chooka_nick
International 12th Man
Mate, right now I'm shocked and alarmed.
We (the Vermont 16As) just lost the unloseable semi-final, going down to Templestowe, the only team to beat us all year.
Now for a bit of history: the current 16As, excluding me, had lost four semi-finals in a row. They were notorious for twice finishing unbeaten on the top of the ladder and going down in the semi to the fourth-ranked team. This time, however, they had all matured into driven, confident cricketers, willing themselves on to win and finally, in their final year of juniors, win their first flag.
Plus, they had me. That may not have been such a big thing but I promised myself I would do my best to spurr the team onwards.
We bowled well, Dom Matarazzo opening the bowling and taking 0/2 from six overs. Our captain, Ricky, opened the bowling from the other end, and bowled well without a breakthrough. Dom swapped for Mitch Rickarby, who bowled out that Westgate kid with his first ball, and then got Justin Aver with one that bounced back onto his stumps.
With consistent wickets falling to Brian Denham, Dom (when he returned) and Mitch, we restricted Templestowe to just 101 from forty-six overs, with their other opener - this Matt guy - making sixty of them. None of their other batsmen made double figures.
Funnily enough, Dorey, who was our first-change bowler, bowled the best out of the lot of them (absolutely unhittable for most of his spell), but I dont remember him getting any wickets. I had a few interesting cameos, diving around the field and bowling six overs (of which the last three were absolute rubbish) to take 0/13. Economical, but no wickets.
Then we batted. We only had to survive six overs, and I was second-drop, having a fairly solid defence.
At first I didnt feel the need to pad up, until Ricky suggested that it was a good idea. As I was getting ready, strapping on pads and such, I heard a muffled 'hooooowzat?!' followed by plentiful expletives. One half of our opening pair, Danny, our brilliant keeper, and Dorey, our solid stroke-maker, was gone. Danny trudged back to the pavilion and, despite some good bowling, Dorey and night-watchman Scotty Cameron managed to make it though the six overs, seeing us through to 1/3.
Day two arrived, and because I had been home alone the night before and drunk plentiful coke with a few of my mates, I was severly 'waterlogged' and dreary-eyed at the start of play.
Of course, at that stage my best-case scenario was that we reach the target one wicket down, with me doing nothing but sitting on my butt, listening to my Zen and drinking LA Ice Cola (not sure what the deal with that was, it was all because of our 16Bs keeper, Max, the 'Town Hustler'.
'Hooooowzat?!' Scotty went early, clean bowled.
'Hoooooooooowzat?!' Ricky and Dom went in quick succession, keeping with Dom's poor record in semis (every time his played the team he's in has lost).
'When am I batting?' I asked Matty Kilbane. 'I think you're sevenish, aren't you?'
'That's okay then.' I replied. 'I'll get padded up after two more wickets.'
Mitch Rickarby was on fire in the centre. Every shot he played was brilliant, edging us closer to victory. Having made 72 the week before, he was laying the smack-down on Templestowe in emphatic fashion.
Until Alex Bull called 'yes' and didn't move. Mitch charged up the pitch, only to be run out by about six metres when he eventually realised that Alex was frozen to the spot. 'Hoooooooooooooooooowzat?!' the Templestowe players roared. They celebrated wildly, whooping and jumping on one another. They could smell blood.
'****ing ****s!' I exclaimed. We were 6/60.
Then Alex went, bowled. I walked out to the crease, meeting Shane Lenton half way.
'Stay in, mate. We may need forty runs, but with three wickets in hand we might just get them.'
To my absolute horror, Shane, a left-hander, lobbed a big-spinning off-spinner straight to silly mid off.
Beads of sweat fell down my face as Matty Kilbane, my long time mate strolled to the crease.
'Please Matt,' I pleaded, 'stay with me now. We can do this.'
And then Matt edged the same offie through to the keeper.
We were 9/60. The semi-final was lost.
Trav, our specialist number eleven who had batted once for the entire season, lumbered over to me.
'Trav man, I'm sick of this ****. It's now or never mate. Either you and I make the runs or the whole team has stuffed it again.'
'No worries.' His happy demenour didn't accurately portray our situation.
And we set about making the runs. The Templestowe captain asked me, the man who had made a fifty against this very team once before whilst opening the batsman, what I was doing at number seven.
'My captain's a spastic.' I noted. He laughed.
But he wasn't laughing soon. Trav smote, for the first time all season, one of their bowlers for four. And they couldn't get me out either, as I defended resolutely and, when the opening bowlers came back on, started counter-attacking.
The pace was coming on to the bat, the fielders were edgy and I felt no pressure whatsoever. Smiling and edging, cutting and driving, Trav and I edged closer and closer to the target.
Until Trav had his stumps rearranged when we were on 85. We had put on 25 for the last wicket and done our damndest, but it hadn't been good enough. I laughed as we walked off the ground; after this season of dominance, the best team in the league (us) had still proven to had a mental problem come the big days.
Oh well. Thats all for this year! Its a very disappointing way to end the year. All I can hope is that I win the bloody bowling averaes; I tried my best for the entire year and I batted my butt off during the semi.
