My Cricketing Diary 2007/08 - Part One

[Dave Gregory]

Day One

Inspired by Australia's recent performances against India, my own thoughts started turning towards a potential un-retirement from the game. I discussed it with my wife and kids, explaining that any return to cricket would involve me spending a lot of time away from them. They were very supportive, but I could tell that they had some reservations. Cricket is a harsh mistress, and for someone as dedicated to stellar performance as myself, the time needed to achieve the results I am capable of is high. Nonetheless, my family agreed that it would be good for me to spend more time away from home. In fact, they were so supportive that they suggested I start training every day for a few hours starting immediately.

So when the annual call from the selectors came through, I agreed (after much arm-twisting from the President) to make myself available again. They have been pestering me for years to make a comeback, however, they were genuinely surprised when I said yes. So surprised in fact, that I heard the chief selector say “oh hell no” in the background when the President told him the good news. But then they threw in the real bait – they want me to captain the team. I never saw myself in the captain’s role – I prefer to excel with both bat and ball and leave the grandstanding to others who like being in the limelight. But I feel that I can really add something to the team this year.

I am really excited about my prospects coming back into first grade. I know that my reflexes have slowed a little over the years, but my experience should enable me to cope with the young ‘quicks’ that are around these days. I went down the nets by myself and, after a few looseners, worked myself into a good rhythm and bowled 6 or 7 overs at reasonable pace. The first official net session is tomorrow and I am feeling good about things.

Day Two

I can’t lift my arms up above my shoulders. Sneezing and coughing hurts like buggery. Rung in sick for work. Have to skip training – I must have pulled a muscle somehow.

Day Three

Even worse than yesterday. Rang the president and explained that I would be right for the weekend opener still, as I wouldn’t want to let the first grade team down as they were no doubt excited about my return. After a bit of discussion, it appears that I have misunderstood what they wanted. They want me to come back to captain FIFTH grade. The team that never quite has enough players, and usually has a couple of ring-ins from the local prison farm. Hmmmm.

Day Four

Actually managed to make it to the second training session of the week. I was introduced to my new team-mates in fifth grade. Well actually, I only met two – the rest are expected to show on the day. The two who turned up were called Weezel (cause he looks like Catweezel) and Asprin (cause he is a slow working dope). I have to get my glasses checked, as I was really struggling to pickup the ball whilst batting – perhaps my prescription is off. I tried to bowl a few balls, but my shoulders and back were still sore so I didn’t risk further injury. It will be interesting to see what happens this weekend – we have been drawn to play against the team who finished with the wooden spoon last year, so we should have an easy win.

 

[Dave Gregory]

My Cricketing Diary 2007/08 - Part Two

Day 5

Yeah!!! We flipping murdered them!

My first game back started with a bit of a whimper. I turned up at the ground two hours early (which is my standard practice) in order to prepare my mind for the match ahead. I sat in the middle of the wicket with my eyes closed, mentally running through my batting plan. Sadly, I was interrupted a few times by a couple of cows that were wandering past, but I think it was worth it. Any attempt to assess the pitch was quite useless – concrete doesn’t really change too much over time. There was an interesting crack just short of a good length that I took good notice of though.

With only twenty minutes to go before the start of the game, I was starting to get worried as no-one else from my team had shown up. In fact, no-one else at all had shown up. I wondered if I was at the wrong ground, but a quick phone call to the President reassured me. He did ask that I didn’t ring again though, as he was evidently umpiring at the time and the bowler got quite a shock when he answered his mobile just as the quickie entered his delivery stride. He should make a full recovery from all accounts.

At the nominated starting time of 1.00pm, a beat-up Landcruiser ute sped in, sending dust and rocks flying in all directions. The opposition had arrived. My counterpart, a kangaroo shooter with the unlikely name of Paul Keeting came over and introduced himself. He had obviously just come from work, as the ute had a couple of dead roos still hanging in the tray. I hate buggers that break every bone in your hand when you shake with them. I smiled, but mentally put him down for a couple of bouncers (or failing that, an ‘accidental’ Sreesanath or two) later in the day.

