Day 11 Gorak Shep - Preparations, Russell Brice and Team Announcement

5am and up with the sun again. The skylight in our roof providing an annoying alarm clock. Immediately my mind turned to whether I'd be picked. The tension of the unknown was killing me.

We were to have a practice session on the pitch starting at 11am, just after Hillary's slot. Within the space of an hour there were several pieces of good news. Simmo, Joe, and Zoobs walked into camp, all looking fit and well, and received a warm welcome. They then walked back out of camp and then back in again after Wes fetched his camera. This was the closest we got to sabotaging one of Wes' shots. A pact was made to not make a noise as they walked in, but realising we'd just have to do it a third time, we shelved that idea. Adding to this was my first sign of solidity around back. I was delighted. Absolutely delighted. And not a moment too soon either.

After shovelling away some Yak Dung off the pitch, we got to work in the middle. Just as we were about to start, we had a bunch of intruders. 30 guys, all wearing one of 2 matching shirts, walked down in a group shouting out Kirt's name. At first I dismissed them as group trekkers. They were a group alright, but from Himex, the most respected Everest guiding company in the world. Himex is run by climbing legend Russell Brice, an affable Kiwi who has built a reputation as the most respected climber in the world. In tow, were the Discovery Channel, filming the third series of 'Beyond Everest', which follows the Himex crew and the clients attempting a summit of Everest each year. Whilst other guides will take on just about anybody who can strap on a crampon, Russell restricts his clients to those who have experience of summiting above 8000metres. Russell had caught wind of our record attempt and had organised a friendly rumble. He came down with all his players (Westerners vs Sherpa's), and announced that his official sponsor - The Mountain Corrupt Corporation - was sponsoring an attempt on the record for a game of cricket at Camp 2 on the Western Cwm of Everest, a full 1235 metres higher than Gorak Shep. He issued as with a formal letter challenging us to a knockout tournament. It was all in good fun, jokes were shared along the lines of 'can you let us have the world record for more than 7 days please?' - Russell handed over a bottle of whiskey to Glen and Haydn for a post-match drink, and clearly revelling in it, gave an interview to Mark for ITV. I had a good chat with a client of his by the name of Valerio (whose blog on the day, and his summit attempt, is here). From the corner of my eye I noticed that one of the Sherpa's that was with them was the centre of attention to all the guys around him, almost sensing this, Valerio introduced him as Phurba Tashi, the Himex sirdar. Phurba seemed happy to sit back and watch the commotion from a distance. In actual fact (all going well), the man will soon enter legendary status by overtaking Apa Sherpa to claim the record for most amount of Summit's of Everest, which currently sits at 18.

All in all, it was an honour to meet Russell, Phurba, Valerio and their crew. They later hosted a couple of our guys in their stunning base camp hangout, and shared a beer and a story in confines that are normally off limits to non-Himex members.

After that, it was back to business. Joe Williams, who had earlier confessed to shedding a couple of tears after receiving some false information that the game was being played that day and that he would miss out, brushed aside any doubts about his health by banging balls out of the plateau like he was playing a real-life game of stickcricket. He made batting look easy on a pretty treacherous track that got worse the more it was used. The wicket was a synthetic rollout mesh, with small cubes of material laced together. If any of these cubes got slightly dislodged or raised, it would cause havoc with the bounce of the ball. Albert Einstein was quoted as saying that the definition of madness was trying the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. This was madness, and something that Dave Christie was exploiting magnificently. Unlike anybody else, he wasn't trying to bowl too quickly; just hitting the same spot and letting the unpredictable pace and bounce do the rest. I'll be honest and say that I thought Dave would struggle to get into the team on ability, but he then batted even better than he bowled and on this training session alone, would've been the first on my team sheet. There were no airs nor graces about what he was doing, which I massively rated and thought would be worth its weight in gold the next day.

