The report of Rob Brydon of Middleton Stoney
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Resplendent in the glow of the beating afternoon sun, an assortment of gentlemen of indubitable distinction gathered for the season’s photo before taking on a mighty tribe of indigenous Nomads. Anybody bearing “Bicester Village” propaganda was quickly banished to the back row or speedily smothered in a club sweater so that the team looked like the slickly-oiled machine that we hoped to appear.
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A few cheesy grins later and El Capitano, Mr. Pearson, declared that we (he!) had won the toss and that batting first was the thing. And so it proved. Opener, Mr Pilgrim, began to show the sort of form that he had demonstrated earlier in the season when he scored his effortless 115, but this time fell early in the proceedings for a comparatively modest 11 runs. He was supported for a while in his endeavours by Mr. McDonald, who had avowed that his day’s raison d’être was to avoid being ‘caught and bowled’ – a determination predicated, presumably, on a desire to show the world that he’s not the inveterate, reckless chancer for which some might unfairly take him.
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Anyway, a few overs later, after our card-sharpener had scored a handful and left the field (‘C & B,’ naturally) it was time for The Simpson Show to roll into town; a double act in which the younger, svelter partner seems increasingly likely to play the central role these days. (“The child is father to the man,” wrote a distant relative of ‘Willie’ Wordsworth, though his name escapes me now.) That said, the more venerable Simpson still has the greater centre of gravity about him… sorry! Mea Culpa, Simmo! - That should read “…sense of gravitas about him.” [Editor: please amend; my backspace button is broken.]
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Digressions aside, Little Richard soon appeared more than comfortable at the crease and began to dispatch the ball to the boundary with a general air of insouciance, élan and éclat. This debonair, dashing, swashbuckling performance continued unabated until he was joined, after a brief sojourn with Mr. Ford-Langstaff (9), by our Master and Commander, Mr. Pearson. This partnership proved to be a formidable one and the runs continued to pile up like the M25 on a Bank Holiday Monday.
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It wasn’t long before the younger of the pairing had passed his hundred mark, while our team score lay within pip spitting distance of a double century. (Not that I would countenance any sort spitting, fruit-based or otherwise, in the sporting arena - we’re not a football team after all…)
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The opposition’s sigh of relief was palpable when Richard, on 113, finally guided the ball into the hands of a waiting fielder – only to bring his father to the crease. Working together with our exemplary Captain (who finished on an impressively combative, headstrong 69) our total was extended further in the realm of the improbable.
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Well before this stage, and with a rampant tally already on the board, The Tacticians amongst us were quietly Asking Questions: “Should we declare and get them to bat a bit before tea? Wouldn’t scoring much over 200 erode the opposition’s confidence in their ability to better our score and encourage them to batten down the hatches from the start, lessening our chances of bowling them all out? Would a more ‘sporting’ declaration make for a better game?”
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I, myself, found it hard to follow these speculative flights of philosophical fancy-talk; I merely repeat it here for the record, without any real comprehension - parrot-like, if you will. However, at the fall of the fifth wicket, and with still a little time before tea, the general consensus of opinion was evinced by the fact that no-one felt so moved as to actually pad up to bat. So with this pioneering form of declaration by democratic apathy, we repaired to the pavilion for an unsurpassably good tea (thanks again ladies, Simon et alia) and to consider what a big number 230 really is.
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Having fortified ourselves with the traditional food of champions (chocolate cake and scones – as recommended by all good sports nutritionists) we took to the field with all the steely determination of someone looking forward to a good nap. Our reverie was broken however as we realised that the opposition, if not necessarily confident of their capacity to win, we going to prove diehards at the crease before giving us any sort of easy victory.
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Messrs Selway and Jackson, for all their hellfire and brimstone, failed to find any weaknesses in their opening sortie of five overs each. Our captain then judiciously decided that variation and temptation might be the ticket, bringing himself and the ever-fashionable Mr. Sugden into the bowling line-up. This soon paid dividends when the former took our first wicket in his first over and Mr. Sugden’s gravity-defying, high-drop bowling paid off soon after. Finally things began to look up and wickets began to fall with increasing celerity. In this regard the catching prowess of Mr. Wordsworth and Mr. Jackman deserves mention – both of whom took catches that this author felt he would comfortably have dropped; a conviction he was to justify a few overs later…more than once.
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It was rapidly becoming apparent that the opposition had long since drifted from any game plan that might have anything other than an honourable draw as its foundation. Indeed, as the game drew on and the sun sunk lower under the yardarm, even the resurgent Jackman, quickly re-enervated Simpson (Junior again, taking four wickets for 30 in all manner of ways) and the phoenix-like Dr. Thompson could not break the final, obdurate pair of batsmen. Nevertheless, notwithstanding a jejune squabble for the strangely coveted position of first-slip, the game was played with enormous esprit-de-corps. As the last ball was padded to the turf for a draw, we finished with the satisfaction that full effort is always complete victory and … [Editor: please insert additional ‘cricket-was-the-real-winner’ style platitudinous thought here. Can’t be bothered myself. Thanks.]
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Nevertheless, an enjoyable game against a friendly team, in lovely weather; and soon to be repeated next year, I hope. Now if only I had a clue what those Tacticians were on about….....
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MEB makes the following additional observations
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Curiously the local scribe fails to mention that Richard Simpson was dropped twice early one.The first a simple catch to the wicket keeper when he was on nought and then when on 10 straight to point . Later on when 80 odd he edged through the slips as that 141 year old pair looked at each other as the ball passed between them at a comfortable height. Unluckily the bowler on all three occassions was young seamer Josh Bull who deserved several wickets.
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The Nomads innings was unremarkable, the nearest to a decent innings coming from Christian Collins who having done the hard work failed to build a big innings. On another day Shahzeb and Pradeesh may have mounted a decent challenge,
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Izzy hit a boundary four and 73 years old Charlton Lamb hit 17 years old Richard Simpson for two boundary fours which brought forth loud applause from his namesakes George and Georgina Lamb.
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Previous Matches
2009 Nomads won by 6 wickets
2008 Match Cancelled
2007 Match Drawn
2006 Middleton Stoney won by 147 runs
2005 Match Drawn
2004 Match Cancelled
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