Far From The MCC
~ Est. in 1998 ~
“Self-Absorbed Match Report
Describes Little Else”
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Sunday 6th
September 2009 |
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Result: Drawn |
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Venue: Aston Tirrold |
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Timed |
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Astons CC |
220 - 7 |
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J. Hoskins 2 - 53,
S. Dobner 2 - 65 |
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FFTMCC |
200 - 8 |
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D. Edwards 57,
I. Howarth 39, |
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I
felt pretty crap on the day – bunged up with a fuzzy head. It may have been
swine-flu, but it probably wasn’t. It certainly wasn’t normal flu where you sweat a bathtub of fluids out all over your
mattress and nearly die, but I felt pretty lousy nonetheless. The
drive to Aston Tirrold was made slightly more bearable with the company of D.
Edwards to give me the wrong directions, and A. Fisher to correct me even when
I was eventually travelling in the right direction. Astonishingly, our
progress was such that we managed to arrive at the pub before the game with
enough time to sit and enjoy a pint. I, of course, didn’t enjoy my pint as I
felt like shit.
“Ladbrokes? Yeah, I’ll have a ton
on us fucking this up today.” Last
September, the cricket ground of Aston CC had been a sea of mud with an
adjoining building site doubling as a makeshift changing room. It pissed down
throughout the game if my memory serves me right, and the whole experience
was rather underwhelming to say the least. Today, the sun shone, and the
Aston’s folk now celebrated a brand spanking new pavilion housing gleaming
new changing rooms. Whilst
I clambered into my dirty whites, I gleaned the skipper had won the toss and
decided on letting the opposition clump 200 plus. Why not, eh? The Mad were
the “greatest team for chasing totals this country had ever seen”, or at
least we were if you listened to J. Hoskins. Recently
acquired bowling options D. Emerson (10-2-31-1) and A. Darley (6-0-35-1)
provided the opening salvo, and it was the latter who made the initial
breakthrough after Aston’s skipper R. Smith (4) decided to whip a ball to leg
from 6 feet outside his off stump. There was little else to cheer as the
opposition consolidated and took the score past 50.
James always attracted a decent
sized crowd to see his big one. S.
Dobner was then introduced into the attack, and rewarded his skipper’s
confidence by bowling some short pitch tripe outside off. Sadly for C.
Bonwell (32) he square cut one straight to yours truly at point. It was a
good catch (I’ve caught better), but with a crippled index finger it ought to
claim the “Best Catch of the Season” award. The reason it probably won’t, is
because my next catch was even better (more of that later). Having
been handed the ball, I then gave D. Barlow (1) a lesson in controlled medium
pace bowling before splattering his stumps all over Dobner
(12-1-65-2) and Emerson left Astons on 151-5, but the real interest was
whether J. Hoskins could net himself his 28th wicket of the season
and become “the greatest bowler that the Mad had ever seen”. He probably
wouldn’t have managed it, as his seasonally accurate line had been replaced
by that of a blind geriatric pie-chucker, but fortunately yours truly was
stood at point (still) and pouched an exocet (it was travelling in excess of
150 mph) off N. Clark (65) to leave James cockahoop. I caught another off his
bowling a few overs later too – amazing when you consider I had a crippled
index finger.
Martin (helmet) admires J. Shea’s
athletic qualities as a bowler. With
a late flourish and some good lower order tonking from J. Shea (44), a hungry
Astons team decided to declare on 220 for 7 and get stuck into the mid-match
buffet. I’m happy to report it tasted even better than that which the Far
From The MCC had provided out on the field, and it was great to consume it
inside the new pavilion as opposed to standing waist-deep in slurry in a
builder’s yard. The
Mad’s reply was given a solid and enterprising impetus by Edwards and the
skipper, M. Westmoreland. I missed much of it as I hovered not far from the
toilets, sweating on whether it really was a good idea to bat or not (if
required). The decision was made for me when Martin (29) was caught with the
score on 78, and I duly trudged to the wicket worrying more about my stomach
linings than what the Aston’s bowling attack might have to offer. S.
Smith and M. Wigg served up some rubbish to allow me and Dan the pleasure of
cantering past the 100 mark, and it was about this time that Edwards (57)
began to feel the withering pressure of a lowering run rate. Astons had now
began the first of their final 20 overs, and despite our target being around
5 runs per over, Dan decided on charging the bowler. He was duly stumped
after Smith speared one down the leg side. Shame, as I felt Danny Boy was in
the zone before that.
D. Edwards (57) was in exquisite
form until he got himself stumped. At
118-2 it was still game on, and I was joined at the crease by S. Dobner,
displaying all the urgency of a death row inmate going to the electric chair.
But this mattered not, because as Steve acclimatised to the pitch, I was
happily swatting the bad ball away for the odd boundary and nursing singles
into vacant gaps. If the game continued along this path, then the Mad would
achieve their greatest run chase in their short history, and I would be
championed as “the greatest batsman this team had ever had when chasing an
improbable victory target” (or so James told me). But
then disaster struck, and an incident completely out of my hands would render
me bitter and pissed off throughout the off-season. A short pitch ball
needing depositing on hay stack behind cow corner got up all of 2 inches and
struck me slap bang in front of middle peg – plumb lbw (39). Brilliant.
Thanks very fucking much. Still, at least the umpire shared a joke after the
match to say he never gave any lbw’s in Sunday cricket, bar that one with the
poor fucker stood in front of his middle stump looking acutely pissed off
earlier in the day…. Ha – how he
laughed.
A. Darley (right) has been a
revelation with the bat this year. I
missed A. Darley continuing his rich vein of form with the bat (duck), and I
also missed J. Hotson eeking out 2, and A. Fisher boshing a rapid 6. I was
too busy kicking my kit around the changing rooms to be bothered about our
team’s progress, and my mood was only tempered when Mr. Darley joined the fray
and started throwing his own kit about and declaring that “this game is a
waste of fucking time” and that he felt he needed to find something else “to
fucking do in his spare time.” Back
outside, the Far From The MCC had wilted to 172 for 8 with T. Smith (9)
joining the bat throwing contingent, and M. Bullock (0) wondering why he’d
bothered turning up. We could easily have lost the game from there, but we
didn’t. A doughty S. Dobner (30*) was aided and abetted during the final
nervous few overs by a strangely coherent D. Emerson (14*). 200 for 8 was how
we finished, and it was nice to see J. Hoskins sat pitch side with his pads
on – muttering under his breath about “not having the opportunity to win the
game for the Mad” despite being “the most underrated batsman” that this team
had ever had.
Probably the most egotistical
match report this team has ever seen. So
near, and yet so far. Such an enjoyable game, and yet such a total piss off.
I finally arrived back home some two hours later, and after a day of feeling
whoozy and light-headed, I finally ended my season by hurling my guts down
the toilet. ‘I. F. Only’ |
*
MOTM: D. Edwards’ dogged
fifty
Champagne Moment:
Buffet Award: A. Darley’s
spring rolls