Game Day #16 - Banstead (away): The Best Wins Come To Those Who Wait

It’s as if the heatwave never happened…nine days into September, and it’s dark by quarter past eight in the evening. The daytime breeze is chilling as opposed to cooling, the afternoon sunlight is bright but not blinding and cricket jumpers start to appear over the backs of players who had previously hated fielding first. Card Factory have an entire wall dedicated to Christmas cards, and as I pass underneath the loft at home I glance frequently at its hatch, knowing I’ll soon be stowing my kitbag up there. I don’t like September.

We were off to Banstead today; both ourselves to play their 3rds, and the Sunday Wolves to play Banstead 2nds. None of us had been there before so were unsure how our games would pan out, but we had at least ensured the right teams played the right opposition…or had we?

Banstead’s ground was very picturesque, tucked away behind a portion of the high street and accessible via a side road. A tall row of trees separated the two pitches; inevitably, Wolves vs Banstead 2nds would be on the show pitch whilst us Boars vs Banstead 3rds would be on the back pitch. Both grounds were in great condition, albeit our square was decorated with the odd lump of poo here and there; I made sure any field changes took their location into account.

Following our excellent bowling & fielding/ “what if” batting performances at Sopwith Camels the previous week, we arrived at Banstead relatively unchanged, with Ian and Waleed “The Wizard” coming in for Kaleem and Suggs. Banstead 3rds arrived as we did, one by one, and there was certainly a lot of experience on show; we learned that four of their players had represented England in the over-60’s team. One of them had a double-barrelled surname, whilst the other had a sensational, bushy moustache like Lionel Jefferies from the film “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang”. A couple of colts complemented their team, but it was shaping up to be their wily old campaigners versus our younger guns.

I tossed up with their skipper Jason and returned to winning ways, calling heads correctly and – emboldened by the way we’ve bowled in recent weeks - opting to field first.  The wicket itself was in excellent condition, and so I once again asked Rob “The Typhoon” and Sujanan “The Quiet Assassin” to open the bowling. Rob began to beat the bat and Sujanan was getting the ball to reverse-swing through the air, and chances arrived from the get-go as opener Scott went aerial on a couple of occasions and could easily have perished. Runs off the bat weren’t coming along easily but balls that, on other days, weren’t that wide of off stump were being called wide by the umpires, so the Banstead total was ticking over thanks to the prolific but attention-shy source of runs known as extras. Greenwood-Hone, the other opener, looked good with a couple of drives and was also leaving alone anything dangerous.

I don’t think Rob will ever have a spell like the first three balls of his third over again. The first ball, to Greenwood-Hone, was played straight back to him at ankle height; Rob went for the return catch but couldn’t hold on. The second ball was chipped just over a fielder’s head; the third ball was nicked behind, but it hit Aleem’s gloves hard and slipped to the ground. He could’ve had a hat-trick of wickets – instead, it was a hat-trick of heartaches, stinging palms (resplendent with the imprint of the seam on his flesh) and thoughts that it could well be one of those days…

Until the next over from The Typhoon, that is. Scott finally used up all of his lives by skying one to cover;  a stock-still Johnny Milton waited patiently beneath it for it to drop, and pouched the catch when it finally reached him.  After that, more catching chances came and went, including an excellent diving effort from Shakil; taking the ball just as it was about to hit the grass but failing agonisingly to hold on to it. We’d also noticed a slightly chilly atmosphere, or perhaps, lack of friendliness, pervading the ground. Us Boars were our usual selves - encouraging and cajoling, having a laugh – but the Banstead innings had began shrouded in a blanket of seriousness. This was highlighted by Mr Double-Barrel shaking his head disparagingly at a couple of lbw shouts, including glaring at Sujanan as he joined in the appeal from square leg, and then when Johnny M entered the attack and bowled a high full-toss that the batter left alone outside off-stump. As Johnathan held up his hand and offered his apology, the batsman looked at him as if he’d  just dropped his trousers and taken a massive dump on his dinner plate.  “An apology would be nice,” murmured the batsman frostily, and I had to tell him that he’d already received one. Chilly!

“The Steriliser” won that particular battle in his next over. His first two balls were pretty good outside off-stump, both played and missed by Double-Barrel…and called wide by the umpire. Myself, at slip, and Aleem exchanged murmurs of disbelief, but Aleem had spotted the batter standing outside his crease. So, when the second ball was played at, missed and called wide, Aleem threw down the stumps and we all turned to appeal to the square-leg umpire. Unfortunately, he’d been looking at the ground at the time; fortunately, the batter was still out of his crease by the time he’d looked up. Rob implored for a decision in our favour, and it came with the raising of the finger. Double-Barrel trudged slowly off, and Banstead were two wickets down.

