“A Day in the Life

 

 

Match:  11 / 249

Won by 6 wkts

 

 

Team

 

Total

Oxenford CC

177 - 7

T. Smith  2 - 18,  J. Pearson  2 - 22

 

FFTMCC

179 - 4

I. Howarth  71,  J. Pearson  51

 

 

 

 

Sunday. Another day in the cricket calendar, and presumably another day of crushing disappointment followed by a journey home in brooding silence to bitch on to the long-suffering wife about what a waste of fucking time it’s all been. Magic. Sets you up for the working week ahead, doesn’t it? Fucking game.

 

Arrive at nominated pub before the match and exchange banter with similarly delusional team mates about false expectations, rising beer prices, shitty summer weather and depressingly familiar worldly events we have no say or control over.

 

 

 

Well done, guys – you can drink beer. Fucking amazing.

 

 

Fuck off to the ground. Inspect the pitch – though Christ knows why…. Would my season be any worse if we played it on the Botley Interchange at rush hour? Would it fuck. So why on earth are we gathered about on an uncovered strip of grass pushing down the odd divot and making comments about it being “soft” and that it might “do something”? Of course “it” will do something – “it” always fucking does….

 

Climb into whites whilst anticipating a signal from the skipper, out in the middle, on what the hell we’re doing – though knowing full well we’re probably fielding first as we always fucking do…. Why? Well, it saves us the embarrassment of being bowled out for fuck all and the game ending before of 5 o’clock. Plus the fact we’re great at chasing down totals – apparently. Apparent to who exactly? Fuck knows.

 

Yep, we’re fielding first. Let me pick myself off the floor….

 

I have to admit to being rather smug with myself after somehow bagging the first slip position. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no mean slip fielder, but I’m usually stuck out in the covers chasing down fucking tripe all afternoon. That wouldn’t be so bad, but it’s usually accompanied by throwaway comments from the usual sarcastic fuckers, chuntering under their breath about this and that. They know who they are….

 

 

MelnKim

 

Why men force their women to watch this shit is anyone’s guess?

 

 

What’s this? A textbook opening bowling combination? For The MAD? Tight, tidy, regularly beating the bat outside off, runs at a premium? Fuck off. Fair play – welcome back Del Boy (A. Darley 8-2-15-1) and well done Wonky (D. Emerson 8-2-12-0). I can’t remember the last time an opponent was struggling on 26-1 off 15 overs…. Maybe because it’s never fucking happened, certainly not during my time playing for this club….

 

Drinks. 40-2. And I have to say I’ve hardly done a fucking thing – save walk up and down the wicket carrying Steve’s helmet, or hat, or whatever “Sir” would like me to carry for him as he goes about his gobby business behind the sticks….

 

JMO’s done good (J. Hoskins 6-0-28-1) – and stop press, he’s got one to turn – though it probably hit a divot or something…. And Fats (J. Pearson 6-1-22-2) looks like he’s in the groove. Maybe we’ll have a manageable total to chase for once? That’d be a pleasant change….

 

“So what’s the secret?” I asked Spam. “How the fuck do you get a bowl before me?” How did he catch the Skipper’s eye? [sigh] He’s probably got some incriminating photos of his missus or something, because fuck knows how that awkward bloody trundler got the nod – Jesus…. [sigh]

 

Here we go. Here we fucking go! Bob’s (C. Roberts 2-0-25-0) getting pasted all over Woodstock Road and Howarth’s (4-0-30-0) living on past glories and getting a complete twatting to boot. Revert to type and etfuckingcetra…. I was happy at slip a few moments earlier, minding my own business, like you do, but no – now I have to do square leg….

 

I tell you, this left hander of theirs (R. Davies 68) is a pain in the bum hole. When the fuck are they going to outlaw left handers? Oh, I’m a left hander… best scrub that.

 

 

ChuckerHarris

 

Howarth batting. He’s a twat at times – he is.

 

 

I didn’t even see it…. I quote: “How didn’t he catch that?” Do what, Howarth? What the fuck is he moaning about now? “Look you stupid cunt – I lost it in the background… probably against that red car on the boundary, so no, I didn’t see the fucking thing coming – alright?” Oh – I’m sorry – it almost decapitated me as it flew past my earhole! Wanker. Maybe he could try and bowl a decent line and length the stupid northern twat. Eh? EH??? Meanwhile I’ll just run as far as the eye can see to go and retrieve the thing from the fucking boundary….