I, on the other hand, bowled particularly poorly. Struggling with the footing of the sandy runups and then the flimsy nature of the pitch, I shanked a couple in short and then even landed one off the wicket... something I haven't done since I was 15. I eventually settled into the bowling but it left me worried. I was happy with my batting in the tough conditions and hoped that would get me over the line in the selection meeting. All this to the backdrop of another massive avalanche, reminding us of exactly where we were.

All in all I felt ok with the breathing/fitness/energy side of things. Nothing was being done too strenuously which helped out, although I did practice wicket keeping for an over which was absolutely exhausting given the squatting and standing and moving about involved. Back for lunch and people tried to pass the time and get their mind off selection. All 15 of us were fit and healthy. 4 people were going to get a dreaded response. After seeing Haydn furrowing his brow over a piece of paper, scribbling down names, I knew decision time was imminent. A meeting was called for 4:30. After what seemed like the longest 90 minutes of my life, the meeting was canned until after dinner. I did feel for Haydn at this stage. He was about to put a line through 4 names, all with genuine claims to playing the match, but just by simple maths would not be able to play.

Word then got around that we weren't going to find out until the next morning. I, and everybody else, agreed that we wanted to find out that night, as it would give those who miss out an evening to sleep on their thoughts. In light of this, Haydn called a meeting. He started off by making a speech that traced back the events we had attended, where we had come from, how far we'd come, and went over some good memories.

The second part of the speech worried me. Flashing back to Mike Preston's house, during an open forum I expressed the opinion that I thought we were taking the match too seriously. I thought we needed to enjoy ourselves first and foremost as it was a one-off experience, and an offshoot of that enjoyment should be a good performances. This didn't go down as well as I would've liked and I must admit to feeling a little isolated as one after the other, everybody disagreed. I'm sure some people were only disagreeing as not to upset the majority, and this was confirmed later on when a couple of people said that they should've backed me up that afternoon. Haydn reeled off a list of things that he wanted from the day, most were fair enough and pretty standard sporting vernacular (play strong, have pride etc etc). What caught me was his directive not to talk to the opposition at all, and not to joke around with each other at any time. I'm sure this meant to come out as a 'stick together' vibe but it didn't really sit well with me. I pride myself in being friendly with the opposition (with the occasional exception....), and further to that, somebody who has become one of my close mates was captain of the opposing team. Now I wasn't allowed to say hello to him. In addition, I tend to find that when I take anything too seriously, particularly sport, I get too tense and inevitably freeze. Anybody who has known me for more than a couple of hours will attest that I don't take anything particularly seriously. It's just not in my nature.

In any case, I refrained from bringing up any of my objections. Remembering being pasted at Mike's, I thought that the entire team agreed with this course of action so I buttoned-up and toed the line, so to speak. And who was I to know that this wasn't the correct approach? It's all well and good with hindsight to suggest changes, and not for one minute do I think that Haydn wasn't trying his best to make this the most memorable day of 11 guys lives.

Following this, we were called one-by-one into G-Unit's room to find out whether we had made it in or not. Our worst fears were confirmed when we found out that the process was going to be filmed, which pissed me off immensely. In alphabetical order, we were called in. Having a surname starting with T, I was the 3rd last to go in. Blinky came back looking a shattered man. He was in the team, but the process of finding out really took it out of him. Butler came back in looking relieved. He was in. JC didn't come back, and G came in to grab his water bottle. It appeared as if we had our first victim. Then Dave Christie didn't come back in and we became genuinely confused. Everything was starting to take a long time, with the confusion and tension reaching fever pitch. Barely a word passed between any of us. Nobody was coming back into the dining hall anymore. Nobody knew what the hell was going on. Neil Sharland went in which meant I was next. I started shaking with anticipation and my stomach was in knots. Allot of thoughts passed through my mind. 12 months work. £4000. All the boasting to my mates. Donations. A genuine once-in-a-lifetime experience was in the hands of a couple of guys I'd met relatively recently. God what if they dropped me? I wouldn't be able to face it, the humiliation, the pain, walking back down knowing that all the effort had come to nothing. So near yet so far. WHY ARE THEY TAKING SO LONG.

