Game Day #4: Morden (away) - In Search Of A Hair Bikini

When you've only captained your team to three wins in three seasons - and one of those was powered by a Saturday League player who exhorts maximum violence on any ball bowled in the slot, especially if it's been bowled by a terrified-looking sexagenarian - you'll cheerfully grasp at the shortest of straws. This I found myself doing an hour before we were due to start our game against Morden, by musing how it had so far been a great sporting weekend for teams playing in white: firstly Fulham, winning promotion to the Premier League at the expense of Aston Villa, followed by Real Madrid overcoming Liverpool in the Champions League final. Then, of course, Pakistan battered England in the Test match at Lords. They all play in white; so do my team. The omens were good...conveniently forgetting that both England and Morden play in white. In fact, we all play in white on a Sunday, but like I said: a straw is a straw, no matter how short and chewed it is. It'll probably end up in the Indian Ocean in about three years time anyway, being filmed by a weeping BBC camera crew. The Merton CC Sunday Boars will always be more like Loris Karius and less like Cristiano Ronaldo, but who cares? The sporting Gods were surely with us!

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...

Game Day #3: Ockham

After the previous week's Interclub extravaganza, it was back to our usual 40-over Sunday cricket. We were rectifying another of last year's unfortunate mismatches by matching up my Boars team against Ockham; last year, they played one of our stronger teams, and got a bit of a hammering as a result. Which, of course, is nothing new to us; twice last year we faced teams that were a hell of a lot better, and conceded 300-plus each time.

Beforehand, however, our Fixture Secretary had received an email from the Ockham representative, carrying a warning that probably befalls most village teams with their own facilities; there was, it said, a band of travellers in the area looking to pounce upon any kind of green space that looked like it needed three-dozen bags of nappies and human excrement thrown around to make it look properly British, and so could we park in the road around the corner as the car park was sealed off? No problem. Rob, John, Dave and Waleed ferried everyone down to Ockham; the drive was pleasant, the weather was warm and sunny and the prospects for a good game of Sunday cricket were very high indeed. Ockham is lovely; a village down the A3, quite a sleepy little place from the looks of it (the travellers, it turned out, had invaded the nearest airfield instead, so frequent flyers can spend the next week trying to buzz the caravans and playing "spot the turd bag" - whoever sees it from highest up wins)...it's always nice to get out of London to places like this, because it's that one day a week when you not only play your favourite sport but you don't hear a single screaming ambulance or fire engine siren for the entirety of your visit. Huge Pavarotti-sized concrete blocks barred the way to the car park - no travellers were getting through that lot all right, although, judging by the rabbit droppings that decorated the square, they weren't enough to keep out the local wildlife.

On arrival, Rob discovered that they'd lost their first two games of the season, and relayed the news to the rest of us. With us having lost our first three - counting the two T20 games we played in the previous week's Tri-Series - that meant that one of our clubs would be breaking a losing streak, and when it turned out that they'd been bowled out for 64 the previous weekend, we all took notice. Could this be the day we notch our first win of the season?

The pitch was bone-dry and clearly better for batting than what we'd seen so far in 2018, but there were enough bald patches and grassy areas at both ends to keep the bowlers interested. And so, on winning the toss, I decided to bowl first. "Killer" Smither and Rob were entrusted with the new ball and didn't disappoint; only one boundary was struck during the first ten overs, and though the pitch wasn't troubling the batsmen they weren't able to get going. Killer's killer ball is the one that looks like a full toss but dips at the batsmen's feet at the last moment, but on more than one occasion the batsmen were adept at keeping it out. On came Ian - the Bawn Wicket-Taker - and, making his Merton debut, Sujanan. Ian's clever cutters were strangling the batsmen at one end and they were forced to take lots of scampered singles due to their best shots getting stuck in the jungle-like grass that lined three-quarters of the boundary (is there is a lawnmower shortage in the South of England this year?). Drinks came and still no wickets had been taken...but we were keeping them to a shade under four an over and fielding tidily; the only comedy moment being Hassan and Alex going for the same ball, ending with Alex rugby-tackling Hassan to the ground. Waleed enquired if they were OK, especially as Hassan was due to bowl after drinks.

