Far From The
MCC
~ Est. in 1998 ~
“Edwards Secures
Thrilling Non-Victory
After Bruising
Weekend”
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Sunday 5th
September 2010 |
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Result: Match Tied |
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Venue: Aston Tirrold |
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Timed |
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FFTMCC |
179 - 4 |
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I. Howarth 53,
D. Edwards 45, M. Bullock
41* |
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Astons CC |
179 ao |
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D. Edwards 4 - 12,
J. Pearson 3 - 27 |
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After
an exhausting and rather gruelling weekend of cricket, Dan Edwards prepared
to bowl at the Astons’ number ten batsman, M. Moore.
The scores were tied at 179 apiece and the final pair were
at the crease. The tension was palpable. There were of course several skippers
on the field, all waving their arms about frantically and directing the flow
of traffic. “We need one out, and everybody else in!” shouted one. “Bollocks!”
countered another, “we need three out cow, a slip, and everyone else in on
the one.” “Put everyone out – this guy’s just a bloody slogger!”
came another. The suggestions and arguments raged until Edwards could bear no
more and he simply bowled – his worst
ball of the day.
From soporific beginnings, the
pavilion was jumping by the end of the match. It
looped in the air with barely enough energy to reach the other end. It was the pie to beat all pies – lightly
glazed with a nice fold on the perimeter of the pastry. Mr. Moore’s eyes popped
out on stalks and a long strand of saliva dripped from the corner of his
mouth as he decided on which portion of the ground to twat it. Astoundingly,
as his bat cleaved through the air, he failed to connect and missed the damned thing! Worse, for
him anyway, he heard the clink of a bail. OUT!!! Remarkable – after 3 days of
an intensive cricketing marathon the final match of the weekend had ended in
a tie. * * * Earlier
in the day a group of Mad had assembled in the beer garden of the Chequers
pub just down the road from the ground, for the now traditional pre-match
pint. The inclement weather didn’t exactly inspire the mood of the gathering
and the skipper, Mr. Westmoreland, questioned the motives for assuming the
game was on. “Stevie D’s driving all the way from
Howarth and Edwards return to the
middle after a quick nap. Relocating
to the Aston Tirrold ground, it quickly became
clear that the pitch was going to provide plenty of help to the bowlers. It’s
brown, mud-like surface was interspersed with the odd copse of squashed grass
and autumnal leaves. As with any important toss this year, Martin correctly
called wrongly and the Mad were inserted into bat. “What do we do, skip?”
enquired the troops. “We’ve never batted first in a timed game.” The skipper mused for a second before replying in a
matter-of-fact way that “we bat for two and half hours. Simple. Can’t be any
fucking easier than that, can it?” Runs
at the top of the Mad batting order had largely been at a premium this year.
When one of the guys fired, the rest of them bolted down a rabbit hole
looking for a batting manual. There had been signs of improvement recently,
but seeing the ball swinging and seaming with alarming regularity past the
blades of D. Edwards and I. Howarth hardly caused ripples of confidence among
the watching Mad. Nor did the trampoline bounce and occasional squally
shower. It was nothing short of a miracle that the Mad’s
opening combo survived for the first hour – their cause helped in no small
way by the home team’s refusal to pouch anything in the air, and to remain
rooted to the spot when anything flashed through the slips.
J. Hoskins finally clarifies why
he drives a hairdresser’s car. As
the minutes ticked by and the weather started to clear up, batting became
easier. Aston shoulders drooped, the partnership continued, and Martin was
left with the quandary of when to get
after it, and what was a decent total to set. He judged about an hour to
tea to start upping the tempo, and after a few swats for four, Howarth (53)
was eventually bowled doing just that. It was the end of fine opening
partnership of 94 which in the end had spanned some 31 overs
and also an impromptu pitch-side haircut for rock star, J. Hotson.
M. Bullock (41*) thrashes another
through the covers. Edwards
(45),
When it comes to eating BIG –
Martin is the ideal role model. As
the team launched their assault on all things quiche and sandwich, Martin
fielded questions on what exactly they were doing next. “Apparently,” he
started “it’s the honourable thing ‘round these parts to declare at tea. We won’t be batting on – that’s it. We’re done.
We’re declaring.” Had the Mad screwed the pace of their innings up? Was 179 a
decent total? Was the track still sporting demons? Had they taken the piss by
batting 51 overs? Nobody really knew the answers to
these questions as they’d never batted first in a timed game before. I guess they’d find out soon enough…. On
resumption of the match, the hosts were quickly reduced to not that many
(scorebook omission) for 4 as J. Pearson (6-2-27-3) and D. Emerson
(10-2-45-1) carved through the Astons top order on a pitch still providing
plenty of assistance to the bowler. It certainly helped that the Mad slip
cordon could catch (Nick, Jake and
Matt take a bow), and to think they never even practiced on the cradle
beforehand – arrogance personified.
Astons player L. Gray
demonstrates how not to catch (and bust his finger). If
the visitors thought this match was now a foregone conclusion (do they
ever?), then they were in for a very rude awakening courtesy of young maverick
stroke player C. Bonwell, and veteran tonkmeister general,
T. Dew. In the 45 minutes of the final hour before the last 20 overs (or something like that), Bonwell
and Dew smoked anything in their half of the pitch into the surrounding
hedgerows. Of the cricketing bummings dished out, M.
Westmoreland (4-0-43-0) suffered most – particularly in lieu of the fact he’d
used the rest of his lube during the Portchester
onslaught the previous day. Finally, perhaps with the clock ticking to his
bedtime, Bonwell (63) flashed at one too many and holed out on the boundary
to leave the Astons on 112-5. Into
the final 20 overs, or final extra hour, or some
portion of the match that nobody fully understood (at least from the Mad’s contingent), and S. Dobner (8-1-27-2) was working up
a full head of steam – downhill. After despatching young upstart, Bonwell, in
his previous over, he rocked back Mr. Dew’s (40) timber to boot. Finally the
Mad would see out victory? No. The Astons bat in depth these days, and before
long J. Shea and D. White were now hammering the ball about with utter
distain. What to do? What to do?
Martin (batting) earlier gave
spectators a glimpse of his levitating prowess. In
a final throw of the dice, Martin reasoned on giving Edwards (3.1-0-12-4) a
twirl. Maybe that octopus-in-a-washing-machine
action of his would cause consternation in the home team’s ranks? It did!
Leggate caught a beauty in the covers to remove Shea (15), White (32) missed
a blueberry bun and got triggered, and wily S. Smith (1) was bowled by a jam
doughnut. It all left the final pairing of M. Moore and Judas T. Smith
requiring a handful of runs for victory. This they managed until the scores
were tied; and the rest as they say is history…. * * * Opinion
seemed divided in the pub afterwards concerning the merits and shortcomings
of timed cricket matches. It still
seemed a totally alien concept, but nobody could deny the success of the day
as a cricketing memory. Timed
cricket? Mad declarations? Tied games? Whatever next…. As
it turned out, Edwards’ wicket to tie the game was the final act of the Mad’s season. A fitting finale to an impressive resume
featuring a clutch of tight games. Leaves
tumble from the trees as winter draws near, kit bags disappear under beds,
and the curtain comes down. ‘KP’ |
*
ne
MOTM: D. Edwards’ runs and
4-for
Champagne Moment: J. Hotson’s fine diving catch behind
Buffet Award: M.
Westmoreland’s steak and ale pie (with gravy)