Merton Sunday Boars v Plastics XI: A Hope Opera

If ever a game existed that highlighted the difference a year can make in the travails of a Sunday social cricket team, it was this one. Last year, in the corresponding fixture, we were in the middle of a weeks-long heatwave that reduced virtually all cricket pitches to roads for the batsmen and heartbreak highways for the bowlers; and our game was no exception. Plastics – admittedly, with a couple of ringers in their team – piled up 298-7 from 40 overs on a baking-hot day, with Ian and Abdul conceding 140 runs off their combined sixteen overs and Jake and my three combined overs going for 50 runs…although it was Jake’s famous over that lasted longer than “War and Peace” that make more of an impression than the whiplash I suffered watching my lollipops getting slammed over my head and into the bushes by the sightscreen. In reply, we mustered 165 thanks to the combined efforts of myself, Abdul and Extras. This year, the gap between the two teams would reduce dramatically, but could the Boars get one over the Plastics and atone for the previous year’s crushing?

Firstly, the weather. There will be no talk of heatwaves when reminiscing about 2019. The batsmen who were feasting on all bowling last year are struggling to lick the crumbs from last year’s table; the squares have been greener than a cannabis farm for most of the season, especially on Saturdays, when the League batters have been reduced to batting averages that look more like bowling averages, and Sunday pie bowlers – whose averages are normally just about higher than their ages – have been the ruin of many a weekend. Flat is the beer and stale the cheese and cucumber when you’ve been bowled under your bat by an 11 year-old/ 60 year-old/ 80 year-old….which is why the tonnes of rain that fell during various times during the week threatened to reduce yet another weekend of cricket to games of over-arm skittles. Just for the fun of it, Mother Nature threw down another load on the morning of our game that hadn’t been forecasted, and dreams of playing on a decent pitch turned into a nightmare.

Then came the availability snags. A fantastic fillip for the club was the ability to field three teams on this Sunday, but the downside is receiving the dreaded “Sorry, skip” WhatsApp messages and e-mails that instantly puncture a hole in your line-up. I was two players down until the Saturday afternoon but, crucially, saw a young lad called Kosta at our home ground when I went to watch a bit of the Saturday 1^st XI in action. He’s been coming down the club all season, watching the cricket, taking part in a little bit of the practice, showing that he’s capable enough of playing…and so I asked him – and his mum – if he wanted to play. Yes, he said. Great. One down. Sunday morning came, and I was still one down…so it was time to play the Daughter Card. Hannah is fifteen, likes the game but doesn’t play it often (always badgers me to pick her, though), but she made her debut in one of the worst games I’ve ever helmed two years ago at Trinity Mid-Whitgiftian and more than held her own. All sorted, I reasoned. I had my eleven. It was also the first post-Jake “The Cat” Curnow Boars game; his runs would be missed, as would his athletic, never-say-die fielding. The challenge was laid down to the team; his shoes would need to be filled.

Thankfully, as we got to the home ground, the rain had passed over and been replaced with bright sunshine and warmth. The outfield glistened but would dry quickly enough; I was more worried about the uncovered pitch. Sure enough, it was damp; a few rolls from the super-soaker lifted a little of the dampness, but not enough to squeeze it dry. No matter, I thought; I didn’t have a great deal of pace in our bowling attack and had already planned to bowl the slowies from the start anyway. I merely resolved to ensure I won the toss and bowled first; if we’d batted first, we might have broken the record for earliest finish of a Merton Cricket Club game (which we’d set against Ewell the previous September). Plastics arrived; Charlie, their skipper, and I duly went out to toss, and between us decided that – as I was intending to bowl first if I’d won, and he was intending to bat first if he won – we would field first. We tossed the coin anyway, just for show, and he won. If the game now went tits-up, I could legitimately claim to have lost the toss.

BOARS LINE-UP: Neil “The Fridge” Simpson; Abdul “Silver Fox” Hameed; Ian “Steel Testicles” Bawn; Oliver “Marauder” Miller; Andrew “Safe Hands” Counihan; Bob “The Dark Lord” Egan; Sujanan “Quiet Assassin” Romalojoseph; Kaleem “Special K” Sajjid; Shakil “Shakatak” Ehsan; Kosta Miskou; Hannah “Captain’s Daughter” Simpson.

At the stroke of 1pm, and under warm, blue skies, the Boars took the field; Plastics skipper Charlie and Mark were the opening batsmen. I’d asked Ian and Shakil to take the new ball and hopefully exploit the damp conditions and the general use of the pitch; sadly for us, Rob Turner had pulled out due to injury, but he’d have wasted his time bowling on what was a pudding of a pitch for the first hour or so of the game. Ian took the first over from the Kingston Road End and a full-toss got slammed to the boundary by Mark, but that was the last of his freebies as he settled into a probing line and length outside off-stump. Shakil’s first over from the Clubhouse End started with a ball that fizzed from off to leg that had the whole team purring. His fifth ball pitched in line with middle and leg and didn’t turn; it carried straight on, our appeal was imploring, and the umpire’s finger went up. Charlie was on his way for that Sunday Boars speciality – a duck. 4-1; what a start.

It got better in Ian’s next over. Bob now reminds me of one of my favourite footballers, Ruben Neves of Wolves: Neves doesn’t score simple tap-ins inside the box. Oh no. Neves only deals in twenty-five/ thirty-yard howitzers that rocket into top corners, and Bob doesn’t deal in straight-forward slip catches; not for him the stand still, hands cupped, yawn while the ball reaches you approach to slip catching. All of his slip catches this season have been tumbling, diving, sprawling moments of magic, and our second wicket was probably his best catch of the season so far. Ian elicited the outside-edge from batsman Bob and it flew low past me to slip, where Boars Bob brilliantly scooped it up off his bootlaces whilst diving to his left. No one could quite believe it, but we suddenly found ourselves on a roll: new bat Alex played for spin but Shakil cunningly bowled one that held its line and cannoned into the stumps. While Mark was somehow surviving at the other end and picking up runs where he could, 20-3 became 24-4 as Shakil’s rip and turn back into Phil forced him to chop the ball onto his stumps.

Kaleem replaced Ian from the Kingston Road End. “Special K” is in the bowling groove of his life and, time and again, he hooped the ball from off to leg, beating the outside edge. In a classic over, he set up batsman Jimmy brilliantly by bowling him two widish inswingers outside off-stump, which had Jimmy puffing out his cheeks in frustration, before bowling him one much straighter. Jimmy couldn’t resist the heave across the line, and departed to the sound of middle stump being knocked back. Meanwhile, the fielding was matching the bowling; Oli and Ian were proving hard to beat at point and square leg respectively; with “The Cat” now residing in Malaysia, these two were battling it out to become “The Tabby”. On top of that, young Kosta pulled off two brilliant stops at midwicket and had a run-out opportunity with a direct hit.

Pete Bishop was now at the wicket, and one of his first tasks was to needlessly run out Mark. The opener wasn’t looking that comfortable but was set on 30 when called through for a single to a push straight to Andrew; he returned the ball to me perfectly over the stumps, and as I broke them Mark was three yards out of his crease. Were we cock-a-hoop? Hell,yes! Plastics XI were 44-6; I’m not sure which set of players couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

That brought Joey Anderson to the crease, and he set out his stall immediately with a full-blooded pull off Kaleem for four. He wasn’t going to die wondering and I knew we’d get him sooner or later; what I didn’t realise was a Plastics batting revival had just started. The ball was also leaving Pete’s bat like a pistol crack, but on the stroke of drinks, and with the score at 78, Anderson tried one pull shot too many off Sujanan; the ball rocketed a mile in the air, Shakil steeled himself beneath it, and held his nerve – and the ball – to take a brilliant catch. Big, big wicket. Drinks were taken halfway through the 20^th over; I was pinching myself. Getting them out for around 100 was a very serious possibility; three wickets were all we needed. Three balls, out of a possible 123. Surely, surely this was to be our day?

