Today the league cricket season returned, and it was to the beautiful setting of Croxton Kerrial, a ground in Leicestershire that used to be the home of a club in the Lincolnshire league, to play a match in the South Notts League bottom division against Bingham 4s.
Our third team have not won a game for two years. Last year was awful, playing horrible teams at horrible grounds in horrible matches that led to horrible defeats. This year augurs better, nicer grounds, nicer opposition. As it proved today.
Croxton Kerrial is high up in the Vale of Belvoir, and it's a lovely old village, with the cricket ground set on the the only flat part. As with so many grounds in this part of the world, the red kites seem to love it, and we were graced by low overflights by Britain's most attractive raptor at various intervals.
The hawthorn hedgerows were in blossom, attracting butterflies, and across the Vale you could see bright yellow fields of oilseed rape in the distance.
Our skipper, eyes gobbling up the sight of some very short boundaries, decided against type that we would bat first. However, when I went out to umpire first up, you could see from the wicket that batting was not going to be easy. It was obviously going to be slow, and the odd ball was going to pop up.
And so it proved. We were bowled out for 91, and owed much to two of our senior players who scored about half our runs while the youngsters hung around with them. Me, I was delighted to not get out first ball, and even managed to score two whole runs.
Although one of them was an outside edge past slip.
91 wasn't much, but with the wicket now adding pea-rollers to its treacherous mix, we felt we had a chance if we bowled well. And led by our junior bowlers, that's exactly what we did, aided by a glory hunting skipper. We had them 50 for 8 or so, but things got rather tense at this point, as the younger Bingham lads down the order showed a lot of the heart and cricket sense that their senior players had failed to do.
Myself had a little bowl, and was rather excited to take a wicket with a caught and bowled, two separate things that never happen happening at the same time. My celebration of my first league wicket in two years was thus rather over excited.
"Mate, he's 13" said the Bingham umpire rather drily.
More tension ensued with byes, wides and the ball just no longer going to hand in the field. They got to 75, the two youngest lads on the team, before our returning junior castled one of them with another grass cutter of a ball.
Poor lad was despondent, and his bat and helmet came in for a bit of abuse on the way off. Well, it had been a very tight game.
But, we won, our first win in two years. Yay for us.
Si
All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 02.05.26





































