Far From The MCC

~ Est. in 1998 ~

 

“Schadenfreude”

 

 

Sunday 13th June 2010

Result:  Won by 68 Runs

Venue:  Brasenose

40 overs

FFTMCC

210 - 6

I. Howarth  99,  G. Littlechild  31,  M. Westmoreland  31

Old East Oxford

142 - 8

I. Leggate  2 - 12,  D. Emerson  2 - 20

 

 

 

Schadenfreude is one of those fantastic foreign words for which we have no direct translation and has, as such, become part of the accepted English vocabulary. Schadenfreude can be best described as ‘Taking pleasure in the misfortune of others’. During the last few weeks there have been a significant number of examples which illustrate the true sense of the word. Take the evening of Saturday 12th June – picture the scene; World Cup Qualifier England vs USA. England take the lead through a fluent move and the shaven headed, beer fuelled meatheads launch into full on Ing-er-lund, Ing-er-lund, Ing-er-lund mode. Thirty Eight minutes later a tame shot from all American hero Clint Dempsey trundles along the African turf towards red nosed England stopper Robert Green, who inexplicably allows the ball to wriggle from his grasp and nestle into the net.

 

 

Robert Green – an utter bell end.

 

A whole nation is instantly transported from euphoria to stunned silence. The camera pans to Fabio Capello, who is alive with Italian fury, blood vessels popping all over his face. Clive Tyldesley has literally shat himself in the commentary box and has tears flooding down his Manchester United polo shirt. The camera pans once more to reserve England keepers David James and Joe Hart, both look bright eyed, silent glee spreading across their faces.  A look is exchanged between the two that says ‘Brilliant – the twat has let us back in ’ – Schadenfreude – it’s everywhere you look:

 

Ashley Cole being dumped by violent, Geordie, racist (allegedly) national treasure Cheryl – Nationwide  Schadenfreude

 

Politicians being prosecuted for their criminal expense claims – Schadenfreude

 

You get the picture. It occurred to this correspondent during the fixture between the Mad and Old East Oxford that this was possibly not the only word derived from foreign languages that did not have a direct translation into English, and sure enough several came to light.

 

 

Team Mad bathe in rather nice afternoon weather.

 

Following yet another lost toss – once again attributable to one D Westmoreland who turned up too late to advise his father, The Mad were somewhat surprisingly invited to bat on the traditional low slow Brasenose wicket. Neither team had been able to muster the full XI for the start of the game with the Mad’s number being depleted to the tune of two following an unforeseen traffic jam somewhere outside Chingford (Selathirupavar – Tamil used to define a certain type of absence without official leave in face of duty). Bereft of their Number 3 batsman, the onus was on a steady start from openers Hebbes and Howarth. Given a history of somewhat ‘capricious’ running between the wickets, the pair had the importance of clear calling underlined to them as they strolled to the wicket. There were not too many alarms and the pair ran sensibly – it was mooted several times that an injured Howarth is actually a safer Howarth as he is less likely to  launch into the blind, head down, suicidal singles for which he has entered Mad folklore. The pair moved the score along at a steady rate before Hebbes attempting to accelerate holed out back to the bowler for 15.

 

 

A magician with long foreign words, Parkinson is a master of levitation also.

 

The Essex jalopy had safely arrived and Littlechild, a bundle of chipper enthusiasm, strolled out to the middle. Surely two of the club’s most gifted players would soon get things moving. What followed saw one very out of form player, with one very rusty one, attempt to reacquaint themselves with their obvious talents. Howarth was the epitome of Litost a rarely used Czech word meaning ‘a state of torment created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery’ as he tried to play his established role of Laughing Cavalier. Head shaking, cursing and Tourette’s tics were ever present. What Howarth did have was luck on his side as he continued to profit from OEO’s profligate attempts in the field. During his knock Howarth was reprieved no less than 7 (yes SEVEN) times. His team mates, while obviously wishing their hero well, started to tut as yet another catch was grassed. ‘Never happens to me’ and ‘Jammy bastard’ were repeatedly heard.

 

 

Howarth lofts another into the air over mid off.

 

Gary Littlechild at the other end was making steady progress and providing the solidity that we have missed of late, chiselling out a useful 31. The two batsmen having spent many a happy hour at the crease together have that inbuilt natural understanding. It was therefore somewhat surprising to see Howarth foaming at the mouth like an over excited Derby outsider, haring down the wicket having hit the ball all of 5 metres straight to the nearest fielder. The result was Gary was cut off in his prime and was run out.

