Victory!

And would you believe it, we won!

We put out our strongest team so far this season (Andy B, Andy W, Jack, David H, Pete, Tom, Marc, Ian C, Callum, Harry and me), went to Crowhurst Park and came away with all the points.

Rain was threatened later in the day so, winning the toss, I decided for a change to bat. And we went off at a fair old lick — 80 off the first 15 overs, with controlled aggression from Jack and the solid foundations of what was to become a pretty decent century from Andy B at the other end. After 15 overs the rain came down. Although we managed to get out there again afterwards, the pitch was not the same and run scoring was much of a challenge. The 80 were vital runs on the board.

Just how difficult batting became was evidenced by the fact that we only had three scores in the team — Andy’s ton (129), Jack (36) and David, on his senior debut (32). Despite this, and with a bit of stretch around from the others, we made 230. Full batting points.

In the light of the pitch and the likelihood of more rain, I decided (in what appeared to be entirely arbitrary decision but was, in actual fact, another captaincy masterstroke — he claims modestly) that we would open the attack with spin. So I had Andy W bowling spin at one end and Tom raining cutters at the other. Factor in a stunning catch by Pete on the boundary and the top order was gone. With the danger men quickly eliminated, and the vulnerable middle order exposed, we took the new ball, to devastating effect. With David and Harry bowling accurately at pace, the next four wickets cost us a mere 20 runs and, with plenty of overs left we had the opportunity to give everyone a bowl.

Despite this, and some stubborn resistance of the tail, we eventually ran out winners at 7.30 in the gathering darkness.

And despite Andy B’s bedrock innings, I still think this was a team performance. Especially so in the bowling and fielding. It felt good and to be honest, was no more than the 4s have deserved.

Turning a corner with Julian Mk II

After the previous week’s all too regular caning, by Borderers on this occasion, I made a plea for help to the selection committee who, bless their cotton socks, responded along the lines of “Get through this week and we will send the cavalry”.

Cavalry? In the form of a couple of batsmen who would holiday in the fours and help give us a game. More of that in another blog. First we had to get through a visit from another of the Cinque Ports.

Our team: Me, Jacob, Jack, Iain, Scotty, Marc, Pete, Tom, Chris, Harry and Julian.

I won the toss and chose to field. With batting as fragile as ours, we have rarely had a choice if we wanted any kind of game. Also, I fancied our bowling to get among them. Jay was back in the 4s after a brief but unrewarding time in the 3s and we had Jack, a new Under 15 quick on debut.

I gave them the new ball and although they could not get a breakthrough, they kept the opposition quiet, the opening 12 overs going for a miserly 12 runs. Tom and Scotty sustained the pressure and at 24 overs, there were still only37 on the board for the loss of two. Unfortunately the next few overs by the junior seamers were more expensive as the Rye batters, with wickets to spare, took control, In the end reaching 159 for 5. Most economical of the bowlers were Jacob (10-6-10-0) and Scotty (10-3-15-1).  Jacob, disappointed by his lack of wickets, was pleased to run one batsman out as well as take a catch.

160 to win. 43 overs to bat. Conventionally, that should be a straightforward Rye win, if you’re a betting man. And with Iain dismissed by  a snorter in the third over, it all looked horribly familiar. The Rye fielders sensed victory.

But what followed was remarkable. Tom went in at 3, batting with Pete, his dad. Although Pete was out shortly after, and Julian (my ‘go to’ player to shut up shop) too, Tom was still there after 10 overs. He was still there after 20. And 30. And 40. While Chris opened up (27 n.o.), Tom blocked. Forty overs of grim self denial. It was worthy of Chris Tavare. Julian loved it, cheering each successive block.

When Tom walked off, unbeaten on 27, he had batted for 40 overs and secured a gritty, memorable draw. It had broken the Rye bowlers’ hearts.

And we as a team had turned a corner. Now we needed to win….

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I apologise for the last blog. Uncharacteristically downbeat. And, on the whole, as anyone who knows me will attest, I don’t do the glass half empty vibe. Besides, its down to me to score runs too.

I’ll get back in my box

Thrashing No 4: Borderers

Some days just hardly seem worth the effort. Saturday was one. With a particularly weak batting lineup, even by our standards, I had no option but to put the opposition in to bat. Usually our bowling has been our strength. Today we were slightly below par in that department. Plus we were also only nine players. Not surprisingly, although there were plenty of balls hit in the air, there were a few catches or even chances. In the end we took only three wickets, all bowled.

The only brief moment of respite was when we dismissed the number three batsmen first ball, the ball sticking in his pads and sort of flopping onto the stumps. His mum had just come to watch. The other three batsmen made 88*, 90 and 55. They declared after 40 overs, with the scoreboard reading 244 for three.

My customary request for openers was greeted with the usual show of hands. Not. But in fairness, who can blame them. Our best batsmen deserve to bat at 3, 4 or 5. In any case, Chris has been scoring runs at five.

In the end, Scotty and I decided to have a bash, more in the spirit of hope than any assertion of ability. My first ball, a reasonably brisk outswinger was edged over the slips for a single. Scotty somehow managed to survive the rest of the over.