Young Kosta stepped up for his first-ever Merton over. The first ball turned off the pitch and sailed past new bat Peter’s outside edge; the second ball hit a bump in the pitch and rolled agonisingly close to the stumps. His fifth ball was wide, but full, down the leg side; sensing an easy boundary, Peter gleefully had a go at it, only to top-edge it to square leg. Kaleem put his hands together, the ball bounced in, then out…and then he pouched it safely on the juggle. Peter was out, they were 82-8, and Kosta had taken his first-ever wicket with his fifth ball. Everyone in the team rushed to congratulate him; it was a fantastic moment.

Little did we know, that was as good as it got.

The sun had been out for a while now and the pitch was drying nicely, which was also making batting easier than in that first hour or so. Jamie joined Pete at the wicket and looked like a wicket-in-waiting as he just about managed to keep out stumps-bound yorkers and full-length balls at the very last moment, but he soon proved to be the immovable object to our irresistible force. His obduracy was giving the in-form Pete licence to play his shots, and they were coming off; seeing he favoured the pull through mid-wicket, I pushed Andrew back ten yards from that very spot…you can guess where Pete’s next pull shot went. Agonisingly for us, it landed at Andrew’s feet instead of in his hands.

As much as everything had gone our way before drinks, everything was now going against us. Twice in the same over, Bob found Pete’s inside-edge, but on both occasions the edge was too thick and flew past me down to fine leg. In his next over, the luckless Bob induced a wild swing from Pete that went slicing over slip and gully to where no fielder was, and a shout for caught behind was also turned down. We also found ourselves powerless to stop Pete from farming the strike, and pinching singles off the 5^th and 6^th balls of an over became the norm. Pete brought up his fifty, and shortly afterwards the 150 came up. The innings finally closed on 171-8, and Pete was 86 not out; it had been a brilliant knock, probably the best I’ve seen at our ground all season. The game had now swung firmly in their favour in the space of 123 balls.

“It’s the hope that kills you” is now our new Sunday Boars motto.

After tea, Abdul and myself went out there to start the run-chase. The batting conditions had improved the more the pitch had dried out, as Pete and Jamie (who’d finished on 11 not out from his 20-over crease occupation), so it was up to us to do nothing silly and get ourselves in. We were settled in relatively quickly; Saril couldn’t get his line right and we knew we could score off his bowling as a couple of fours demonstrated, but Jamie at the other end was a different prospect altogether: slower, bowling to the end where it could either ping you between the eyes or roll under your bat, we decided to just keep him out and not take any chances. His first two overs were maidens. It was a good ploy; the runs began to flow from the other end. Abdul and I exchanged boundaries, a crunching extra-cover from me bested by Abdul’s giant six into the top of the bushes near the school. My four brought up our fifty partnership (we bat well, us two: the last time we batted, against Kensington and Chelsea, we put on 109), but then I allowed my concentration to lapse for just one ball, didn’t quite cover a straight one, and was bowled by Milburn. I was gutted, but we were 59-1 – more than a third of the way there.

Ian came in and soon mastered the art of the one’s and two’s. Anderson was bowling rippers down the hill, pitching on off and called wide as the balls keep turning nearly off the cut strip towards slip, and Abdul had dealt with him well…until the stroke of drinks. To be fair to Abdul, there was nothing he could have done about the ball that got him; extra bounce saw the ball balloon off his glove and into the keeper’s gloves. 81-2, but Abdul had looked really good. That brought Oli to the crease, but his stay was brief due to a piece of brilliance from bowler Newhurst, who somehow turned Oli’s rocket shot into a safely-taken return catch; Davies then came on down the hill and put his team firmly in the driving seat. Turning the ball from off to leg, he got a beauty to lift and caress Ian’s bails from their grooves; three balls later, he did exactly the same to Bob. 82-1 had become 90-5.

Hannah joined Andrew at the crease, and there came another magic moment: two balls after a push from Hannah had been caught on the bounce by a close-in fielder, a pull shot brought her her first-ever run. The cheers from the clubhouse could be heard in Raynes Park. She’s the first-ever female to play for Merton CC, and she’d just scored the first run ever by a female player for a Merton CC team. History had been made, and the moment seemed to rub off on Andrew. Where he’d been previously watchful, he suddenly became Andrew the ‘Ammer by smashing three fours and a six down to the boundary near the school. Between them they added 28 runs for the sixth wicket, but it sadly came to an end when Andrew was bowled by the returning Saril, and a decent shot from Hannah was caught safely by mid-on. 119-7 became 126-9, as firstly Sujanan was caught behind off Charlie and then Kosta – who also scored his first-ever Merton run, and looked more than handy with the bat – was run out.

That left Shakil and Kaleem at the crease; Merton’s last stand. 46 runs to win, 36 balls left in the match. Milburn and Davies were the death bowlers, and dot balls were dominating. Shakil was looking to go big, though, and several big swings had missed…but he didn’t miss for long. The bowlers were struggling for consistency, and no-balls were swelling the Boars total; Shakil then reeled off a succession of fours and a monster six, that left us – improbably, but not impossibly – chasing 17 runs off the last over. Kaleem was on strike; he went for a mow at the first ball and hit it straight back to the bowler for a dot ball, then made contact with the second ball. In the air it flew, seemingly wide of mid-on, but the fielder there had broken into a run and smartly took the catch, on the move, to end the innings and the game. We were 155 all out.

The margin of defeat was just sixteen runs; a far cry from the 140-run shellacking of last season. True, the pitch and conditions had been a very good leveller, but once again our bowling and fielding had been top-rate. Yes, we were disappointed not to wrap the Plastics up for around 100-120, but if you’d offered me 171-8 at the start of the day I’d have snapped your hand off. All that stood between us and victory had been Pete Bishop’s great innings and Jamie sticking with him while he scored them, and the fact that Pete isn’t a ringer in disguise softens the blow. From what a couple of his team-mates said, it was his finest-ever innings: sod’s law he makes it against us. Maybe next year we’ll get him for a duck. But to run a good side close, with an XI that featured an 11-year old debutant and the captain’s daughter who normally buries her head in memes and YouTube videos, is something to be proud of. The fact she’d also scored more runs that day than the 2018 Player’s Player of the Year caused much merriment inside the clubhouse; the beer never tastes flat when you’ve just taken part in a terrific game of cricket and had a lovely day.

It’s the hope that kills you: never a truer word has been spoken in jest. Every Sunday team like us should have it as their motto.

The Return Of Energy Exiles

I think mid-season burn-out is setting in. It's that feeling you get when, having had the scheduled opposition sadly withdraw their availability on the first day of the week, you spend day after day checking fixture websites every hour on the hour - like others check their Facebook and Instagram pages - and just want to close your eyes and go to sleep.

Golden Age were the unfortunate team we were supposed to be playing; it sounds like they're having one of those seasons when teams suddenly haven't enough players to put out a team on a regular basis. Having been there ourselves, everyone here can sympathise.

Four fruitless days searching for an opposition had started off my eye twitching, like Chief Inspector Dreyfus from the Pink Panther films, when Fixture Sec Janet got in touch and said that Energy Exiles, a team we used to play every season without fail until 2017, would like a game. Would I be interested? I bit her hand off via WhatsApp.

And so to the day. As we're becoming more confident as a team batting first and posting a defendable total, I'd harboured the desire all week to bat first if I won the toss. That was, until I saw the pitch. It was a lush, April green, as verdant as the entire square looks before the season has begun, and I suddenly didn't know what to do. Bat first, ride out the first ten overs, wait for the ball to lose its firmness and then cash in, as per what happens pretty much every week on our square? Or bowl first, exploit the greenness and humidity in the air, keep them to under 140 and knock off the runs when the ball's old and the pitch is flatter?

