The weather Gods, however, were having a bit of fun at our expense. The previous night had brought storms and rain on an apocalyptic scale, and even though it had been a warm, dry couple of weeks, part of me had expected to wake up to a text message saying "All games called off. Yours, the Groundsman" beaming out of my phone. My phone was silent and the streets outside was dry, so clearly it hadn't rained since the initial cloudbursts; and, knowing that Morden's pitch is quite hilly and drains very well, my fears dissipated. The day's forecast, though, wasn't good; more storms and rain to disrupt play - guaranteed, said the berk from the BBC. And so, with that weapon tucked firmly inside my captain's holster, I formulated my plans for the day.
Last year's two games against Morden were close-run and entertaining; the epitome of Sunday cricket. The game at our place saw us restrict a very good batting line-up to less than 170, then recover brilliantly from 5-3 and 30-5 to lose by just 13 runs having lost just two more wickets. Since then, though, Morden had voted to drop one of their two Sunday teams; something I hadn't given much thought to. It was to smack me in the face a few hours later, but at the time I imagined us taking on pretty much the same side as last year and, therefore, another close-run affair was on the cards. As it was, we did take on pretty much the same side...only with a couple of Australian exceptions.
The Boars convened at Morden Sports Ground, and were met with a wicket greener than a Leprechaun's undercrackers; it was slightly soft in places, but Eric was rolling it and it looked in really good shape. It was hot and humid with a little cloud cover - the kind of conditions that make Jimmy Anderson foam at the mouth like Stephen King's Cujo - and so I had no hesitation upon winning the toss to bowl first...hang on, I always bowl first. Our bowling is stronger than our batting; I always bowl first. But looking at the conditions, I envisaged Kaleem (Special K), John (Killer) and Ian (the Bawn Snaffler) to make hay with a seaming ball, so it was a no-brainer.
And then we caught our first glimpse of what most Sunday cricket clubs have in their ranks: the Club Character. We only see them three or four times a season, but once you've seen and heard them, you never forget them. This one's name was Dan, a very sociable and talkative (and topless) bloke who clearly brings the volume to every Morden game he plays in. But it wasn't his chatty nature that caught our attention; it was the fact he'd shaved his chest and stomach hair into the shape of a two-piece bikini. Upon first glance I thought he'd had his genital area surgically lifted twelve inches before I realised what it was we were all looking at. I really should have taken a picture; it had to be seen to be believed. Next year, prior to us visiting Morden again, one of us will have to have our body hair shaved into a likeness of Prince Charles or Chewbacca, just to compete.
At the stroke of 1:30pm, the Boars took to the field. Kaleem and John took the new ball and, as in our previous matches, had the openers Kerrison and Richardson under scoreboard pressure for the first few overs. Killer was getting extra bounce up the slope; Special K had a couple of decent lbw shouts from the other end. Attempted straight drives off Killer weren't penetrating the Simpson/Milton barrier at mid-on and mid-off. As the pressure built, Kerrison finally cracked and slashed wildly at a Smither special; the ball lobbed up nicely to Alex M who held on firmly to take his first Merton catch. Kaleem had a breather and Ian kept the pressure on, which told again when Richardson tried to drive Killer to leg but only succeeded in splicing one up to the waiting AB, who made no mistake in holding on. After 12 overs, they were 36-2 and we were on top...then, the clouds disappeared and it got hotter. And hotter. The wicket subsequently looked more and more like a road - a proper road, though, not a British one: for that, you'd need fifteen holes surrounded by traffic cones, and not a worker in sight tending to them. This was the kind of spotless, perfect road you normally see on an episode of Top Gear, being raced upon for about twenty five miles at a time. Batting became easier; as our attack was gradually nullified.
Enter the Aussies. Their names are Gardener and Grey, and from the way they had a good look at the bowlers for their first few deliveries we knew we were facing a different type of batsmen; not a single prod or swipe in sight. For the next 90 minutes and 180 runs, they demonstrated exactly how good they were; hardly a chance was given, save the odd wild slash & miss. They straight drove to devastating effect; flicked away off their pads to the short boundary and picked up either four or six for their trouble; cut square to the super-long boundary and still got four. It was, what you'd call, proper batting. Waleed was bowling really well but getting no reward, and I rotated Hassan, Ian, AB and myself but to no effect. Then, with Davy on 97, I recalled Waleed for a fresh spell and he got Davy slashing outside off: this time there was contact, and Aleem held on to the ball behind the stumps. Finally, with our tongues hanging out and my mind devoid of fresh ideas, the partnership had been broken. We showed our appreciation for Davy's knock, and shortly after - with a six over midwicket - Gardener brought up his century to more applause. Dan was keeping him company but, thankfully, his hair bikini was now under wraps; maybe it made him feel a bit more aerodynamic as he plundered a couple of fours off of my bowling.
Here came our next Sunday moment; AB bowled three overs and then I bowled two. Apart from both of us being bald (we both ask for "zero" or "skin" when we go to the barbers, it's that short) and portly, and from a distance looking like we're probably related, there isn't really that much of a resemblance. I am about a foot taller. Sadly, the Morden scorer ignored my cries of "New Bowler!" when I came on, assumed that I was actually AB bowling with a different arm and conceding a few less runs, and gave my overs to him. We sorted it out at the end of the day, but I suspect I've been saddled with more runs conceded than I actually did.
