A time there was… when all went well.”

Yes the unmistakable waft of nostalgia is in the air. I cannot thank our dear friends from Excelsior Batters enough for making this possible. Their recording of the events that occurred on the evening of Monday the 17^th Octember 2006 may make for an incomplete record of historical events. They left behind mere fragments of a moment in time like the graffiti of Pompeii. You know the kind of thing, “Septimus est a vengrandis Dick”, and so on. Except in this case the Mallards were Coxless and it showed.

Nostalgia plays tricks with the mind; it blots out the bad and leaves a residue of warm, glowing memories; everyone was nice in the good old days, it only rained a night – just enough to refresh the lawns; the snowdrifts were a hundred feet high in November and you could keep your backdoor open without being a euphemism.

And so it was for Excelsior Batters: nothing but happy memories, generously provided by their great friends, Mallards CC. As nostalgia befits, the weather was warm and mellow; a veritable Val Doonican of an evening.

The Mallards openers strode out to bat first in the hope that the pitch had dried up since the previous encounter. The outfield was soft as was apparent every time a ball was thrown in the air and allowed to drop. It would stick to the spot without the hint of a bounce; never mind the pitch looked drier.

Glenwright opened the bowling to Steve Kent. His length was awkward – remember this is nostalgia so there are no euphemisms here. The pitch still proved slow but at least the ball managed to rise wearily off the surface. It was too slow for Steve who couldn’t time anything.  So we started with a maiden. The second over saw Steve and Alan scratch away for another four runs and just a single in the third over before Steve found his range in the fourth striking two fours with Alan sweetly timing a late cut for another boundary

Dion changed his bowlers after a couple of overs at each end and this turned out to be a very smart move. Sure the bowlers looked clueless, like they’d never bowled in their lives with neither following through with their arm action after releasing the ball. Any hope that the ball would lift off the comatose surface after pitching was lost. From this point it was like a re-enactment of Trevor Chappell’s underarm ball to New Zealand: ball after ball. Steve was the first to perish to an LBW appeal when trapped on the back foot. In truth, it looked to be going down leg but the umpire’s decision finger was decibel powered: any Excelsior appeal rising above one decibel was out: the poor umpire, a crudely constructed machine, was powerless to resist his finger rising – again this is not a euphemism.

Twenty one for one soon became twenty three for two in the sixth over as Alan was run out when the Mallards combative captain called for a single to Dion. Perhaps if Alan had not hesitated at first thinking, “what the…” he might have had a chance but it wasn’t to be.

The introduction of Jobling into the attack brought more pain and frustration to the Mallards. The automated umpire at his end found it physically impossible to spread his arms out to make a signal as the ball often strayed far down the leg side. Those sat in the pavilion had no trouble coming up with signals of their own – not ones to be found in the MCC rules of cricket.

With the combination of unplayable wide balls and daisy cutters, Stig still managed to make one of the most valiant and some might say elegant of attempts to take the fight to the bowling; with a Goweresque lunge he failed to make contact with the ball but became fully connected with the ground following the most graceful of descents.

Then a miracle: news travels fast in this highly connected time where even God has a twitter account. Before close of play officials in the Vatican had already proclaimed the leg stump at the road end to be a Grade 3 holy relic. As Stig went for another ambitious run the throw hit the stump but failed to dislodge the superglued bail: Since time began had there ever been such a wonder.  This was surely a sign from God himself that Stig was going to carry his bat, encased in a holy trance, destined to smite even the most unplayable ball or, to put it another way, be caught off Jobling for two: So a holy relic only and not a grade one shrine.

Thirty Five for Three and then Thirty Five for Four as Craig fell to the auto LBW mechanism at the field end. The score was dribbling along at only four an over, helped mainly by the few wides that were being signalled.

Trevor and Gareth came together – again that’s not a euphemism – to steady a fairly static ship. It wasn’t due to a lack of effort; the Trevor Chappell daisy cutters and the unsignalled wides – made progress almost impossible. For the record there were a few that I could have signalled and after one Trevor duly spooned a catch then thanked me. I contemplated his thanks for a moment then realised that there was a hint of bitter sarcasm in his tone. I vow not to sleep until I next get the opportunity to wrongly give Trevor “not out” to a clean bowled appeal. Sorry. In fairness, news of another miracle didn’t reach the Vatican when the bowler failed to appeal for LBW for a ball that would have clipped leg stump – hey but I wouldn’t have given it anyway.

