I will always maintain that cricket is a team game, but also concede that it offers the chance for individuals to shine like few other sports. But would it be claiming too much that cricket offers opportunities for heroism? I ask you patient reader, to consider the following tale from yesterday's match and the deeds of our skipper, a certain Mr. Brian Lester.
It is important to set this all in context. We are the Fifth XI at Penn CC, which means in theory that we are fifth best at the club in terms of ability and performance. However, we obviously do not play the other teams in our own club. Instead we compete in a league where we are (again in theory) matched against teams from other clubs at a similar level of ability. The best sporting contests at any level in any sport are always against closely matched opponents.
This week, we encountered a Third XI from a big club, who, for reasons best known to league administrators, have been placed in our division. The contest began as a hopelessly one sided affair as our unfortunate bowlers (your humble correspondent included) got pasted around the ground by batsmen far too good for us. After 35 overs they had reached 320 for not a single wicket. It was at this point their declaration came, they began to walk off the pitch, and my tale really begins.
After tucking bats under arms, unstrapping gloves and starting to walk off, the batsmen were ordered back on by the skipper who had been informed by the scorers that one of them was on 199. For non-cricketing folk, this is just one run short of a double century. So, having duly returned to the crease, our skipper, the aforementioned Brian Lester decided to bring himself on to bowl his first over of the day.
I'm sure Brian won't be too offended if I describe his bowling style as unique. His first ball started off as a frisky little two footed shuffle to the popping crease where a languid arm action completed his delivery phase. It's worth pausing at this point to describe the typical trajectory of a Brian Lester ball. The flight is very similar to what must have been experienced by those involved in the early days of space rocket design. The ball goes near vertically upwards quite quickly before arcing slowly at its peak, then dropping menacingly towards the batsman. This first ball took the batsman by surprise and he dabbed a single to bring the '199 not out' batsman on strike.
Picture it. The batsman has not been in trouble all day. He's 199 not out. He just needs a single for an incredibly rare double century. He's puffed up. He's confident. He's smiling. But he's facing Brian Lester.
Brian shuffles into launch phase. The ball goes up. Mr '199 not out' widens his eyes and quickly dances down the wicket towards where he thinks the ball will pitch. Everyone is watching and anticipating. He swings the bat into a shot that would in truth have shamed a tail-ender and our wicket keeper gathers the rolling ball to whip off his bails. Brian got him!
Now, why do you think I believe our Brian's part in this to be heroic? Well, it's fairly simple. This was David and Goliath stuff. We were never in the game until this point and Brian's little spell gave us a tiny victory. It showed that despite any opponent's great strength and dominance, there can always be a chink in the armour, a miniscule weakness upon which you can build. This is exactly what Brian did for us. I believe that the dismissal of Mr 199 (we can now dispense with the 'not out') contributed greatly to our team spirit, lifted our heads a little and gave us heart going into our own innings. We were subsequently able to bat out for a draw which had previously looked impossible.
So, as far as I'm concerned, if Penn CC had its own knighthood, Mr. Brian Lester would today be on bended knee. Arise Sir Brian!
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Start of (yet another) new season
This ridiculous pantomime of a retirement continues.
Last week, I started the first match of the season by opening the bowling and getting roundly hammered around the ground after having yet again failed to attend a single close season net. Owing to my attending a 40th birthday party the same evening, the skipper asked me to open the batting too. All of which meant it was Thursday this week before I could again walk upright.
This week saw me standing in as skipper which is not something I usually enjoy, but the team played really well and we won reasonably comfortably. Whilst the victory may have been comfortable, I certainly am not. Once again I'm hobbling around and wincing everytime I sit down/stand up.
A friend of mine suggested a proper massage would ease some of the multiple muscular knots and recommended a parlour in town. I've never been very sure about the reputation of these establishments but I hurt so much, I'm willing to give anything a try. My mate said the place is totally fine. So, it's Saffy's Sensual Body Relief Parlour for me next week. What could go wrong?
Last week, I started the first match of the season by opening the bowling and getting roundly hammered around the ground after having yet again failed to attend a single close season net. Owing to my attending a 40th birthday party the same evening, the skipper asked me to open the batting too. All of which meant it was Thursday this week before I could again walk upright.
This week saw me standing in as skipper which is not something I usually enjoy, but the team played really well and we won reasonably comfortably. Whilst the victory may have been comfortable, I certainly am not. Once again I'm hobbling around and wincing everytime I sit down/stand up.