Then, as the oppo started to arrive, it rained. It was only a couple of showers, but it was enough to see the covers wheeled onto the strip. Bugger it, I thought: lose the toss and not have to make a decision...which is why, when myself and Bernard - the Energy Exiles skipper - went out to toss and I won, it took me about thirty seconds to say the magic words, "We'll have a bowl". The gut instinct had been to bat first...such a shame that my gut can't talk, unless there's a pizza in front of it.

I strapped on the keeper's pads and joined the team out on the field. We were welcoming back Bob (injury), Sam E (banished to Coventry), and Kaleem (brother's wedding), and it was to Johnny M and Sam that I gave the new ball to. Johnny M's plan was to just try and pitch the ball up, get the extra bounce and a little movement off the pitch to surprise the batsman; Sam's plan was to tear in down the hill and let the ball go at supersonic speed, and not worry about line and length. He's always had a knack for panicking batsmen into swatting rashly at short-length balls outside off-stump; sadly, he's not always had fielders with the requisite catching ability at third man and deep point to complete the trick and take the catch. Today, I was hoping, would be the day.

It took the first two overs of the day to realise that day would have to wait; we were bowling on a quick bowler's graveyard. Johnny M struggled to get his line and length right and was swatted, hockey-style, to leg for a couple of boundaries; Sam was barely getting the ball above waist-height thanks to the featherbed pitch if it was straight, getting the ball to rocket through to me at keeper if it was outside off-stump, enabling their openers to swing their bats at will with no fear of being caught on the hop. The odd ball would beat the bat, but as the ten-over mark neared, their openers already had 80 runs on the board. Johnny M, it turns out, was still nursing a knee problem from the previous week; Sam's genuine hostility had been neutralised by the deck. Time for a change, and, just as the free-scoring Khan had clocked up two boundaries to sail past fifty, the change worked. Sujanan had replaced Johnny M at the Clubhouse End, and now watched as an attemped lofted drive flew to where 'The Steriliser' had just taken his position at mid-on. Johnny M was a picture of concentration as the ball dropped towards him and nestled perfectly into his waiting hands. Finally, as the humidity had risen and the temperature got hotter, we had our first breakthrough.

Kaleem replaced Sam at the Kingston Road End, and the batsmen suddenly found that they couldn't score a run. 'Special K' was putting every ball on a perfect length on off and middle, and in his second over got his first reward. Shahid was the batsman who saw the ball in the slot for a big, booming drive, didn't see it swing viciously late, and was still staring skywards when the ball perfectly bent back middle stump. Kaleem's jaffa was back; not bad for a fella who had hardly bowled in five weeks! And two wickets suddenly became three just five balls later; after a lot of prodding, Omshed flashed hard at a ball outside off and succeeded only in nicking it to me behind the stumps. Wow, what a turnaround - from scoring eight runs an over, the Exiles had lost three wickets for six runs in four overs, and 'Special K' had bowled that rarity of Merton beasts, the double-wicket maiden.

Keith, the dogged left-handed opener whose two colt sons were also playing, was still there at drinks, giving absolutely nothing away. We'd succeeded in neutralising his favourite scoring area by packing the arc between gully and point, but we didn't look like getting him out. Still, at drinks, they were 112-3; having whipped 80 runs off their first ten overs, Suj and Kaleem had restricted them to just 32 off the second ten. Having looked at one point like we were staring down the barrel of a total of 300, the game was back on an even keel.

The temperature rose; the pitch was once more becalmed. Bob replaced Suj and instantly applied the nous and skill that makes him still a dangerous bowler (in six overs, there would be just six scoring strokes off his bowling), while Rob gave Kaleem a breather and concentrated on accuracy over pace. Keith had been joined by Jonny at the fall of the third wicket, and he was skilful enough to keep out the good stuff and wait for anything slightly off-beam to hit to the boundary, and for a few overs not a lot happened. Bob rendered Keith virtually strokeless, and when Suj replaced Bob for his second spell, Keith tried to flick him down leg-side. The glance was firm, but not firm enough; the nick flew into my right glove, and finally Keith's defiance had been broken. 33 overs he'd been there for his 54, patiently taking singles, rotating the strike with a succession of right-handed batsmen, frustrating all of us in the field.

It was the first of three wickets in three overs: Rob, in the last over of his spell, finally got Jonny to glove one to me for a fine 41; Suj finished his spell with a delightful inswinger that had Jibs swishing at thin air, with nothing but the sound of his shattered stumps to keep him company on his way back to the pavilion. 163-3 had quickly become 166-6. Bernard and Jam crashed the ball to good effect against Kaleem and Sam, until Bernard tried one heave too many off 'Special K' and spooned it up to the waiting Johnny M, who pouched his second catch of the innings. The final over was left for Sam to bowl - who, for his second spell, had parked the pace and brought leg-spin out of his locker instead - with the Exiles on 198-7 and looking to go after every ball. But their single off his second ball was the last run they scored; his third ball sailed past Jam's flailing bat and crashed into the stumps, while his fourth ball was launched into orbit by Faisal, who tried to run two while it dropped to Suj at wide-ish mid-off. Suj nervelessly held onto the catch, and - with the youngest player, Evan Roberts, now at the crease - Sam was sensing a hat-trick. With the whole field brought in for the hat-trick ball, young Evan repelled the 'Widowmaker' and the one after that too - the final ball - which brought the Exiles innings to an end on 199-9.

It had been a terrific, committed, whole-hearted Boars fightback with the ball and in the field, epitomised by point-blank stops close to the wicket from Kaleem and Rob. We'd halved their run-rate after that first ten overs, from eight an over to under four an over, and taken nine wickets for 119 runs. Against the odds, we'd restricted them to under 200. There were only three genuine catching chances, none of them easy, and we'd taken them all. Kaleem had finished with 3-30 - having been 4-2-2-2 during his first spell - and Suj 3-34. Those two bowlers had spearheaded the fightback, and got their rightful rewards.

After another wonderful tea break - during which your correspondent downed a cold lager in one, as cups of tea and squash just weren't going to cut it - we padded up for a bat and looked to chase 200. Tellingly, a couple of us looked very drained after two and three-quarter hours in the field, but nevertheless Jake and Aleem walked out to open the innings. But Jake wasn't long out there; haven't belted one ball for four, he went for a big hit and was bowled off his inside-edge. Andrew 'Safe Hands' C was promoted up the order to three to allow me to recover a little longer, but after stoutly defending his wicket against some sharp and accurate bowling, he slapped one to square leg and was caught. Dave 'The Demon' suddenly found himself out in the middle against an opposition with their tails up; Aleem, at the other end, looked untroubled as he started to find the boundary regularly. Faisal had dismissed Andrew and now came for The Demon, trapping him in front lbw.

I joined Aleem in the middle and found the bowling to be accurate but the pitch as spongey as earlier in the day, so it would be a question of waiting for a loose ball to hit. An ugly top-edge off Faisal flew high over gully for four to get me off the mark, but Aleem was transformed; hitting some sparkling fours, and looking like a man back in prime form. I took four from Jam with a straight drive before reverting to type and shovelling a full-toss straight down Keith's throat at mid-on. Unhappily for me, it was a carbon-copy of my dismissal the last time I'd played the Exiles in 2017, and we were 59-4. Even worse was to follow, when I discovered my youngest daughter had eaten the meat from all the pork pie quarters and put the pastry cases back in the dish.

Johnny M banged a couple of crisp, well-timed fours, but went across the line to the next ball and was plumb lbw as the ball smacked into his pads. Kaleem joined his brother at the wicket and almost knocked him flying as they collided going for a run, but they safely negotiated the next two overs. Drinks were taken and we were 90-5; maybe we weren't too far out of the game, after all...

