Middlesex Championship Division 4 (2nd XI)
17th June 2006

WHAT AN AWSOME GAME… We looked a bit rough at the start.  Some attacks not quite making their mark but some solid defence marking our journey. There was an early controversial decision and that only seemed to swing the game to our detriment.  I didn’t care because, BY GOD, it only spurred us on.  We held the opposition fully in check until the very end and then BANG! BANG! BANG!  Three decisive sword strikes to the heart. Fuck me! When your underdog team wins the victory is so, so sweet.  I am talking, of course, about the Australia v Japan World Cup match.  It is a match that will be remembered in the hearts of all Australians.  The Ploughman’s Second game on the 17th June, however… well, unfortunately, that’s a different story.

The morning felt good.  All but two of the team were there on time.  The two that were not were very humble and had a good public transport excuse (fair enough, we are in London after all).  Our leader for the day was Captain Cox, a slightly large, yet firm, member that sits slightly to the left.  As a good captain he kept us all in the change room for a little pre game pep talk.  I can’t remember the exact words but it was something like… “…we are Ploughmen. We can sow the seeds of victory from even the toughest grounds.  We play a good tight game with our hearts on our sleeves and a twinkle in our eyes”… or words to that effect.  Or maybe it was just “Get your ass into gear.”

Despite practicing with various coins we lost the toss and were sent to bat.  After two previous innings of fielding 50 overs, in un-characteristic English heat, it seemed like a welcome relief on another hot day.  Gledhill and Buckley opened and contributed a steady partnership creating great platform to which we could build a steady innings.  Unfortunately, after they moved on things got worse.  Batting… this is where we have been coming stuck of late.     

Strachan was looking great at 27 (top score).  He played some confident shots and was looking comfortable, and more importantly, dangerous until one small lap in concentration cut him short.  Similarly with Buckner (25)… He was caught but I can’t remember how.  If I could remember I’m sure I would write something really cleaver, but I can’t.  Finishing off the top 5 was ACE.  Now there is a heartbreaking story.  Once again he did not come forward, as he should have, to a skidding delivery and got himself bowled for a dismal score, again.  Grrrrrr

The rest of the batting line up was, unfortunately, cheaply disposed of, going for just 21 runs. The total – 10/130 in 50.4 overs.  With a large and sluggish outfield it was still a defendable score…. If, that is, they batted like us.

TEA
Tea, as I remember, was very similar to our own “Warney” Peters; not fancy or flashy but on the button, effective and with more than enough to go around.  We started the feast unorthodoxly from right to left which created a bit of confusion to start with.  Plates and cutlery at hand I moved onto the first selection.  One of the younger opposition members tried to get in first but a swift elbow to the solar plexus sent junior on his way. 

The presentation before us started with the all important and ever present sandwiches (or “sarnies” as we like to affectionately call them).  There was an ample assortment of sandwiches (or sarnies) featuring egg, tuna, cheese and corn.  The absence of ham did throw me off a little, though.  I was put at ease, or was it distracted, by some mini baps happily waving from the sidelines.  “Hello, Big Boy”, they were seductively saying, “Hello”.  They looked like they were really enjoying the day sharing similar fillings to their sandwich (or sarnie) cousins next door.  Looking through a gap in the plates (I had my head down at table level at this point so I could imagine what a grass hopper would see)  I only just noticed that hiding, or maybe even pushed, to the back of the sandwiches (or sarnies) was a lonely garden salad.  Sadly this looked a little too healthy and as a result I feared it would suffer the unfortunate title of “Runt of the Tea”.  I felt sorry and maybe even a little heartbroken for the colourful bowl of tomatoes, onion, corn and leaves.  They dressed up and displayed their finest especially for the occasion only to be tossed (pun intended) aside by their lack of saturated fats and sugars.  The pasta with tuna and corn, on the other hand, was going to be a popular little tea slut and, I’m sure, would be going down with no fuss at all.  Her cool creamy tubes looked very much a treat for the heat, easing any tension from the first innings.  “Ahhhhh cricket, what cricket”

Then I moved onto the next choice which proved a bit of an odd one.  Boiled rice and corn? I mean… what where they thinking?  “hmmm boiled rice… a bit dull.  I know, I will add corn.  Now it’s not boiled rice, now it’s a salad”.  After the seeing corn in the sandwiches and in the pasta and in the garden salad and now in the rice I was beginning to think someone had a bit of a corn fetish.  Anyway, at least the corny rice made the garden salad look good so I was happy about that.