The first ball of the second over was a beamer, too high to do anything about. The second ball was a good length, some way outside off. I followed it and presented gully with a regulation chance. Three balls after three hours in the field. Oh how I laughed.

Having built the kind of platform the 4s are used to, I spent the rest of the afternoon umpiring. Fortunately there was nothing controversial this week. Anyway, to cut a long story short, only two batsmen got into double figures — Chris (31) and Marc’s dad Ian (14) who had been roped in as our 10th man, fielding in sandals for several hours. Beyond that, pretty much nothing, with ‘Wides’ outscoring nine of our batsmen. We were humiliatingly bowled out for 66, thus losing by a margin of 178 runs, a figure you will be interested to hear is not our biggest margin of defeat.

Still there were some positives — although we took only three wickets, our batters were more or less laughed rather than clapped to the crease, and the opposition scored more runs in 40 overs than we have done in the entire season, it could have been worse — at least there were only nine of us to witness it.

Crumbly cricket

Friday was the kind of afternoon that restored my faith in village cricket – a 40 over bash against Frant, our local rivals.  But this was a different deal because all the players were over 40, in some cases considerably so. There were more beer guts than sixpacks on show here.

The match, the last of the season to be played on Frant village green, kicked off at 2.30. The sledging kicked off at midday in The George over lunch. For those who don’t know, Frant and BYG are huge rivals but also best mates – each regularly helps the other out with players.

Local rivals, lots of chirp, Pretty much all the ingredients for a good scrap. I’m not sure if the cricket was of the highest order — I was playing after all — but it was still good fun. Although I shall never be able to prove it, Frant appeared to be under orders not to bowl me out, playing their part in essence in the summer’s fundraising effort. Their fielding too seemed contrived to avoid running me out. The downside of all this wide stuff was that I spent much of my innings unable to reach deliveries. And whilst the bare bones of the scoring suggest a Boycottesque innings of grim self-denial, the truth of the matter was more a series of wild swipes, slashes, swings and misses largely nullified by an outfield reminiscent of the pampas. In any case, If anything been on the stumps, I would have been back in the pavilion in less time than it takes a butterfly to flap its wings.

Eventually even their patience wore thin. Once they decided to bowl at the stumps it took a mere two deliveries to have me trudging back to the pavilion. Well I say pavilion although a friend (who had better remain nameless as he is well known locally) said he had seen better appointed lock-ups.

The swift phone call from Management reminded me that I had somehow forgotten to tell her I was playing cricket all afternoon. My bad.

Can’t remember who won the game. I think it was Frant.

Or BYG.

Shameful behaviour

It’s a long story but, for a variety of reasons I found myself umpiring rather than playing today. And it’s fair to say that you see the best and the worst of human nature from the umpire’s viewpoint.

We were playing another Sussex village club’s 4^th XI and, for the most part, we were well-matched. They, like us, had a mixture of youngsters and those in the, er, twilight of their cricketing careers. Their captain, John, a wise old bird, was charming and entertaining.

In the absence of suitable others, I volunteered to umpire.  As a way to lose friends and annoy people, umpiring is, of course, without parallel. When did you last give a batsman out only for the player to congratulate you on your eagle-eyed, split second decision making? Precisely. Never.

Early on in the opposition’s innings, I had occasion to give an opposition batsman out LBW, a decision I took with a little more certainty than perhaps I would or should, with hindsight. The keeper told me afterwards that the ball was heading for the stumps although, looking back, height was possibly an issue and he was rather more forward than I initially thought. Still, the Bayham bounce (or lack thereof) has to be factored in.

It was probably one that would have been reviewed if I am honest. But, beyond a little grumpiness, that should have been that.  It mattered not whether it was the correct decision or not, the batsman was still out. Why? He was out because he was given out.

But what followed was shameful. A long, Wayne Rooneyesque vocal tirade as he walked back to the pavilion was directed toward me and anyone who would listen, despite his fellow batsman’s attempts to make him be quiet. Once he had gone, his fellow bat apologised profusely, embarrassed by this outburst. His captain, next in, was equally apologetic, aware that, whatever the provocation, this behaviour had not so much crossed a line but erased it.

Nobody likes being given out when they feel themselves wronged. But most handle that disappointment with dignity, knowing perhaps that one day the umpire may give them a life they didn’t deserve. It all evens up and the older players have the dignity and maturity to accept that. They do not presume to lecture the umpire. But that sadly is the spotty, whining arrogance of youth. His fellow opener was embarrassed by his behaviour. His captain was embarrassed by his behaviour. Only he was not.

Well listen up sonny. Life isn’t always fair. Some days bad things happen and mummy can’t always make it better.  You got given out. I got Parkinson’s in my 40s. Neither of us got the ‘decision’ we wanted. You will at least get another innings.

Life can be a bitch. Get over it.

And grow up a bit, eh?

A lesson in basic arithmetic

A cricket team comprises 11 players. Not 10. Nor, as I have somehow contrived to recruit this week, 12. I can’t even blame the weather although it has put paid to my runscoring opportunities thus far.

It is supremely ironic that my haste to put together a team and thus ensure a game and runscoring opportunities has succeeded in achieving the opposite.

Oh fffff…….bother!