Four balls later, in skipper Bernard's first over, disaster struck. Aleem hit his first shot that could be called catchable, but catch it Ahmed did at deep-ish mid-on, and Aleem had gone on 49. That seemed to be it for the run chase, but we still had wickets in the bank. Bernard was weaving some kind of bewitching spell on the batsmen from the Clubhouse End, and after Sam and Kaleem had picked up a boundary apiece, Sam went big against him and was bowled. 104-7 became 105-8 next over, bowled by young Evan, as he got Rob to try and tickle him down leg; all that moved was the leg-bail as the ball sent it spinning to the ground. The young colt was engulfed by his ecstatic team-mates, and when he'd recovered Bob pulled him violently to the long-on boundary for four.

Next over, next wicket: Kaleem tried to flick Bernard to leg, sent the ball about forty metres into the air, and the wicket keeper pouched it safely. Bob delayed the inevitable as Suj joined him, by punishing some loose stuff to notch three boundaries in what was the penultimate over; Bernard, predictably, wrapped it up by trapping Suj lbw. 122 all out saw us lose by 77 runs, and Bernard had the scarcely-believable figures of 4.1 overs, three maidens, one run, four wickets. You could argue that we hadn't really applied ourselves with the bat, but the fielding had taken a lot out of us and the Exiles had bowled very well. Aleem was our stand-out batter, and Kaleem the stand-out bowler. However, it was one of those days when, once again, we'd shown our Boars spirit in the field when the chips were down and we were getting spanked to all parts; we stuck to our guns and gave ourselves a target to chase. The fact we didn't is a moot point; I was consoled by the fact that England had bowled like an utter drain against Australia at Fortress Edgbaston, and there was a large supply of cold lager behind the bar to slake our thirsts. Happily, as a club, we've also rekindled a friendship with a long-standing opposition in Energy Exiles, and we look forward to pitting our wits against them next year...

The Camel Slayer

Well, well, well. They say you should always expect the unexpected in sport; with us, you should always expect the following:-

1)      To field first.

2)      To collapse at some point when we bat.

3)      Someone to nick all the jaffa cakes off the tea table before I’ve even got my spikes off.

What is always unexpected, and almost always pleasurable, is a win. When, however, the win is more comprehensive than almost any other win you’ve ever played in, it can be a struggle to comprehend. On this day, though, the struggle would turn out to be most definitely real…

Our old friends, Sopwith Camels, were the hosts as we made our way to the Roebucks Cricket Club in Bromley for our latest Sunday adventure. Minds thought back to when we played them at our place earlier in the season, to when he had them 41-5 and dreaming about skittling them out for under a hundred, only for their post-drinks batting and our fielding to go off in wildly different trajectories, and we ended up losing a game by 90-odd runs that we really should have nailed to the floor.

The Roebucks is a lovely little ground. The boundaries are slightly shorter than the bowlers would like, but the clubhouse is lovely and huge automated gates have to be passed through in order to get to the car park. I’d said to myself all week that, if I won the toss I’d bat first, but as I went out for the toss with their skipper Richie, I had a wobble. Thankfully, I lost another toss…and we were put into bat.

 Lots of familiar faces returned to the Boars fold following the Six-a-Side tournament the previous week, and it was Jake and Aleem that opened the innings. The first ball brought a “Sliding Doors” moment to the fore; what if their man at cover had held that catch off Jake? The Cat would’ve notched another entry into the Sunday Boars burgeoning Duck Club, and the entire day would’ve turned out markedly different. Thankfully for us, the catch didn’t stick, and Jake then did to the next ball what he spent the next few overs doing: creaming it mercilessly to the boundary. Through point, over midwicket, over long-on…the ball left his bat like a pistol crack, and Sopwith were stunned into silence in the field. Aleem was also looking positive in the shot, but as Jake sent the scoreboard whirling – and John Smither’s faculties, as he tried in vain to keep on top of the scoring – Aleem looked for the ones and twos and gave Jake the strike whenever he could.

The fifty partnership wasn’t long in coming up, and the bowlers who had terrorised us in previous encounters weren’t getting any joy out of a pitch offering them little. At least the tight boundaries meant no rummaging around in bushes looking for the ball, but Jake kept making their fielders chase, with Aleem also sending the bad ball to the rope. Harry Deans, torturer-in-chief in the corresponding fixture last year, came on and was instantly dispatched for four by Jake, and shortly after that, another boundary took Jake to his fourth Sunday score of 50+ this season, and past 400 runs for the season to date. But, with drinks on the horizon and the score on 91, he tried a big hit too many and was bowled, but what a platform he and Aleem had laid; our best opening partnership for some time, having been put into bat, and with plenty of batting to come. Even at this early stage of the game – the quarter point – we were looking in very good shape.

I replaced Jake and immediately got into the shots, slicing Vinay over cover for four. Despite never looking totally convincing, and seemingly unable to play the ball along the ground much this season, I put on 30-odd with Aleem and was on 23 when the old warrior Hughie entered the attack. Having watched me try to thump his son Harry around, he got his third ball to me to move from leg to off, pass my outside edge, and clink into off stump. I’d been done again by the wiles of a Sunday bowler; crucial for Sopwith, as our nemesis/buddy JP was limping on a previously-injured leg and only bowling two overs.

It was time for us to kick on, and inevitably wickets started to fall; Aleem, though, was still there, untroubled, unfazed, fully-focused and playing the anchor role to perfection. Mustafa smashed a six off near-enough his first ball but then top-edged one so high it came down cold, and poor Andrew Counihan fell lbw to the only ball of the entire innings that bounced no higher than ankle height. We approached the 150 mark, and Moh – making his Boars debut after squllions of years at the club – was off the mark with a super clip through point. He doesn’t play too often but he makes batting look easy when he’s in the groove, and he was soon in the boundaries. He was ultimately castled by a ball that probably should’ve been knocked into Kent, but the incoming Johnny M started doing just that. Confident, crisp and hitting the ball with purpose, his first boundary was a pull to backward square off his hip, and his second was a cracking shot through midwicket. As Aleem patiently ticked over, Johnny fell to a fantastic catch by Richie in the gully: the shot was good and seemingly rising over the cordon for another four, but Richie plucked it out of the air with his right hand – having injured his left hand earlier in the innings – for a one-handed wonder. Johnny M hadn’t trudged off long when Aleem followed him; a booming drive to the long-on boundary just didn’t quite have the legs, and Harry Deans took a fine tumbling catch. We groaned: not because Aleem had got out, but because he’d done it on 47. If ever someone had deserved a 50, it was that man on this day. Our innings was dissolving, but he’d been the glue that had kept it together. The wickets were tumbling to one bowler: Nikhil, son of Vinay (one of two dads & lads duos amongst the Camels).

Bawny duly contributed to our Boars Duck Club, his blob being the 23^rd of the campaign so far, and we were eight down. Sujanan’s first act was to belt a swirling six over midwicket, but once he’d perished, Rob followed shortly after. We were all out for 191; a fantastic team effort. In a 35-over game such as this, you’re looking at 150/160 minimum if batting first, so to have nearly 200 on the board was wonderful. And an omen suddenly fluttered into thought as well; our previously two wins in 2019 had happened when we’d batted first, and in the other occasions when I’d beaten Sopwith – twice, in 2011 and 2014 – we batted first then. Hmm. Nikhil had got fitting reward for his golden arm with a fine 5-for; 5-36 to be precise, for the architect of our wicket rush.

The Camels innings started off in comedy fashion. Realising we didn’t have a square leg umpire, out sauntered – and I mean, he sauntered – their guy to umpire…in a pair of white shorts that looked like an oversized nappy, topless, with a cup of tea in his hand. He looked more like a 1980’s bullion robber on a Costa Del Sol villa balcony, and more mirth followed two balls into Suj’s opening over when, with the batsman’s trousers sagging around his knees, the ump was forced to dip into the batsman’s crotch area for the trouser laces – having pulled his trousers up for him – and tie them together.

