Far From The MCC
~ Est. in 1998 ~
“Captain Scott Left Out In The
Cold”
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Sunday 31st
July 2005 |
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Result: Lost by 5 Wkts |
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Venue: Timberscombe, |
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40 overs |
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Captain Scott’s XI |
110 ao |
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I. Howarth 54 |
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Timberscombe |
114 - 5 |
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J. Harris 2 - 18 |
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The weather
had been poor, and the spirit amongst my men was dampened by inactivity. We
arrived at the
The pretty ground of Timberscombe. A break
in the clouds allowed the sun to burn through and splash our pallid skin. I took
this opportunity to organise a brief football game with a huge yellow tennis
ball. I was hoping this exercise might boost morale in the ranks, and that my
men would find the heart to battle onwards towards our goal. The game was a
clumsy affair, noted as much for off-the-ball fouling as to the skill
displayed on it. The Skins ran out 2-1 winners over the Shirts, but fouling
was the winner. It seemed good to halt proceedings at this point, as members
of my expedition were looking fatigued. Oarsman, J. Hoskins, was holding his
head, and stalwart S. Dobner was searching for breath.
The Skins reflect on a glorious 2-1 win over
the Shirts. Despite
our early arrival at the base camp of Timberscombe, I was concerned at the
lack of populace. In fact, if it weren’t for one stray local, I would have
considered the place deserted and our journey wasted. It was with no small
relief when the villagers finally arrived, promising my party a healthy
selection of bread, meat and hot drinks. This was on the condition of us
agreeing to one small assignment before we carried on our way – a cricket
match utilising a nearby farmer’s field. With the promise of such rewards, it
took little persuasion to get my men to agree to these strange terms. Game on
as they say. After
meeting the village’s nominated captain for the day, Dibble, I strode to the
wicket for a pre-game inspection. The wicket was of questionable quality, and
showed signs of wear and tear due to the recent poor weather in these climbs.
I enquired as to their captain’s thinking, and after receiving a deafening
silence, decided I had no idea whether it would be worse to bat first on it,
or worse second time round. Alas, I called the toss correctly, so the choice
lay squarely with me. I looked to the heavens, maybe for inspiration - there
was rain about, so maybe we have first dig in case the match were to be
abandoned due to the elements? That was my reasoning, and at least my men
could gather their remaining strength, pitch side, whilst the villagers did
the running.
Captain Scott makes a right twat of himself
after calling the toss. After
formally addressing my men, issuing them with numbers in the sequence they
would bat, and affording them kit, I decided to wander, lonely as a cloud, to
a small-dilapidated hut where a local would scribble the details of this
sport. I hadn’t walked far when cries alerted me to J. Harris being bowled
for 2. Only moments later, S. Dobner had retreated for 4, and J. Hoskins for
a duck. Things descended into chaos when my reliable second-in-command, D.
Edwards, also departed, this time for 6. I scratched my head and looked to
the scoreboard by the hut: 13 for 4. This was not good. This was not good at
all. Quickly,
I retreated at pace back to our group’s small dwelling, where my men looked
on with bemusement. I chided them for their careless approach to the game,
and their general lack of application. C’mon! Show some spirit! Bear your
souls! Unfortunately, my words of encouragement seemed to fall on deaf ears,
as I lost 3 more of my men. N. Hebbes, bowled for 6, the doctor, T. Mander,
caught for 4, and then, worst of all, the hardened M. Westmoreland bowled
without troubling the scorers. What was this? Treason? 36 for 7? My men
needed an example. They needed an example of how real men should
battle in situations like this. I could not accept the excuses I was hearing,
nor could I contend with the bad luck stories being paraded out. Now
was the time for action - to counter this debacle!
S. Dobner (4) resumes his pinball dismissal
routine. I found myself at
the crease with J. Hotson. A young man of slim build, who’s lack of physical
strength was more than made up by his determination to best himself. He was a
fine foil for my cavalier riposte to these Timberscombe villagers. Whilst I
would look to slash my blade, Hotson, or Hotson-Pike as his comrades knew
him, would get everything behind the ball and refuse to bow down. It was far
from attractive, but I had found myself an able and willing ally in battle.
The score progressed past fifty, and with the shiny piece of leather
rebounding off a pitch-side tree, I neared my own fifty. On completion of
this, I turned to my shamefaced men, and shouted my intent “…fear not men, I
will do this, be it on my own - but I will see this task shall be done.” I
then suffered a spasm of self-importance, forgot my humble position in this
world, and was caught the very next ball for 54. We were now 94 for 8.
D. Edwards (6) finds the going tough out in the middle. Having
left J. Hotson to fend for himself, he was quickly engulfed and bowled for 1.
I felt guilty at not supporting my charge further, but my own headstrong
actions had dented my ability to act rationally. My mood was slightly
improved by B. Mander (7*) and M. Bullock (9) showing some defiance at the
death to take our team total to 110. It was a pitifully low score, but much
better than I had at one time feared. There was nothing more I could do –
other than galvanise my men for the innings of the Timberscombe locals. I
ordered my men to eat, to fill their empty stomachs and restore their energy
levels for one last hurrah. If we were going to be beaten by these villagers,
then we were going down with a fight! I hadn’t travelled the globe performing
acts of heroism for my empire to be beaten in a game of cricket by a bunch of
bandits!
T. Mander finds himself in bat rather earlier
than expected. Once my small party
had devoured their food and slacked their thirst on warm tea, I set about
positioning them in the field and organising my bowling attack. It was
imperative we got off to a good start, and very important I lifted the heads
of some of my men. S. Dobner, who had seemed broody and dark since his
earlier dismissal, was thrown the ball and ordered to show some heart. He
did, showing excellent economy with figures of 5-2-4-0, as did Westmoreland
(5-1-14-1), whose opening salvo saw the villagers reduced to 1-1.
Timberscombe then played their ace trump, P. Sparks, head of the village, and
a man I’d most like to share a beer. A real man, full of purpose and
authority, and the kind of gentleman who is befitting of these times.
Together with his female sibling, H. Sparks, they took the total to 32,
before I caught the young lass off the uncanny bowling of D. Edwards for 3.
And when J. Hoskins (6-2-17-1) further reduced the villagers to 33 for 3, I
sensed daylight. My
optimism was short-lived however, as P. Sparks set about bludgeoning our
novice attack to all parts of the village. Edwards (8-2-16-1), with that
crazy action of his, checked the villagers run chase, but it was with his
hands that he was next to be applauded, catching a fine skier off J. Harris
to leave Timberscombe 85 for 4. Harris (2.2-0-18-2) enjoyed a further scalp,
that of the impressive Mr. Sparks for 64, to a neat catch behind the wicket
by Bullock, but our little total was never really defendable – the damage had
been done. I did try my own arm (2-0-3-0), as did B. Mander (2-0-22-0), and
as did
The scorebox soon resembled a gypsy caravan. It was now time to
pack up and continue on our way. I was disappointed with my men on this day.
I felt their inner strength was lacking, and that even with my most noble
leadership at their disposal, they had failed miserably to come up to
standard. I command respect, utter respect, but I wanted my men to respect
themselves, and this result did little to underline this hope. Young Hotson
showed the resolve I was looking for, and maybe, just maybe, his time may
come? Though I must admit to finding a small envelope by my sleeping bag the
morning after the match, which read “I am just going outside, and I may be
some time.” Odd. I wonder what
the young fellow was thinking? ‘Captain Scott’ |
*
MOTM: Captain
Scott for his courageous 54
Champagne Moment: Captain
Scott’s big six into a telegraph pole
Buffet Award: B. Mander’s
strawberry cheesecake