Hassan and Waleed replaced Ian and Sujanan, and it was in the 28th over - and with the openers having posted a century stand - that the breakthrough came. Opener Watson tried to force a good-length ball from Waleed off the back foot and lost his off-bail instead. Back came Killer and Rob for their final three overs each, and once again kept the scoring to a premium. Catching chances to Hassan and Sujanan came and went, but as soon as the other opener, Skidmoore, reached his fifty, he pulled a ball straight into the waiting hands of Hassan, taking the catch so low it was virtually off his bootlaces. Would the floodgates open? Could we knock the rest of them over like ninepins?

Ockham's batsmen were suddenly full of attacking intent and, sadly, our fielding flagged in the last dozen overs. Openings appeared between fielders legs that were so spacious an agoraphobic wouldn't go near them...unfortunately, cricket balls aren't prone to such phobias and precious runs were leaked; I'd wanted to keep Ockham to under 150 but that was now looking unlikely. A run out, courtesy of the Killer/ Barber combo, suddenly heralded a wicket spree. The Bawn Wicket-Taker snaffled two in quick succession; the first a catch for Killer in the gully area, was almost a calamitous pile-up as Alex at slip and Dave Barber (keeper) both joined John in the quest for the falling ball. A WWE-style fatal three-way was on the cards and I anticipated a collision and spending half an hour untangling a mass of mangled human limbs, until Killer called for it and the ball dropped safely into his hands. Ian's second wicket was the player they call Chizzy Rascal, who had a bit of a thrash but ended up spooning up the ball to me at short extra cover, and Sujanan took the sixth and final wicket to fall by bowling their young deaf and dumb player. It was his first Merton wicket and so another cherry popped, and after three years out of the game he'd bowled really well - especially his second spell. I think we've unearthed ourselves another Merton prospect.

Their innings finished on 172-6; deep down, I thought, around thirty too many. Once again, our efforts in the field and with the ball had been exemplary; despite our late-innings fielding wobble we had chased everything down and stuck to the task well. Ockham were in the box-seat, but all we needed was a tad more than five an over and we'd win. I told most of the guys that, if we all scored an even 15 each, we'd win.

A lovely tea was served up, and I made sure my daughters got stuck into the picnic I'd done for them. Waleed and I then padded up and opened the batting; the bowling was tidy but there was enough loose stuff to put away. Waleed certainly did that with two ferocious pull shots to the boundary - mine were getting stuck in the long grass - but perished with the score on 20 by trying to pull a ball to leg that popped up, took the glove and ballooned over everyone's shoulder to first slip. Aleem came out and pushed the singles on with myself, who was playing the best shots of my season and frustratingly seeing them dribbling to a stop. So, when I got bowled a nice, juicy full toss, my eyeballs spun around like reels on a fruit machine and I obligingly pulled it as hard as I could...straight into the hands of mid-on. I couldn't believe it, and trooped very slowly off to the pavilion with the dread-filled demeanour of a man who'd just found a hole in his post-intercourse condom. Still, we were 39-2 off ten overs and going well - if only we could keep wickets in the bank, this game was by no means over. And it was at this point that a typical Sunday moment suddenly appeared before us: their eleventh man was a guy who'd driven three hours from Herefordshire to visit everyone, and ended up playing. He fielded at midwicket, in a pair of blue trousers and almost permanently had a lit fag in his mouth during our innings. He was their best fielder. Only on Sundays...