Suj and “Killer” Smither opened the bowler and started well; John almost picked up a wicket in his first over, as a fend towards the gully area just fell slightly short of the straining Moh. Killer, who hadn’t realised the umpire was keeping his cap stuffed down his shorts so he could keep his hands free to count Killer’s balls, then almost struck with a chip to Couns at point, but that too just fell short.

It was Suj that made the breakthrough, bowling one so gun-barrel straight it hypnotised the batsman into forgetting to move his feet as it thudded into his front pad. It pitched in line, it hit in line; if it had been a DRS review, there’d have been three red lights on the screen. One down, nine to go, but that was merely the appetiser for a Smither banquet that had us all gasping in both joy and disbelief.

Every serial killer has one or more accomplices: enter the ring of fielders on the off-side. Moh at gully; Couns at point, Mustafa at cover, Johnny M at mid-off.

“NONE SHALL PASS.”

 Not one Black Knight, of Monty Python fame, but four: unlike the Black Knight, they stayed on their feet and kept their hands poised and ready to pouch anything even slightly aerial. They strangled everything that came their way as a good murderer’s accomplice would, and it was their catches that helped Killer burn through the Camels top and middle order like a dodgy curry through a porn star’s arsehole. First, Killer extracted a wild drive that flew up and into the safe hands of Mustafa; next, another expansive shot flew not where the batter intended, but instead to Mustafa again, whose bucket hands made no mistake for the second time in rapid succession. Three balls later, with the dangerous JP now at the wicket but at the other end, catching practice came Couns’s way as he gobbled up a regulation chip to point. The Camels were 24-4, and we were pinching ourselves. It had to be said that Killer had bowled so much better in the past for approximately zero reward; but, on this day, that stop-off at Gregg’s had seen him take on board a lot more of their stock than just a takeaway mocha. Every ball was now seen as a potential wicket-taking hand grenade, but still the Camels played their shots; sure enough, a lusty drive merely took the edge and spooned to Moh, waiting gratefully at gully to swallow the catch. 28-5, and Killer had four. Could he? A quick check confirmed that he’d never ever taken a five-for. As the umpire switched Killer’s cap from his crotch to his armpit – fuelling speculation John would have a new head of curly hair by the middle of the week, fuelled by the transfer of crotch-to-cap testosterone – all the Boars crouched around the wicket even keener than before.

The moment came on the first ball of the 12^th over, and what a moment it was. JP was facing; Killer pitched it slightly shorter. It was a real pie; overflowing with steak and ale, Fray Bentos written along the seam, there to be pulled through midwicket for four. But JP mistimed the bounce and played the shot too early; the ball sliced neatly through his defences like a kitchen knife through a hooker’s ribcage, and knocked back off and middle. Killer jumped and yelled; we all jumped and yelled, then mobbed him as hard as we possibly could. After twenty-five years at the club, he’d finally taken a five-wicket haul. What’s more, they were 30-odd for six. I couldn’t process which of these facts was easier to take in, but as Killer tired and with only four wickets left to take, it was time to bring on the fresh legs. Rob “UMPIYAAAAH!” Turner came on to replace Suj, but if the Camels thought a change of bowler would bring them a little bit of a breather, they were sadly mistaken. Rob hit a good, quick line from ball one, and just two balls later he induced batter Brian to chop the ball onto his stumps. The Camels were 40-7 in just the 13^th over; would we even make drinks? 

Bawny replaced Killer, who retreated to midwicket with our ovation ringing in his ears (and a phone call from Fred Dinenage, asking if he'd like to be on the next series of "Murder Casebook"), and proceeded to bowl a maiden – and, as a rarity, wicketless – over. Sam, their batter, had been unfazed by the carnage; he was the one to carry the attack to Suj and Killer, plundering boundaries with some very crisp shots. He almost came a cropper to Rob’s first ball of the next over, though, as a slash to slip was tipped over the bar by Moh, running all the way to the boundary for four instead. In the next over, Bawny joined the party by inducing a pull shot out of Hughie…straight to, waiting with eyes wide open in eager anticipation, Killer. The hands opened, Jaws-like, waited for the prey to fly nearer, then wrapped around it and gobbled it up. Eight down; us Merton “old-timers” barely knew what to feel.

Rob wouldn’t be denied a second time. A little extra bounce saw him take Sam’s outside edge, and this time Moh couldn’t have been better-placed to take the catch. 60-9; we don’t do this to other teams, I thought. Other teams do this to us.

Sensing the bowling would shortly be at an end, I called upon Johnny M to bowl the 17^th over, the last one before the scheduled drinks breaks. And their last batsman? The Costa Del Cricketer, only now he was taken it really seriously: he’d put a string vest on. And he somehow nicked a single off Johnny’s first ball, a ball that narrowly missed the off-bail as well as it went flying between myself and first slip. Johnny then tried far too hard to get that last wicket, and leg and off-side byes were taken off the next three balls. The next ball was better; a straight one kept out well by the batter. Time for The Steriliser to clean up: with the final ball of the over, he took a breath, focused himself, and bowled a ball the batter could only shovel back in his direction. With Mustafa moving in from cover, waiting to pounce for the catch, Johnny got behind the ball, steadied himself, and took the catch that sealed our win.

64. ALL OUT.

Of course, we didn’t celebrate wildly or go mad. It was Sopwith Camels we’d beaten, a team we’d never show any form of disrespect to, and their handshakes and embraces in defeat were warm and genuine. They know we’ve hardly beaten them over the years, were overdue a good day against them, and today had been our day. And what a day! It was my first true win as skipper over them in five years of trying, following a hollow victory a couple of years earlier that hadn’t brought me any major satisfaction; it was the biggest margin of victory any team I’d played on had recorded (127 runs); it was the first time any team I’d played on had bowled a team out for double figures. Killer had ended up with 5-26. The catching and fielding had been like something out of League cricket, and proved we don’t fluke our performances from week to week; with the ball, and in the field, we’re now a team to be reckoned with. We’d totally dominated a game from start to finish; not even the nine-wicket win at Banstead in 2018 had been this one-sided. And yes, as I glanced at Bawny and Smither, team-mates of mine during the last nine years of at times painful shellackings and humiliating massacres, and Johnny M, four years a Boar and veteran of some of those beatings, I thought back to some of those times we’d fielded first in scorching heat, conceded 320, then been hustled out by cocky, talkative so-and-so’s with bad hair and appalling manners, for 80 or 90. And then had a beer to flush the game out of our system, wondering when we’d get a day like that.

That day had arrived, and it felt utterly amazing.

Game 2: Battle Of The Beasts (Part One)

BOARS v RHINOS, The John Innes Theatre Of Dreams, Sunday, May 5th 2019

Ah, the Interclub game; it must be as old as the game itself. Sometimes it’s well attended, and sometimes it isn’t; my first Merton Interclub was an eight-a-side affair on a freezing September Sunday. Last year’s, by sharp contrast, was a three-team T20 jamboree played on a warm, sunny Sunday, that was celebrating the fact we had three Sunday teams. Now it’s two, as a large group of Sunday players have switched to playing on Saturdays instead, and so the Sunday Interclub was back to the traditional two-team battle.

My Boars team had changes to make, but it was more like the team that will play week in, week out. Last week, for our win over Kingstonians, we had Paul “The Wall” and Rob J as honorary Boars; today, they would be in the Rhinos, the team more suited to them. In came Johnny M, “The Steriliser”, AB, Rob “Aaaargh” Turner (that’s his pirate cry when he appeals for lbw, not him in pain), Sam “The Wyld Thing” - fresh from cluttering up an A&E department on the Bournemouth tour after one lager shandy too many – and the return of the Dark Lord himself, Bob, after 18 months out of the game. “Killer” Smither was back too, full of recommendations to watch the new Ted Bundy film, prowling around the boundary, looking for fresh victims and painting a red ‘X’ on their kit bags.