Trevor departed with the score on fifty three and was almost immediately followed by Gareth, bowled taking a swipe at yet another Trevor Chappell delivery. Fourteen overs had passed. The scoring rate failed to improve and wickets continued to fall with only Rob managing to dig out a hard earned twelve not out and the bowlers contributing a few more wides. We’d crawled to seventy nine for nine in our twenty overs. Wides had top scored but special mention should go to Steve, Trevor and Rob for their brave attempts to squeeze some runs from this most lifeless of pitches.

Then it was Excelsior Batters turn to suffer this deadening surface. The trouble was the pitch that had previously been wallowing in a never ending weltschmerz suddenly began to behave like a Spring Rabbit when proper bowlers got to work on it.

If the recounting of events appears quite detailed for such fragmentary historical records it’s because the Mallards were keeping the score.  It is quite understandable that a group of teachers, faced with a morale sapping Kafkaesque bureaucracy that required labyrinthine record keeping, would decide to take the evening off from their day job.

For the second inning, one of the Excelsior Batters changed the wiring of their Umpirebot to stop any reaction to raised decibels. It was time to crack on.

With Tony and Tom getting bounce and movement off the pitch it could surely be only a matter of time before the supposedly inexperienced Batters would succumb, not knowing one end of the bat from the other.  Sure enough the opener Sh.. er.. Sche.. er God knows which, was bowled by Tony. He was soon followed by Birrell (possibly, who cares?) brilliantly caught by Dave McGuinness. In the meantime the other opener,  Sh.. er.. Sche.. er God knows which, helped himself to that rarest of commodities, a couple of boundaries including a cleanly struck six.

Vulnerable as the Batters looked they were well up with the scoring rate with only two wickets down. Then joy of joys, the dangerous looking ,  Sh.. er.. Sche.. er God knows which, took the fight to Tom, pulling him to midwicket where Trevor with soft er.…hands took another fine catch. Now the Batters had been reduced to er… God knows what for three in the fourth over.

The fourth batsman – beware of players not wearing proper cricket tops – whose name I can’t read in the book and the more experienced Wilson began to turn the game the Batters way. Oh hang on have I got the two batsmen’s names right? I think maybe Wilson was the one wearing the grey top. I’m starting to sound like an old codger rambling on about the war… ah nostalgia…that Hitler was a jolly a nice young man.

Anyway the pair of them kept the scoreboard more than ticking along, well ahead of the rate required. The best efforts of Tom, Tony, Steve and Dave yielded nothing. We were going to have to bowl them out. Wilson, or was it the other one, retired on twenty five but we couldn’t wait for them all to retire.

It was left to Leon, way too late, to beat the defences of Wilson, or was it the other one and then have Flynn caught by Tom with the score on er.. in the er… sixteen the over I think. Dave then bowled Bodley, who had come in and struck a fine boundary.

It was a great fight back that continued in the eighteenth over when Leon bowled Jobling with the scores level. Then another miracle, one which the Vatican have become very excited about; the Umpirebot over road its settings and signalled wide (for the second time in an over) to close the game. Pope Francis has since declared the Umpirebot  a grade One Holy Shrine to be worshipped by Catholics around the world, who would make their sacred task to make a pilgrimage to the place of its employment and hope their cars don’t get nicked or their tyres let down.

For the record, without the interventions of the Umpirebot, Leon’s figures would have been three for three off three overs.

All in all for the Batters truly a time there was when all went well.

That’s grand but what about us poor suffering Mallards? After such a demoralising defeat it fell to the team captain to raise team spirits for the next tussle with those jolly decent chaps once of Kings School but now too old to be called boys but not too old to be called other names.

That was a tough gig for Stig. He, like many of us had been rocked by the many tragic events that have unfolded in 2016 in the world of the arts and entertainment; the deaths of Bowie, Prince, Paul Daniels, Pierre Boulez and, most tragic of all, the continued survival of Bruce Forsyth and the BBC recommissioning another series of “Call the Midwife”.

One of those late departing left a final gift to the stricken Stig. When Pierre Boulez died the nightclubs of France all fell silent – around half past two in the afternoon.  The diehard modernist left behind his final work, a children’s opera called “Goldilocks et les trois ours et that.” Stig had the joy of seeing his son perform in this new work which, despite its title made few compromises to its audience.  This proved a visionary move because none of the proud parents had to worry whether their darling offspring were hitting the right notes or not.