 

About fucking time, I’m finally getting a bowl. “Cheers, Moo – I won’t let you down.” Oh, for fuck’s sake as I serve up three full tosses in my first over. Doesn’t anything ever go right these days? Finally I get it right, for all of my mammoth, sweat-inducing four fucking overs (4-0-25-0). Thorn’s done well (T. Smith 2-0-18-2). Christ knows how he manages it – but he sure has a habit of picking up important wickets here and there. Maybe he isn’t pissed for once? Actually, who fucking cares….

 

That’s 40 overs out the way and time to eat. 177-7? Well done guys – make sure we get Oxenford to a decent total, eh?

 

Let’s have a look at the batting order. Four. Fucking four?! I see Howarth gets to go in at three. He opens all year, moans about being pissed off with it, and gets to usurp my position of number three. Is he sleeping with Martin (Westmoreland) or something? [sigh] Still – whatever happens, I’ll have been involved in the game longer than he was last week in Appleton – hahaha – useless platinum prick.

 

 

 

Me – sat with my pads on bored out of my fucking mind.

 

 

This is fun. Sat here with my pads on watching Jake and Fats bore the tits off everyone as they block out the opening overs…. I think I’ll get Wonky to throw some balls down – get my eye in. A WICKET! (J. Hotson 5) That brings Howarth to the crease. Ha ha – daft bugger’s had two goldens in his last two matches in Oxford. Here it comes… ahh, bugger, he avoided a third golden…. OH – an appeal! Ahh… not out. Best I keep my thoughts to myself on that one. And he’s off the mark – hmm….

 

God almighty – this is insipid. Where’s the cavalier approach and aggressive batting we were promised? Poke, poke, prod, block, dot, dot, single, block, poke, plod… fucking ‘ell, this is like watching Geoff (Carter) bat. I’ll just sit here with my pads on nervously awaiting a chance to shine, shall I?

 

[Yawn] This is tedium on a grandiose scale….

 

Drinks. 94-1 and they’re still there. And the sun has come out. How nice to still be sat with my pads on watching this partnership drag out to it’s inevitable conclusion…. I think I might stand up for a while – my arse is getting numb from all this sitting about. I’ll stand next to Steve and Bob and have a moan – they look bored too.

 

“Shit, isn’t it lads? Like watching fucking paint dry.”

 

 

 

Still sat here with my fucking pads on….

 

 

50 for Fats. Yawn – whatever. 50 for Spam. Yawn – whatever. 100 partnership – god, will it ever end? That’s the 150 up and the Oxenford guys look like they’ve ran out of ideas. Jesus, they’ve even brought that old man on to bowl (S. Terry 4-1-22-2) who looks like he’s dodged a few coffins in his time….

 

WICKET! Howarth gone for 71 – one slog too many. Arrogant twat. 165-2. A record second wicket partnership for The MAD (139) – whatever. A mere 13 runs to chip off for victory. Oh, well – at least I get to smack a few balls around after this insufferable and interminable wait and pocket myself a nice little asterisk for the averages. Okay, I’ve gotta get the mindset right – take guard, prepare to face the… old man. Ha – old man – prepare for a pasting!

 

Oops! You’ve got to be fucking joking me… top edge first ball!? Bob’s caught it! Bob?! You couldn’t fucking script it…. Throw it on the floor you daft bastard! [crushing sigh] Unfuckingbelievable. You wait 35.2 overs to get a bat and you’re out first fucking ball…. To an old man as well. Caught by one of your own substitute fielders…. This “is” officially a new low….

 

 

 

The next time I have to pose for a photo – the Duck goes up Dave’s fucking arse!

 

 

“Unlucky, Mike.” Fuck off.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, mate.” How about you don’t fucking worry about it? Mate. My day has been an utter waste of time – again – so go and fucking do one.

“Chin up, mate – you’re just having one of those spells.” Yeah? Well it’s been a long fucking spell and you can fuck off too.