The Rhinos were stocked with talent, and a look at their bowling attack caused a few Boars to check their life insurance. Tom had, at his disposal, the fastest bowlers in one attack for many a year. It was a bit like watching “Fire In Babylon”, the film about West Indies cricket under Clive Lloyd and Viv Richards, only with pale people. But they could rightly claim to be the new “Nasty Fasties”; Matt Kidd was “Whispering Death”; Sam “Widowmaker” Egan would be “Grinning Death”; Iain Evans “Northern Death”; Rob Jordan “Antipodean Death”; and Tom himself would be “Rubbish Football Team-Supporting Death” (aka “The Solihull Slasher”). On the batting front, Jack and Arjun joined newcomer Andrew C and Ben “Austrian International” D to bolster their ranks, and with James P fresh from compiling a new list of Christmas cracker jokes to unleash on us all, our bowlers would have to be on top of their game to winkle them out.

None of us knew how the first home pitch of the season would play as well, with some of us having suffered at the hands of Grinning Death in the past; it would certainly be green, and I was hoping the previous day’s rain would draw a little of the sting out of their bowling.

The toss was drawn; Tom and I had a gentlemen’s agreement that we would bowl first, to ensure everyone had a full game (as events would transpire later, a good call). For the second week in a row, we were playing under lead-grey skies that brought a slicing wind to swirl around the John Innes Bowl; even in the pre-match warm-up (which is usually some of us dropping catches) some noses were already turning red with cold. The sight of Bob lighting up a Rothmans as he took up residence at first slip was a sight to stir the memory, but he was also keeping his fingers warm too. Maybe I should get all the Boars to start smoking when the weather’s cold.

It was Rob and Kaleem who opened the bowling and Jack and Paul who opened the batting, and an intriguing contest ensued. Tight bowling and excellent Boars fielding meant the openers were mainly restricted to singles, but they were still managed four runs an over. Jack, in particular, was finding his way to the boundary blocked by the panther-like performances of Killer and Jake, who’d spent the second half of the previous season regularly saving the Boars thirty runs an innings with his fielding excellence. Also, fine drives that - in July - would have raced for four were slowing and stopping in grass thicker than a Love Island contestant, and fours were being cut off for two runs only. Perhaps frustrated by events, Jack was first to go, bowled by “Special K” as he attempted a cut shot to the smaller boundary on off stump. That brought Arjun to the crease, and he too was finding the right shots but his way to runs blocked by determined Boars fieldwork. Paul, meanwhile, was finding the odd single to stop himself getting too bogged down; every now and then he would slam an on-drive to the boundary to demonstrate he had the power to go with his patience.

A bowling change brought Sam “hold my liver” Wyld to the Clubhouse End, partnered by Killer – who, on the aforementioned Bournemouth tour, had been the one to transport Sam’s liver to the mightily-impressed NHS staff of A&E – came on at the Kingston Road End. It was Killer who struck immediately, getting Arjun to drive big; unfortunately, he got the height but not the distance, and Rob steadied himself to take the catch. Ben D – I’ll call him “The Druid”, as that is how one of the oppo teams actually wrote his name into the scorebook last year – came out to meet Paul, and for the next ten overs it was slow, steady progress; that was, though, after The Druid had slapped his first ball to just inside the Cannon Hill Lane boundary for three runs. Killer then came agonisingly close to removing Paul “The Wall”, after he chipped a return catch the height of Killer’s boot laces. He did well to get down to it, but couldn’t hold on. It required the kind of physical bending motion that would have most of us screaming for a tube of Voltarol for the lower back, but it was nevertheless a fine effort. The Wall had survived. Bawny, at mid-off, then fielded a sharp drive from Paul with a section of his anatomy lower than his stomach and higher than his knees, and we were all impressed that he got straight up without rubbing the injured part and wasn’t speaking in a squeaky voice (some of us had winced on impact). It was a great stop that, quite literally, took balls.

Drinks came and went; some pleaded for Bovril and coffee. The temperature hadn’t risen past eleven degrees for most of the time we’d been out there, but there was a warm glow emanating from the Boars performance so far. This talented Rhinos team were only 73-2 at drinks, and were probably expecting to have scored a lot more. We’d shown patience and bravery in the field for the second week in a row…but Paul was still there, chipping away, anchor stuck in the sea bed, an immovable object.

Once he’d retracted his scrotum from out of his throat and put it back where it should be, Bawny took over from the unlucky Sam – who’d bowled very well with no reward – and immediately had The Druid in trouble. After an lbw appeal was turned down, Bawny finally trapped him in front, and the Rhinos were 74-3. That brought new player Andrew to the wicket, who understandably was very watchful against Bawny after a few years away from the game. Time and again, Bawny almost struck again as every ball landed on a great length. At the other end, Johnny M – “The Steriliser” – had replaced Killer, for his first bowl since February, when an incident involving a skateboard and a hard concrete floor had put his lower arm in a cast for a number of weeks. His first couple of overs demonstrated his rust, but he was soon in his stride and bowling well; smooth run-up, good pace, and the ball in the right area.

Then, Bawny struck again, getting one to fizz through Andrew’s defences to shatter the stumps. It was a wicket-maiden; he had 2-2 off four overs, and the Rhinos were being steadily strangled of runs. Patience brings reward, and Paul finally reached his fifty. Without him, the Rhinos would’ve been in big trouble, but we’d found him a hard nut to crack…that is, until The Steriliser bowled an over that turned the innings firmly in our favour. With the fourth ball of his fifth over, he finally got pierced Paul’s armour and bowled him; The Steriliser was ecstatic. That brought Grinning Death, Sam E, to the crease; a man known to put the ball into the road when he feels like it. But two balls later, an almighty heave to the Cannon Hill Lane boundary only succeeded in ballooning up over his head, looping through the air to the slips, where the sprightly AB – who’d also excelled himself in the field – held on to a tumbling catch. The Steriliser brought out his trademark Death Stare (copyright: Johnny M), and the Rhinos were suddenly rocking at 111-6.

James P, unrecognisable in clean white kit, and Matt K took up residence at the crease, and found the returning “Dark Lord” Bob ready to bowl at them, having taken over from Bawny. The last time he’d bowled, he’d suffered a shoulder injury and was coming in off three paces. This time, he was off his longer run-up and generating pace and length that made every ball one to think about. In his second over, JP became his first victim; having faced three balls down the leg-side, the fourth arrowed in on off-stump and found its target. In the next over, from the other end, Special K returned and bowled a lovely in-swinger to castle Rob J. 125-8 became 129-9 as Bob dismissed Matt K, and he almost helped Kaleem pick up another wicket with a diving effort at first slip that popped into his hands and popped back out again. The damage was minimal, however; Rob “Deadshot” T, who’d characterised every lbw appeal with the pirate cry of “Aaaaargh!” that we’d all join in with, returned to take over from Kaleem and struck with his second ball, bowling Iain “Northern Death” Evans. It was the 38^th over, the shell-shocked Rhinos had been bowled out for 135, and we’d taken their last six wickets for 24 runs. Of the bowlers, only the unlucky Sam W didn’t take a wicket, and they’d all played their part in us needing a little over three runs an over to win the contest.

A lovely tea came and went – the Jaffa Cakes went a little quicker than everything else – and so Jake and I went out to open our innings. We knew what we were in for: pace, and lots of it. So far, though, the pitch had proved to be a little docile in terms of awkward bounce (only Rob T had gone one ball to truly rear up unexpectedly to the height of the batsman’s head), but we were still needing to be watchful. Tom opened up against me, and until I stepped about two feet outside my crease, had me in trouble – I got off the mark with an uncertain edge through where a fourth slip would probably have been standing. Jake opened up against Iain, a pacy, skiddy bowler who gives you nothing, who opened with a maiden over.