Latif, their captain, came on with his slowies, and our batsmen suddenly found themselves totally bogged down. Just eight runs came off the next nine overs, during which Alex "The Senior Steriliser" scored his first Merton runs but was then bowled by Latif, and Johnathan "The Junior Steriliser" and Aleem tried to force the pace but couldn't get a clean connection. The Steriliser, Dave and Hassan all came and went quickly to, in all probability, seal our fate, but then two things happened to check that pessimism; the Bawn Run-Scorer came to join Aleem, and the young deaf guy came on for two overs. As Aleem and Ian suddenly began finding gaps and getting the scoreboard ticking, the young man bowled nine wides across two overs to push us quickly past 100 (oh, how we cheered

doubling our entire score against Hook a fortnight previously). Credit to him, he kept on going and never stopped trying, and credit to his team-mates who didn't lose patience with him and kept on encouraging him.

With about seventy needed from 48 balls, their death bowlers came on and tightened the tourniquet around our scoring, in such a way that would warm the heart of any active serial killer. Ian was bowled for a well-made 21, leaving Aleem to face out the last couple of overs. He ended up 49 not out, and our innings closed on 133-7. My daughters had made friends with the dogs of the Hereford man and so they were happily being dragged along the boundary, and we were offered the remains of the barbecue that had been sizzling away earlier in the day.

And so our day in picturesque Ockham came to a disappointing end; their losing streak ended, while ours remained intact. The other two Sunday teams had mixed fortunes; the Wolves ran out winners over Windermere while the Rhinos put in a spirited performance but fell short against Tooting United. Next week sees my Boars side visiting Morden, old friends and rivals, and a fixture that almost every time brings rain and stoppages. Not this time, hopefully!

The Grand Merton CC T20 Tri-Series!

Ah yes, the world of Sunday recreational cricket...it is a world of nailed-on lbw's never given, despite the ball hitting the pads right in front of all three stumps, normally because the umpire is sweating on a lift back home from the batsman, who also happens to be the club chairman; a world of fixtures booked on the premise of  "we're a really weak team, nice sociable bunch", only to find you've been ambushed into playing their psychopathic Saturday League XI containing a Kiwi overseas player, who promptly annihilates your 50 year-old/ 14 year-old bowlers for five fours an over for two hours; a world of rheumy-eyed, octogenarian umpires with arthritic trigger fingers, whose attempt to scratch their noses coincides with an appeal from the wicket-keeper and hey, ho, you're out; a world of handing over £50 for teas, only to receive about £15 worth of prepared food, including a solitary packet of Chewits to be shared amongst your team; a world of 'clubhouses' that look like the inside of Robben Island (as it is now), that make you dread inspecting the toilet in case you discover a 100 year-old with a shaggy white beard and a loin cloth chained to the wall - and, by the way, there's no running water or tea-making facilities, and it just happens to be the hottest Sunday of the year. The final terror? Your phone going off at 10pm on a Saturday night. No, it won't be anyone inviting you down the pub for a swift pint or two, and it won't be a booty call, either: it's the sound of one of your players crying off, giving you thirteen hours (seven, if you take out the sleep your kids will cut off at about six o'clock in the morning because they don't know where the Kindle is) to find a replacement. And now, health experts are telling us to turn our phones off at 10pm every night for a happier, healthier life! Obviously they've never been a Sunday cricket captain...

Yet, despite how off-putting that may sound to some, it's what us Sunday players have grown to love about the game at our level. It must be the macabre sense of humour those of us who are native Brits are born with; the place is crap, it's crumbling, it's decaying, but you know what? It's our decay. It's our rot; ours to take the mick out of. I grew up in a place where virtually everything was falling down when I was a kid, so it's all I've ever known. I'd probably hate ever going to Dubai, because there aren't any slagheaps or burnt-out Victorian foundries befouling the horizon. But today - Sunday; game day; cricket day - everything's going to be great. We're at home again, John Innes Rec in Wimbledon Chase, our Theatre of Dreams since 1908, and so are the other two Sunday teams. We're holding a T20 Tri-Series, and all three teams - the Wolves, the Rhinos and the Boars (my team) - are in combat. To top it off, we've got Janet, who is also our Fixture Secretary, doing the teas, so we're guaranteed wonderful food all day. It doesn't matter who's doing the teas, here at Merton they're always great. Just as well really, because if our batting's as unpalatable as last week, sausage rolls and jaffa cakes will be the only other solace on offer...

