Far From The MCC

~ Est. in 1998 ~

“Bunny Inspector’s Report”

Sunday 31^st August 2008
Result: Match Abandoned (Rain)
Venue: Jordan Hill
40 overs
OUP	207 - 6
S. Dobner 2 - 23
FFTMCC	98 - 2
D. Edwards 30*, J. Hoskins 25, I. Howarth 23

Bunny: also known as Rabbit. A member of the side who cannot generally bat, and is selected as a specialist bowler or wicketkeeper (or neither and generally just makes up the numbers for the team); and who almost always bats at No. 11. It can also be used to describe a player who often gets out to one bowler – and it is this type of bunny in particular that I, an experienced and qualified Bunny Inspector, find so utterly compelling. For instance, take the example of Michael Atherton – a genuinely solid and reliable opening batsman for England, whose duels with the South African tearaway Allan Donald are the stuff of legend; but Michael was (and will) be forever known as “McGrath's bunny". Yes, time and time again dear old Glenn McGrath, that seasoned and wily Australian veteran, got given the cherry on the first morning of a Test Match; and within minutes of the game commencing, there was the predictable huddle of team mates in the centre of the pitch backslapping Glenn as Atherton walked slowly and dejectedly back to his hutch.

G. McGrath bought M. Atherton this gift after his last tour down under.

Hutch: an amusing reference to describe the changing room for the said bunny; a place the batsman retreats to after his dismissal. Or as Mr. McGrath would always trot out with great relish after dismissing his bunny “off you go, Michael – now fuck off back to your hutch.”

* * *

Imagine my delight when an old friend contacted me recently and invited me to stay in his company in Oxfordshire. A keen advocate of cricket, he arranged for us to watch a game between two local sides at Jordan Hill in North Oxford. The scenario he informed me, was that there was likely to be a bunny “incident” during the course of the match, and rationalised – quite rightly – that I’d be interested to see a grass roots example thereof.

On our way to the ground, I learned that a local Australian that went by the name of Antony Mann held stock over another local man who went by the name of Andrew Darley. Andrew, a more than useful cricketer characterised by his wide-boy enthusiasm, had as the seasons passed him by become Antony’s bunny. Nobody seemed to fully understand how it had quite happened, but as in most cases such as this that I have noted over the years, a poor sequence of scores against one particular bowler would seem to summon the demons and self-doubt within the mind of the batsman (Andrew); and that no matter what they do, or what they try, the bowler (Antony) will forever have their number.

Andrew Darley (left) is Antony Mann’s bunny.

Once the game had gotten underway, I observed the Far From The MCC get a fruitful shoeing in the early exchanges of the contest, but noted that they had sensibly held Mr. Mann back for a few overs at the end. This was clearly a clever plan, as a late clatter of wickets brought said batsman, A. Darley, hopping to the crease – his large fluffy ears protruding from his shiny blue helmet. Having taken guard, Andrew was quick to realise a shift in the field before his first ball - five men positioned on the boundary between long on and orthodox cow; essentially, a clear move to cause further unrest in Andrew’s mind on the assumption that he only had one shot. I leaned forward in my chair as Antony took receipt of the ball at the beginning of his run-up – a wry grin starting to purse up from his lips. By now of course, Mr. Darley was shivering at the wicket – his tail twitching, and his stick of rhubarb trembling in his hands. Mr. Mann ambled up to the popping crease, and with a lazy arc of his left arm let go his stock delivery – a ball of good length swinging in on middle stump. Andrew, of course, had vast experience of facing said delivery, and of watching Antony bowl; but as had happened so often in the past, he simply couldn’t get his mind right. I delighted as the middle stump rocked back to a laughable forward defensive shot that failed miserably to make contact with the ball…. Again, Andrew had floundered to his nemesis Mr. Mann, and again this sad spectacle was serenaded by a cacophony of laughter from the opposition. Slowly, and deliberately, a tearful bunny retreated back to his hutch; his lump of rhubarb dragging through the wet grass behind him….

I thanked my colleague after the game was unfortunately curtailed by the elements; this really had been a most excellent day out. And of course, if the two protagonists ever read my writings, then I would also like to pass my gratitude on to them too. Andrew, if you are reading this, please don’t be too downcast; Mr. Atherton was a far superior cricketer to yourself – but you are, I am afraid to say, and probably always will be, Antony’s bunny. And Antony, if you too are reading this - may I wish you all the best as your new life in Australia fast approaches.

Thanks for the memories, guys.

So long.

‘Bunny Inspector’

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