So, we were very tentative in the first four overs, nicking singles where we could. Me striding out of the crease finally paid off when I thumped Tom high over mid-on for a four that only just made it to the long-on boundary; I then managed to put his full-toss into the fence and repeated the trick against Iain by hitting him into Rutlish school. I then tried one drive too many off Tom, though, and just as Jake and I had taken the score to 24-0 in the seventh over, I inside-edged him onto my stumps. The rest of Iain’s spell was metronomic; after I hit him for six, there were only two scoring strokes off his bowling. Grinning Death replaced Tom and opened up with a maiden; AB was the batsman, and couldn’t lay a glove on Sam’s pace. Iain got his reward an over later by bowling Jake, and Sam shattered AB’s stumps moments later to make it 27-3. Aleem, facing Rob J, played for out-swing that never came, and shouldered arms to one that sent the bails into the slips; Matt K found the edge of Bob’s bat, and Arjun calmly took the catch. We were 40-5 and fading quickly, but the bowling had been excellent. Every ball was on the money, and they’d given away not a single short ball, full toss, wide or no-ball. No freebies were coming our way, and I was quick to remind the Boars that we wouldn’t be facing this quality of bowling for the rest of the season.

At drinks, we were 41-5; Bawny had been in a while, and hanging around valiantly; one ball from Rob J changed all that, though, and Arjun took his second catch of the innings. Matt K then picked up his second wicket, Wyld caught Allen, to have figures of 2-1 from three overs. Then came the partnership known as the “Packet Of Two”; the Johnnies that always perform. And perform they did: Killer and Steriliser, batting in perfect harmony, mixed aggression with defence and compiled the second-highest, and most entertaining, stand of the innings. Johnny M finally hit our first boundary for twenty overs by thumping Matt K to long-on; Killer then joined the fun and hit a four of his own. All good things must come to an end, and Rob J got one through to clean up The Steriliser. Four balls later, Killer provided Matt K with his third wicket by snicking to Jack behind the stumps. The Johnnies, although not ripped off after use and thrown into the bushes for the foxes to sniff around, were back in the pavilion.

Rob and Kaleem opened the match by opening the bowling, and now they were to close the match by providing the last stand. Rob looked really good with the bat, playing out to the covers and looking rarely troubled, but with the score on 68 Sam E brought proceedings to a close with a caught and bowled to dismiss Kaleem. We’d lost by sixty-seven runs and had the tables well and truly turned on us, but there’s no disgrace in being dismissed for a low score by a bowling attack like that. All five bowlers took wickets, all conceded no more than two or three runs per over, and we’d only hit five boundaries in the 30.3 overs we’d faced. It had been a fascinating game, dominated by bowling and fielding, with cricket as the winner.

Merton was also the winner too, so technically the Boars didn’t really lose!

Part Two of this “Battle of the Beasts” will close out the season, in a little under five months from now. The skies will be grey, the air will be cold, and the grass will be long. All of these things can be guaranteed; I’m hoping a similarly-keen contest can be guaranteed too.

Game 1, 2019: Boars Majeure

BOARS v KINGSTONIAN, Sunday, 28^th April 2019

"It's the most wonderful time of the year..."

Andy Williams, 1963

The sun beating down upon your back; heat ripples on the horizon; slapping on copious amounts of sun cream; packing an extra water bottle in your kit bag. For the weekend cricketer, all of these things are synonymous with days in July and August; unfortunately for the returning Sunday Boars of Merton Cricket Club, this was the arse-end of April and we were in the London Borough of Kingston, exposed to the unforgiving arse-end of Storm Hannah. The sun bathed us in warmth only intermittently, between rolling gusts of wind that made the player’s nipples stick out like Zeppelins, and the majority of the game was played beneath a sky so low and grey, if you stood up too quickly you’d bang your head on it. But what the hell…the cricket season was BACK. Seven long months had elapsed since our last game of 2018, a shellacking at the hands of Ewell, which saw us bowled out for 40 and the game over before the tea interval was a glint in the tea-lady’s eye.

There’s just something about the first game of a cricket season that non-cricket fans will never comprehend. That 22-yard strip becomes the centre of our universe for the best part of five months; the cricket green becomes our refuge from the working week, the studying week, the housework, the bills, the raising of the kids, the tending of the ill. It provide a welcome distraction for those who are perhaps not having such a great time of it, and for others it can be the icing on the cake of what’s been a brilliant week. Regardless of circumstances or background, state of mind or physical fitness, the cricket ground is our (to use a modern phrase) safe space. No sirens, no blaring music, no traffic. Just ball on bat, and fresh air. And, if you’re playing on a common, some fox poo to dodge.

For our opening game of the Sunday season, the Boars were just a stone’s throw from the opulent and overpriced surroundings of Hampton Court Palace. Indeed, several tourists were hastily dodged in the walk to the ground, each of them presumably having paid about £15 to look at some bushes that Henry VIII may or may not have relieved himself against seven hundred years ago. Perhaps our club should raise some funds by claiming that Winston Churchill took a dump behind our clubhouse back in 1940, on his way to making his “We shall fight them on the beaches” speech. Anything is worth a try in this day and age…

Kingstonian were our opposition for this opening games of the Sunday season. Why we haven’t been playing them regularly is a mystery; the two teams looked physically well-matched, with a couple of athletes mingled amongst those of us that look about as mobile as something you’d find in the Argos white goods department. Jim, their skipper, and I tossed up…and after winning all but one of the tosses in 2018, I started off 2019 by losing it. Jim decided to bowl, and so I instructed the Boars to pad up and layer up.

The ground itself was in good condition. Three of the boundaries were a reasonable distance away, but the fourth boundary belonged more to a Kwik Cricket pitch; our bowlers suddenly started to work out which end they didn’t want to bowl from. As I manned the scorebook, Paul and Jake, a brand-new opening pair, went out to bat. Spandan and Jawed opened the bowling for Kingstonian, and found the pitch very much to their liking; it was very tacky for the first few overs, with some balls shooting through very low to the wicket-keeper whilst other balls leapt up rib-high off the same length. Paul and Jake found it tough-going; when Spandan bowled it straight he was a constant threat, and our batters survived a couple of enthusiastic lbw appeals. Jake swung and missed at Jawed, as he looked to settle himself down. Paul started to break free of the shackles and hit a four in the fourth and fifth overs, but off the last ball of the over he played slightly early to a delivery that just stopped in the pitch, and he spooned a regulation catch to cover point. 13 for 1 after five completed overs.

Gopal, formerly a Sunday Wolf guesting for the Boars, came to the crease and nearly waved goodbye to Jake, who miscued a pull that went sailing just over the head of Terry at midwicket. That seemed to finally calm Jake, who crunched a couple of exquisite cuts through the off-side. Gopal was straight into the boundaries too, with a lovely cover drive and a straight four sent back over the bowler’s head. Gopal was playing shots along the ground with confidence, while Jake faced a couple of stump-grazers from the unlucky Spandan when he wasn’t belting K’s skipper Jim for three consecutive boundaries. Spandan finished with 1-11 from six very good overs, and batting suddenly got easier. The pitch was rapidly losing its trickiness and the first-change bowlers weren’t always able to get the ball to pitch, with Jake in particular helping himself to some choice full-bungers. Drinks came at 20 overs; tea or Bovril were what was ideally required, but everyone had to make do with squash; our score was a very respectable 87-1. Considering that the last two seasons had begun with us being bowled out for 74 and 53 respectively, this was already a massive triumph.

