Far From The MCC

~ Est. in 1998 ~

“Mad Grumble Their Way

To Record Win”

Sunday 20^th August 2006
Result: Won by 169 Runs
Venue: Hanney
40 overs
FFTMCC	242 - 6
G. Littlechild 117*, I. Howarth 49
Hanney CC	73 ao
A. Mann 3 - 12, M. Reeves 3 - 15

There are some people who are never happy and never will be. Like the lottery winner who complains that winning millions has ruined her life, or the man who has married a beautiful, intelligent woman who likes football, beer and poker, and who still regrets all the other women he will never have. Or the Australian cricket supporter who thinks that eight Ashes victories in succession is nowhere near enough. But the players of Far From The MCC have never been like that. Happy in their good fortunes and content in their daily lives, they have rarely been heard to complain about petty injustices or trifling problems. Until last Sunday, that is.

“No worries – I’ll sort the fucking kit bag again! Don’t worry about me!”

Rain had been threatening, and the clouds were still having their say, but a brisk wind had dried the Hanney pitch – a slow greentop in the Cholsey style, yet not as riddled with rabbit burrows or landmine craters – and so the game was on. Agreeing to win a coinless toss against veteran Hanney skipper D. Johns, Mad captain I. Howarth offered to bat against the bowlers of the home team, and it wasn’t long before the moaning had begun.

M. Westmoreland hardly complained at all after going for 17 with the score on 26, but R. Hadfield, playing his first game for the Mad in six years, was heard to grumble when dismissed for a duck, that this was his first game in six years, and what had he got? A big fat egg. Nought. Zero. Nothing. J. Hoskins (4), promoted to second drop after spending three months padded up under the Big Tree At Pembroke waiting for a bat, was heard to grumble at his misfortune when he was out bowled deflecting the ball from pads to stumps. N. Hebbes (24) was next to go, and didn’t so much grumble as mutter incomprehensibly when for the second game in a row he stood on his own stumps and had to give himself out because no-one else had noticed or cared.

“Crap pitch, crap weather… who gives a toss if a I get a ton?”

With the score at 70-4 and the pitch and outfield recalcitrant, I. Howarth strode to the crease and began slapping the ball in the air. Straight to the field. Half a dozen dropped catches later, as the youthful Hanney team lost their way, and one of their old hands just lost it, Howarth was complaining that, although he clearly wanted to go, nobody wanted him to leave. Three more chances decked, and he was really pissed off. When on 49 he was bowled – by a full toss on leg which by all rights should have been smote to the boundary to bring up his fifty – Howarth was heard to grumble that the delivery had been a no ball.

But the damage had been done – to Hanney, that is. Because at the other end G. Littlechild had been working his way towards a new Mad individual record high score of 117 not out, with 16 fours and a 6 on the slow outfield. It was M. Bullock (3) and S. Dobner (8 n.o.) who helped him get there, and Hanney were looking down the barrel of 243 to win.

The price of beer at the Black Horse provided much to moan about.

The Mad took the field, and the moaning began early. A. Mann (3-12) was doing fine, but still grumbled that the breaks weren’t going his way. Meanwhile, S. Dobner (0-13) at fine leg, hoping to bag wickets to add to his tally, was muttering under his breath about the Convict, about general crapness and his crap job and the crap luck he was having with the ball that day. G. Littlechild complained that he never got any stumpings, and M. Bullock (1-2) didn’t like the fact he had to keep walking from mid-on to mid-on between overs. R. Hadfield (1-10) reckoned the ball never came to him in the field, just like it hadn’t done six years before against OUP, while M. Westmoreland out on the boundary was moaning that nobody ever helped him with the kit bag, and why did he have to stand out there on the bloody rope the whole time anyway? If the other slack bastards could be bothered to get themselves fit and learn how to catch and throw then maybe he could have a turn hanging round close to the wicket just like them. J. Hoskins (2-21) complained between deliveries about the lack of sandwiches at tea, and M. Reeves (3-15) muttered that nobody appreciated how many unplayable balls he was bowling, but suddenly M. Bullock had taken the last wicket, and it was all over. “Oh bloody hell, is that it??” someone said.

“Haha. £1 for a crappy hot dog? Taking the piss right?”

That was it, for Hanney. A team of primarily youngsters, they had played with great heart, but no great luck. The only resistance came from respected Hanney skipper, Dave Johns, who remained 10 not out and some other guy who slapped a few boundaries before getting out. As for the Mad, a record win, by 169 runs, and a record 117 not out for Gary Littlechild. Record record record blah blah blah grumble grumble.

Later, at the pub, M. Reeves grumbled that he’d scored only nine runs all year, and a few other people muttered about this or that, and then someone turned to Jake and said, “Hey you haven’t complained all day!” “Oh,” said Jake, “I have plenty of stuff to grumble about just like everybody else. I just can’t remember what it is.”

‘Blocker’

*

Bonus: "Record Inspector's Report"

Statto's Scorecard

Match Fines

MOTM: G. Littlechild’s rampaging 117 not out

Champagne Moment: S. Dobner’s hilarious dropped catch

Buffet Award: R. Hadfield’s vanilla cakes

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