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 17th
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 35th 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 37th 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.
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