As you know, cricket has a singular knack for luring us, its merry flock, up and down the steep slopes of the grand valley of emotion. Bad times go with the good – after all, you don’t get to play darts at the Frecknalls’ in Goodrich without dragging your drunken self up Everest first – but we’re better for it; our appreciation of the whole experience is heightened.
For this reason I shall focus on the jumble of emotions, states and moods that overcame us during our match against Lord’s Travellers on 12 May.
Any dismay at making the trek to Barnes again quickly gave way to all-round contentment. In front of us lay the prospect of a full match under a blazing sun, against a lovely bunch of blokes who helped make our October tour to Vis so enjoyable.
The feeling continued as Josh Shinner (fresh from a half-century on the very same pitch the previous week) and Callum Taylor marched out to bat. The coolbox was full, pads were put on, and James Royal persisted with a commentary voice even when he wasn’t recording.
After a sedate first few overs, fear began to creep into Josh’s batting. At least that’s what it looked like. He conveniently let a watchful Callum deal with a probing opening spell from Travellers’ left-arm quick, facing no more than three balls from the paceman’s six overs. There was more fear on the sidelines: Matt Langham, who, due to come in at three, tried to drop down the order so he wouldn’t have to face the fast stuff.
But there was also confidence, in the middle and on the other side of the rope; Callum left the ball with great skill, and Josh found his range and timing, peppering the leg-side boundary and cruising to his second fifty of the season inside twenty overs. Vanity made a crude appearance at this point: predictably, Zed had removed his shirt and sprawled out by the boundary in a Kate Winslet “Draw me like one of your French girls, Jack” pose.
Let us now speak of shame and fortune. The opening partnership was broken – Callum was triggered lbw by new umpire Zed Jamieson for 20 – and Matt Langham took his turn at the crease. Fifty-six balls later, he had clawed his way to 63 runs. This was sandpaper batting – the scratchiest of innings. Having been dropped five times (thrice by the keeper), he refused to acknowledge his half-century or accept a congratulatory handshake. Upon greeting this writer’s arrival at the crease, he remarked, “I’m so embarrassed; I just want to get out.” He didn’t.
All the while, Josh was batting beautifully – unshackled, a bullish presence at the crease – like a man who’d realised how much easier it is when you watch the ball instead of the bowler’s head. And then, with around ten overs of the innings remaining, there it was: joy.
What a feeling it was and must be; Josh reached his first ever hundred – and CICC’s first ton in a few years – from no more than 80-odd balls. He smote the ball through and over midwicket and mid-on and offered no chances. As several members of the opposition remarked after the game, it’s very rare to hit a century at this level without the benefit of a dropped catch or two. Josh needed no such luck.
It was a proud and richly deserved moment for a club stalwart who has worked so hard on his batting. And it was a delight for all those watching from the boundary, and following from further afield, to see that hard work bear fruit.
Josh was eventually caught for 138 (off 109 balls, 16 fours and 4 sixes) after 35 overs. Late scampering from Matt Langham and yours truly lifted the score to 246 for 3 at the end of the CICC innings.
A heady buzz of pride, positivity and enthusiasm trailed the CICC team as they took the field after lunch. It was a good wicket, but 240 was a good score and, on paper, we were a bowling team.
There was early success for Matt Goodman as Lords’ Travellers tried to keep up with the rate. Yours truly, at extra cover, took a skyer that fell out of a bashful sun, which retreated behind the clouds as the day progressed, and would peek out periodically to watch a tense game take shape.
Just as the first grey rolled across the sky and shut out the light of the sun, awe and disbelief took the field. Cricket’s nocturnal force, NightHawk, awoke from his slumber as a full-blooded pull shot sliced through the murky air above him. Not quite sure whether to backpedal or turn around and run, but eventually managing to do all three at once, he thrust out a claw and plucked the ball from over his shoulder. It’s a shoe-in for catch of the season. The dark talons of justice had struck once more.
After three early wickets fell, Lord’s Travellers endured some probing bowling and maintained a healthy rate. A close finish loomed. But it was the hour of the Chainsaw, and skipper Jimmy Curtis called on Zed Jamieson to turn the ball and the match. He bowled superbly, taking five wickets and leaving the opposition with just one wicket in the bank and 60 odd runs to get. Victory was all but certain.
Or so it seemed.
Call it vanity. Call it hubris. Call it arrogance. Whatever it was, it was madness. Zed, with two overs left in his allocation, took himself off. (To protect his figures, this writer assumes).
And then there was reluctance, fear and ultimately guilt. It fell to yours truly to bring the ‘f &g’ in Zed’s place. In truth I did not want to bowl, and this mindset sealed my fate: ‘flight and guile’ became ‘filthy and generous’. Their number ten hit a succession of sixes, and I conceded 23 runs off my solitary over. The fat lady kept her gob shut, and the game was back on.
It came down to 22 needed from the last over, and, after some inspired hitting, two from the last ball. A scampered bye from a questionable wide sealed our fate. Gutted.
It was a bittersweet match. The disappointment of the result lingered, but we could not begrudge our opposition, a fantastic and gracious group of gents with whom to play cricket, their victory. It was a day to remind us of the topsy-turvy nature of the game we love. Ultimately though, it belonged to Josh for his outstanding innings. May there be many more in the future.
By Jon Stern.