Within 30 minutes of the supposed start time, both teams were mostly there. We had seven players, and they had nine. This meant that we got to bat first, as the accepted rule in fifth grade is that the team with fewest players gets to bat in the hope that more will show up. The stumps were banged in (with the face of the bat by some moron), and we were nearly ready to get play underway.

I took the team (or what there was of it) aside for a quick tactics discussion. All fifth grade games are one-dayers, with each side receiving 40 overs. I feel that if we get our gameplan right, we could easily take out the trophy this year. However, I felt I may have got too technical, and a number of the team appeared to lose interest as I described the mathematical basis to the Duckworth-Lewis system.

I decided the batting order in the usual fifth grade manner – whoever had the gear got to go in first. I still had my “Classic Bat Company” kit from when I was sponsored by them (wonder if they are still around, must look them up on the 'net), but the rest of the team had little equipment. I ended up opening the batting with ‘Spotty’ – a teenager with an inordinate number of zits. He did, however, have his own bat and pads. Most of the team looked amazed as I put on my thighpad. Spotty didn’t use gloves, and I didn’t even ask about a box. We were ready for battle, and together we strode out.

 

[Dave Gregory]

My Cricketing Diary 2007/08 - Part Three

Day 5 Con’t

Part of batting first is the responsibility for setting up the field. As we headed out to the middle, the rest of the team were sent around the ground to setup the boundary. The ground itself is located inside the local bull-ring, and is a couple of hundred metres long and wide. Don Bradman would find it impossible to actually hit the ball to parts of the fence here, which is why we need the witches hats. This involves placing witches hats at intervals of about 10 to 15 metres. Until you run short of witches hats, which means that the last few are about 40 metres apart. From the top, I rather suspect that the boundary line bears a passing resemblance to the zig-zag railway line, but I will fix that up at the change of innings (which will also allow me to move the boundary back a few metres).

The ground itself was looking a treat. I found a few clumps of grass in the outfield, but other than that, it was fairly level dirt. There was a sandtrap on the straight hit (I think it was the remains of a longjump pit), which would stop any drives along the ground faster than the mention of 'teacher' gets the cigarettes put out behind the dunnies. One of the features of this field is a tree at deep point. Some keen students of the game (none of whom were at the match today) may like to draw similarities to the lime tree at Kent’s home ground in Canterbury. They would be wrong. This tree is skinny, and has few branches or leaves. Or any character at all. The tree is heritage listed (as it was the site where a particularly unfamous early Australian explorer spent the night one hundred and eighty odd years ago) which is why it remains uncut. Evidently, according to my new team-mates, at least one player a match does a face-plant into the tree whilst chasing a ball. Locals reckon that they can tell cricket season has started when they hear the thump of face on willow.

One of the other great joys of lower grade cricket is the fact that you umpire yourself. No umpires are provided here – your team-mates are responsible for your life or death. This naturally presents a few issues of potential bias, so I had quick chat with the two players who agreed (under threat of having to score instead) to start as the umpires. I told them that I wanted them to be as fair and impartial as possible, but that they should always remember that the batsman should get the benefit of the doubt. Which means that lbws are out of the question. I feel it is appropriate for players to walk if they nick one, but I have faith in these two and will leave it to their judgement if they think I am out.

Spotty and I agreed that I would take strike for the first ball. Well, Spotty actually insisted, saying that “I don’t want to get out first ball of the match – you’re facing”. It was hard to argue with that logic. I took my customary glance round the field, noting where there were gaps and places for easy singles. I have to admit that it was one of the strangest field settings I had ever come across – it made me wonder what their opening bowler was going to do. It is not usual to start the game with a deep mid-wicket, but they had two out there, about five metres apart. It turns out that there was an esky there. They also had a long-stop, which I thought had gone out in under-10s cricket. The opposition now had ten players, and the remaining fielders were scattered haphazardly around the rest of the ground. Fly slip is always a strange position – there is no way that guy is going to get much work today. I glanced up at the umpire and asked for my customary guard – middle and leg. He looked at me quizzickly, and said “what the hell is that?” I settled for centre instead, but I don’t know how accurate it was, as the umpire was standing off to one side when he gave it to me.