Even so it was all too much for the Mallards Warrior King. Still reeling from the new “Call the Midwife” series he tried to rally his troops with his war cry, a speech reminiscent of Olivier’s in Henry V at the Battle of Agincourt:

“Sorry lads, I don’t know what’s up with me. I’ve not been feeling myself today.” Again we didn’t have euphemisms in the good old days

And with that his loyal troops left the ground roaring “let’s get em!”

By that I mean the beers in at the Duke of Wellington.

p.s. For the record: a closer examination of the scorebook reveals that the Mallards actually won by two falls and a submission in the third round. Now that’s my kind of nostalgia!

 

 

 

Over the course of the last eight (count ’em!) years, I have come to accept that my antipodean way of doing things can sometimes appear unusual to UK eyes. Wearing shorts and jandals (flip flops) in the winter months, for instance appears to be generally frowned upon (Brother Mallard, “Don’t call me Jeremy” Hunt being the commendable exception), whilst I have never come to terms with vinegar on chips, or the abomination that is mushy peas. I can live with these discrepancies, it all adds to the spice of life; however I had thought that we had collectively agreed on one important thing: that cricket is a summer sport.

As I brushed the snow off my car in the morning, I couldn’t help but acknowledge that hefting my gear bag into the back was just wasted effort, a token nod to an undying desire to play the game at the slightest opportunity. Watching gale-force winds lash rain, hail and snow against the windows all day all but confirmed my suspicions. However, one thing was conspicuous in its absence – official confirmation of the cancellation; that’s ok, the Club Despot is a busy lad and not always able to send word until later in the day. A quick text to the Despot was met with the reply that the game was indeed on. Surely I had misread that so immediately sought a second opinion from the Fixtures Secretary who confirmed that the opposition “must have heard we are shire [sic] because they’re dead keen to play”. So, Game On! Apparently.

This week saw a new venue and opposition join the already chocka-block MCC calendar: Benwell and Walbottle at Walbottle Campus. Both teams were eager to get the game underway with more bad weather promised before long; so 18 overs a side was agreed. Captain Cox won the toss and chose to bat on what was a surprisingly sound looking pitch.

Cox took advantage of the captaincy and immediately declared that he was to open the batting, and invited Kent to join him in the middle. Some suggested that this was just an excuse to use pads and gloves as insulation. Kent was straight into his work, taking 12 off the first over, making use of the numerous gaps in the field as the opposition was yet to have a full XI on the field – the result of trying to get as much of a game in before the weather arrived.

I have spent a lot of time on the preamble to this match, which was quite deliberate as it means I can gloss over the nature of most of the dismissals in the MCC innings. Kent was the first victim, after being the early aggressor and, as he and Cox were busy having a mid-pitch discussion over whether there was a single there or not, was run out by a distance for a 10-ball 21.  Rumours were started that Cox had been out for revenge for That Catch last year; sadly this was just the first in a long line of terrible run outs in the next hour or so.

Revenge or not Cox, who had been quiet in the early stages, now seemed at peace and started to open up, making sure the healthy run-rate was maintained. Things were looking fairly rosy at this point with the score at 62 for 1 after 8 overs, and confidence in the camp was high. This, right here, is the turning point.

Wood was bowled for 6, Cox reached 30 and retired and then Scutt was run out without facing a ball, 62/1 became 68/4 in little more than an over. Wilson, who later claimed to be feeling the weight of guilt after the Scutt Affair, ran himself out for 2 to make it 73 for 5 after 11. Benwell and Walbottle were now sporting a full team and the gaps in the field were duly plugged, restricting the scoring options somewhat.

Mexter and Wisbach tried to settle things down before both being dismissed with the score at 84. There is a small consolation in that neither of them were run out; Mexter being bowled for 6 and Wisbach caught for 2. There was suddenly a real danger that we would be bowled out in double quick time. However, with Browne and McGuinness now at the crease, there was hope that a defendable score could be reached.