Until we meet again, Dylan!
We (the Vermont 16As) just lost the unloseable semi-final, going down to Templestowe, the only team to beat us all year.
Now for a bit of history: the current 16As, excluding me, had lost four semi-finals in a row. They were notorious for twice finishing unbeaten on the top of the ladder and going down in the semi to the fourth-ranked team. This time, however, they had all matured into driven, confident cricketers, willing themselves on to win and finally, in their final year of juniors, win their first flag.
Plus, they had me. That may not have been such a big thing but I promised myself I would do my best to spurr the team onwards.
We bowled well, Dom Matarazzo opening the bowling and taking 0/2 from six overs. Our captain, Ricky, opened the bowling from the other end, and bowled well without a breakthrough. Dom swapped for Mitch Rickarby, who bowled out that Westgate kid with his first ball, and then got Justin Aver with one that bounced back onto his stumps.
With consistent wickets falling to Brian Denham, Dom (when he returned) and Mitch, we restricted Templestowe to just 101 from forty-six overs, with their other opener - this Matt guy - making sixty of them. None of their other batsmen made double figures.
Funnily enough, Dorey, who was our first-change bowler, bowled the best out of the lot of them (absolutely unhittable for most of his spell), but I dont remember him getting any wickets. I had a few interesting cameos, diving around the field and bowling six overs (of which the last three were absolute rubbish) to take 0/13. Economical, but no wickets.
Then we batted. We only had to survive six overs, and I was second-drop, having a fairly solid defence.
At first I didnt feel the need to pad up, until Ricky suggested that it was a good idea. As I was getting ready, strapping on pads and such, I heard a muffled 'hooooowzat?!' followed by plentiful expletives. One half of our opening pair, Danny, our brilliant keeper, and Dorey, our solid stroke-maker, was gone. Danny trudged back to the pavilion and, despite some good bowling, Dorey and night-watchman Scotty Cameron managed to make it though the six overs, seeing us through to 1/3.
Day two arrived, and because I had been home alone the night before and drunk plentiful coke with a few of my mates, I was severly 'waterlogged' and dreary-eyed at the start of play.
Of course, at that stage my best-case scenario was that we reach the target one wicket down, with me doing nothing but sitting on my butt, listening to my Zen and drinking LA Ice Cola (not sure what the deal with that was, it was all because of our 16Bs keeper, Max, the 'Town Hustler'.
'Hooooowzat?!' Scotty went early, clean bowled.
'Hoooooooooowzat?!' Ricky and Dom went in quick succession, keeping with Dom's poor record in semis (every time his played the team he's in has lost).
'When am I batting?' I asked Matty Kilbane. 'I think you're sevenish, aren't you?'
'That's okay then.' I replied. 'I'll get padded up after two more wickets.'
Mitch Rickarby was on fire in the centre. Every shot he played was brilliant, edging us closer to victory. Having made 72 the week before, he was laying the smack-down on Templestowe in emphatic fashion.
Until Alex Bull called 'yes' and didn't move. Mitch charged up the pitch, only to be run out by about six metres when he eventually realised that Alex was frozen to the spot. 'Hoooooooooooooooooowzat?!' the Templestowe players roared. They celebrated wildly, whooping and jumping on one another. They could smell blood.
'****ing ****s!' I exclaimed. We were 6/60.
Then Alex went, bowled. I walked out to the crease, meeting Shane Lenton half way.
'Stay in, mate. We may need forty runs, but with three wickets in hand we might just get them.'
To my absolute horror, Shane, a left-hander, lobbed a big-spinning off-spinner straight to silly mid off.
Beads of sweat fell down my face as Matty Kilbane, my long time mate strolled to the crease.
'Please Matt,' I pleaded, 'stay with me now. We can do this.'
And then Matt edged the same offie through to the keeper.
We were 9/60. The semi-final was lost.
Trav, our specialist number eleven who had batted once for the entire season, lumbered over to me.
'Trav man, I'm sick of this ****. It's now or never mate. Either you and I make the runs or the whole team has stuffed it again.'
'No worries.' His happy demenour didn't accurately portray our situation.
And we set about making the runs. The Templestowe captain asked me, the man who had made a fifty against this very team once before whilst opening the batsman, what I was doing at number seven.
'My captain's a spastic.' I noted. He laughed.
But he wasn't laughing soon. Trav smote, for the first time all season, one of their bowlers for four. And they couldn't get me out either, as I defended resolutely and, when the opening bowlers came back on, started counter-attacking.
The pace was coming on to the bat, the fielders were edgy and I felt no pressure whatsoever. Smiling and edging, cutting and driving, Trav and I edged closer and closer to the target.
Until Trav had his stumps rearranged when we were on 85. We had put on 25 for the last wicket and done our damndest, but it hadn't been good enough. I laughed as we walked off the ground; after this season of dominance, the best team in the league (us) had still proven to had a mental problem come the big days.
Oh well. Thats all for this year! Its a very disappointing way to end the year. All I can hope is that I win the bloody bowling averaes; I tried my best for the entire year and I batted my butt off during the semi.
Until we meet again, Dylan!
Great.