The opening bowler was a left-hander, and stood at the end of his mark. He had a fairly short run, the umpire called “Play ball” and we were ready to go.

 

[Dave Gregory]

My Cricketing Diary 2007/08 - Part Four

Day 5 Con't.
Their opening bowler was a big bugger – he was well over six foot and built like the proverbial brick outhouse. It is always difficult to face a bowler you have never seen before. I have always liked studying the technique of the opposition players on tape before facing them in a game, but I was going into this innings completely unprepared. He looked like he could chuck them down pretty quick, so I mentally prepared myself by repeating the mantra “Don’t hook”.

He lumbered in with all the speed of a ZX81. He rocked back and with a huge shoulder action, launched the ball at approximately the same pace as Trevor Chappell bowling underarm. I had enough time to look at the specific gap I wanted, rehearse my shot and re-adjust my thigh pad before the ball got to me. As it was the first ball of the innings, I carefully nudged it towards square leg, rather than smashing it out of the park as I would have under normal circumstances. I set off for an easy single, but was passed about a quarter of the way down the pitch by Spotty, who was screaming “there’s two in that”. I somehow managed to make it back again for two, but I think I pulled both hamstrings and few muscles I didn’t even know were still muscles.

Spotty’s calling made me halt the game whilst we had a quick mid-wicket chat. I asked him as politely as I could what the hell he was doing. Spotty said that this guy was the quickest bowler in fifth grade, and be buggered if he was going to face him. I re-assured him that if this guy scared him, perhaps he should consider a different sport (like writing romantic poetry) as this guy was slower than 56k dialup connection trying to access Youtube. Maybe I shouldn’t have called him a yellow cowardly streak of pigeon poop. For some unknown reason though, Spotty started crying and walked off the field. You just can’t win them all I guess. There were a brief pause while the next batsman got Spotty’s pads and bat, and then we were ready to resume. I introduced myself to the next batsman, whose name was Mailman (not because he always delivered, but because he was always unreliable, late or lost).

The bowler stumbled in for the second ball of the match. It was short outside off-stump, with four written all over it. Unfortunately, it must have hit a rock or something, cause it bounced more than I expected, which meant that I got a slight top-edge on my attempted cut shot and it went straight down the throat of the fly slip. It was in the air for a fair while, and the fielder circled under it uncertainly. Luckily for me (but not for him), he muffed the catch and it hit him fair between the eyes. It ran away for a boundary, so the overall result was fair. The other advantage to us was that they were now down to 9 fielders, as the fly slip had to be carried off. The sight of blood always makes me feel ill, but it wasn’t mine so I didn’t feel too bad.

The next few overs saw me continue to bat well, with Mailman providing good support. The other opening bowler was even less dangerous than the left handed giant. Nonetheless, as the senior player, I felt it my responsibility to protect Mailman from the new ball – the lack of fielders meant that I could steal a single off the last ball of each over quite easily. Mailman was a little presumptuous though – after the tenth over had finished he asked if he could actually face a ball himself. I explained that cricket was about partnerships, and he was providing great assistance to me and the team. We were none for 40 after these ten overs, with my score being 30. There were also ten extras, all byes, which is evidently pretty normal for this grade. There were no wides as yet, but this was about to change.

 

[Dave Gregory]

I'll continue posting the story if people are interested.

 

[Nate]

Please do.

 

[luckyeddie]

I'll continue posting the story if people are interested.

Go for it.

The duck might steal half of it.

