Far From The MCC
~ Est. in 1998 ~
“The Mad Board Various Buses,
As Tommy Plays Pinball”
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Sunday 19th
July 2009 |
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Result: Drawn |
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Venue: Brasenose |
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35 overs |
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FFTMCC |
141 - 9 |
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D. Edwards 56, |
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Astons CC |
D.N.B |
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It is usually safe to assume it is the middle of
July if it feels uncomfortably warm in a jacket whilst standing outside in
the rain. The skies would be charcoal grey, and the daily grind of persistent
drizzle would be punctuated by the odd clap of thunder and a flood inducing
downpour. Gone are the hazy days of July yesteryears where you attended
festivals in the glare of the sun; where you got to lie on your back on
parched straw grass and watch people dance in fields through shimmering heat.
You were happy then to be on whatever you were on, because failure to
find your tent mattered not – because it was dry, and you could stagger and
fall wherever you wanted – safe in the knowledge it wouldn’t be a muddy slush
of piss and detritus washing down from the slopes all around you when you
awoke in the morning.
Umbrellas?
Pools of water? Must be cricket in July. I’m starting to really hate July. It’s a crap
month where it always fucking rains. You make outdoor plans, and it rains.
But it’s summer, so you make some new plans, or you rearrange things - and it
rains once more. Rain rain fucking rain. And yes, I did attend the So I was extremely heartened by the “Dunkirk”
attitude of the Astons team this Sunday, that despite the horrific weather
overnight and leading into the day, they were still prepared to travel over
from Didcot to try and get some Sunday cricket under their belts. Their
skipper Ralph summed it up quite nicely on his mobile by stating “if we don’t
turn up and play, the sun will come out, and since we’ve got bugger all else
to do today, we’re going to turn up. Most of my guys are drunks, and they don’t
want to spend another weekend solely in the pub.” I relayed this good news to
our skipper, who sat inside the
The
covers had more exercise than most the players…. It was about this time that divisions within the
ranks of the FFTMCC began to become apparent, and good natured banter turned
into a more argumentative office management style crossfire. J. Hoskins was
quick to board the positive bus and stipulate that Brasenose had
covers “and the rain outside is just a passing squall”. D. Edwards climbed eagerly
onto that bus by mentioning that “we’ve paid for teas, we’ve paid for the
ground, and I want a damn good bat.” Others boarded A. Fisher’s more negative
bus citing it “was a complete waste of fucking time starting a game
you’re clearly not going to finish”. The negative bus did become
rather crowded at times, especially when non-playing T. Smith commented that
he’d like to buy a pass for both buses as he was unsure where he stood
on the matter in hand (he’d had a late night). With people dismounting and
boarding buses at regular intervals - almost in synch with the cloud cover
changing outside; and nobody seemingly able to agree on anything, both
buses set off for Branenose with 20 minutes remaining for the proposed 2pm
start. It was somewhat ironic that after all the
rainfall and bickering that the game actually started roughly on time. The
FFTMCC were the beneficiaries of a rare winning of the toss (Astons lost it
of course, and no, mini-Moo was not in attendance), and were more than happy
to watch their opponents slip and slide on the soggy outfield chasing leather.
Even more dramatic was the sudden change of weather – the sun came out! And
like all those cheap recycled crappy postcards you get from shops on the
Blackpool seafront, now the pavilion at Brasenose sported a line of colourful
deckchairs as Mad players relaxed into their cans of lager and reading in
readiness for some cricket.
Out in the middle, skipper M. Westmoreland’s (20)
stay at the crease was ruined by a deflection of ball from pad to wicket. A
shame, as he’d looked in good touch before that incident, and was providing a
more attacking foil to D. Edwards who was carefully grafting the foundation
of a total at the other end. Dan was joined at the crease by a back-to-form Next up was S. Dobner, and soon to underline why
his nickname should change from “Twinkle” to “Pinball” (or maybe “Tommy” –
the pinball wizard?) A forward defensive sees the ball stopped in it’s
tracks, bounces off the cushion of dirt, spins back against the flipper of
grass, and then disappears down the gutter onto his bails for a duck.
Shocking luck, and perfectly in keeping with Steve’s record of “pinball”
dismissals (being bowled in an unorthodox manner; often utilising every part
of his anatomy). 104 for 3.
“He’s
the pinball wizard… la larrrr la-larrr…” D. Emerson (3), worryingly sober, strode to the
crease, and soon after, strode straight back again, but not before unfurling
the best shot of the day – a towering throw of his own bat into a
faraway puddle – an exemplary demonstration of cobbing. Dave, we salute you.
At the other end, Dan had been suffering the jitters, having been stranded in
the nervous forties for well over half an hour – he must be close to his
fifty? Surely? A quick check with the scorer (J. Hotson) and he was informed
it happened hours ago (his 50 that is). Relaxing in the knowledge, Dan (56)
was summarily bowled hoiking to deep square cow.
Dan’s
innings was all the more remarkable considering he had no bat. If there is one thing that you can rely on in a
Mad match, it’s the now traditional collapse. Many teams have tried to
imitate, but none have ever succeeded in such a deflatory and shambolic
fashion. The Far From The MCC pride themselves in a tumble of chaotic
wickets, cobbing, finger pointing, blame, and the use of colourful language
as a backing chorus for the event itself. 122 for 3 would quickly become 141
for 9, as the procession of hapless batmanship continued apace. M. Reeves (6)
having tried valiantly to run himself out on no less than four different
occasions, eventually succeeded in swishing over a straight one. A. Fisher
(1) missed nearly everything including the one that hit his middle stump. J.
Hoskins (2) scored at a run a ball, and JP Collins (4) scored at double the
rate. All four were bowled, three of them in A. Napper’s (7-0-19-3) final
over. It all left our poet, A. Morley, defiant and undefeated on an average
protecting 1 not out. I. Leggate did not bat. 35 overs had elapsed. Time for tea, time for the golf on tv, and time
for the heavens to open once more. Whilst the romantics cried in their cuppas
as ageing Tom Watson failed at the last to win his sixth golfing Open,
Brasenose was swiftly smudged out under blanket grey skies and diagonal rain.
It fucking pissed down. And with every attempt at removing the covers and
considered attempts at more play, it fucking pissed down some more. Barrel
loads of it. Bathtubs of it. Pools of water now enveloped the outfield, and
after various discussions on various buses about pool systems,
Duckworth-Lewis recalculations, buggering off or waiting it out, M.
Westmoreland and R. Smith shook hands and agreed a draw.
Martin
has a crap in front of the kids. In the end, July had the final word, and whether
I got on the negative or positive buses before the game is
largely irrelevant. I did climb on one final bus however, I bought a ticket
for the Folly bus, as this seemed to be the only vehicle that had the
team united. Funny that – something that sells alcohol…. ‘Spam’ |
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No
Fines on this Day |
MOTM: -
Champagne Moment: -
Buffet Award: -