The luckless Sujanan, who’d bowled well without any reward, was replaced by Shakil, and more skied chances followed, generally falling either side of where the fielders were. Then came the third wicket; Forshaw clean bowled by the “Shakattack”. Drinks arrived with three wickets down and the run rate around four an over, and after drinks, when a few more runs had been chiselled out, Ian Bawn came on and struck by bowling Ives. Now at the wicket were the wonderfully-moustached Hart and the much younger Hunt, who instantly looked like he might be a handful when he effortlessly flicked Shakil down leg for a couple of runs. Between them, and with the aid of extras, they stalled our charge for wickets, and Hunt was proving to be an excellent hitter of the ball. Runs came to long-on from both ends of the wicket from Hunt, and they were pinching singles to rotate the strike towards each over. Mr Double-Barrel came out to umpire and gave me another glare for daring to make a field change; nobody in the game does a slow, disgusted shake of the head like this man.

Killer came on and Hunt took a shine to his bowling, dispatching him to the square leg boundary a couple of times, but when Hart tried it he found I’d positioned myself there by now and was on hand to take the catch. Beaumont came out to carry on with Hunt where Hart had left off, and Hunt duly notched a quick fifty. Soon after that, and with the field spread, Rob and Sujanan rejoined the attack. Rob’s pace increased and so did the plays and misses, until – with the field a little more spread – Hunt tried one big boomer too many and hit one straight towards Dave “The Demon” Barber. After a brief chest & shoulder juggle, the ball nestled in Dave’s palms and Hunt was out for a lively 61. Banstead passed the 200 mark before Sujanan finally got his reward, enticing Beaumont to slice one high to cover where Rob made no mistake with the catch. With that, Banstead declared their innings at 212-7 after 41.4 overs, and we would be chasing 213 to win – a daunting task. All of the main bowlers took at least a wicket each, and the catching had been good. How would we do with the bat?

One of the main aspects of timed cricket, as opposed to limited-overs cricket, is that any of the bowlers can bowl an unlimited amount of overs. Great for slow bowlers – they can bowl ten, fifteen overs on the spin, and only be taken out of the attack if they start to get carted. Then, for the batting team, at a set time – in today’s case 5:30pm – they’ll have twenty overs to score whatever runs are left in the target. If the slowies have bowled 30 overs before this time, it means the batters will have had 50 overs to score whatever they’re chasing. And when Banstead’s slowies opened the bowling, I guessed that their tactic was to eat up the overs until the final twenty, when they’d bring on whatever pace bowlers they had.

Waleed and I opened the innings, and while I flailed outside off-stump time and again, Waleed was instantly in fifth gear. He rocked back and cracked the short balls for four while hitting anything full over the top for more boundaries. I didn’t score a run until the fourth over and suddenly didn’t feel in great form, but put the opening bowler back over his head twice to settle my nerves. “The Wizard” was dealing exclusively in fours, his bat like a magic wand paralysing the fielders from having to chase his boundaries, and we were scoring eight or nine an over. As platforms go, it was a terrific start, and I was making up for my inability to score outside off-stump by putting away anything full or short to leg for runs instead. Byes were also helping us as much as wides had helped them, and before long Waleed and I had brought up our fifty partnership. We were trading fours now, exploiting big spaces on the square leg boundary, and also running smartly between the wickets by taking runs off the arms of some of the fielders. Then, with the hundred partnership on the horizon and the moustache into the attack, Waleed went a fraction early on his drive and was bowled for 38. 94-1 was the score in the 17^th over; we had been scoring at more than the five an over we were sure we’d needed, and only 119 more runs were needed for victory. I was pinching myself – was this actually happening?

It was, and on it continued as Ian Bawn came to the wicket. The pitch was offering the best bounce of all the pitches we’ve played on so far this season; I confidently left a couple of straight ones knowing they were bouncing harmlessly over the stumps. I took a single to bring up my fifty, and reflected on how poorly I’d played in comparison with other times during the season; my pattern has been: play well, get to fifty, get out. This was different: I was hitting across the line to leg a lot, principally because the bowling was so slow and it was the best scoring area on offer, but looked clueless on the off-side which is where I normally score my runs.