 

[Jamee999]

Loving it. Please carry on

 

[Dave Gregory]

My Cricketing Diary 2007/08 - Part Five

Day 5 Con't

The opposition captain, the aforementioned kangaroo shooter Paul Keeting, used the time-honoured method of deciding who should bowl next. “You look like you could sling them down a bit” he shouted at some well built guy in the outfield. Their team was obviously selected on a similar basis to ours, as clearly Keeting had no idea who this guy was. Scarily for us, the guy nodded happily, and said that he used to open the bowling a few years ago. The new bowler marked out his run (fifteen paces) confidently, and swung his arm around in a manner that suggested he knew what he was doing. Mailman and I watched all of this going on from our mid-wicket conference. Using my discretion, and thinking of Mailman’s request for the strike, I quickly suggested that we swap ends. Mailman agreed, and we simply walked back to opposite ends from the middle of the pitch. No-one in the opposition seemed to notice this changeover, and therefore Mailman prepared to face his first ball. This would give me a chance to see whether this new bowler actually represented a threat or not.

The new bowler sprinted in, jumped mightily in the air, and with a gigantic swing of his arm, let loose his first ball. I will admit that he was undoubtedly quicker than any of the previous bowlers, but the fact that the ball sailed over both Mailman and the keeper’s head without bouncing negated this fact a little. In fact, it was only a great save by the longstop (who caught the ball on the full outstretched in his left hand) that stopped it going for four wides. The bowler grinned sheepishly, and said that it slipped. I don’t believe in sledging, but I couldn’t help telling the bowler that it was, without doubt, the worst delivery that I had ever seen in my entire life. The grin disappeared, and the bowler stormed back to his mark. He sprinted in again, and whilst his second ball hit the ground successfully, it missed the pitch by about three metres. A really old fart (who must have been at least forty), who had been quietly sleeping in the slips up to this point in the game, just managed to get a hand on it and stop it going for more runs. The bowler looked a little despondent, so I apologized to him for my remark after his first ball, and said that I had clearly been wrong. He seemed to get really cranky for some reason when I said that his second ball was even worse than the first one.

The captain wandered over and suggested that the bowler slow down a bit. Another three wides followed, and we wondered if this over would ever finish. Then disaster struck. The bowler got one not just on the pitch, but actually on the stumps. Mailman was so surprised that he missed it and was bowled. Well, he was either surprised or just a really crap batsman. Mailman was replaced by a guy who introduced himself as ‘Cow’. I asked why he was called Cow, and he said that everyone thought he was udderly useless. Cow managed to survive the rest of the over, which finally ended with eleven wides and one wicket.

I deemed it prudent to hold the strike again for a while, and we got a good partnership going. I was nearly fifty when we had a near disaster. One of the those silly mix-ups that sometimes happen when you are running with a new partner happened. A combination of ‘yes’ ‘no’ and ‘wait’ saw both of us at the one end. Thinking only of the team, I told Cow that I was far more important to the side than he was, and gave him a push towards the far end. He valiantly made it to about mid-pitch before he was run-out. As he passed me on the way back, I commended him on his team spirit, but he didn’t seem to take it very well for some reason. I hadn’t given him that big a push really – after all, he did manage to get back on his feet before they ran him out.

 

[archie mac]

Good stuff mate, keep it coming

 

[Joe Ninety]

more please....great job

 

[fatbury]

loving this .. is it true?? LOL

 

[Dave Gregory]

Is it true - no. Is it based around people and events that I have seen over many years of country cricket - yes. Have I exaggerated the truth just a smidgeon - maybe

I will post a diary entry a day for the next little while.

 

[Dave Gregory]

My 2007/08 Cricket Diary - Part 6

The next player in was a young chap – a bit rough around the edges. I hadn’t seen many cricketers take to the field in a singlet before, but I thought that as it was fifth grade, combined with the fact it was white, I wouldn’t say anything. He introduced himself as Stanley. I commented that it was nice to actually meet someone with a normal name, rather than a nickname like Spotty, Mailman or Cow. He then told me that he had just been released on parole, and that he was called Stanley cause he had cut up a shopkeeper with a Stanley knife. Stanley said all of this with a smile, but I decided to spend as much time as possible a long way away from him at the non-strikers end.

