Far From The MCC

~ Est. in 1998 ~

 

“GET HIM OFF!!!!”

 

 

Thursday 13th August 2009

Result:  Lost by 96 Runs

Venue:  London Road

40 overs

Louth CC

243 - 8

I. Howarth  3 - 40,  J. Hoskins  2 - 25

FFTMCC

147 ao

D. Edwards  42,  I. Howarth  30,  M. Westmoreland  20

 

 

 

B-O-N-G!!!!!!!!!!

 

The clock above the lavish new Louth pavilion struck 3.02pm. Essex freeloader and skipper for the day, S. Dobner, turned to his aspiring young pie-chucker, I. Leggate, and motioned to him to bowl. “Ian, we need to turn this game around, we’re starting to get a tonking. You up to the task? Keep it tight, bake them well, and I’ll stick the team on the boundary with their buckets.” Ian, looking more like Hunter S. Thompson with each passing day, took hold of the worn and battered cherry and marked out his run up. All two paces of it. He surveyed his team mates on the boundary, flipped the ball in his hand, and tossed down his first pancake. SLAP!!!!!!!

 

 

Mr. Leggate (left) surveys the damage from “that” over.

 

….it was exactly 3.13pm when Mr. Leggate’s first and only over of the game came mercifully to an end. During these 11 minutes of abject misery, Ian managed fourteen deliveries including 5 wides and 3 no-balls – one of which, a shoulder-high toffee spongecake, was swatted for six into a nearby gazebo. In total, 26 runs were realised off the over, and before it came to a somewhat ill-fitting ending (a dot) – self-appointed Far From The MCC Tour Ambassador, S. Parkinson, could be heard screaming from the balcony to “GET HIM OFF!!!!” It was an awful withering experience, and you had to feel sorry for “Gonzo” as each ball seemed to get stuck firmer in his hand as he tried manfully to “get it right”. One day a hero, another day a dick – that’s cricket for you – the leveller of man.

 

* * *

 

 

Rolling landscapes from the Louth CC balcony.

 

As is customary on a cricket tour, the Far From The MCC invited their hosts to have a bat on warm and pleasant afternoon. The boys from the Mad probably needed a stretch of the legs anyway, after all, they’d been cramped up in cars and vans for the best part of 3 hours as they’d made their way from Oxford to the flats of Lincolnshire along endless windy A-roads. Now they were finally here, they marvelled at a quite exemplary pavilion which towered above the new Louth cricket ground, and chirped up about the standard of the changing rooms – so clean and new, the smell of paint still hanging in the air. Not that a new building escaped the inquisitive eye of D. Shorten, whose famed Lego-like tendencies had him frowning at a creaking door “poor worksmanship this. Very poor. I can sort this out. Whatever they think it’ll cost, I’ll simply double it.”

 

 

Dave is fascinated my men’s toilets.

 

Dave, like most other “swing” bowlers when offered the choice of ends to bowl, simply let a leaf swirl in the wind before decreeing he wanted to bowl “downhill” with the wind across him. I. Howarth had already resigned himself to ambling into the breeze as “workhorses” do, after Dobner entrusted him to complement the builder in an opening salvo; and things started brightly with Howarth bowling young H. Jefferson for a duck. Louth then made progress past 50 before the introduction M. Reeves (8-1-36-1) had opener Hodgekins (23) dismissed when T. Smith caught a skier at long off. Whilst this was a very good catch by Thornton, it is worth noting that his handspan is roughly a metre in diameter, so for him to not catch a ball is really quite unacceptable. And when J. Hoskins (7-1-25-2) took a sharp caught and bowled, the Mad really should have tightened things up, but all this really served was a precursor to that Leggate over; as toxic a mix of yips and tonking as you could ever be likely to see….

 

A returning Howarth (8-1-40-3) arrested the slump in fortunes as Louth briefly tottered on 123-5, but when M. Westmoreland was given bowling rights from the pavilion end, you could feel the palpable sense of dread returning in the air. Mr. Parkinson slowly set his pint down on the table in front of him, clasped his head in his hands, and muttered words of capitulation “Jesus Christ, give me strength…. I organise a tour to my home town of Louth, tell them we’re a semi-decent outfit - well worth their precious time, and we then bowl this fucking shite….” Indeed, after Martin’s first ball pitched a couple of feet in front of him and bounced half a dozen times before it reached the batsman, it suggested Martin had failed to address his 2 year bowling yips. But his skipper had faith in him, and backed his bowler by putting an arm around Mooboy’s shoulder “just fucking bowl, I haven’t got anyone else, and sooner or later it might just work. Maybe.” It certainly did, Martin’s (2-0-30-0) next ball reached the batsman after only one bounce – unfortunately it sailed straight over his head and disappeared into the distance….