The initial prognosis wasn't great. The previous day, Saturday, was wet and miserable, so of course our two League teams play their games to their end (defeats, sadly). The covers had been put over the Sunday T20 strip, but naturally it was still quite sodden by the time the covers were rolled off. 9am, though, and a mini-army of players were on the ground with our roller-soaker and the pitch roller as well, to try and soak up as much as the previous day's moisture plus the morning dew. And then, horror of horrors, all of the players turned up on time! 36 players for a twelve-a-side tournament; some bleary-eyed, some horrendously hung-over, but they made it. We had the Sunday Wolves, captained by Arjun - the strongest of the three sides on paper. Then, there's the Sunday Rhinos, captained by Tom (an Aston Villa fan, for his pains), strong enough to go toe-to-toe with the Wolves. That leaves my team, the Sunday Boars. If you read the last blog, you'll remember that we're the weakest of the three teams, not that it bothers us at all - we were looking forward to giving an excellent account of ourselves, and maybe springing a surprise or two. Now, last year we were called the Sunday Tigers, but because we regularly played like the kind of tigers you find stuffed and mounted on castle walls up and down the United Kingdom, I thought it best we change our name. The Boar in our badge may well have x's for eyes at the end of the season...

So, today would be a T20 fest: Wolves v Rhinos v Boars, all games split by innings. First up, the Boars took on the Wolves and bowled first; myself, Johnathan, Alex M, Alex B, Rocky, Waleed, Dave, Hassan, Kaleem, Rob, Shakil and Atul. I have to say, the team spirit amongst my lot is immense; we knew we weren't fancied to do well, but it didn't stop us taking the field with a spring in our step.

I looked at the bowling at my disposal, and knew we'd create chances. And we did...the only problem was, bowling first on a wet outfield, that we were bowling with the kind of object so soapy that prisoners are traditionally warned not to bend over and pick it up in the shower. All in all we dropped around six catches; at the end of the Wolves innings, had we taken them all, we'd have bowled them out for around 80 and put them under enormous pressure. The pitch was slow again, and so the ball wasn't coming onto the bat. Shakil - aka the Shakattack - removed the two openers caught & bowled, but Raj and Taha put on 45 with some composed batting to blunt the Boars. Raj eventually succumbed for 49, which turned out to be the highest score of the day.
 As it was, the bowling was great and the fielding athletic; only two boundaries were struck in the first ten overs. The fielding was a revelation - at ten in the morning, regardless of your age or how much Voltarol you needed to rub on that morning, you're as agile as a cat. Two o'clock in the afternoon, however, and you collapse to the ground like a falling building in super slo-mo just reaching over to pick up a ball that's stopped rolling. Maybe we should start all our games this early, no matter how ungodly the hour may feel. The Wolves compiled 134-6 from their 20, and so Game 2 - Boars v Rhinos - started next, with Boars batting. Tom, their skipper, cunningly started with his slowest bowlers, Joe and Greg Gun (sorry Greg), and they soon made inroads into the Boars batting. I took a liking to Joe but tried one hit too many, and a hungover Tom managed to catch the right ball to send me on my way. Soon after that we were 21-4, with even Jack Ayling taking a wicket, but then Hassan and Waleed steadied things somewhat with a 20-run partnership. Hassan, just 15, turned out to be the star of the innings, unbeaten at the end with 27 as wickets tumbled all around him, and the Boars posted 78-9. Tom used eight bowlers and sportingly didn't unleash his big gun bowlers against us, keeping them fresh from the Wolves challenge to come.

Into Game 3 then, and the first innings of a great match-up: Rhinos versus Wolves. The Rhinos batted first as the Boars took a shine to the tea table and the comfy chairs, and found themselves under instant pressure as Paul The Wall nicked his third ball to the keeper off the bowling of Ben, our very own Stokesy. In fact, all the bowling was tight - in all, only three boundaries were hit, as well as a monster straight six from James P - and Jack was top-scorer with 19. 78-9 was their final total, exactly the same as the Boars; it was going to take some immense Rhinos bowling to peg the Wolves back later on.

