Far From The MCC

~ Est. in 1998 ~

 

“Theft And Loss

Mar No-Mad Victory”

 

 

Sunday 10th July 2005

Result:  Won by 51 Runs

Venue:  Pembroke College Sports Ground

35 overs

FFTMCC

208 - 7

D. Edwards  55,  G. Littlechild  50

Bodleian

157 - 7

M. Westmoreland  3 - 28,  I. Howarth  2 - 57

 

 

 

So who was the Hat Thief? Suspicion was rife in the No-Mad ranks as they supped their midday ales and argued over the disappearance of various headwear the previous fortnight. No-Mad swingster, and bowling legend that is A. Mann, was aggrieved that his blue NY emblazoned baseball cap had vanished after loaning it to I. Howarth, who in turn was moaning about his sunhat vanishing after loaning it to Titanick. Mr. Hebbes was refuting all allegations of wrongdoing by countering that his green cap had also gone awry, and that his travels to Eastern Europe were perfectly above board, and he hadn’t been flogging his ill-gotten gains to travelling gypsies. Mr. Edwards chipped in, informing the quizzical group that anyone requiring protection from the blazing sun on this particular day, was quite welcome to borrow one of his myriad of hats that he brought on a regular basis to each and every game. He of course became the prime suspect in this worrying matter and only escaped a serious beating after defending himself with a black Labrador puppy – Joe. I mean how can you attack a grown man holding a pup? So the contentious subject of the Hat Thief remained unresolved… although innocent passer by, T. Whistlethwaite, did report the unruly goings-on in the pub garden after he and his wife were accused by the group of being thieves on account of the fact they both wore hats*.

 

 

“So, Jake – you had a pretty swell evening, huh?”

 

Now if things weren’t acrimonious enough prior to the Bodleian match, group-appointed judge, J. Hotson, was busying himself with getting slaughtered whilst lamenting the loss of his leather coat the previous evening (whilst utterly pissed). The coat he could live without, but the keys to his house and the loss of his prize Sony digital camera had certainly tipped his scales. “Fucking bouncers! Someone just said ‘that’s my coat’, and this dozy fucking bouncer gives my fucking coat away! (hic, burp….)” No, he wasn’t happy, but at least the pub was open. Shit, with all the fun the team were having down the pub, it seemed a real chore to have to go to Pembroke and actually play some cricket….

 

 

You get a great view of Pembroke retrieving the ball from the boundary.

 

32 degrees. That’s what the weather woman would later decree - practically Mediterranean - hardly the climate to be running and diving about while chasing a piece of shiny red leather. Fortunately, oarsman and champion tosser, J. Hoskins, guessed rightly again, and the Bods sighed a collective sigh of regret as they were asked to field first. This looked an excellent toss to win as openers S. Dobner (12) and N. Hebbes (30) saw the No-Mad to 44 without loss, before Bodleian trundler, H. Udson, sent them both packing after rattling the timber. This brought little respite for the visitors, as D. Edwards and Essex schoolteacher, G. Littlechild, presided over a 64 run partnership in a little over 7 overs.  It was great to watch, and the pitch-side Madsters were soon starting to wager whether the vertically challenged sports-teacher would become the first ever No-Mad centurion. However, despite an earlier reprieve when caught off a no-ball, Gary contrived to throw his opportunity away by spooning another one in the air. Nobody realised he’d gotten his fifty, as scorer A. Mann, was struggling with basic simple arithmetic again. Gary was later applauded once a calculator had been found.

 

 

S. Dobner and N. Hebbes provided a sound platform for the No-Mad.

 

It was now left to Edwards to forge onwards and build towards an impressive total. He was partnered by an aggressive, J. Hotson (1), a lager-swilling A. Morley (1), a pugnacious J. Hoskins (7), and finally by the shaky M. Westmoreland. Martin (27*) had endured a wretched return with the bat this year, and it was with huge relief that he set about peppering the tiring Bodleian attack to all parts of mid-wicket during his entertaining late knock. The score had reached the lofty heights of 193 when the doughty Edwards (55) finally fell, bowled by Wilby, which left a cursing I. Howarth (1*) to protect his average as the No-Mad finally totalled 208 for 7. It was a daunting total, but not one entirely out of the range of their opponent, largely due to their swashbuckling opening batsman D. Yousaf - a man no stranger to hammering hapless No-Mad bowling attacks in years past.

