to be seen, just like Chelsea’s form since September 2022. The England player’s national quality was on show. Five ends later, the score was 17-3 in Ferguson’s favour.
Against the run of decently cast bowls, I managed to wrangle a point – with the score at 17- 4. “The comeback is on,” I said with little confidence. Any hopes were extinguished in one end – I cast four awful woods and Ferguson laid down four solid ones. Not only was the comeback extinguished, the game was emphatically ended.
I was disappointed in the scoreline until I realised I was aiming to get three points – I overperformed by one point. As I imagine is the case when any amateur or county player takes on a national star in any sport, the difference is fascinating. Ferguson was not clear and relentless perfection – who is? The divide was not in the manner of our shots. Ferguson may argue, but I awarded myself the measly “shot of the day” prize.
Any bowls player is able to put their wood on top of the jack. What they may not be capable of is the sheer, unstoppable consistency Ferguson displayed. She did not place every wood on top of the jack at every turn. However, unless she was trying to knock out one of my woods with pace, more or less every shot was no further than one yard away. In tournaments I competed in during my youthful days, you could not only get away with two or three poor ends, you could even find yourself winning them.
Against an England player, these bouts of consistency are ruthlessly gobbled up. Out of 14 ends, my performances ranged from great or average. In six ends, my woods were respectable at best and utterly useless at worst. During those six ends, Ferguson racked up 16 points. Despite winning by a devastating 17 points, the England star was not too pleased with her performance on the night. If that was a day she was not too happy with, I’d be petrified to see what a good day looks like.
As is the case with outdoor players, Ferguson’s bowls season is over until the good weather returns next spring. She told me to reconvene for another match at some point in the future. Maybe she is curious to see what I, someone who may have rediscovered their love for the sport, will be like with nine months of playing under their belt instead of four sessions. Or maybe she will have an insatiable appetite to destroy me again. Maybe we will find out.
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