Finally I was called in. In a cramped, dark room Haydn sat on one camp bed, G on the opposite bed with Wes next to him. We sat in awkward silence whilst Wes reloaded a new tape into his camera. I swear I would've killed him for the best part of £10 at that moment. Finally we got the camera's rolling. Haydn started 'So.... Tooves. You've come a long way. We've enjoyed having you on board (cut to the chase...), you've been a valuable member to the squad (where's the 'but' coming in), I mean getting stickcricket on board was a major coup (quit it with this x-factor shit IMMEDIATELY), and you really have made the effort (FUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKKKKK here comes the But) and you're also a handy cricketer, so I'm glad to say...... that you're in the team.

Paralysed by relief, I just sat there. Haydn gave me a hug but I'd switched off all emotion as a defence mechanism. G mentioned that people had questioned what I'd contributed to the team (although he had leapt to my defence) but that I wasn’t ever a definite starter. I wasn't sure what to make of that so just let it go, and really, I couldn't wait to get out of that fucking room, to get the camera out of my face and get to bed. I was spent. Haydn asked me to go back to my room as he didn't want me celebrating in front of anybody who was due to come in. I heard some boys gathered in one room and entered with Dave Christie, Kinsey, and Nick Mullineaux. For an awkward couple of minutes we exchanged chat… I was petrified of asking them whether they were in or not.

Back in the dining room, I was still none the wiser as to who was in the team, apart from Nick M who had quietly informed me of his demise. It turned out Nick, James Markby, Neil Sharland, and Joe Williams were the unlucky ones. Unfortunately Nick came in late in the game and didn't have much of a chance to impress. Markby was one who suffered from unfortunate timings, with family issues and long-planned holidays getting in the way of his attendance of many events, and whilst he put in great efforts where he could, others had more chances to contribute. Which was a shame as being one of the genuine characters, everybody on the trip loved Markby. Neil Sharland may have suffered from a strangely lax showing during the days practice session. Neil, along with brother Tom, led the trim trail sessions twice a week to whip us all into shape. With G residing in Oxford and Haydn choosing an individual route to fitness, unfortunately neither of them got to see Neil's work, which may have influenced the decision. I don't think I'd be wrong in stating that allot of us, including myself, owe allot to the Sharland Brothers for getting us into a decent enough state of health to tackle this challenge. In the corner of the dining hall, with eyes glazed over, I spotted a clearly shattered Joe Williams. Joe was one of the most popular members of the trek, brilliant company and a Middlesex colt. Unfortunately Joe was the recipient of a very tough call. Some people who had made a valid contribution had to miss out, and Joe was the unlucky man to get the tap on the shoulder. I really, really felt for the guy as I'd spent quite a bit of time with him in the leadup to the trek compared to the others. Mike Preston, in what would have to be considered the greatest gesture of any man, offered up his spot in the team to Joe. Joe politely refused and retired to bed.

What I've written above is not a case against Haydn or G-Man as to why they should've picked any of the four guys. Anybody who got dropped would've been able to make a pretty valid argument as to why it was unjust. Unfortunately, there was no right or wrong decisions... or more to the point, from Haydn's point of view, it just looked like there was wrong decisions. My thoughts turned to Glen, a nicer bloke you would struggle to find, having to tell 3 of his guys that they weren't playing and was thankful that it wasn't me having to deliver the news.

Blinky and I, absolutely ravaged after feeling like we'd been inside a spin cycle, had a quick celebratory hug before heading to bed. It hadn't sunk in yet, but I was in the team, and tomorrow - the day I'd imagined every single one of the previous 365 days of my life - was going to be a great day, win, lose, or draw.