 

Right. Sod this. Let’s get these pads off, pack up and fuck off. I can’t believe this – I honestly can’t – another complete waste of a day…. “Fats (51) is OUT! We’ve collapsed to 165-4!” Big fucking deal. We’re obviously going to win the match from here so who gives a shit? Surprise, surprise we’ve won the game. Oh, the joy. Great – Steve (Dobner 3*) and Moo (M. Westmoreland 11*) get to top their averages up. Bully for them.

 

 

 

The sun goes down on another fucking soul-destroying day.

 

 

Match fines? Fines can fuck off this week – as can any post match socialising. I’ll shake some hands, sort some monetary matters out, and then I’m off home to give the wife a right good shoeing.

 

Fucking game.

 

 

‘The Real Mr. Reeves’

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

Statto Scorecards

 

 

 

Far from the MCC versus Oxenford CC

Played at Keble College, 28 August 2011

 

Far from the MCC won the toss and elected to field

Far from the MCC won by 6 wkts

 

Far from the MCC debuts:  none

 

 

11 / 249

 

 

 

 

 

40 over match

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Team

Oxenford CC

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

#

 

Batsman

How Out

Total

Balls

4s

6s

FOW

1

T. Hamp

c Dobner b Hoskins

9

(59)

-

-

3-41

2

A. Cosgrove

lbw b Darley

1

(21)

-

-

1-5

3

R. Ewings

c Westmoreland b Pearson

26

(35)

1

1

2-40

4

R. Davies

b Smith

68

(47)

8

1

6-156

5

S. Terry

b Pearson

8

(13)

-

-

4-56

6

A. Hirtenstein

b Smith

37

(33)

4

1

5-149

7

A. Thompson

run out (Reeves/Dobner)

11

(11)

1

-

7-176

8

S. Cutterbie

not out

8

(5)

1

-

-

9

W. Banks

not out

1

(1)

-

-

-

10

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

11

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Extras

(NB1, W3, LB2, B2)

8

 

 

 

 

 

TOTAL

(for 7 wickets, 40 overs)

177

 

 

 

 

 

 

#

 

Bowler

Overs

Maidens

Runs

Wkts

 

1

Emerson

8

2

12

0

 

2

Darley

8

2

15

1

 

3

Hoskins

6

0

28

1

 

4

Pearson

6

1

22

2

 

5

Howarth

4

0

30

0

 

6

Roberts

2

0

25

0

 

7

Reeves

4

0

25

0

 

8

Smith

2

0

18

2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Team

Far from the MCC

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

#

 

Batsman

How Out

Total

Balls

4s

6s

FOW

1

J. W. Pearson

c and b Davies

51

(119)

5

-

4-165

2

J. C. W. Hotson

b Banks

5

(30)

-

-

1-26

3

I. Howarth

b Terry

71

(74)

8

1

2-165

4

M. K. Reeves

c sub b Terry

0

(1)

-

-

3-165

5

S. L. P. Dobner +

not out

3

(6)

-

-

-

6

M. T. Westmoreland *

not out

11

(11)

-

1

-

7

D. Emerson

 

 

 

 

 

 

8

C. D. Roberts

 

 

 

 

 

 

9

J. D. Hoskins

 

 

 

 

 

 

10

T. P. W. Smith

 

 

 

 

 

 

11

A. Darley

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Extras

(NB11, W18, LB3, B6)

38

 

 

 

 

 

TOTAL

(for 4 wickets, 38.2 overs)

179

 

 

 

 

 

 

#

 

Bowler

Overs

Maidens

Runs

Wkts

 

1

Hirtenstein

8

1

27

0

 

2

Banks

5

1

21

1

 

3

Thompson

6

0

39

0

 

4

Cutterbie

7

0

32

0

 

5

Davies

6.2

0

25

1

 

6

Cosgrove

2

0

13

0

 

7

Terry

4

1

22

2

 

 

 

 

 

MOTM:  J. W. Pearson

Champagne Moment:  T. P. W. Smith’s first ball wicket

Buffet Award:  C. D. Roberts’ assorted sausage and pepperoni meat feast pizza (14”)

 

 

Opposition:  V061 / 02

Ground:  G049 / 02

Captain:  C011 / 59