Waleed got Dan to try a big hit and rocked back the off-stump, before Kaleem returned to bowl the last couple of overs and Killer provided the moment of the day. Crocker tried a straight drive that flew over Killer's head at mid-off; as Hassan ran in from deep mid-on, Killer chased it down and, just when it looked like it was drop harmlessly to the ground, dived and took a quite sensational catch despite almost kneeing himself in the head. Despite the beating we were taking, it summed up the Merton spirit; we hadn't given up, we were still trying our guts out and Killer had provided a moment of absolute magic to lift our spirits. Moments later, the Morden innings finished on 298-5. Gardener had batted beautifully for his 126 not out, and although I was feeling slightly disillusioned with the way the day had gone - there had been no rain, no storm, nothing to break up the rising heat or give any assistance to the bowlers - you can't argue with a knock like that. We've had hockey players slog hundreds off us in the past (after the customary chortling of "I haven't played in nineteen years, you know...do go easy on me") and that really does leave a crappy taste in the mouth, but when someone's played as well as their two batters had, you simply admire and acknowledge.
There's been much talk around recently about the word 'gammon'; it's now, apparently, an insulting remark about anybody white over a certain age whose face might turn a little on the pink side when they get het up. Well, that summed up a few of us as we trudged off; we did indeed resemble gammon, but only after it had been tossed around someone's barbecue for about fifteen minutes. Raw in appearance, but certainly cooked to a turn in nature.
Realistically we weren't going to chase down 299 unless one of us was going to smash 200 runs on his own, and so the Boars performance of the day had already been sewn up by Aleem, our wicket-keeper. Out of a total of 298 runs conceded, the total byes was...nil. Plenty went sliding down leg to test him as well, and nothing got past him that allowed any of the batsmen a single extra run. Not one. Better than good; I'd never seen it before in eight years at the club. I've christened it "au revoir keeping": you say 'au revoir' to your keeper as he leaves the field, but you never say 'bye'...
After a lovely tea very similar to the ones we put on at home (another reason why we like this fixture), Richard (the Earl) and I padded up and opened the innings. Eric and the evergreen Del, Morden through and through, opened the bowling and had me scratching around early on; Richard, playing for the first time this season, looked full of beans and blasted Eric for a couple of crunching straight fours. I finally got my act together after Del took a breather and got my straight drives working against Geoff, and after twelve overs we were 43-0. Richard then perished, trying to work Dave through gully but instead giving Del catching practice, and then I did the same a couple of overs later. Dave bowled me a half-tracker that I gratefully pulled down towards fine leg, only to find Del waiting gratefully at leg slip for that precise shot. Waleed didn't last long, possibly feeling the exertions of skippering the Saturday 3rds to a maiden win the day before as well as fasting, which brought Aleem and Johnathan together. Running between the wickets was brisk but then their stand-in captain brought on two of their tallest, quickest bowlers and that bogged things down, similarly to last week; runs became hard to come by. One of their bowlers was getting steep bounce down the slope and Johnathan almost ended up wearing a couple of them, until his long resistance was finally broken and he was bowling by Carling snr. Carling jnr then had a bowl - as he was the sub fielder and no agreement had been made for such an arrangement before the match, I could have claimed the win for this rule infringement! But not on Sundays, we don't operate like that - unless the bloke is six foot six and bowling thunderbolts. Watching the next generation learn their trade by bowling at grown-ups should always be encouraged, in my opinion; if they're good enough, as some of them are, they'll take wickets.
Alex M went in and had a couple of swipes, and was unlucky to be dismissed by a brilliant one-handed catch by Gardener; on any other Sunday (or, if it's one of our players), it would've have sailed over his head. AB went in for the final couple of overs and got himself some runs, and we finished our knock on 123-5.
All in all, it was a chastening day. The unrelenting heat; the quality of their batsmen and the running out of ideas in the field; feeling all of your pre-match enthusiasm evaporate like water in a kettle that won't stop boiling, as you realise you don't have a chance in real terms of chasing down their score. Arsenal went to Man Utd a few years ago and must have thought, pre-match, "If we stop them scoring, we could nick this 1-0". They lost 8-2; today felt a bit like that. As for my enthusiasm...it always returns on a Monday morning. A fresh week, ahead of a fresh Sunday of friendly fixtures, is enough to clear the fog and welcome the sunshine.
And it's always helpful to start that process with a few beers, and a few of us stayed back at the Morden clubhouse to sink a cold lager or three. As the sun lowered and was replaced by a large, bright full moon, midges tucked into our exposed calves (note to self: don't wear shorts on a cricket field after 6pm) and the previous evening's lightning threatened to make a return visit. Next week, it's the visit of the Flying Ducksmen to our Theatre of Dreams, the John Innes Rec; our head-to-head record is won one, lost one. If I win the toss again, what the hell - I might even bat first...
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