A friend of mine suggested a proper massage would ease some of the multiple muscular knots and recommended a parlour in town. I've never been very sure about the reputation of these establishments but I hurt so much, I'm willing to give anything a try. My mate said the place is totally fine. So, it's Saffy's Sensual Body Relief Parlour for me next week. What could go wrong?
Saturday, September 27, 2008
End of (yet another) Season
Well, how did my first retirement season go? My first season of free summer Saturdays and leisurely hour long boundary circumnavigation watching my ex-team mates continue their flannelled efforts for Penn CC?
In truth, it didn't go as planned.
The season was only four or five games old before the thirds were short and asked if I'd mind helping them out for just one game...
This led to an odd early/mid-season team hopping exercise between the thirds and the fourths which in all honesty I didn't really enjoy. This was nothing to do with my always excellent team mates, but more to do with the fact that I'd not done any pre-season work at all, and mentally I'd not prepared to even take the field. All of that combined to result in a series of pretty poor personal performances harshly reminding me of why I retired in the first place.
It all turned around for me around halfway through the season when I started regularly playing in the fifths. I'd had a series of matches under my belt and I started to feel how I should have felt at the start of the season - relaxed and better prepared.
The personal performances improved a little and unbelievably I hit form with the bat! My final two innings of the season were 21 not out, and 18 not out which doesn't sound much, but compared to the four consecutive ducks at the start of the season, it was little short of miraculous.
I still think the cricketing gods are toying with me. They let me get those runs at the end of the season to make me believe I could continue the hot streak at the start of next season...
I've enjoyed being in the fifths enormously. We have a great mix of old heads and young 'up and coming' players and we had some great results finally finishing fourth in the league.
All of which probably means that maybe I'll have to think again about tearing up those whites for dusters.
In truth, it didn't go as planned.
The season was only four or five games old before the thirds were short and asked if I'd mind helping them out for just one game...
This led to an odd early/mid-season team hopping exercise between the thirds and the fourths which in all honesty I didn't really enjoy. This was nothing to do with my always excellent team mates, but more to do with the fact that I'd not done any pre-season work at all, and mentally I'd not prepared to even take the field. All of that combined to result in a series of pretty poor personal performances harshly reminding me of why I retired in the first place.
It all turned around for me around halfway through the season when I started regularly playing in the fifths. I'd had a series of matches under my belt and I started to feel how I should have felt at the start of the season - relaxed and better prepared.
The personal performances improved a little and unbelievably I hit form with the bat! My final two innings of the season were 21 not out, and 18 not out which doesn't sound much, but compared to the four consecutive ducks at the start of the season, it was little short of miraculous.
I still think the cricketing gods are toying with me. They let me get those runs at the end of the season to make me believe I could continue the hot streak at the start of next season...
I've enjoyed being in the fifths enormously. We have a great mix of old heads and young 'up and coming' players and we had some great results finally finishing fourth in the league.
All of which probably means that maybe I'll have to think again about tearing up those whites for dusters.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Coach Trip
I'm up at Penn's main Mount Road ground most weeks, and most times the club coaches are there improving the skills of our younger players. I'm always impressed with the patience and structured techniques the coaches employ to help our youth section play better cricket. I'm also pretty jealous as I've never had a day's cricket coaching in my life, which is pretty obvious to all who've seen me play.
I think it's natural to wonder 'What if I'd been coached properly? Would I have been a massively better cricketer than the poor effort I turned out to be?'
Regular blog readers will be familiar with my recent batting record having not yet scored a single run (see last post for details). I was fortunate in my last match to have one of the club coaches (Kevin Drew) with us on the sidelines before I went in to bat. I asked him to throw a few balls down to get my eye in.
Kev clearly saw some terrible things as I attempted to gently knock the ball back to him. He regularly winced as my bat came down and he kept repeating various technical terms that meant nothing to me. 'Straight bat', 'head still', 'front foot forward', 'high elbow' were all fairly alien terms to someone who's usual approach is 'hit the ball (with the bat if you can)'.
However, in fairness to Kev, I followed his advice and suddenly found that my bat was connecting with the ball on a reasonably regular basis. As the next wicket fell, I strode out to the middle in relative confidence. Could this be the innings where I got my first runs of the season?