Hunt came into the attack, and almost instantly got Ian chipping round the corner to square leg; luckily for Ian, square leg dropped it. He had readily admitted his batting form had been non-existent all season, but after taking some smart singles and settling down he looked like the Ian of old. At the other end, I was fortunate to have the sun beating down on the square leg boundary; four times I hit there, to where there was a fielder positioned, only to see the ball either squirt between his legs for four or go either side of him as he looked blankly into the sun, arms outstretched, waiting for a ball he couldn’t see. In contrast to me, Ian now looked imperious outside off-stump and fours cracked through the covers began to flow from his bat. Then, for me, a scare and potential controversy; the young lad, Thorley, came on to bowl, got me reaching too far forward and missing one, and the keeper whipped off the bails with an appeal for stumping. I was sure my foot was still in the crease; Waleed, umpiring at square leg, called ‘not out’. Cue a few minutes of objections and appealing from the senior players in the team, who were adamant that I was out, and there were shades of the Hook game as they wouldn’t let the matter lie there and then.

By now, we’d soared past 150, still only one wicket down, and we needed less than a run a ball. I was playing much better now, and got into line against the young Thorley – just to keep him out – and took runs instead off their skipper and quick bowler Harper at the other end. Who knows what our reply would’ve been had these guys opened the bowling instead? None of that stopped us ticking over the scoreboard, and Ian and I shook hands as our century partnership was reached in the 35^th over. It had taken us eighteen overs to reach the milestone – our first in eight years playing together at Merton – and the fight had long since evaporated from the Banstead players.

The 200 came and went as Ian continued to smoke half-volleys for four through the off-side, and as we reached the 37^th over just nine runs were needed. Just four balls was it took for Ian to knock them off – we’d also scored 53 runs in the last 34 balls – and the Boars had won by nine wickets. Apparently, Killer – who had been scoring – had been shouting coded messages to me that I was near my hundred, but I had been having so much fun out in the middle that I hadn’t tried too hard to decipher them. Nor was I that bothered at missing out; 92 not out was 91 more runs than I’d scored the previous week. Ian ended on 41 not out.

The handshakes were offered/ accepted, and us Boars had a big huddle before we left the pitch; I wanted them all to know that, despite only three of us getting to bat, it had been a magnificent team effort and a victory for players one to eleven. It also transpired that the Wolves had lost on the front pitch, a lack of runs in their innings doing their chances the most harm. As for me, I must’ve floated off the pitch. We’d just dished out to someone else the kind of beating we’ve been on the receiving end of for all the years I’ve been a Merton player; memories of all those days of conceding 320-2 and being bowled out for 80 quickly swam into focus then swam away again. It was a truly remarkable win for us Boars: always unfancied, sometimes underestimated, but always whole-hearted.

Game Day #15 - Sopwith Camels (away): One Hump Or Two

And so the season rolls into September – the final month of our cricket season. May to August always seems to whip past in a blur of games and sunny weather; you lose count of the amount of beers consumed after the game on a Sunday (enough to balance out the entire year’s recommended alcohol intake in some cases), and sometimes you struggle to recall all the games that have been played without being prompted by a glance at the scorebook. September always seems to sharpen the focus on the final games, because they are just that – the final games of the season. Alongside  the return of “The X Factor” and “Strictly” on telly and the appearance of £5 tins of sweets in the supermarkets, the run-in to season’s end brings home the unedifying fact that winter isn’t that far off. Time, then, to savour every moment, and rinse every drop, from what’s left ahead of us, before the kit bag goes in the loft and the cricket whites get folded and placed in the  hibernated darkness of an unopened drawer, not to be touched again for months.

On this, the first of the final five Sundays of the season, the Boars made the trip to Bromley Common to face our old friends Sopwith Camels. Last year’s game was an early-May affair and, for something like the third year in a row, was affected by rain. It was also memorable for Alex Bridgeman ‘photo-bombing’ a catch about to be taken by Ian Bawn, appearing ‘in shot’ at the very second the ball was about to drop into Treadstone’s hands and distracting him enough to spill the catch – and breaking a couple of Alex’s fingers in the process. As it was about ten minutes into the game it wasn’t exactly the greatest omen for the rest of the day, but we bowled well and only fell short in the run chase by 21 runs. This time around, the weather was lovely; blue skies and an ever-present sun, with a nice warm heat that was nothing like the oppressive conditions we’d been playing in during the heatwave. The back pitch at Bromley Common, which backs onto land and stables that are home to a small group of horses and where we always play the Camels, was looking very trim too; the outfield was lush and green, and the wicket in excellent condition.

