Kicking It

Batang! We've all heard of it, some of us have even witnessed it—often without realising it—but few of us really know what this new extreme sport sweeping the nation actually entails.

I'm Charlie Mongoose and this is Kicking It, the column dedicated to discovering the hippest new fads, trends and diversions that the UK underground sports scene has to offer.

This week, I was invited by South London Batang! juggernauts, the Richmond Red-Dicks, to a derby match against North London rivals, the Willesden Willy-Smashers.

The Red-Dicks' captain, Zebedee Forestroke, kindly agreed to walk me through the basics of the game beforehand.

“It's like this—you've got five lads each, plus three subs. You've got your hornswaggler, your pissflanger, your wobbler—they're arguably the most important player on the team—you've got your fleffer and finally, you've got your mingeflapper. Now, the aim of the game is simple—get your krench into the fuckzone without taking any funje from the opposition. Of course, your main funjers are going to be your wobbler and your fleffer—they sort of work in tandem, with the mingeflapper backing them up. If you're playing an aggressive mingeflapper game, they might get a bit more involved in funjing the opposition, but generally speaking, you only do that if you're playing the old Rhinestag Witch-Trials formation, which, if you ask me, is very old school—no one in the Kump League plays it anymore.”

“I see.”

“Now, your hornswaggler's your points man—they're the one that spends most of their time in the fuckzone, which, being a hornswaggler myself, I can tell you gets pretty intense. The pissflanger is technically your playmaker, but in the modern game, the wobbler usually does most of the actual decision making—nowadays the pissflanger is more like a support hornswaggler and the best of them end up in the fuckzone almost as often. Let me know if I'm going too fast.”

“No, I think I get it.”

“Good. Now, I say the wobbler is your main man because they're expected to do everything the other players do, plus they're the ones that are usually in control of the krench—hence why they're used as playmakers in the modern game. It's a tricky thing to control, a krench, so you need someone with good coordination—ideally, they don’t sweat too much either. Prince Andrew, back when he used to play, was one of the best wobblers the Norfolk Knob-Wranglers ever had—what can I say, the guy doesn’t sweat, like he had a genetic advantage or something. The last thing you really need to know is that you can't funje a player in the fuckzone if they're performing a munkbasket—that's very important, really separates the men from the boys where Batang! is concerned. I've seen many a team give away a penalty because they funjed someone in the fuckzone while they were munking their tits off—it's bad form and it's an amateur's mistake.”

With my new found knowledge in hand, I took my seat on the bench overlooking ground—Richmond Park, it being a home game for the Red-Dicks.

Before the game began, the teams engaged in a ritualistic performance similar in principle to the New Zealand Rugby team's Haka. They squared-up to one another in the middle of pitch and, in accordance with the rules of Batang!, aggressively helicoptered their penises at each other. This, I can tell you, is quite the sight to behold and it is one of the reasons why Batang! games are almost exclusively held at night—it is also the controversial reason behind the conspicuous lack of a woman's league, although I have heard rumours of an unofficial women's league in Salford which utilises strap-on dildos to accomplish the same effect. This performance, I am reliably informed, is referred to as “dickling” the opposition, or more officially, the “dickling ceremony”—the idea being to intimidate the opposition through one's prowess at helicoptering, and much of the aggressive dick-waving of this pre-match ritual is, as to be expected, directed at the opponent's hornswaggler. Dickling is not without its risks—during my admittedly limited research into the game of Batang! I came across the story of one Dallas Binlicker, who was forced into premature retirement after a dickling ceremony went wrong. When I asked Zebedee about it, he had this to say:

“Oh, yeah, Dallas Binlicker was one of the best fleffers to ever play the game—tragic what happened. I was there on the day—as a spectator, rather than a player, mind. It was the most intimidating dickling ceremonies I’ve ever witnessed—I mean, Dallas was really going for it and if I’d been the opposition hornswaggler, I probably would have shit myself. It happens from time to time. Fairplay to Georgie Lubnutz—he didn’t bat an eye, even when Dallas helicoptered so hard he ripped his dick off. Nerves of fucking steel, Georgie had. Anyway, Dallas never played again after that.”

With the dickling ceremony concluded, the referee—known in Batang! parlance as the “cumpire”—presented the krench to the team captains for inspection. A good krench should be just under two feet in length, two inches in girth and should slide through the hands easily, being both polished to a mirror shine and liberally slathered in coconut oil—the preferred lubricant of most Batang! leagues. This also acts as a safeguard against cheating, as the inspection of the krench involves holding it upright and letting it slide through the hand, thus ensuring anyone using pitch, or pine-tar for extra grip is discovered and punished. Cheating is generally frowned upon in Batang! and those caught doing it are subject to a number of potential forfeits—including but not limited to, being punched in the face by the cumpire, being forced to drink the opposition team’s urine and being ejected from the match, though this last is reserved for only the most extreme of offences.

Once both teams and the cumpire were satisfied with the krench, the game could finally start.

The cumpire threw the krench into the air with the assistance of a modified litter-picker known as the wiggler—not to be confused with the similarly named position—and I have to admit, this is the point where I think I lost track of the game.

The krench sailed through the air, trailing warm coconut oil in its wake. Below, there was a collision of naked bodies. A player emerged from the chaos clutching the krench. This player was promptly kicked in the balls by an opponent—I think it was an opponent, but it's hard to tell when the only distinguishing feature between the two teams is the colour of the numeral painted on their ball-sacks. The krench was dropped and recovered by another player.

Meanwhile, at either end of the pitch, two players were spinning on the spot, masturbating—this, I believe, is what Zebedee referred to as “performing a munkbasket” but I could be wrong.

Turning my attention back to the middle of the pitch, I saw a scuffle had broken out between several players over the krench, which had been dropped again. They were gripping one another by the shoulders and taking it in turns to kick each other in the balls. After several minutes of this, I was ready to call it a day and leave when a victor emerged from the scrum. The krench was recovered from the floor and promptly thrown hard at Zebedee—I say “at” because there is no way in hell the Red-Dicks' hornswaggler could have seen the krench coming, being preoccupied with his munkbasketing and, I assume, quite dizzy from spinning on the spot. The krench hit Zebedee in the head, flooring him instantly, and the players all yelled “Batang!” in unison. The Red-Dicks had just drawn first blood against the Willy-Smashers.

It was then that I realised Batang! was truly the sport of champions. If you want to know what it means to be a man, look no further than the pitch of a hard-fought game, grass slick with coconut oil, pre-cum and blood, ten greased-up Adonises fighting for supremacy, risking life, limb and future fertility all in the name of friendly competition. Despite my initial confusion, I stayed to watch the rest of the derby and I have been a fan ever since. Go Red-Dicks!

Charlie Mongoose will be back soon with an exclusive exposé on the underground Sewer Canoeing scene.

The National Batang! Association (NBA) would like to remind our readers to enjoy Batang! responsibly and that any injuries sustained while playing or watching Batang! are not their responsibility.