Coming towards the middle of the tea feast was the all favourite pork pies.  These guys were having a private party with the “Chipolata” sisters “Ole”.  They were so happy looking, dancing around the plate singing and clapping in the heat of the day. I could have watched them for hours, I could have even been tempted to join in, only I was lured away by a siren song.  There lying on a pristine white plate adorned with flowers was the yellow beauty herself, Madame Quiche.  Her bed of pastry was soft and inviting.  Her skin was tanned and soft, her middle was firm yet creamy. She looked at me lovingly, tenderly... was she?  Yes she was, she was presenting.  I was so there for her.

ANYWAY… To finish off any good feast there must be sweeties.  There was no disappointment here either.   On the far left of the table shimmered a collection of sugared delights that would make a playground paedophile’s pockets look empty.  Penguins, cakes, pastries all that was needed were little Umpa-Lumpas to be dancing around the plates singing catchy little songs.  And I refer to Umpa-Lumpas from the original Willy Wonka, too not the limp remake based on Michael Jackson.

Overall, it was a job nicely done by the home team

Second innings.

We lost. 

THE END.

OK! OK! I guess I need write a bit more so here it goes….

With a total to defend we were on our toes and confidence was high for a positive result.  The openers looked capable with some aggressive shots played early.  However, at the helm of our attack was Captain Cox, the firm steady member.  With his eye on the job it was not long before a quick wicket came our way. FOW 5.   Oh yeh! Our excitement grew.  The first drop batsman looked even more dangerous, finding the boundaries that seemed to elude our batters.  Our bowling was sharp with only the occasional loose (and punished) delivery.  This did not faze Captain Cox and he lead the charge down the hill with Deputy Will coming up the other end. With the batsmen occasionally blundering through our slips we were whet for another wicket.  With a bit of massaging out in the field it was not long before we once again had a woody stump in our hands.

The score was on just 27 when yet another important wicket fell. The ball went screaming in the air of a slower delivery from Will resulting in a miss timed shot from a dangerous batsman.  As the ball was collecting ice crystals from the upper atmosphere one fielder was coming to the sinking realisation that it was up to he and he alone.   Looking skyward he knew he had to make the call.  “THE BITCH IS MINE!!!” he yelled with salivating fervour.  Reaching the acme of trajectory the ball started its return journey towards the distant Earth.   As Heathrow was redirecting flight BA143 from Barcelona to avoid the “unidentified blip on the radar” the fretful fielder was running backward at an ever increasing velocity… his feet, by the step, becoming more unsure.  The crowd was silent.  Behind the ball was a contrail as it was leaving the stratosphere and entering the troposphere.  The batsmen were on their 7th run when WHACK!  The ball lodged firmly in the hands of ACE.  The sell-out stadium simultaneously jumped to their feet throwing their popcorn and beers into the air, regardless of their team orientation.  The roar was deafening.  His team mates threw him up on their shoulders and conducted a lap of honour.  For generations to come, grandfathers would tell their grandsons of the day they witnessed “that catch”. 

At this point we were all saying “we are going to start attacking their middle order about now”.  Unfortunately we only managed to create the partnership of Abbey and that other guy whom probably has a name.  Together they managed to dominate our bowling attack by finding more boundaries than a roo has ticks.  Even our sure n steady Peters’ was getting a right good spanking.  Our demise was all but certain… the string quartet played on with the cold Atlantic lapping at our feet… 

Disclosure:  Actual facts may have been changed, enhanced, or made up etc. to which the author shall not be held accountable.   Besides who reads these things anyway?

AR