Stanley swung the bat with great panache, and scored a quick 25 before being bowled attempting another boundary. It was just what the team needed, as our run-rate had started to drag. We had almost reached the half-way mark in our innings, and we needed to increase our scoring. Disaster struck us, however, as I nicked one just after I passed my fifty. It was a long-hop, and should have been an easy boundary, but I stuffed it up. I learnt back on my bat and nonchalantly pretended that I had missed it, but the umpire (Weezel, who I had met at training earlier in the week) still gave me out. The fact that second slip caught it probably made it a fairly easy decision, but the umpire’s chances of getting a bowl later in the day went downhill as quickly as his finger went up.

With my dismissal, both teams left the field for drinks. In my previous experience, it is usual for players from both sides to scull down energy replacement drinks or water in the designated five minute break. In fifth grade, they tapped a keg and the game stopped for around 25 minutes. As no-one else seemed to know the laws of the game, I agreed take the next stint as umpire, and I think both teams were annoyed when I finally insisted that we return to play.

I had held the team together with my 52, and unfortunately for us, the game now started to crawl. Now that I was out, our side would struggle, and I had a great deal of difficulty in maintaining my concentration whilst umpiring. A thirteen year old called Jeremy had replaced me at the crease. This was his first game, and he was so young he didn’t even have a nickname yet. He seemed a reasonable talent though, and I gave him a lot of coaching tips during his innings. Nonetheless, it was with some surprise that I heard the hooting of car horns to indicate he had reached fifty. As I congratulated him, he smiled shyly and commented that if he scored another two runs, he would pass me as top-scorer and get his name in the paper next week (the highest scorer for each team gets a quick writeup in the local rag). It was with some regret, therefore, that I had to give him out lbw the next ball. I admit that it is normal for the fielding team to actually appeal for an lbw, but this one was so plumb that I gave him out anyway. Jeremy seemed a bit upset, and claimed that he had hit it. The bowler said to me that he thought it came straight off the middle of the bat, but I said that it must have been an optical illusion. Even deep long-off, who fielded the ball, said he thought it wasn't out. How the hell could he tell from that angle? Anyway, I hope that time will give Jeremy the maturity to cope with disappointment - crying that much does nothing for the image of the game.

We ended up being bowled out in the last over for 181. Technically, we were only 7 for 181, but as we still didn’t have eleven players, we had to fold. It will be interesting to see how the opposition go in their chase.

 

[Dave Gregory]

My 2007/08 Cricketing Diary - Part Seven

One of the traditional and compulsory components of lower grade cricket is the argument about the scorebooks. You have two scorers, one from each side. And you can guarantee that at the end of the innings, the two scorebooks will not tally. This results in a long argument between the respective scorers regarding which is correct. The 7 for 181, which I believed we had scored, turned out to be 7 for 169 in “their” book. Luckily for us, we had ‘Prof’ on our side. Prof. evidently used to be a university professor, and it was agreed that he would arbitrate. Eventually, the 7 for 181 stood as our score. I quietly asked one of our other players what subject ‘Prof’ had been an expert in. I don't even know what the hell ethnomusicology is.

The tea break bore an uncanny resemblance to the drinks break. Tea was nowhere in sight, and instead both teams attacked the keg with great gusto. Heavy drinking is part of Australian cricket culture, but at my age, I have slowed down a little. I had a quick 5 schooners, and then decided to check my email on the laptop. Nothing new had come through, except for about 28 offers from some guy who wanted to give me a bigger penis. This sort of spam really bugs me – it is clearly just a scam and after the fifth try I realized that it simply doesn't work.

I also took the opportunity to check on the ‘net on how my erstwhile sponsor, the ‘Classic Bat Company’, was going. It appears that they went out of business. Their website says that they went broke “sponsoring too many crap cricketers”. Poor buggers – they should have taken more care in choosing their players. They made good stuff, but must have given their equipment away to too many English guys who didn’t deserve it.

