Our most recent league came took us across to Collingham, a former happy hunting ground of mine where I took plenty of wickets in the days our third XI used it as a home ground.
Ah those happy days when I could still bowl my left arm swingers.
Collingham thirds had beaten us pretty comfortably a few weeks ago, and today we were going in with a another youthful scratch side, boosted by our veteran grandfather and with a couple of players from our successful women's outfit on board, who are very happy to be referred to as youthful.
As is customary, we fielded first, and we knew were up against it very early. One of the openers has been scoring runs for fun lately, and the other was the deaf cricketer we had come across last time - who it transpired has played both cricket and football for official England Deaf sides.
A bit above my pay grade these two, and indeed, they were soon in the runs against our bowlers, including the bowler who wears deep black shades when he bowls. No joy for him, or indeed anyone.
They put on 203 for the first wicket. But in spite of that we kept working in the field and never let our heads drop, and we fielded pretty well. Better players on the day, all you can do is say "Well batted!"
One opener retired on 102, while the dear cricketer unluckily nicked off for 97, before the same bowler castled the number 3.
Speaking of luck, well I didn't have any. My first ball missed the top of middle stump by millimetres, The Man from Blidworth dropped a fairly easy catch, there was a missed stumping, balls looped in the air and didn't go to hand, or beat the edge of the bat without catching it.
So yes, the good mood was not universal...
When we batted, we started well against The Fireman Next Door To My Stepfather, but it was the young swing bowler at the other end who was causing the problems, initially luckless with edges going between the various slip fielders, but eventually he made the double breakthroug.
As ever, I was umpiring at the time.
Another couple of wickets fell, then one of our lady players joined the steadfast grandfather, and there then followed an excellent partnership, in the cricketing sense, which lasted for nearly an hour. The run rate didn't matter, we weren't going to win, it was all about putting up a fight and going for batting points. And we were getting them.
All the while, The Grandfather was nearing an excellent 50. And guess who went out there as last man when he was on 49? Yes, me, 15 runs all season and an endless series of ducks. This did not look like it would go well.
I managed to somehow fend off a few deliveries, until when on the last ball of the over, the keeper behind me fumbled the ball and it ran down towards the sight screen. The Grandfather ran for the bye, while with the only tactical knowledge I had, I urged him, gently, to "GOOOOOOO BAAAACCCCKKKK".
It took him a while, but eventually he did. He got his 50 off the first ball of the next over with a single. The next ball after that, I was castled flapping like a humpbacked whale at an outswinging yorker that was utterly wasted on me.
Still, a lot of people were happy, and so it didn't matter.
Si
All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 02.08.24
No comments:
Post a Comment