Browne did not last long and was caught for 3 then Haylock at 10 decided it was just too damn cold out there and ran himself out for 2. McGuinness was holding firm at the other end however, and even fired a six out of his shiny new cannon. Watson joined him for the last 3 overs, and showed that someone listened to the skipper telling everyone to just stick around for a bit. This was exemplified when non-striker McGuinness tried to steal a very optimistic bye to the keeper, but Watson simply stood his ground and issued a clear “No!” This was probably a good plan as the keeper had already thrown the stumps down. A plan fiendishly simple in its execution, but leaving those on the sidelines gobsmacked.

As it was, McGuinness (17 not out) and Watson lasted to the end; or near enough, Watson was bowled off the last ball for 3, to take MCC to 119/9 after the 18. A decent score, but with the temperature having dropped to barely above freezing, and some very serious clouds getting closer by the second, nobody thought we would get the chance to defend it.

A fast turnaround saw Browne with pink ball in hand (leave it…) in failing light at the pavillion end. A half chance was offered straight away with a shot from Henley falling just short of cover, but that was it for a while. Eight runs came off the first over, and then the hail finally started. The batsmen were immediately given the option of going off, but they claimed to be happy enough so we stayed on. McGuinness and Browne sent down a couple of tight overs before the batsman recorded only as Gav started to open his shoulders, taking 11 runs off the 4th over.

The game and the hail continued for another couple of overs, and was looking like either team could take it; the batsmen restated their happiness to play in those conditions and it looked like we might just have to tough it out. Browne finally got the breakthrough in the 7th over, with Henly caught by McGuinness for 18. Browne was unlucky not to have another as Gav was dropped twice in successive deliveries; I think so anyway, my brain was somewhat frozen by this point and frankly anything could have happened and I might not have known it. Regardless I won’t single out the droppers as trying to grab an icy bar of soap like that is hit and miss at best.

After seven overs, the sight of Leon “Big Bird” Mexter marking out his run at the North end was clearly enough as the opposition skipper finally came out to end the madness, apparently the groundsman was getting twitchy about wanting to get the covers on. Mildly ironic as the hail had just about stopped, but there was more on the way and there weren’t too many complaints from the fielding team.

So B&W ended on 39/1 after 7, which was much more cricket than most people expected. We quickly retired to the clubrooms for a sound beer and bullshit session as we watched the weather close in again outside until it descended into a scene from Dr Zhivago.

And finally, a big thanks to 12th man Tony “ice in my veins” Cleaver for umpiring the whole game in the cold without the slightest grumble. Such things are noticed by both the selection and awards committees…

(Special mention also to Ian ‘Zoolander’ Watson for modelling the new winter version of the Mallards cap above)

The season is underway!  Sterling efforts by the sadly injured Nitsch meant that the Riding Mill pitch was ready to go despite the recent deluge which had alerted ark builders across the North East.

With new captain Butcher unavailable (apparently suffering an existential crisis regarding his devotion to Norwich City pending their imminent relegation), vice captain Steel stepped up.  When I say stepped up, what I actually mean is that the other vice captain, Cox, was hiding in the toilet when the call for leadership went out.

Steel immediately stamped his winning personality on the game by correctly anticipating the coin toss and choosing to bat, cleverly convincing the opposing captain to agree to an 18-over game which would mean the opposition batting in the dark.

The ever-reliable partnership of Steel and Kent walked out, knowing that scoring would be difficult on a pudding of a pitch which flatly refused to allow the ball to bounce.  Not to mention the low sunlight which made batting at the Tree end a bit of a lottery. Wise heads were predicting a score of around 80 as par.  Opening bowler Glenwright negated the dodgy bounce by throwing in an early full toss down the leg side which Kent gleefully top-edged straight to square leg. Kent departed for 0. At the other end the skipper’s left eye twitched a fraction.

Hall joined Steel but didn’t last much longer, defeated by the low bounce and bowled for 2 in the third over, leaving Mallards at 12-2.  (He had actually been run out just before that, umpire Cleaver turning a Nelsonian blind eye to the bowlers flick on to the stumps with Hall caught backing up.)  The skipper’s twitch moved on into frown territory.  Wood joined Steel at the crease to provide a formidable ex-skipper/stand-in skipper barrier to the bowlers and the pair settled things down as gradually the scoreboard started moving in the right direction.

They cruised serenely to 35 in the 7th over, quick singles interspersed with boundaries from Steel’s blade, but then disaster. A fierce pull shot from the skipper looked a certain four until the ball was plucked out of the air inches from the ground and Steel had to trudge off, shaking his head, for a worthy 22.