 

 

“This dude has a black eye, and he has the bowling yips!”

 

The Louth scoring began to accelerate alarmingly, and despite another great catch in the deep by Mr. Smith (to dismiss the fluid G. West for 36), Mad head’s began to drop. Sensing an imploding disaster, S. Dobner (6-0-39-1) appointed himself to drag his team out the mire and shuffled in on his aching shins. In between getting tonked, be bowled fairly tidily, but still found time to moan about his shins, his arm, his eyes, and his weight. D. Shorten (8-2-35-1) completed his stint at the other end, and his dismissal of M. Cannon (22) saved him from accruing the “opening bowler – no wicket fine”.

 

M. Roberts’ splendid 53 not out would eventually enable the Louth Select XI to post 243 for 8 off their 40 overs – an imposing total, but not one where the tourists didn’t feel was very imposing, if not substantially over-imposing.

 

You have to hand it to the hosts, tea at Louth CC was an extremely enjoyable affair – sitting on the balcony, overlooking a sun drenched field with rolling wheat fields in the background, nibbling at sandwiches and savoury snacks – this is what cricket teas should be about. There was even a bar open, so it was almost disappointing when the cricket match resumed.

 

 

Martin (no helmet) starts the Mad reply.

 

Opting to maintain seasonal continuity, Steve asked D. Edwards and M. Westmoreland to lead the visitors charge for victory. Scoring was difficult in the early exchanges, and it became even more difficult when Martin top-edged a ball into his face. Time slowed down, people watched on, and the game ground to a halt…. A circle of concerned fielders helped Martin to his feet, and despite the positive signs of a lack of claret, the balloon forming under his right eye rendered him retired hurt.

 

I. Howarth (30) joined the fray, and an enterprising and timely knock which shifted the score to 65-0 was cut short when he stretched for a wide one outside off stump - and duly dollied a ball out to point. It was brainless cricket at it’s retarded best, and he left the field to a cacophony of accusations comparing him to male genitalia. Ian’s short stay at the crease had at least allowed Martin a chance to gather his thoughts; and those thoughts told him he should now wear a helmet. Horses, bolted etc etc. Nonetheless, M. Westmoreland Part II (21) batted with great aplomb until he missed a straight one (the helmet was innocent in his demise).

 

 

S. Dobner (right) points out his contribution to the Mad reply.

 

95-1 would then become 119-8 as the Mad demonstrated to the Louth locals just how a “proper” collapse should be conducted (after Martin’s dismissal). There was none of this “little cameo” business in the middle of this collapse, no shots of defiance, no backbone, no pounding of the chest - just a steady trickle of toss becoming a burst dam of ineptitude as the players of the Far From The MCC were washed back into the changing rooms. S. Dobner and T. Smith bagged ducks, M. Bullock managed a Chinese cut for 1, J. Hoskins 3, I. Leggate 2, and J. Hotson a resolute 1. Standing at the other end during all of this carnage was Mr. Edwards. He must have wondered just quite what the fuck was going on, but surely he’d had some experience of a true Mad collapse? Safe to say, poor Daniel pulled down the hatches, locked the doors, artexed over the windows and barricaded himself in. He only stuck his head out when a cheer rang out for his 42 – fatally he was wounded and the Mad stumbled to 138 for 9. With D. Shorten (9) out a few balls later, M. Reeves (4*) protected his average, the Mad slumped to defeat by some 96 runs.

 

 

A quality view of a quality collapse.

 

Game over, it was time to correct the wrongs, and the Mad congregated around the club bar exchanging pleasantries with their very friendly hosts. “You were very good” explained Dobner to his opposite number, “very good indeed. But we bowled and batted like penises, so surely factoring in the amount of effort expended with the margin of victory, I would say victory was actually ours?” Graham West, ever the genial character and hospitable host, smiled and accepted the Mad skipper’s ideology “you are of course correct, how can we possibly claim victory in a game where you guys didn’t even break sweat? Thankfully, we can put that right in two days time and give you another good arsing.”

 

 

‘Spam’

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

MOTM:  I. Howarth’s runs and wickets

Champagne Moment:  T. Smith’s low catch on boundary

Buffet Award:  I. Leggate’s marijuana thick-crust

 

 

 

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