A couple of Sopwith’s regulars, Scooby (who was captain for the day) and Hughie Deans, were welcome sights for those of us who’ve played them regularly. Scooby explained that they had a couple of unknown players in their team, friends of friends, which seems to be the way a lot of nomadic clubs are going these days; indeed, we were parachuting friends of friends into our own teams during August, when numbers were short. Everyone is still on holiday, apparently; don’t these people know there’s an austerity drive still on? I thought everyone was still skint???

The Boars were looking in good shape for the match-up. Andrew “Suggs” Suggitt, Dave “The Demon” Barber, John “Killer” Smither and Shakil “Shakattack” Ehsan returned to the line-up. Had I won the toss I would’ve bowled; as it turned out I lost the toss, and we were asked to bowl. That’s a lost toss to me, but if I were Jose Mourinho I’d have claimed the win as we ended up doing what I’d planned to do anyway. He held up three fingers at a journalist during a press conference in the week, to denote how many Premiership titles he’d won; I’ve lost three tosses this season out of fifteen and could’ve copied him, but I know for a fact only the horses would’ve been bothered.

Bromley Common’s back pitch has always been on the kind of slope pace bowlers dread being asked to bowl from, as they all have a mortal fear of the word ‘uphill’.  Only Shakil, of our attack, bowls slow, and so I cast my beady eye around the rest of the bowlers to see who I’d be annoying by asking them to cart themselves up the hill. Rob, from the top end, was a no-brainer, and I plumped for Sujanan, “The Quiet Assassin”, to open up the slope alongside him. Both bowlers opened well; Rob got an early wide out of his system before settling down and bowling a tight line, and Sujanan was producing a prodigious amount of swing through the air. Dom and Ricky opened the batting for the Camels and, with the score on 15, Sujanan drew first blood. Ricky didn’t quite time his drive, and the ball looped back towards the Assassin who smartly pouched a return catch. A couple of sharp chances went to ground before Rob struck next, eliciting the drive from Rob that took the edge and landed safely into Aleem’s gloves behind the stumps.

Nikhil came out to join Charlie at the crease; Charlie was their best batsman, and unfurled a couple of crisp shots for four off balls that weren’t all that bad. Kaleem replaced Rob at the top end and proceeded to bowl one of his best – and unluckiest – spells for Merton. Firstly he dispatched Nikhil back to the clubhouse with a ball so fine it didn’t want to sully itself by hitting the stumps, but merely caressed the leg-bail out of its groove like a feather falling from a nest. He then went on to have either catches dropped – no easy ones, mind – or catching opportunities drop just short of fielders. Meanwhile, Shakil replaced Sujanan and was immediately in the wickets, removing the prized scalp of Charlie. Finding a patch of green just in front of his off-stump, the ball bounced a little more than the others; Charlie went for the drive and edged to Suggs at slip who took a quite brilliant catch above his head. Suggs has made this kind of thing his trademark; he’s one of the best slippers at the club. Shortly after that, Shakil clean-bowled Vinay for a duck and the Camels were teetering on 59-5. The fielding and bowling had been excellent, and everyone seemed determined not to let the Camels off the hook.

Sean was now at the wicket. Now, I’m sure somebody had said he’d either never played cricket before or hadn’t played for a large amount of years. Well, as he groped at the first ball Kaleem bowled him I guessed it was the former, but when the next ball was clubbed for four over Killer’s head at point I suspected it hadn’t been that long since his last game. Suggs almost pulled off another blinding catch at slip off Kaleem’s bowling by diving to his left and just failing to hang on, while also having second slip Sujanan trip over him in his own attempt to take the catch and nearly be kicked in the head for his pains. Raminder joined him and helped blunt our bowlers for a few overs until Shakil accounted for him, a looping drive to mid-off taken smartly by Jake “The Cat” Curnow running in from midwicket. That was 80-6, which brought young Harry to the crease. More frustration followed as he and Sean hung around, not just surviving but scoring runs too. Johnny Milton was on at the top end and when he bent his back got the ball to really zip through; Harry, however, took a bit of a shine to long-on and put a couple of big drives down there for four. Then came one of those moments that make a Sunday captain punch the air; a field change that directly brings a wicket. Taking advice from Aleem, I pushed Shakil to where Harry had been hitting the ball, Johnny M bowled him another one, and Harry hit it high and long…towards Shakil. It seemed to take forever to come down but, as we all stopped and watched, down it came – into the bucket hands of Shakattack. I literally leapt in the air, went to chase after Johnny M, stopped and chased after Shakil instead only to find he’d gone, and so turned back and jumped on Johnny M, who told me he’d given the departing Harry his death stare – his new trademark.

