Far From The MCC
~ Est. in 1998 ~
“Bitterness Costs Ol’ Big Head
MOTM Award”
|
Sunday 18th
July 2010 |
|
|
Result: Won by 35 Runs |
|
|
Venue: Brasenose |
|
|
40 overs |
|
|
FFTMCC |
213 - 9 |
|
M. Reeves 85,
M. Westmoreland 57 |
|
|
Astons CC |
178 - 8 |
|
J. Hoskins 3 - 22 |
|
|
It
was a touch ironic, as I flicked through the TV channels late on Sunday
evening, that BBC2 would be airing a documentary recalling the tenure of the
legendary football manager Brian Clough. Only a few hours earlier, the Far
From The MCC’s very own ‘Cloughie’, was smashing the Astons CC bowling to all
parts of Brasenose cricket ground and becoming somewhat of a legend himself.
The parallels didn’t stop there either. Brian, a genius in many ways, was
also increasingly tormented by demons in later life – that somehow his country would never install him as
Mike Reeves and Brian Clough. Mike
’Cloughie’ Reeves also housed bitterness, and it was laid bare in a match
report where he described being criminally overlooked for a Player of the Season award a decade
ago. Mike still bore a grudge, and that anger and frustration had clearly
eaten away at him as time had passed by. Many thought his quiet and
reflective nature was that befitting a man at peace with the world. Clearly
not, and it troubled his faultless and
understanding team mates that someone could hide these dark emotions for so
long. * * * After
a batch of midday rain, Mad skipper M. Westmoreland, moved swiftly to lose
the toss, and thus hand the difficult decision of what to do with Aston’s
counterpart, R. Smith. Ralph figured on the lime coloured track throwing a few
spanners in the works early doors, and thus inserted the hosts into bat. His
decision looked justified, as
Martin (left) shadow bats in
front of the Brasenose pavilion. Mike
had been joined at the crease by his skipper, and despite some early scares,
Martin was starting to look like he was in the mood. The pair regularly
crashed balls past the bowler, pulled balls to leg, cut balls to off, and
found the boundary with increasing regularity. ‘Cloughie’ was at times
flamboyant and at other times almost arrogant in his cavalier strokeplay. His
namesake would have been proud. He notched his fifty before the drinks break
off just 57 balls, by which time the Astons bowling was starting to look a
little ragged. The
pair would eventually realise a Club equalling 4th wicket record
partnership of 111. It was great to watch, and a shame in the end that Mike’s
knock ended on 85 with a century there for the taking. He was applauded off
the field, and as you would expect from a man sharing a nickname with Brian
Clough, he refused to get carried away with his own success, and instead
chose to score the remainder of the innings – diligent, and perhaps with
thoughts on later accolades to follow.
Martin (57) and Mike (85) applaud
themselves. Westmoreland
(57) eventually fell with one swish too many, and in the charge for late
runs, Louis
Oosthuizen provided the mid-innings entertainment, as his domination of the
Open at
I. Howarth was extremely happy
about his lbw decision. On
resumption, the Astons reply was hindered by a fine opening burst from D.
Emerson (7-1-19-1); his control of line and length proving tough to get away.
Shorten (7-0-30-0) was less successful, and in some ways maybe surprising, as
overhead conditions seemed suitable for swing. J. Pearson (5-0-20-1) went
through the gears, but it was the introduction of veteran pie-chucker J.
Hoskins that turned the match on its head. B. Marks (10) hit a cream tart straight
back at him, and poor S. Merryfield (0) misjudged the sausage doosra; but it
was Hoskins (5-0-22-3) removal of R. Smith (36) that really caused a stir.
Ralph, looking increasingly at home on the Brasenose track, lofted an apple
doughnut high and far down to deep long on. There, sprinting in the outfield,
a puffing Westmoreland leaped several hundred meters into the air, before
clinging the aperitif one handed and eating it whole. It was an extraordinary
catch and a no-brainer for
D. Edwards faces Smith Snr’s
lobbed patisserie. The
Astons reply never recovered after that, and despite a few decent wags from
their lower middle order, the run chase was always going to be too greater an
ask. With
the Fines Committee being neglected in recent weeks, a judicial kangaroo
court was quickly set up. Shorten fared badly, his umpiring and general
demeanour forcing him into bankruptcy and further cobbing; Hoskins would
remortgage his house after sulking and whinging throughout; Howarth paid in
full for his show of petulance after his lbw; and the unemployed Westmoreland
had little option other than eBaying his livers to pay for his indiscretions.
Nobody was spared, and with Treasurer M. Reeves flush with new finances, he
happily looked on as votes were cast for Man
of the Match. It was cast iron, nailed on, or at least he thought -
surely he wouldn’t be callously overlooked like he had been a decade ago?
Twas so. With hoots of laughter and a show of hands, James Pearson scooped
the honour in a protest vote (of sorts), and Cloughie’s darker persona came
to the fore. “You’re all bastards! Rotten filthy bastards!” he cried, as he
slammed his pens and cash pot on the floor. “It’s a fucking disgrace! I’ll
hold this grudge until 2019 – you mark my words! All of you –
BASTARDS!!!!!!!!”
Man of the Match, J. Pearson,
contemplates his duck. In
summation, I have to say sorry, Mike. So very very sorry. But well batted anyway. ‘Peter Taylor’ |
*
ne
MOTM: J. Pearson (protest
vote)
Champagne Moment: M. Westmoreland’s
catch in the deep
Buffet Award: C. Roberts’
onion and sage steak burgers (with tomato relish)