With the first three innings of the three games completed, we returned to Game One - Wolves v Boars - for the innings of the Boars, chasing 135 to win and upset the form book. The batting order was moved around to give everyone a bat, and so Waleed and Rob opened. Sadly, Rob was the first of three batsmen dismissed for a duck by Sachin, as the Wolves bowlers showed their skills. There were some memorable moments; Atul and the Shakattack both clubbed big sixes to the square leg boundary, and Shakil made the highest Boars score of the the day with 30. Our innings ended at 83 - despite our shaky start, it was an improved score on our efforts against the Rhinos.

Back to Game Two, then, for innings #2 of Boars v Rhinos. We needed to bowl them out for less than 78 to win the game. They too rejigged their batting order, and the Boars - or, more specifically, Atul - made a blinding start. He's quick, he's accurate and he whipped out their first four batsmen with only 21 runs on the board, and in tandem with Kaleem he had the Rhinos pinned down. But Matt K was batting really well and, like Raj earlier in the day, never looked like getting out. He was the glue that held them together in the first ten overs, as the Boars bowlers kept on chipping away - Shakil, Rob and Hassan kept the pressure on until the very end. Ultimately it was Greg, with 26, and a cameo from Iain (enjoying his first day in Merton colours) who kept the Boars at bay and saw them past our score, but only just - great death bowling from Waleed and Alex B, the wicket-taking Grenadier, restricted them to 86-9.

And so, at 5pm, came the climax of the day: the Wolves innings against the Rhinos. Runs scored meant that the Rhinos would need to bowl out the Wolves for less than 34 to win the day, but Kuldeep made a solid 27 at the top of the order. Both teams went toe to toe, the Rhinos quick bowlers unleashing all the pace they'd held back during the day. Tom took 3-37 and was the only bowler to concede more than 14 runs, as Craig, Sam and Matt kept the pressure high and the scoring low. The pace of the game slowed as the intensity heightened, and the game was being watched and enjoyed by everyone else (apart from me; I was running the bar and having a shower). The Wolves ended up making 91-9, and a great day's cricket came to a close. The Wolves aggregate of 225 runs eclipsed the next-best Rhinos on 164, and then just a squeak behind were us Boars, with 161. Once the ground was closed down and everything put away, Tom bought a dozen beers and made most of his players drink them through a funnel, while us shy and retiring types disappeared into the clubhouse to escape such carnage.

Boars MVP - Hassan, for his runs, wickets and two great catches
Performance of the Day - Atul, 4-16, demolishing the Rhinos top order
Moment of the Day - Waleed, with a brilliant one-handed catch. He also flicked the ball up with his boot and caught it, which earned him a round of applause from the pavilion.

Rhinos MVP - as nominated by Tom, the whole team for a great all-round performance
Performance of the Day - Jack, for his innings of paddles, scoops and dabs
Moment of the Day - a juggling catch at slip between Matt and Jack

Wolves MVP/ Performance/ Moment - Raj, for his 49 runs, two wickets in one over and an amazing catch at long-on to give Arjun his first wicket in two years

Sledge of the Day - after Joe dropped a catch that, judging by the fleshy sound of ball slapping against chest, clearly missed his hands, the cry of "Use your hands next time, Joe - your boobs aren't big enough" rang out from the pavilion

So the T20 Tri-Series is deemed to have been a success. Less manic than the upcoming six-a-side tournament, but busy enough to keep everyone occupied without drifting off, it gave 36 players a game of cricket, two chances of batting in most cases, and a great chance to catch up with other players we might not see that often as they're with their respective teams. We didn't know how well the day would go, but it surpassed all expectations. I'm already looking forward to next year's.

A New Season Begins...