I got back to thank Kev for his help a few minutes later after gloving a ball that was heading towards my teeth straight to short square leg. It was not the longest innings I'd ever had, but those three runs felt like a long cool drink after a desert trek.
I think it's natural to wonder 'What if I'd been coached properly? Would I have been a massively better cricketer than the poor effort I turned out to be?'
Regular blog readers will be familiar with my recent batting record having not yet scored a single run (see last post for details). I was fortunate in my last match to have one of the club coaches (Kevin Drew) with us on the sidelines before I went in to bat. I asked him to throw a few balls down to get my eye in.
Kev clearly saw some terrible things as I attempted to gently knock the ball back to him. He regularly winced as my bat came down and he kept repeating various technical terms that meant nothing to me. 'Straight bat', 'head still', 'front foot forward', 'high elbow' were all fairly alien terms to someone who's usual approach is 'hit the ball (with the bat if you can)'.
However, in fairness to Kev, I followed his advice and suddenly found that my bat was connecting with the ball on a reasonably regular basis. As the next wicket fell, I strode out to the middle in relative confidence. Could this be the innings where I got my first runs of the season?
I got back to thank Kev for his help a few minutes later after gloving a ball that was heading towards my teeth straight to short square leg. It was not the longest innings I'd ever had, but those three runs felt like a long cool drink after a desert trek.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
The Harsh Truth
Oh dear. It really has gone all pear shaped.
The brief flush of success marked by the two wickets in my comeback match has quickly faded and I've not taken a wicket since. I've bowled in three further matches and been largely slammed around the ground.
My batting record reads thus:
Four innings - 0, 0, 0 not out, 0 not out. Total runs scored - 0. Average - 0. Number of times my bat has hit the ball at all = 0.
This week, my knee injury has flared up again and I'm unable to play. For some reason, there have not been many phone calls wishing me a speedy recovery.
We put out five teams on a Saturday which means there are 55 playing places. If there are 56 players available in future, I should definitely be the one to miss out.
Last Saturday was personally horrendous although we did win the match. I bowled five overs for 33 runs and got neck ache watching the ball disappear back over my head each time I delivered it to the wide eyed, salivating batsman. The bowed head silence from my team mates was embarrassing and I was looking for that crack in the ground to open up and blessedly smother my misery. It was exactly that sort of performance that induced my retirement last season. It just shows, you should never go back on a decision you knew was right in the first place.
I'm low at the moment and Saturday afternoons in the garden not worrying about cricket at all seem mighty appealing.
Next week's blog will focus on the safe and organic removal of aphids from a favourite rose bush.
The brief flush of success marked by the two wickets in my comeback match has quickly faded and I've not taken a wicket since. I've bowled in three further matches and been largely slammed around the ground.
My batting record reads thus:
Four innings - 0, 0, 0 not out, 0 not out. Total runs scored - 0. Average - 0. Number of times my bat has hit the ball at all = 0.
This week, my knee injury has flared up again and I'm unable to play. For some reason, there have not been many phone calls wishing me a speedy recovery.
We put out five teams on a Saturday which means there are 55 playing places. If there are 56 players available in future, I should definitely be the one to miss out.
Last Saturday was personally horrendous although we did win the match. I bowled five overs for 33 runs and got neck ache watching the ball disappear back over my head each time I delivered it to the wide eyed, salivating batsman. The bowed head silence from my team mates was embarrassing and I was looking for that crack in the ground to open up and blessedly smother my misery. It was exactly that sort of performance that induced my retirement last season. It just shows, you should never go back on a decision you knew was right in the first place.
I'm low at the moment and Saturday afternoons in the garden not worrying about cricket at all seem mighty appealing.
Next week's blog will focus on the safe and organic removal of aphids from a favourite rose bush.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Nicknames
Nicknames are curious things aren't they? This thought struck me as I stood in the outfield this week encouraging our fast bowler James Thomas. James has a fairly straightforward name but amongst the cacophony of support he got called several things:
"Come on James!" said one, "Nice ball Jim" came another. "Good stuff JayJay!" took the nickname to a slightly higher level. "Yes JimJam!", "good boy Jimmy Lad!", "Super effort JT" and so it went on.
Why do we use nicknames and why do they sometimes make a name shorter (which kind of makes sense), but sometimes longer (which makes no sense)?
For instance, our beloved ex-spin bowler Norman Howard is affectionately called "Norm". Straightforward. No problem. One syllable less than his full name.