Ten balls after drinks, though, second-change bowler Cameron struck, with just his fourth ball. He pitched the ball short, trampoline ball sent it revolving slowly to Gopal - who was a fraction early with his pull shot – and, instead of being sent into Norbiton, the ball thudded into the stumps. Gopal had batted really well for his 31, the partnership had been worth 78, and we were now 91-2. Terry came into the attack and Jake instantly took a shine to him, belting him for two fours. Finally, having been stuck on 47 for two overs, he brought up his maiden Merton fifty with a two and a single; after receiving the congratulations of everyone, he suddenly went into overdrive, hitting five fours off the unfortunate Terry in the space of nine balls whilst, at the other end, Aleem was batting with his trademark calmness: working the ball into the gaps, taking the singles, putting the pressure on the fielders. He wasn’t afraid to hit his own boundaries either, but Jake was in his stride and the boundaries really started to flow. While Ali kept one end tight, runs came river-like at the other end, including a booming six from Jake that flew into the game on the neighbouring pitch.

Then, on 94, Jake started swinging and missing. As the rest of us winced and screwed our eyes shut, he eked out single after single, seemingly determined to bring up his century the hard way, until a misfield gave him the opportunity and he finally took the century-making single. The rest of us erupted; it had been a gritty, patient but flowing innings, with only the one catching chance given. Sportingly, the K’s players lined up to shake Jake’s hand, after a couple more boundaries from both he and Aleem, and as their partnership reached 131, the innings ended. 222-2 was the score, with 33 not out from Aleem and 111 not out from Jake; a monumental effort that seemed to have put us in the box seat.

After tea, during which the strong winds stilled and the sun brought a pleasant warmth to the ground, we took the field. I was feeling good about things; there were similarities with games against Carshalton Athletic back in 2016 (incidentally, the opening game of that season) and Flying Ducksmen later that season, when we only lost two wickets for over two hundred runs, one of our players notched a century, and we went on to win by about 40-odd runs. Could history repeat itself, I wondered…

It only took the first ball for it to almost be the perfect start. Ali and Anuj opened the batting for K’s with Ali facing the first ball against Boars debutant Rob J. It was a good ball: fast, full on a good length; Ali drove it with terrific power straight to Zubi at mid-off, who got his hands to it but couldn’t hold on. What a start that would’ve been! Ali immediately made the best of reprieve by dispatching Rob to the long-on boundary, where only somebody the size of the BFG would’ve caught the ball. “Special K” Kaleem took the ball from the other end, but found that when he strayed onto Anuj’s pads, Anuj was flicking him to the ultra-short boundary. Only a ring of fielders on that line would’ve stopped the boundaries, but I wasn’t concerned. Rob was flying in and Ali was hitting the ball murderously hard, but as the score whistled past 50, he struck. Anuj stepped a little too far to the off-side and, beaten for pace, lost his leg-bail. The old adage of “one wicket brings two” wasn’t far from everyone’s lips when Rob fired one through Madhav’s defences, and the death rattle sounded out once more. Still, at the other end, Ali was flaying the ball to the boundary, seemingly set to take down our score single-handedly. If only we could keep him off the strike…

Jango came in and banged a full-toss to the fence, but as Sujanan “The Silent Assassin” replaced Special K at one end, Rob picked him up for a third, deserved wicket, getting him to spoon one up to the safe hands of Gopal at shortish mid-off. A couple of balls later and Rob was agonisingly close to a  fourth wicket, as  Dhuruv smashed an on-drive straight at Sujanan at mid-on; like Zubi earlier, Suj just couldn’t wrap his hands around the ball, and it went to ground. Dhuruv then stroked a cover drive to the super-short boundary, and when he tried it again the next ball, Paul “The Wall” literally spilled blood for the cause by cutting off the ball with his chin. I was nearest and feared for his choppers, but a quick check from Paul reassured us he still had all his teeth. If it had hit him two inches higher, his smile would’ve looked like one of those of things Elton John has spent the last six decades playing.

Sujanan was bowling well, including one truly unplayable ball to pitched on middle and beat the bat outside off-stump, and got due reward when he had Kamran trapped plumb lbw. It was easy for the umpire; his feet were nailed to the crease, bang in front of the stumps. Still, Ali hit out, mercilessly going after Bawny (1-0-29-0 was his spell) and brought up his fifty with another cleanly-hit four. Dhuruv was keeping him company, but as drinks came, the K’s were already past 120, with just 100 more needed for the win. All hopes seemed to be on somehow keeping Ali off the strike, while picking off the rest of the batting line-up one by one.

Until, that was, the end of Sujanan’s seventh over. Sensing Ali wouldn’t be able to resist having a go at the sixth and final ball, Rob retreated from mid-off to the long-off boundary. True enough, Ali slashed at the ball and sent it flying high through the air but not hard enough, towards where Rob had just gone, and when it dropped into his bucket hands we went wild. Key moment. Their best batsman gone, and the trap had worked beautifully. Rob had bowled out his eight overs and taken 3-33, was proving to be an inspiration in the field with his ground-work, and now had safely pouched the catch to dismiss the man threatening to beat us on his own. It couldn’t have gone any better for him…only it did. Two overs later, Dhuruv called Spandan through for a risky run; Rob glided gazelle-like across the grass, picked it up one-handed, and fired it in under-arm at the stumps. The stumps rocked back, the bails went flying, Spandan was short of his ground, and the umpire’s finger went up. Pandemonium ensued; some of would have struggled to keep the batsmen to three runs if we’d been the fielder. Rob found himself mobbed by everyone, only to reveal he’d landed on his nuts as he’d thrown the ball in. I surmised that they must’ve kissed the turf like a pair of space-hoppers to give him the perfect trajectory for throwing the stumps down.

Four more wickets were required for a famous win, but they were only sixty runs short with plenty of overs in which to get them; the sun had said “Cheerio” for the day, and a murky grey sky hung above the ground. Gopal was proving to be pacey and accurate, bowling from the same end as Rob had, and he was desperately unlucky with a couple of close-looking lbw appeals, but he finally got overdue reward when Amer was trapped in front. The umpire’s finger went up, and in Gopal’s next over he shattered Alan’s stumps with a straight one. Two wickets left, 40 runs to get. Kaleem had returned from the other end and bowled with his usual threat and accuracy, but couldn’t nick himself a wicket. And, when he was through with his eight overs, it was down to myself and Bawny to carry on the attack. It would not be a partnership that would frighten anyone but our own players…

Ian’s second over went for a respectable five runs, as the now-watchful K’s batsmen were looking to dig in and run us as close as possible; they had whittled the target down to nearly thirty. A few lusty blows, and it could be all over…but they hadn’t reckoned on my slow tripe. With an action deserving of a blue badge, I trundled up to the wicket to let the ball go, and with my fourth ball struck gold. Their dangerman played around a straight one that actually pitched in his half of the wicket, the ball thudded into his pads, I crouched down and give it the full Dennis Lillee, and punched the air when the umpire’s finger went up. Just one more wicket needed, and only one more ball was required to take it. Terry was the luckless number eleven, and miscued a pull shot straight to the waiting Gopal at short midwicket. Game over; I was on a hat-trick with no more wickets to take, and Kingstonian had finally been bowled out for 191, sealing a 32-run win for us. Dave “The Demon” confided in me that, when he heard me calling out the bowling change to the scorers, only one thought had crossed his mind: “Oh, sh*t.” I confided back that I’d been thinking exactly the same thing when I "ran" into bowl!

A fantastic game of cricket – one that had encapsulated everything that was good about Sunday recreational cricket – had drawn to a close. We had a good chat with those K’s player that remained until the end of the game, and hoped the quality of the day was a harbinger for the twenty Sundays to come. But you just know that we’re going to run into a gun team at some point, that will make a point of smearing our bowlers all over the ground for 300-plus and bowl bouncers at our tail-end rabbits; we will have to, whilst paraphrasing someone old and probably expired, “treat Sunday social cricketers, and those that want to tee off from ball one, with the same equanimity”. Hopefully, without growling about “f***ing hockey players” when their number three has swiped another across the line to cow corner.

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.