 

I am sure I was not the only one left with the feeling that what had just passed was as fine an example of ‘mamihlapinatapei’ as one could hope to see – it can be defined as  the action of “looking into someone’s eyes, each hoping the other will initiate what both want to do but neither chooses to commence – as both players stood in mid pitch staring into each other’s eyes they both probably thought ‘if only we had immediately turned back, why did he run / not shout NOOOOOO!??? It was tough on the diminutive Essex stumper. Surely with yet another escape for the Lancastrian rogue, it was destined to be his day as he entered the pantheon of Mad greatness by registering another century? As Gary returned to the Mad throng he was admirably restrained. His team mates were only to happen to offer words of consolation to Gary – ‘What a total bell end, he is eh Gary’, ‘When will he ever learn?’, ‘You should take him to the car park and give him a Romford kiss Gal’ etc. Howarth just stood there, looking like a ‘Nam veteran, the thousand yard stare a textbox illustration of Waldeinsamkeit (German): the feeling of being all alone in the woods.

 

 

Nick (15) surveys his failure with Bovine Mascot and Duck.

 

Out in the middle Howarth continued to ride his luck on his journey to the promised land of three figures. Smith (0) and Parkinson (1) came and went, plus a further 3 Howarth’s. Fortunately Westmoreland was there to steady the ship with a fine 31 as the 7 Howarth’s struck out to all corners of the ground. As befits the only player to have ever been out on 99 for the club (hence the shirt number) a warning was called out to Ian that he was on 99. Surely a pushed single, a raised bat, greatness assured. Nope, a blind head long lunge at the off spinner in an attempt to clear the longest boundary. The ball was mistimed and looped in a glorious parabola to the long on stationed at three quarters for such an idiotic risk. As the ball travelled seemingly in slow motion, the Mad on the boundary rose as one. Surely the chance would be grassed as the previous 7 had been. The ball stuck. Silence descended across the ground before an almighty roar – not as one would have expected from OEO, but from all the Mad players. Schadenfreude abounds. Howarth had entered the Pantheon alright, but it was the one marked ‘Tit’.

 

 

Howarth is left to rue notching the number on his back; another bell end.

 

Some lusty blows from Westmoreland and Dobner (21*) saw the Mad to a substantial total of 210-6 which was a great effort.

 

Following a magnificent feast topped off with yet another superb, bespoke cake thanks to Kim, the Mad started to discuss the OEO reply – there was a theory that ‘Get the brothers and the rest will fold like a house of cards’ I felt like I had entered a 1980’s gangster movie. Sure enough the lofty Kelly opened up for OEO and his class was apparent as he timed the ball beautifully all round the ground – Emerson and Roberts (4-0-24-0) bowled a tight opening partnership without making the breakthrough. Parkinson (5-2-14-0) and his lump replaced Emerson and he too failed to make the difference, being despatched with minimal effort over deep square for a huge 6. This was looking all too easy.

 

 

Steve Dobner claimed credit for all of Kim’s handiwork in the kitchen.

 

Hoskins (8-1-34-2) at the other end was mixing things up well with his combination of off breaks, darts and loopy floaters. When he breached Levvy’s defences for 25, little did we know what a change this would make. T. Kelly decided the best plan was full out attack and literally sprinted down the wicket like a Mohican warrior. He missed. Gary whipped off the bails. Momentum shifted. Further wickets fell, but Andy Kelly was still making serene progress at the other end. He was however having problems getting hold of Hoskin’s flans and the run rate continued to grow. The return of Emerson (8-0-20-2) made the difference, he slipped one under Kelly’s defences and he was bowled for a well crafted 79. This saw the introduction of Leggate and he did what he does best, he bamboozled the opposition’s lower order with a range of variety rarely seen these days finishing with 1.5-0-12-2. As his run rate moved to over 6 per over, several bowlers could be seen making the fist clenched gesture as it was clear where the Buffet award would be heading. Schadenfreude once more.

 

 

J. Hoskins’ (right) 0 not out off 0 balls was pivotal to the Mad success.

 

The game was won and the Mad went off to celebrate their 68 run victory and to marvel further at the ‘failures’ of their team mates. Twas ever thus!

 

 

‘Mincer’

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

MOTM:  I. Howarth’s non-century

Champagne Moment:  D. Emerson’s bowling of A. Kelly (79)

Buffet Award:  I. Leggate’s double-bouncing cream pies

 

 

 

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