Far From The MCC

~ Est. in 1998 ~

 

“Twinkle Embezzles The Mad

As The Mongoose Has It’s Day”

 

 

Sunday 9th May 2010

Result:  Lost by 33 Runs

Venue:  Cutteslowe Park

40 overs

Nomads of Swindon

203 - 9

S. Dobner  3 - 20,  M. Westmoreland  3 - 39

FFTMCC

170 ao

D. Edwards  33,  J. Hoskins  32,  M. Westmoreland  27

 

 

 

With Brasenose College Sports Ground being unavailable due to the early season nature of this home fixture, the Far From The MCC arranged the match at one of their favourite old stomping grounds. Cutteslowe Park top pitch, albeit a council property, has always sneered at Oxford’s other bookable grounds. It’s carefully mowed outfield, it’s well prepared tracks, and reasonably maintained changing rooms are in stark contrast to some of the ruinous chav-infested shitholes the team have had to frequent in the past. Think Cowley Marshes, think war-torn Beirut. Think Horspath sports fields, think some cold barren wilderness in the middle of fucking nowhere, with tumbleweed wafting past you as you search for crumbs of comfort whilst standing on an undistinguishable boundary edge with your hands thrust down the trouser pockets. Yep, as far as council pitches go, Cutteslowe is Premier League.

 

 

“In, out, in out – wish the sun would make it’s bloody mind up!”

 

Indifferent weather during the preceding week had led a few of the more pessimistic team members to wonder if they would actually see any cricket at the weekend, but the day was dry, and the occasional burst of sunshine from behind the cold grey clouds had players exposing their ample guts as they discarded their sweaters and hobo-style fleeces.

 

After W. Westmoreland’s proud record of tossing went by the wayside, the Mad were subsequently invited to chase some leather; but things were delayed initially due to a core of the fielding team awaiting delivery of full-English takeaways from a local pub. Due to this poor timekeeping, J. Hotson was stripped of wicketkeeping duties and left out on the boundary to graze – a vantage point from where he watched his deputy, I. Howarth, snaffle a couple behind off opening bowler D. Emerson, and his replacement S. Dobner. They were routine edges, and routine catches, and if you arrive routinely on time, you get the routine pleasure of pouching the fucking things routinely yourself. Jake would later defend himself at the Fines Committee, citing his late arrival was completely down to his compatriots I. Leggate and D. Edwards, but with a history blighted by lateness, his defence was thrown out and he was duly hammered.

 

 

“Haha – Jake copped the bollocking for this lot!”

 

H. Alleyne (63) would prove the rock around which the Nomads constructed their innings. The opener, casually laid back in his approach, held up both Emerson (8-1-32-1) and D. Shorten, before helping himself to the buffet from a strangely off-colour J. Hoskins (6-0-47-0). His innings only came to an end when he skied one in the deep off skipper Westmoreland. Howarth, having swapped gloves only minutes previous, hung on as he sprawled by the boundary edge – his shock of delight only matched by his team mates, who had witnessed him diving out the way of a similar shot a few balls earlier. 126 for 4, quickly became 130 for 6, as both Martin (6-0-39-3) and S. Dobner (8-1-20-3) bowled beautifully in tandem. Quite where Martin has found his rhythm is anyone’s guess, the plague of yips that has blighted the previous two years are a now a think of the past, and hopefully to remain there. He’s still a hypochondriac however, and to underline this fact, he fractured a finger stopping a bump ball and opened the doors to the Pegasus Theatre with a sneak preview of ‘Ouch Ouch, My Arm And Head Have Fallen Off, Call Me An Air Ambulance’. Initial reviews are quite good, with some critics labelling Mr. Westmoreland’s performance as both epic and towering in it’s bi-play of raw emotion and heroism. Attendances have been poor though, with only 21 men dressed as cricketers making the show, and a bemused wife with two young boys raising an eyebrow at each other.

