Sunday 1s vs Upminster
Author: Jarmola
Match Report |
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29 weeks. 203 days. 4872 hours. 292,320 minutes. 17,539,200 seconds. 55.62% of a common year, always to two decimal places thank you. Births, deaths, marriages, promotions, demotions, employment gained, employment lost, graduations. The hope. The anticipation. The frisson of excitement. The frisson of fear. This season. This season I shall make those scores. I shall take those wickets. I can feel it. This season, it shall be different. I know it. It shall be my season. Fuck off. You haven’t picked up a bat since September. You haven’t bowled for just as long. You have refused to net. No point wasting runs or wickets in there, after all. You are older, frailer, less fit, less agile, technically worse and your reflexes and eyesight have both diminished. The best indicator of the future is the past, and your statistics just don’t support those scores or those wickets. You are, in short, fooling yourself. You idiot. Correction. Not all came back less fit. Rob Cross for example. Before the London Marathon this Sunday, he has run seventeen Half Marathons in seventeen of the first class cricket playing counties, in full batting regalia. The London Marathon shall complete the eighteen. He’s running to raise money for Mind and Chance to Shine. You should really sponsor him (hint hint!) https://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/fundraiser-display/showROFundraiserPage?userUrl=RobCross&pageUrl=1 Rob has been accepted into Sandhurst, where his natural leadership and grace shall no doubt see him excel as a leader of troops. He even brought his girlfriend to watch, which, as ever, sent Hoggy’s heart all of a flutter. Such was his confidence that it would be his year He declared that he would face the first ball of the season, with the confidence of an Alpha Silverback. He strode purposefully (these military types know how to strut don’t they) to the middle. The confidence. The determination. The steel. His girlfriend looked on with admiration (as did Hoggy, albeit in a different direction), as his teammates pictured King Charles III pinning the VC on him in a future year. What a sight. Clearly, beyond doubt, it would be his year. Idiot. Yes, he’d run a lot. But, in a sport that has allowed the likes of Rob Key, Samit Patel, Jimmy Ormond and Ian Blackwell (amongst many others) to play at the highest level, his priorities were skewed. Had he picked up a bat since last season (excluding during Half Marathons)? No. Had he bowled since last season? No. Had he netted? No. Had he done anything to improve his technique? No. The opening bowler charged in. Both the opposition’s openers, as we later found out, were Saturday First XI players. The ball was quick. At 70 mph, it would have reached Rob within 0.64 seconds. He had not spent any of those 17,539,200 seconds practising cricket. Rob played a textbook forward defensive. You could almost hear Boycott purring. The wonderful aesthetic of his approach to the crease was matched by the stroke. But, with one insurmountable problem. He played it long after the ball had gone past him, and clipped the off bail. 0 – 1, after one ball of the season. A Golden Goose. I see a new nickname …. Not to fear though. In strode the effervescent Ritwik, ready to show that despite Rob’s awful luck, it most certainly would be his year. It just would, it was written in the stars. It was fate. 0 - 2 after two balls of the season. A Silver Goose. Bugger. Thankfully, for all of our Putney inabilities, we had a secret weapon. An Australian. Rhys Willmott is not your stereotypical Aussie in many, many ways. Yes, despite hailing from Western Australia (average temperature boiling) he is ginger, with translucent skin. Yes, he does work in a South-West London pub. Yes, he does have that accent that reminds you of how your voice sounded when you shouted to your Mum that’ll you be down for dinner in a minute, mid-wank. But also no. He’s bright, articulate, funny and clearly a very good bloke. Who, much to the Sunday leadership’s delight, may only be available on Sundays thus replacing Blockwell’s runs. However, in one crucial way he is very much the stereotypical Aussie. Because, boy he can bat! From 0 - 2, he was magnificent in a partnership of 121 for the third wicket on what was a dog of an April wicket. He was eventually out for 78, which were worth double on that pitch, against a very strong Upminster attack. Putney managed a more than respectable 196-9, with fellow newbie Toby Russell making an excellent 39. To the bowling. And, the reason why practice really is crucial. Hoggy and Soham opened. They have both netted all Winter. It came as no surprise to seasoned watchers, that they were both excellent. Hoggy, like a fine wine, gets better with age. His bowling and fielding that is, not his gammon politics. 6 overs for 27 with absolutely no luck going his way, combined with his usual excellent standard of fielding. Soham, fast approaching his fifteenth birthday, was a revelation. He has an extra couple of yards of pace this year, combined with his natural swing. 6 overs for 25, with absolutely no luck going his way either. Another newbie and netter, Ben Evans, was superb. His left arm orthodox had the Upminster batsmen in all sorts of trouble, as he mixed up his speed and flight. Bowling through, final figures of 8-2-20-1 almost did him justice; only almost, as he deserved another couple in the wickets column. Adam Sayer, another netter (anyone seeing a theme?) fresh from his usual 7 am bedtime, excelled in his opening spell of 6-1-18-1. For the mathematicians amongst us, i.e. Mark ‘Judas’ Smith, that’s 26 overs for a miserly 90 runs against good batsmen. It all sounds so positive, I hear you cry. Why start this report with the travails of a lazy off-season? Why imply that we are all deluded, that the crushing realisation that this season, like every other, is doomed? Because, dear readers, 26 overs is not 40 overs. And unlike Hoggy, Soham, Ben and Sayer, the other ‘bowlers’ had taken a laxer approach to this thing called practice. The Upminster batsmen took to their part-time offerings like an unnamed T20 specialist to Columbia’s finest and flayed them to all parts. Defeat arrived in the thirty-seventh over, after a couple of fine knocks from the Upminster top order. To the bar, and as ever on a Sunday, a good catch up and discussion on what went right, and what went wrong. MoM - Rhys Wilmott for his superb knock. DDJ - Amogh for dropping a dolly off of, yes you guessed it, Soham. Champagne - 1000 Putney runs for JJ (belatedly [now] changed from the original award, as it was outrageously awarded to the opposition). TFCC - Ritwik (it would have been Rob, but Hoggy ruled that at least he brought his very pretty girlfriend ….). So, to next week. And the week after. And the week after that. The hope. The anticipation. The frisson. It shall, it just shall, be your season. |
Date | Time | Team | Opposition | Location | Putney | Opposition | Result | Scores | Points | Toss |
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21/04/2019 | 12:30 | Sunday 1st | Upminster | H | L | 0 |