By now, it was nearing 45 degrees in the shade. It was probably slightly cooler than that out in the field – the only shade was under a tin lean-to and it was stinking hot under there. I called my team together for a quick pep-talk prior to the game resuming. It took some loud yelling and threats of fielding at short leg to get them away from the keg, and I think that it was only the fact that it was empty that allowed the game to resume. ‘Spotty’ seemed to have recovered from his dummy-spit during our innings, and was ready to play again. I was initially impressed with Jeremy’s dedication – he appeared to have overcome his disappointment at me giving him out and was doing some limbering up exercises. Turns out he was drunk off his nut and was just trying to stand up – thirteen year olds and free beer sometimes don’t mix too well.

We were ready – the opposition openers were ready, and once they finished arguing over who had to umpire, we could start the final stage of the battle royale. I said this to the troups, and Prof. told me that ‘royale’ meant “custard cut into shapes and used as a garnish in soups”. I told him where to go, and we trooped out.

 

[Dave Gregory]

My Cricketing Diary 2007/08 - Part Eight

I took the new ‘cherry’ out of the bag, and as we walked onto the field, I casually threw it towards Weezel to practice our catching. He wasn’t really watching, and went down like a sack of spuds. I don’t know quite why he was whinging so much as there wasn’t any blood, and apart from the small bump on the back of his head where the ball hit him, he should be fine. I was more concerned that we may have taken some of the shine off the new ball – on a field like this we will need to take great care to keep the ball new for as long as possible. Unlike proper cricket, we used a two piece ball in the lower grades. These suckers swing like crazy, and for someone who can hoop a four-piece ball around like I do, I will need to be careful that I don’t swing it too much.

It was clear that I would open the bowling, as I was easily the most experienced and skilled bowler, but I knew little about my fellow players. I gathered the team into a huddle, and asked who else bowled. They all shrugged a little, before Stanley said he would give it a burl. He said he was an expert at cutting – I chose to interpret that as leg and off-cutters and not anything related to a stanley knife. However, upon consideration, those skills may come in useful later in the innings if we need some ‘Sarfraz’ tactics to get the ball to reverse swing.

I adopted my usual strategy as captain in setting the field. “Scatter” I instructed. This sadly didn’t work as well as normal. Two players got into a fight over who was going to field at first slip, whilst three players marched down to fine leg. It took a while to sort all that out. Soon though, I stood at the end of my mark and got ready to send down the first ball. Sport psychology is rapidly becoming a significant part of all great sportsmen’s preparation. It is a very technical and highly developed process of preparing the mind of an athlete for victory, just as thoroughly as the physical body is trained. For many elite athletes like myself, superior performance comes from a careful honing of both mental and physical skills. I closed my eyes and visualized what I was trying to achieve and where the first ball would pitch. This is part of the ‘mental training’ technique that I was given by my individual sports psychologist (well, he was actually courtesy of a court ordered anger management course, but I picked some stuff that was actually useful. That anger management stuff winds me up though). I could clearly see the ball in my mind, starting on the line of leg-stump before swinging across and clipping the top of off-stump. I counted to three, consciously relaxed my shoulders and opened my eyes – I was ready and set to go. It was only then that I realized we didn’t have a wicketkeeper.

After a brief delay in convincing Prof. to don the pads and gloves, I again prepared to bowl the first ball. The opposition opening batsmen were typical of fifth grade standard. The player on strike had mis-matched pads, and a pair of gloves with the old green rubber ‘spikes’ on the front. I hadn’t seen a pair of them for decades. His bat was almost black with dirt. The only vaguely willow-coloured parts were the pig-skin binding that covered half the blade. On his head was a red cap with a bull’s horn logo on the front. His stance was similar to that of an early Kepler Wessels. The umpire indicated he was ready by calling out “can we just get on with it” and I started to charge in for the first ball of their innings.