Lee Nightingale, our first team wicketkeeper gets called "Nighty". Again, it makes sense.
However, once our third team number three Glyn Martin starts getting called "Glinners", and even "Glinderella" (three EXTRA syllables) I start to scratch my head.
I can't end the post without remembering my two favourite nicknames, even though they are not from the world of cricket. There was a footballer who played for Crystal Palace called Fitz Hall. His nickname was "One Size". Genius.
My number one has to be a friend of my father's from the building trade. This unfortunate fellow is in charge of a skip hire business and is fastidious about not receiving skips that are overloaded.
His nickname?
Phil Level.
"Come on James!" said one, "Nice ball Jim" came another. "Good stuff JayJay!" took the nickname to a slightly higher level. "Yes JimJam!", "good boy Jimmy Lad!", "Super effort JT" and so it went on.
Why do we use nicknames and why do they sometimes make a name shorter (which kind of makes sense), but sometimes longer (which makes no sense)?
For instance, our beloved ex-spin bowler Norman Howard is affectionately called "Norm". Straightforward. No problem. One syllable less than his full name.
Lee Nightingale, our first team wicketkeeper gets called "Nighty". Again, it makes sense.
However, once our third team number three Glyn Martin starts getting called "Glinners", and even "Glinderella" (three EXTRA syllables) I start to scratch my head.
I can't end the post without remembering my two favourite nicknames, even though they are not from the world of cricket. There was a footballer who played for Crystal Palace called Fitz Hall. His nickname was "One Size". Genius.
My number one has to be a friend of my father's from the building trade. This unfortunate fellow is in charge of a skip hire business and is fastidious about not receiving skips that are overloaded.
His nickname?
Phil Level.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
The Pain in Rain
Good old cricket. Just when you think the game is treating you kindly and you've spent a lovely afternoon in the sunshine, and taken a couple of wickets, it comes back to bite you with a vengeance.
This week's match was a thoroughly miserable affair played mainly in a persistent drizzle on a cold day. The much needed warm up prior to play further exposed my weak right knee which feels as if there is a sharpened stanley knife blade floating around the joint.
My batting was a carbon copy of last week's innings. Same number of balls faced, same pathetic shot, same flattened off stump, and same score (0).
Going out to field was horrible. It was cold. It was wet. In the first over, I dived to my right for a catch and the VERY hard cricket ball slapped into my right palm. I didn't hold on and my hand just went numb.
In the next over, I crouched to stop one travelling fast along the ground but the aforementioned knee prevented me reacting as quick as I would like. It missed my hands and clattered me in the privates. I felt physically sick and nearly had to go off.
It got worse.
I was brought on to bowl and the combination of my slow pace, a dead pitch and a wet ball meant that I was publicly massacred. To top it all, I missed a caught and bowled chance which slammed in to my other hand so that one got numb too.
Predictably, I was removed from the attack and staggered over to my fielding position. Both hands were stinging, my wotsits were throbbing so much I felt sick, I had induced the ire of my team mates with a woeful bowling performance and two missed catches, I was freezing cold and I was wet.
I need medication. I need rest. I need to re-embrace retirement!
This week's match was a thoroughly miserable affair played mainly in a persistent drizzle on a cold day. The much needed warm up prior to play further exposed my weak right knee which feels as if there is a sharpened stanley knife blade floating around the joint.
My batting was a carbon copy of last week's innings. Same number of balls faced, same pathetic shot, same flattened off stump, and same score (0).
Going out to field was horrible. It was cold. It was wet. In the first over, I dived to my right for a catch and the VERY hard cricket ball slapped into my right palm. I didn't hold on and my hand just went numb.
In the next over, I crouched to stop one travelling fast along the ground but the aforementioned knee prevented me reacting as quick as I would like. It missed my hands and clattered me in the privates. I felt physically sick and nearly had to go off.
It got worse.
I was brought on to bowl and the combination of my slow pace, a dead pitch and a wet ball meant that I was publicly massacred. To top it all, I missed a caught and bowled chance which slammed in to my other hand so that one got numb too.
Predictably, I was removed from the attack and staggered over to my fielding position. Both hands were stinging, my wotsits were throbbing so much I felt sick, I had induced the ire of my team mates with a woeful bowling performance and two missed catches, I was freezing cold and I was wet.
I need medication. I need rest. I need to re-embrace retirement!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