And so, here we are. Sunday, May 6th, 2018. John Innes Recreation Ground, Wimbledon Chase. 2pm. After a long, cold winter permeated with a smattering of post-Easter warm weather bookended by snow and Arctic temperatures, summer has finally arrived in the guise of spotless blue skies and a baking sun...and so has the start of my club's cricket season.

This is the start of my eighth season with Merton Cricket Club, a wonderful club in south London/ Surrey (depending on how rough or posh you are) that is, as I write, 128 years old. It's my fourth year as a captain of one of our Sunday teams, which explains why my bald head is even balder and greyer than it was four years ago, but as a club we're bucking the trend and riding the crest of a player recruitment wave. Cricket clubs like ours, that play at weekends only and play mostly friendly games, have been a bit like British pubs of late; numbers dwindling, some having to fold, not enough young, enthusiastic players coming through to replace us grizzled old 'uns (I'm still in my forties, mind). Four years ago, after a traumatic couple of years when internal politics saw a ton of good people leave the club, we ran two League teams on a Saturday (and were lucky to be doing that), and just one friendly team on a Sunday. Now, it's still two on Saturday but the captains are having the luxury of more available players than places in the teams, and three teams on a Sunday - again, sometimes oversubscribed. We've more than doubled our membership in two years. There may even be a third team running occasionally on Saturdays soon; nobody old enough at the club can ever recall such a scenario. I only wish every other local club were in the same boat: as the lotto ad goes, "nicer problems to have". If every club's putting out loads of teams for fun, cricket is the winner, whether we win or not.

The winter nets are all finished; the fixtures were finalised ages ago. My team, the Boars, is a proper Sunday third eleven - dads and lads, although we're probably only a couple of masculine carnal thrusts away from being dads, lads and granddads - and so we face opposition teams of a similar strength. There are some clubs we've been playing for a very long time and we're good friends with them, and our first opposition for 2018 - Hook and Southborough are just such a club. They play the game in the right spirit, and stay for a drink, a chat and to tell stories that have everyone laughing as the sun lowers over the houses on Cannon Hill Lane. With this in mind, everybody was looking forward to this opening game of the season. They arrived well before time, set up the ground, and watched as I proceeded to lose the toss; a habit I picked up a couple of years ago and I'm proud to say I'm consistently brilliant at it. Still, to give all my bowlers a bowl and my team a good game for their match fee, I always like to field first - so when Adnan, the Hook skipper, called correctly and chose to bat, I wasn't disappointed.

In fact, when he said that John - who I rate as their best batsman - wasn't playing, I had a bit of a spring in my step. Then I discovered that David, who always opens their bowling and has a tendency to cause batsmen trouble, wasn't playing either due to injury. Hmm, I thought - we've got a chance here. Adnan asked if his bowlers could bowl ten overs apiece instead of the usual eight; I was more than happy to oblige. In my eight years here I've never played for a Merton team that had beaten Hook, and with the bowling attack I had I was extremely confident of breaking that particular unwanted run. Yes, we play for fun, but it is nice to win sometimes...

Kaleem took the opening over. He only played a couple of times last year but has returned on a mission to play all season, and bowls nagging left-arm medium-ish in-swing. Keith and Roly opened for Hook, two batsmen who have scored fifties against us in the past and so not to be taken lightly. After a bye got Hook off the mark, Kaleem shaped a couple into Keith's pads before the fourth ball of the season swerved in from off-stump to clatter into middle-stump. The Boars were cock-a-hoop; what a start - and it got better just a couple of overs later. Kaleem - "Special K" to us - bowled an even better in-swinger that took out off-stump to leave Hook 13-2. That brought Adnan to the crease, and despite his usual attacking instincts the score was kept in check by Kaleem and young Sam - making his Boars debut - at the other end, not to mention some determined fielding from a vocal, enthusiastic Boars. Dave, a fellow debutant, was throwing himself around the gully areas with gusto and pulling off great stops each time.