 

 

D. Edwards’ (33) amazing cover driving without a bat.

 

The Nomads would eventually realise 203 off their 40 overs, largely thanks to some handy wagging down the order from S. Watts (24) and M. Harrow (22), and some truly insipid fielding by the home team. I. Leggate (3-0-23-0) bowled with renewed confidence, whilst D. Shorten (8-0-29-2) reaped the dividends with his controlled variety of swing - despite his having to bowl “up the hill”. The apparent incline to the Cutteslowe pitch had gone unnoticed by everyone, until a returning D. Emerson complained to his skipper “I can’t bowl uphill, I simply can’t. If I did, I would bowl shit, and I simply refuse to do it. I want to bowl downhill otherwise I’m not fucking bowling at all.” After watching Dave pick his toys off the floor, Martin allowed his opening bowler the luxury of bowling downhill, noting with some amusement that Dave had left the door wide open for a season of abuse every time the Mad note a slight incline on a pitch.

 

 

Kim’s embarrassment at her husband’s teas forced her into baking a cake.

 

Tea - and an opportunity for some profiteering. Step forth former Tesco shelf-filler, and morally corrupt cricketing all-rounder, S. Dobner. Having spent the off-season with far too much time on his hands, juggling the strenuous responsibilities of changing channels on his TV set and playing games with his kids, Steve reasoned that cricket teas were a way of paying for his commute from Essex to Oxford. In return for a couple of wafer-thin Iceland pizzas, a few out-of-date packets of crisps, and a few litres of mouthwash which doubled as drink, Steve would charge the Mad eighty pounds for his labours with the promise of more “delights” to come. How this deal was officially stamped by the Mad hierarchy is anyone’s guess, but Mr. Dobner would later walk away from the Fines Committee with a large grin and bunch of readies to hand.

 

In reply to the Nomad’s imposing total, I. Howarth (10) soon departed to leave D. Edwards and D. Shorten to carry the baton after smacking a half-volley straight to a waiting mid off. Whereas Edwards (33) looked assured until he was undone by a P. Harris pie, Dave looked twitchy on his way to an uncharacteristically slow 16. Debutant Ross Maher (0) lasted but a ball, and when S. Dobner (5) and T. Smith (0) also fell, the Mad looked rather wobbly on 72 for 6.

 

 

D. Shorten’s (16) mature batting display caused consternation.

 

It has been a criticism in recent seasons that the Mad tail appears to have been ran over by an articulated lorry - as it never ever wags; but on this particular early Sunday in May, I am happy to report it did wag, and wagged in some style – wagging better than a visit to Jimmy Choo’s by the wives of the England football team. Bemoaning his crippling finger injury, M. Westmoreland (27) coaxed the lower order by smiting several boundaries to cow, and in doing so, brought out a sparkling 32 from J. Hoskins (including a six with his beloved Mongoose bat), a doughty and entertaining 9 from I. Leggate (with his reverse Mongoose bat), and an enterprising and jaw-dropping display of hitting from the much maligned J. Hotson (18*). Jake’s innings included a lofted four over the bowler’s head no less. With a mere 36 runs required off the final over, an amazing and impractical victory was almost the Mad’s. Unfortunately, D. Emerson (3) read the wrong script and ran himself out – an ironic dismissal when you consider he was running downhill and should have made his ground.

 

 

“Our top order is shite, we have to do everything these days.”

 

So, in summation, an entertaining and enjoyable game of cricket played in great spirit with our friends from Swindon. The match epitomised the ethos of Sunday cricket, where a will to win, but not at the expense of decent banter and a fun day out. The piss-taking at times was exemplary, the complaint or thirty about bowling uphill was top notch, and the consistent moaning relating to age and fielding like an utter prick was without peer.

 

We look forward to playing these guys next year.

 

 

‘Buckets’

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

MOTM:  M. Westmoreland’s all round heroics

Champagne Moment:  J. Hoskin’s Mongoose swatted six

Buffet Award:  J. Hoskin’s chilli and humus wraps

 

 

 

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