Two overs later the Excelsior fielders were at it again, this time Wood was the victim, watching open-mouthed as a lofted drive through the covers was also snapped up inches from safety and he departed for 8, with Mallards treading water a little at 39-4 from nine overs.  The two quick wickets had brought Scott and Cox to the crease and the pair started to repair the damage of those two impressive catches, taking the score on to 53 before Scott was caught and bowled by opposing skipper Krishnan for 6.

McGuinness joined Cox and the two Daves kept things ticking over nicely, running well, to add another 13 runs before McG was bowled by Krishan for 1.  Cox was joined by Wilson and the run rate continued to creep up before Wilson was also bowled by Krishnan for 4 with the score on 74-8 from 15 overs. Three overs to go – could Mallards bat through?

Cox was managing to hold things together on the sticky pitch and he was now joined by the abrasive Browne who, as usual, went for his shots. The approach paid off as the pair took the total to an over-par 90 from the 18 overs, Browne finishing 7 not out with Cox making a dogged 27.

Mallards took to the field in confident mood, a mood which was only slightly dented by the 16 runs which came off the first two overs. Excelsior’s young opener Wilson going for his shots from the start.  Opening bowlers Cleaver and Browne gradually found their form though and by the end of the fourth over they had pulled things back, Excelsior, however were still well set on 23-0.

Cleaver struck first in his third over, removing the dangerous Wilson for 17 and Browne came to the party in his third to dismiss fellow opener Haggie for 6. After six overs the opposition had slipped to 32-2, with the game very evenly poised and the arrival of opposing skipper Krishnan at the crease looking ominous.

Mallards, however, were beginning to exert a tight grip, some tight bowling, backed up by unusually efficient fielding saw the brakes jammed firmly on the Excelsior innings. Cleaver’s final over went for just one run and included the Cox/Kent combination running out Brekke for 2. Browne went one better, bowling a maiden to finish with the quietly astonishing figures of four overs, one for six.

With the opening spell over the visitors were now on 34-3 from eight overs and the home side were growing increasingly confident of victory. Seasoned Mallards watchers will know that this is when we are at our most vulnerable and when Dunhill’s first two overs went for sixteen runs some feared the worst. These fears were exacerbated when opposing batsman Spencer, who had stayed around for very little purpose, suddenly retired injured to bring in some much better batsmen.

Cox, at the other end, had other ideas though and found a perfect line from the start, conceding just three runs from his first two overs and, more importantly claiming the wicket of Krishan, well caught at mid-off by McGuiness. That dismissal left the visitors on 54-4 from 12 overs, requiring an eminently gettable 37 to win from the final six.

Dunhill then joined the party, clean bowling new batsman Flynn for 0 and his replacement at the pavillion end, McGuinness also stepped up, bowling Glenwright in his first over, leaving Excelsior on 69-6 from 15.  Three overs to go, 22 required for victory.

The Cox/McGuinness axis was though, beginning to prove the vital one, and after the latter had put down a difficult chance, just failing to cling on to a diving catch, he made quick amends by catching the same batsman, Birel, again at mid-on and again from Cox’s bowling. Cox almost gained a third wicket when new batsman Woodhead absolutely smashed the ball straight at Scott, standing at short cover. The ball stuck in Scott’s palm for a millisecond before falling to the ground. There will be a bruise in the morning. Despite this dropped catch (harsh) the bowler still finished with an admirable 2-7 from his four overs.

McGuinness continued to prove influential, his final over leaking only four singles, leaving Dunhill to bowl the final over from the tree end with Excelsior needing 16 runs to win. With memories of honorary Mallard Ben Stokes’ recent travails running through their minds the supporters (Haylock and Kents junior)  watched through their fingers. Their concerns were misplaced. Sealing his role as ‘death’ bowler, Dunhill absolutely nailed it, leaking just one run and a leg bye. To add icing to an already tasty cake he also clean-bowled Woodhead to leave the visitors well adrift on 77-8 and Mallards the victors by 13 runs.

In an ideal world Dunhill would have been hoisted off the field on the victors shoulders but age and dodgy backs preclude such things so manly handshakes all round preceded a splendid recap at the Wellington.

A word of warning to the over-optimistic. Last season began with a win over Excelsior Batters. Just saying.