After ten overs, which had only yielded two boundaries, I made the first bowling changes. Rob, also a debutant, took over from Kaleem, which John the "Killer" replaced Sam. By now we'd seen the pitch was flat with variable but very low bounce; two balls on the same spot yielded one flying up at the ribs followed by a daisy-cutter. Coupled with an outfield containing grass at all sorts of different heights that looked like it had been mown in the dark, boundaries weren't happening and the scoreboard wasn't ticking over. Rory was battling away at one end, letting several of Killer's teasing seamers carry harmlessly through to keeper Rocky, but runs were now starting to flow. Adnan was lucky to escape after slashing one over me at slip, until he prodded at a ball from Rob and nicked it to Rocky...who parried the ball into the air, just in front of me, and I greedily took the catch. Given my track record at slip, all I could think of was "Christ, don't drop it!", but Rob has his first wicket - of the millenium, let alone the new season, he told us - and Hook were 41-3. Drinks came with no further wickets, but they were scoring at less than four an over. We were bang on course to keep them to a very chaseable total...

The warmer it got, the better Roly batted. Ably partnered by Phil, they took the score to 117 before Kaleem returned and cleaned up Phil with yet another inswinging jaffa. Young Johnathan, the "Steriliser", put down an awkward, steepling catch at mid-off, but no more wickets were taken. After an excellent effort in the field, we'd restricted Hook to 164-4; Kaleem was the pick with 3-17. Roly was unbeaten with a battling 73, and looked as knackered as the rest of us when we clapped him into the pavilion. In we went for our always excellent tea prepared by Christine, and then off went Paul "The Wall" and myself to confidently start the chase for just over four an over.

Confidence...hmm. What a sod that word is. We started solidly enough; Paul looked in sure touch and, given his nickname, is not an easy batsman to dislodge cheaply. I'd banged a couple of short balls for four when Paul chipped one up to Viv at short cover: the ball went in, the ball went out - twice - then he snaffled it before it hit the ground. Bugger. Paul gone, and Aleem now out to the crease; another awkward customer who sells his wicket very, very dearly. I swept their spinner Paul for two off of middle stump, then tried the trick again...only to be bowled around my legs. Oh, dear. 19-2. And, about forty minutes later, we were 30-8. The low bounce was even lower, and our batsmen were swinging more often than Pete Townshend did recording "Won't Get Fooled Again" at balls that were by now trickling along the ground. Kaleem stuck around to take the top score from me (sod), and also took us past fifty in the process. Four runs later, and it was all over. 24 overs, 54 all out. Nineteen runs fewer than Roly, but one more than the lowest Merton team score I'd ever been involved in. Worse news was to follow for me; Wolverhampton Wanderers had inexplicably been thrashed by one of the three worst teams in the country, Sunderland, and Cardiff - more of a rugby team than a football one - had pipped Fulham to the other promotion spot and would be joining Wolves in the Premier League. The EFL Championship football season was over. Oh well, that's the first six points of next season in the bag anyway.

Our other two teams, the Wolves (my suggestion, cough cough) and the Rhinos, had contrasting fortunes in their games; the Wolves shot out a very strong team for just 61 and knocked off the runs quick enough to see them play a beer match (without the beer), while the Rhinos lost by 21 runs having need 70 runs when eight wickets down. It didn't matter; we love the game win or lose. In fact, I've changed the Boars motto from "you can't win them all" to "you can't win" - it seems more fitting. The beers flowed and so did the laughter; the new guys have fitted in brilliantly, and enjoyed their day's cricket. There'll be many more to come. My daughters and I made our excuses as the hour turned ten - I'm a single parent too, so they go where I go on Sundays between May and September and yep, they just loooooooooooove cricket - and started the not-too-long journey home.

Next Sunday sees a T20 Tri-Series taking place; all three Merton Sunday teams in action. Old bones will creak, and many ribs will pop with laughter at some of our attempts to pull off IPL-style fielding. I'm looking forward to writing that one up! But I've a confident feeling that the Boars will make a good account of ourselves.

Confidence - dammit! There's that word again!