 

[Dave Gregory]

My Cricketing Diary 2007/08 - Part Nine

I gradually built up speed as I ran into the wicket. My rhythm felt good and I could see that the batsman was concerned. I rocked back to release, my right foot landed but instead of gripping, it skidded like an ice-skate. I hit the ground with a massive thump. My right shoulder hit the pitch first, followed closely by my head and then legs. I lay somewhat stunned, trying to work out what the hell had happened. Prof. pointed at my feet and started laughing, and then the rest of the bastards joined in. At the change of innings, I put my bowling shoes on through force of habit. Unfortunately, my trusty old spikes weren’t necessarily the best option for bowling on a concrete pitch. I got up with as much dignity as I could, and quickly ran back to the car and changed into rubbers.

The second time round, I was a bit ginger in my approach. Rather than trying anything too optimistic, I decided to simply try and put the ball on a good line and length. The ball left my hand reasonably well, pitched just outside off-stump and swung away gently. The batsman, with an agricultural heave that would have made Jesse James happy, somehow managed to slog the ball over mid-wicket. It took a while for them to get the ball back, as it sailed about 20 metres over the boundary markers (damn! I forgot to move them after we finished batting) and ran for miles. A hit like that can dampen anyone’s spirits, but I consoled myself by remembering that a fluke can happen to anyone. My second ball was an attempted yorker, a fair bit quicker and it swung away late. The batsman somehow managed to hit it at the last minute. I overheard a bit of quiet sniggering amongst my team-mates as the fielders went to retrieve the ball from approximately the same resting place as the first delivery, and as the umpire signaled a second six, I decided a change of tactics was in order.

I put a lot more effort into the third delivery. I had decided to bowl an inswinger instead, and I pitched it a little shorter. It rose beautifully, and as he heaved his bat at it, the ball swung in and hit him squarely in the box. With an almost soundless squeal, the batsman face-planted straight into the wicket, with both hands clutching his groin. We were all laughing hysterically (as you do), when we noticed a pool of blood. Turns out that the batsman had broken his nose when his face hit the concrete. This prompted fresh peals of laughter from us all. The square leg umpire helped the batsman up, and he managed to hobble off somehow holding both his groin and his nose simultaneously.

The next batsman worried me. I hadn’t noticed him in the field while we batted, and it turns out that he was a last minute ring-in during the tea break. Dressed immaculately all in white (Gray Nick. pants), a heavy duty looking BAS Vampire bat (with tape around the bottom and near the sweet spot), matching BAS pads and gloves, and an old blue/purple cap with a crossed bats logo. Either this guy could actually play, or he was a poser. The umpire called out “Good to see you again Dodge”. We’ll see if he can play or not.

 

[Dave Gregory]

My Cricketing Diary 2007/08 - Part Ten

I realized that we were possibly in a spot of trouble when “Dodge” (if that is his real name) casually cover-drove my first two balls to the boundary. His bat had more meat in it than a 72oz. steak. We finished the first over having conceded 2 sixes and 2 fours – we looking a little worse for wear, but I consoled myself that we weren’t looking as bad their opener’s nose was. His hooter had been squashed flatter than a super-model’s chest, and was about as attractive.

Stanley opened the bowling from the other end and whilst he wasn’t up to my standards, he did a reasonable job in supporting me. At the end of the first eight overs, the opposition were five down for 90. My figures after four overs were a very unlucky none for 75, whilst Stanley had taken a pretty arsey 5 for 5. Worringly, there were a fair few byes being let through by Prof. As their only decent batsman, I had cunningly kept Dodge at my end for most of the time, and he had played a serious of lucky drives and hooks that somehow kept going to the boundary. Who knows how many they could have been if I had let him have a go at Stanley?

