24/04/11 - Crouch End

Sure signs that cricket has taken over your life #3546: arriving at a ground for a game and running into four people who each play for a different club for whom you've played. 'The Cradle' at Crouch End is cricketing nirvana - at any one time there could be six games going on at the various grounds. We didn't have the best pitch, but it's a nice spot:

As mentioned previously I'm captaining a fucking terrible team. The oppo skipper is 6'3, built like a brick shithouse and of West Indian heritage, so I assume there's at least one bowler who can steamroller our batting  line up (actually turns out he bowls little cutters - I can only quote Rain Men: 'Cricketers are not racist, they just jump to conclusions easily'). Tell him he should probably bat so he gets half a game. He goes along with this, but he sees right through my bid to play declaration too and so we're doing 40 overs. Don't blame him - a couple of hours of grim blocking isn't necessarily what you want on an extremely hot day, and we've got 'honourable' draw written all over us.

Toss the new ball to our best bowler, a big bloke who looks a bit like Hagrid and used to play league back in the day. These days he only comes in off nine paces, but he can still send it down at a fair old rate, and within an over or two he's knocked over the skipper, who looked like he was in the mood. At the other end I've opted for a 14 year old boy. Canny stuff because he's not bad at all and the fear of getting out to a child always instils a bit of caution.

Probably not worth going into the innings in too much detail. The ground's small, the outfield's fast, there's a bloke who's taken us for 100 before and I'm getting gyp from one of our players. The batsman is extremely bottom handed, the chap is bowling and getting a bit of inswing, so I figure a leg gully is a good idea.

Twat: 'What the fuck's he doing there? He's just extraneous.'

CC: 'Really? I think he might get a chance.'

Twat: 'No, that's completely fucking pointless. Move him to second slip.'

Don't need to tell you where the ball plops three deliveries later.

CC never gets wickets for this lot. There are a couple of reasons: one, no one can catch, and two, the batsmen often look around the field, realise that if they see off CC and Hagrid there's bugger all to come, and block everything. This time round CC's rather intelligently put himself on second change, which helps. Only slight problem is that the ball looks like an old slipper because it's been belted everywhere, so we go for the angle-it-in-from-round-the-wicket-and-cut-it-away policy, which brings 2-21, their best player caught by the keeper, the other by slip. For a moment it almost looks like proper cricket.

Not for long though. The need to give people a go at the other end yields about 20 an over, not helped by some ludicrously strict umpiring. The opposition apologise after the innings, which is a first - I wonder about going out to umpire at the start of our innings and flapping my arms at everything (before apologising myself, of course) but decide I can't be arsed. Our 'occasional' bowlers are bad in all sorts of hilarious ways - one sprints in like Shoaib Akhtar before sending down absurdly slow long hops, one throws the ball so high in the air there's a very real danger it might land on his head...could go on, but won't.

206 from 40 overs is still a good effort, all things considered. Could have been a lot more but I think I did ok with the field placings, and none of our people who can actually bowl had one of their off days, which is probably another first. 

I have four batsmen to play with today, after a fashion. I send two of them out to open, which is probably a bit stupid. It all looks rather good after the first three balls, which go for four. But as Geoffrey says, add two wickets to the score and it doesn't look so clever. Well, he never played for us. Try adding five wickets to the score - then it doesn't look so clever. 

I forget when the collapse occurred - I think we'd got to 40-odd before they went down like nine pins.  As someone who can at least keep out the odd straight one I'd like to put myself up the order, but instead I have to do the scoring because the only guy apparently capable of doing it is umpiring. I mean, for fuck's sake. Some of these men have played for 40 years. How can you avoid ever having to score for all that time? It's not helped by the fact that one of our players has parked himself in the bar. When he comes out he simply assumes he's above another chap who didn't even bowl, and sticks his pads on. I somehow keep a lid on it. Of course it doesn't really matter because three balls later he's on his way back too.

Once I've finally managed to offload the scorebook onto someone I do get out there - at number eight - and we're something like 70-7. All bowled. Suggests our top order needs to look at their techniques. Or the ball, that would be a start.

Have a long discussion with the only remaining batsman who's any good about how we're going to play this. Decide we need to work it around until the 30th over, and then if we're needing something like ten an over with the second string bowling we can chance our arms and see if it comes off. I'm going to cope with the left arm spinner as I can work twos with the turn, he's going to concentrate on putting away the bad ball from the seamer.

So yup, pretty detailed plan. He takes strike, has a massive mow at his first ball and loses his middle stump. I laugh. Not very sincerely.

Not much else to tell. I make 50 off about 30 balls, almost exclusively mooed through midwicket, in the company of the small child and a batsman who broke his finger in the field and had to go at eleven. We're sort-of-but-not-really in the hunt, but it makes things a bit more exciting for the opposition. I'm the last to go, trying to smack a straight one and getting bowled, which makes 9 of us (the tenth was out hit wicket, which is pretty impressive going. I really don't understand how you can do that - there's a white line there in front of the stumps: you just have to stand on it).

Meet up with my other team, who won by nine wickets and played excellent cricket. Drink till 6am to take the pain away. Feel I did a good deed not playing for them today.

It's been a good weekend. 85 runs, two wickets, no dropped catches (none taken either mind), only one comedy misfield (the outfield was a bit bumpy and I suddenly got the fear the ball was going to hop up into my teeth, so I didn't do the long barrier), and a fine selection of bruises. I've been hit on the forearm, the fingers (twice), the toe, the inner leg, and in the box, which bloody hurt. In all other aspects of life I'm an utter wimp, but for some reason getting hit by the ball seems worth it.