 

 

The No-Mad take shelter from the glaring sun.

 

Tea.

 

Kev’s feast was good, but it appeared that the tuna and sweet corn sandwiches had replaced the plain salad sandwiches as the choice of complaint. Salad seemed “in” again, whereas tuna apparently sucked. Egg mayonnaise was a natural winner once more.

 

It was all entirely predictable come the resumption of the match, that the No-Mad lacked penetration with their bowling when their legend wasn’t firing on all cylinders. Despite A. Mann’s (7-1-15-0) excellent economy, the runs came aplenty at the other end, as I. Howarth served up a variety of chocolate cakes for D. Yousaf to smash to the boundary. It was no surprise when he was pulled out of the attack, and things did quieten down somewhat when J. Hoskins (7-0-33-0) replaced him – but a wicket still eluded the No-Mad bowlers, and the Bodleian continued to up their total.

 

 

Whilst A. Mann’s (right) writing skills are not in question, his maths is.

 

It would be Monday before the No-Mad would receive communication from their regular stumpster, M. Bullock, to offer a grovelling apology for non-appearance at the game. And in his absence (whilst Matt was allegedly feasting on various ciders in remote parts of Kernow), S. Dobner had stepped up to fill the void. He was congratulated for his bold move, but the Asda shift-supervisor soon the found the going tough as he spilled a trio of chances off his luckless skipper – the last of which caused him to sink to his knees and ask his team-mates for forgiveness. Yeah, we forgive you Steve – but you’re getting the first round in on tour you clumsy twat!

 

With the Bodleian now on 109 without loss, it took the introduction of M. Westmoreland to finally break the seal. Bowling with good rhythm, and backed by decent fielding, he returned figures of 7-1-28-3. This put the No-Mad right back in the match, and with N. Hebbes (7-0-27-1) also keeping things tight, the Bods total slowed and fell behind the required run-rate. D. Yousaf was still at the crease however, and whilst he remained there the Bods still had hopes of victory, and when Howarth replaced Moo Boy at the pavilion end, they had even more case for optimism than before. It was a bold move by the skipper, who obviously reasoned Ian (7-0-57-2) couldn’t possibly repeat the helping of shite that he had served up earlier. Wrong! He dollied up a half-volley which was smashed straight past him. But what was this!? ….somehow, Howarth had stuck a hand out, more as a gesture than anything, and the ball had slammed and stuck into his tiny mitt. OUT! Yousaf departed for 87 and the Bods were effectively sunk.

 

 

“Your dad is a thieving bastard, Joe!”

 

The Bodleian finally totalled 157 for 7 in their allotted overs; a fair stab at the run-chase, but a boiling hot day and a fair modicum of fatigue had scuppered much of their efforts. There actually came a point during their innings when D. Yousaf had asked the respective captains if he could take a breather and join the game later. This was rebuked, and even garnered a sledge from a nearby Mr. Hotson, stating that the batsman would be better served “in a fucking gym.” Fortunately the barb wasn’t overheard, so the judge remained in possession of a full set of teeth.

 

Back to winning ways. Back to smiling once more.

 

Bring on the Fat Boys!!!

 

* * *

 

*  -  Pending an enquiry by the Folly Bridge bar staff, the No-Mad could see themselves barred from this particular public house.

 

 

‘Spam’

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

MOTM:  M. Westmoreland’s 27* and 3-27

Champagne Moment:  I. Howarth’s superb caught and bowled

Buffet Award:  I. Howarth’s lemon-meringue tarts

 

 

 

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