The match was evenly poised, with them half down for half the runs. Stanley was clearly benefiting from bowling down the hill and with the stiff breeze behind him. I had a quick chat with Prof. and said that I was thinking about making a change in the bowling. He agreed that it couldn’t hurt, so I decided to bring myself on from Stanley’s end. This switch involved bringing on a change bowler to allow this to take place. Jeremy’s dad had turned up just after the tea break, and had kindly offered to assist with umpiring. It is always good when parents take an interest in their kids, especially when they have as little talent as Jeremy clearly does. As a reward for his dad’s assistance, I threw the ball to Jeremy to have a trundle.

I quickly realised that this was a major mistake. I think I mentioned earlier that Jeremy may have imbibed a little more than was good for him during the tea break. Whilst he had sobered up a bit, he did look a little green as he stumbled in to bowl his first ball. I am not entirely sure what went wrong, but I think that Jeremy held onto the ball for too long. It landed about three metres in front of him, and bobbled down the pitch. The batsman, my aforementioned opposing captain Paul Keeting, launched it into space. It was probably the biggest hit since Dexy's Midnight Runners. Jeremy looked a little shaken by that, but it may just have been the effect of the alcohol. In hindsight, it probably was the beer, as he had a massive chunder next to the pitch right after delivering the ball and probably didn’t even see it disappear. Jeremy managed to finish his over without repeating either his projective vomiting or multiple bouncers. In fact, he managed to get the wicket of Keeting with his last ball, somehow caught by the guy at deep-midwicket. It was a fantastic catch – even better when you consider that he had a smoke in his left hand and therefore caught it just in his right.

The trick to our win would be to keep Dodge off strike. This would take some seriously good tactics, but I knew that I was up to it.

 

[Dave Gregory]

My Cricketing Diary 2007/08 - Part Eleven

The incoming batsman was only wearing one pad, and no gloves. He looked like a hick from the sticks, but these guys can be deceptive sometimes. He appeared fairly strong, so I pushed the field back a bit. The batsmen had crossed off the last ball of the over. Really, it is a shame that Dodge clearly doesn’t care enough about the game, as he should have known it was the last ball and therefore not run in order to retain the strike. It is this type of mistake that I pride myself on not making – paying attention to the game and knowing where the ball is at all times is a major key to my success.

My first delivery from Stanley’s end was much better. No runs and very nearly a wicket. The batsman played and missed, and Prof made a good save down the leg-side to stop any byes. I don’t know why bowlers don’t get as much credit for beating the batsman down the leg-side as they do for outside the off-stump. The batsman tried to hit the ball and still missed it, didn’t they? Perhaps my celebration at the play-and-miss was bit over the top though – I just know that I will feel the affects of that cartwheel tomorrow. The batsman asked the umpire why it wasn’t called a wide – cheeky bugger. It pitched on the edge of the concrete, I don’t know what else he wanted.

The rest of the over was fairly uneventful – no wickets and no significant runs (three fours and a six). It was spoiled by Dodge’s antics though. The non-striker has no role to play when the bowler and batsman ‘exchange pleasantries’, and he didn’t need to become involved in our chat. Threatening to hit me with his Vampire bat was clearly way over the top, and I will be reporting him to the committee. His precise words were “If you call my playing partner a 'stupid monkey' again, my precious will suck the blood from your nose”. Once again though, Dodge had become distracted from the task at hand, and by limiting his partner to boundaries, I had cleverly kept Dodge off strike.

As it was a 40 over a side match, I unfortunately had to take myself off at this point. Each bowler is limited to a maximum of eight overs, and I had now bowled five of my overs. I decided that I would need to keep the best bowler (i.e. me) with a few overs left for the end of the innings. I had a quick chat with Prof, and I think that he agreed with my suggestion that I should take over as the wicket-keeper now that I couldn’t bowl anymore. He sort of grunted when I brought it up, so I assume that he thought the same as me – it was just common sense really as I am clearly more use to the side than he was in such a vital position. We exchanged pads and gloves (I called for my own box of course – there is nothing worse than borrowing a pre-used warm and sweaty protector from someone with questionable personal hygiene).

 

[James_W]

Loving this. The protagonist is such an ass.