Sean and Harry had put on 32 runs and taken the Camels past 100. With only seven overs left I was confident we could keep them below 140 and set up an exciting run-chase, providing we kept our focus and got the last three wickets. Enter Killer from the bottom end, a man for whom putting up a plaque bearing the words “Rillington Place” over his front door would be disturbing to others but ‘paying homage’ for him. For asking him to bowl up the hill I thought I might become his next victim, soon to be propping up a concrete pillar somewhere, but what a mini-spell he went on to bowl. Ten balls, eight dots, three wickets, five runs conceded. His first victim was Gagan, who’d looked to push the scoring on. He’d has the impertinence to hit Killer for four, tried the trick again, only to sky the ball towards me. I took the catch but not easily; the ball missed my waiting hands and nestled between my ample boobs instead. Finally, a few deliveries later, the lynchpin Sean was gone, offering a straight bat to a low full-toss which bypassed the bat and thumped into middle stump. Two balls later, it was all over as Scooby pulled a higher full-toss straight to Shakil at square leg. We all eyed the umpires, expecting to see a signal for no-ball, but no signal came – they’d been happy the ball had been below waist height – and so the ultimate “death bowler” had mopped up the tail and Sopwith Camels had been dismissed for 132. All of the bowlers had taken at least one wicket each, and the fielding had been superb; one of the best team performances of my four years’ captaincy. But the even harder work lay ahead; chasing down their score.

After a lovely tea and a catch-up with the England/India Southampton Test Match, Andrew and I went out to bat. The plan would be, as always, wait for a bad ball and put it away, while keeping everything else out; get to 30/40, establish a solid base, kick on from them.

There’s something about the best laid plans…

I survived the first over from Hughie; he has a knack of bowling a ball that looks like a full toss but dips alarmingly on a good length and drops just in front of you. He gave me nothing to hit in those first six balls; I squeezed a single away without knowing I’d actually done it. I wished I hadn’t. Vinny bowled the next over from the bottom end, gave me a nice bouncy one outside off-stump with his first ball, which I duly spooned to the close-in fielder for catching practice. I hadn’t stopped shaking my head when Suggs was dismissed, playing “Bairstow-like” in his own words, bowled for nought. A bad start got worse as Jake lost his bails to the bowling of Vinay, and we were 8-3 on a pitch that was slow and to bowling that was as accurate as anything we’d faced all season. Dave joined Aleem, now nicknamed “The Scorpion” as they’re one of the hardest creatures on Earth to kill, and managed to repel Vinny’s excellent bowling by taking blow after blow on his arse. Scoring was proving impossible; after ten overs, we were just 14-3 and the target of 133 looked as distant as the Moon.

After seeing off Vinny, Dave then fell to the traditional sucker punch of the new bowler. Eyeing up a bouncy one outside off, he played the drive only to take the edge and was dismissed by a brilliant diving catch at second slip. There wasn’t much Dave could’ve done about a catch like that, but it prompted a bout of his ‘Batsman’s Tourettes’ and he exited the crease amid a flotilla of the choicest Anglo-Saxon swear words he could think of. That brought Johnny Milton out to bat, on the back of some assured stays at the crease this season. He rotated the strike well with Aleem, who pushed and cajoled Johnny M into a steady stream of singles, and extras were also now coming in droves to bump up our total. Maybe, we thought, the chase could still be on, and when Johnny M played the shot of the season with a beautiful, crunching straight drive to the long-off boundary, it still seemed possible. Shortly after, however, he perished to the bowling of Nikhil, to be unluckily followed by Rob – run out by a direct hit from about fifty yards. There seemed to be some confusion over whether or not Rob had made his ground or not, but Rob sportingly took the slow walk back to resolve the matter.

As the overs ticked away and our hopes became as gloomy as the fading September light, Aleem kept on pushing on and reached another deserved fifty, lifting himself past 800 runs for the season. Firstly Killer then Sujanan kept him company until they were accounted for by Harry and Nikhil, and as Shakil took a single off the last ball our innings finished on 98-8. We simply never recovered after that bad start, with both myself and Suggs betraying our recent good form with failures to score. Credit to Hughie and Vinny too; their combined twelve overs cost just sixteen runs and picked up three wickets. Nobody recovers quickly from being strangled – ask Killer – and the same applied to us. Johnny Milton was third top-scorer with eight, behind extras on 18, and again Aleem was the stand-out batter on 59 not out.

The sun vanished quickly behind the tall trees bordering the grounds, and so we all made our way to the clubhouse by the front pitch for a beer and a yarn. It was twilight when we all said our goodbyes and made our way back to Merton, ensuring we said our proper goodbyes to our old friends the Camels and looking forward to returning to play them next year.