14th August: Crossbats CC 2nd XI versus Elthorne CC

Nice Weather for Ducks

A wise English philosopher has often said that an uncovered wicket is the true test of a batsman’s mettle (Geoffrey Boycott, 1940-).  A wise Welsh philosopher once said “evolution stops right here with me, my descendents will be fish” (Gruff Rhys, 1970-).  In many ways, these two opinions of life came together today at The Wick, as the Crossbats welcomed Elthorne in a spirit of optimism that the predicted thunderstorms might abate for the afternoon.

After a lengthy warm-up in the sunshine, Crossbats were certainly feeling confident about their catching abilities.  With Captain Collier back at the helm following a necessary break from the game (and from the team), a vigorous fielding drill allowed the younger players such as Tillson and Van Vuurrren to demonstrate how high they could throw a ball.  Indeed, one particularly enthusiastic piece of fielding by Fraser caused Wright and Reeve to scatter like pigeons as they sat snoozing on the sidelines.  In another unfortunate incident, Nicholls was also caught napping and took a heavy blow to the sloblock.

With the clouds rapidly drawing in, and a mudbowl of a wicket looking helpful to the bowlers, the Elthorne skipper won the toss and elected to give his bowlers first use of it.  Opening for Crossbats were Wright and Nicholls.  Having lost the perennial argument of who is number 1, Wright took his guard to face the first delivery.  As it thudded into the moist wicket, and then lifted like a damp tennis ball into the wicketkeeper’s gloves, it was obvious that batting was going to be a challenge.  There’s nothing that Wright enjoys more than a challenge, and he settled down stoutly to face the next ball.  Again lifting slowly off a length, he walloped it straight to mid-off where a regulation catch was taken and Wright was forced to trudge slowly off, confirmed in his belief that he is Crossbats’ rightful number 2.

Next out to the crease was Collier, appearing far more relaxed and comfortable in his own mind and body than the haggard, tortured, lonely figure that he had become only a few weeks before.  Displaying good technique and sound judgement, he set about defending the good balls and hitting the bad ones.  Two particularly sweetly timed off-drives were a sign that this talented batsman may be getting back to his pugnacious peak.  At the other end, Nicholls set about his usual random mix of leaves and swishes, regardless of the quality of the delivery.  In typical chancer’s style, he managed to hit 2 boundaries and a maximum, as well as being dropped approximately 4 times and nearly bowled twice.  Alas, the fun and frolicks could not last, as an alarmingly dark set of clouds began to gather around the Wick.  After 12 overs, and the score at a reasonable 47 for 1, the rain became torrential and players ran for shelter in the barn.  Collier unbeaten on 24 and Nicholls on 23.

There they remained for 30 minutes, during which time what seemed like 6 inches of rain fell and the playing area became completely waterlogged.  After some mirth at the unlikely amounts of steam coming from Nicholls’ head, captured poorly on his iPhone by Crockford, play was abandoned for the day and the teams made their way back to the pavilion. 

While Lippitt took a well-needed shower, Ross appeared to have an unnerving telephone conversation with his lady along the lines of “I can’t talk for long dear, I’m bowling at the moment. Yes, it is looking dark, I’ll definitely give you a call if it’s rained off.  Would I lie to you darling?”.  There then followed a spirited evening at St Margaret’s Inn, with Carter putting in a particularly good performance, including some interesting musings on Communism, WAGs and whether or not today’s match would count towards the official statistics.  With Wright currently leading the race for the Duck Cup, it was eventually decided by the club’s Chief Statistician (also Wright) that all statistics were in fact null and void, much to Nicholls’ disappointment.

And so after a poor day’s cricket, but a good night’s teambuilding, the remaining few Crossbats made their ways home with bleary eyes and unsteady gaits.  Next week they set sail for the Isle of Wight for a mini-tour, for which I leave you with the immortal words of another wise English philosopher: “If Isla St Clair married Barry White, divorced him and married Bryan Ferry, would she then be called Isla White Ferry?” (Dave Lee Travis, 1945-).

Author : Clive Nicholls