The Mount, Sunday 29th, home, won.
In the past I’d have waxed lyrical about the sunny day, the bright shiny faces, the birds in the trees. Anything other than the score. Which, let’s face it has been a bit of a problem over the last few seasons. Well, times they are a changing.
As I arrived at the ground the players we spread around the pavilion munching on sandwiches and cake, I had missed the first innings. I have to admit when I checked the scoreboard and saw that the visitors had amassed a huge 234 I was a little downhearted. Apparently, they had some kiddie who blasted 120 off very few balls. Here we go again. Then the cheerful elf that is Simon Rogers came out with the immortal “we bowled them all out” – yes, but at what a cost!
He was right to be chipper though, his second spell of 2 for 8 was pretty good. Geoff Witts had helped out with 2 for 14 somewhat. The visitors did not get to bat out their allotted time. Which is nice.
With the niceties of tea out of the way the Wrotham batsmen donned the pads and strode to the crease. Things got off to a slow start and then disaster; their version of Malinga, who has been slinging down balls since before the war, trapped our Devonshire lad, Gavin, LBW (although there didn’t appear to be much “before” in the decision). In came new boy Mighty Marc Parsons. New to the side this year, I’d seen him thrash about in the nets and he seemed to know which end of the bat to hold. Sure enough, a partnership with the ever young Mr Witts began to develop and runs began to slowly mount. Then runs came faster and soon both players had 50 and we were 120 for 1. This was new territory. The opposition were very quiet in the field and we were beginning to get vocal. Surely we couldn’t ….. , no, surely not ….. there was still far too many runs to get and precious little time left. But our heroic batsmen didn’t have any doubts and more yet runs came.
Now we were looking at a different problem; one hitherto unheard of, Young Geoff was running out of steam, his head was down, the 3’s he was trotting off earlier disappeared and were replaced with staggered singles followed by a fit of gasping. Talk of buying new mowers was replaced with talk of buying breathing equipment. eBay was checked for a iron lung. Still this colossus of experience soldiered on and manfully clubbed the ball to all parts of the ground. Eventually though fatigue took its toll and the great man succumbed on 83. We were 196 for 2 and needed 38 from the remaining 5 overs.
This put the incoming Tim Clarke in a hell of a pickle. He had a run rate of nearly 8 to get but had spent most of the afternoon warming up, stretching and generally getting bored. His innings was short but encouraging. The ball coming off the middle of the bat but straight to fielders.
Next was Harvery the Younger. Despite a badly mangled finger received when trying to catch bullets earlier on he was raring to get out there. We needed 25 off two and a bit overs. Hope was beginning to wane. Still, at least we’d start the season with a draw as surely there was no way we could be bowled out before the end. Crack, Harvey’s first ball disappears to the boundary leaving scorch marks on the turf. We all celebrated, Harvey did the Pain Dance, his poor paw. A single on the last ball of the over saw him with the strike in the penultimate over and 20 runs required. Two boundaries later and the poor sausage was so overcome with pain and agony and the like that he was out the very next ball. His very valuable quick-fire 13 cameo bringing us back into contention.
Next in, Keen Ian Campbell. Another new boy more noted for his quick bowling outside off stump (way outside the off stump as it turns out). Crash, he started with a mightily struck boundary and we were really looking good. Spare a thought for the spectators who were now down to the knuckles there was so much nail biting going on. Those with a weaker bladder were hopping about not daring to use the facilities in case they missed something (you know who you are Mrs H). So we were set up for a truly fantastic final over. Five runs required.
Two singles later we needed three off three. Two dots later we needed three off the last ball. A draw then.
Marc received a good length delivery on leg stump which he pushed hard to mid-on and they set off. The pressure of the moment got to the fielder who fumbled and the dynamic duo kept running. The ball came to the bowler who also panicked and let it go past. A second run and we had drawn the game.
And they kept running. In scenes reminiscent of Chariots of Fire (younger readers should visit www.imdb.com to find out about this masterpiece of cinematography), time slowed, orchestras struck up, the keeper set off, the men of Wrotham kept running albeit in slow motion. Every stride took an age. The keeper won the race by a country mile (which is a hell of a long way) turned and threw …….
……. and missed. Three runs. We had won. The crowds went wild. Hats were flung in the air. Ladies applauded politely (some swooned) and secretly hoped for a smile from the two dashing heroes in the middle. The players invaded the pitch. The opposition blamed each other. A fantastic start to the season.
Man of the Match:
Difficult one this. Mighty Marc and his flashing blade for his maiden century? Or Old Timer Geoff for his sacrifice of a lung getting his 83? Or even both for their second wicket stand of 183. Marc shades it for the ton I think.
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