“Postcard from America
(A Day in the Life – Part II)”
Match: 16
/ 407
Lost
by 6 wkts
|
Team |
Total |
|
FFTMCC |
147 - 7 |
|
L. Ainsworth
53*, I. Howarth 51* |
|
|
|
|
|
Bodleian |
151 - 4 |
|
G. Timms
2 - 40 |
|
|
Pushing my
shoulder against the door, I return from weeks away in the sun of America to
the grey, damp and monotony of Oxford. The unholy trinity of utility bills,
fast food menus and Autumnal fashion mags no doubt buried under the mountain
of other shit the letterbox has been fed in my
absence. My mood is already soured by cattle-class transatlantic travel and
the breathtaking number of fucking idiots on board…
enough to give the ludicrous Carl Pilkington the sweats. And they’re thinking
of banning alcohol in airports? Jesus Christ, have a word, a few pints
provide the only mercy you get to survive the fucking trip….
“Have we got any
food in?” Of course we have my dear, smuggling a
pizza through US customs is the done thing these
days, isn’t it? For fuck’s sake. And no, I’m not going out again, so some minimum-wage prick down the road can
drop our dinner off – if, and I use the word “if” – his little brain can
master the vagaries of understanding a bloody map. A glass of wine
from a premium bottle of claret, fuck food. Relax
into a comfy chair and let the brain-bashing Boeing days slip into the
subconscious. Peace, tranquillity and... hmm, I wonder how we got in the
cricket whilst I’ve been away? Shit I hope… at least then I’ll feel like I’ve
been missed…. Just look at my fucking Inbox – any wonder
this laptop groans when I log on. Aside from family concerns and the odd item
of interest, it’s chocabloc with shit from Spam
and moronic fucking replies to a MAD thread started
several bloody weeks ago. Look at it all... just look at it… reams and reams of total wank.
Fuck off Darley with your eco-green ramblings
concerning food quotas, Thorn with your clever cryptic snipes, Russ and
Psycho with your glib associations, JMO with your never-ending stream of
rigged, fantasy aberrations and Spam again (sigh) with your O-M-G fucking web
updates…. Seriously, we’re a cricket team for Christ’s sake. Although I do
wonder at times....
The
victorious acronym afflicted team. I take a hearty
swig as Kate rings through the order and here we have it: the FC Cup Final
details... and… we lost. Surprise, surprise. So, much like my fridge, that
fictional trophy cabinet will still be fucking empty. Still, saves money
on that “open top bus celebration” that was being touted about. Hahaha, arrogant
dickheads. So, who fucked
this up then? We won the toss
apparently and let the team with as-many-initials-as-us batter up 180 plus. At Brasenose? Fucking
hell, who bowled that shite? No control, that’s the problem, missing
yours truly no less… and the experience which goes with it. And we mustered a
pitiful 140 odd in return with a stellar batting line up? Give me strength. (Sigh)... I see everyone’s
fucking hero Howarth got fifty and the rest got
pretty much bugger all between them. Centrica’s finest… my arse.
Lego, Moo both ducks… roughly where I would have batted
I notice. Pathetic, truly pathetic. I’d be holding an inquest into this total shambles if I even gave a toss. Seriously, you
leave for a couple of weeks and it all goes to shit….
The
charms of Stanton St John. Ah, the Stanton
St John affair, a truly orgasmic plot of jaded scrubland with which to finish
the season – boasting as it does, a dilapidated, uninviting pavilion as shit as the square. I don’t mind telling you, I’m glad I
missed that one. I see Russ took care of the financials which is nice, paid up front... for a match that, er... NEVER happened?!
For fuck’s sake…. It’s anyone’s guess how someone that fucking simple runs his own
business. Incredible. So, I guess I need to chase those monies down… and anything
else Homer has messed up in my absence. If you need something doing… etfuckingcetra…. Still no delivery
then? “Is this food order being flown over from fucking Colorado, Kate?”
Dinner? Fucking supper more like…. And what’s this
rubbish? A lengthy diatribe about a Saturday-Sunday match against the
Bodleian.... I’d forgotten about that one. I see Howarth filled a hole in the
side at the last minute, cheap sod. He’d have been less forthcoming for a
trip to bloody Appleton. Transparent doesn’t even describe it. And just how can Lego not differentiate
between the words Saturday and Sunday? This, a bright man who lives atop of a
hill with Oxford’s fucking elite. Staggering. I mean
why do we bother listing the fixtures on the website anyway? Carter and
Pearson cried off? Pearson, I expect no less, bombed out the army as he was
for messing his bed after every fucking drink, but
Carter? Ah, there you have it, Oxford played away at the MK Dons that day… fucking busted! He’s a retard, bless him.
The
ever friendly Bodleian team. (Deepest sigh)
Still no bloody delivery yet? Are we expecting to tip this guy? Ha. Here’s a
dime and nickel and fuck off for nothing. So how did we actually get on in the village of Midsomer Murders… he
said knowingly. Give me strength, we lost?! Lost… what, against the bloody
Bodleian?? Hahaha. Brilliant. Timms should be fucking
ashamed of himself. So in the space of a fortnight
he’s doused our cup dreams in petrol and burnt our credentials in Warborough.
I just hope Neil Dudgeon or John Nettles and their film crew weren’t about to
witness this debacle.... Absolutely hopeless.
The gory details:
the batting egos that are Ainsworth (53*) and Howarth (51*) top up their
averages – naturally not out of course – and everyone else is totally shit. All seven of them. Emerson third
top score with 8 and Rundle (0) opened the batting?! Did he turn up to the
game with a fucking bowie knife or something? Where
on earth were they batting – in the bloody car park??? Then the Bodleian bat,
assuming on the pitch, and knock them off with wickets to spare…. Shackers helped himself to 53* I see. Good bat that lad,
but I’d have nipped him out, have no doubt about that. Hoskins (5-2-6-1) did
a job with the ball, but the rest couldn’t tie my bootlaces by the look of
things. And are my eyes failing me or are Hotson and Turner bowling at the
death here?! Was Gary drunk?! Was he actually on the field of
play or in the fucking Six Bells nearby? Unbelievable…. (Inward sigh) Thank
fuck the season has finished. If we played into October we’d be fielding 6 or 7 at this rate, less the
ones with prior arrangements at the Kassam Stadium or throwing up. Probably
on the wrong day too. And we’re headed back to Horspath CC next year to “show
them a thing or two”!? The mind boggles, it really does….
(Ding dong!) Ah, our simple man with our simple food have arriveth. Finally. Right, sod
the rest of these emails, I’ll look forward to trawling through that shite
tomorrow. Grubs up. ‘The Real Mr. Reeves’
|
*
Statto Scorecards
|
Far from the MCC versus Bodleian Played at Warborough Green, 17 September
2016 Bodleian won the toss and elected to field Bodleian won by 6 wkts Far from the MCC debuts: none |
16 / 407 30 over match |
|
Team |
Far from the MCC |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
# |
Batsman |
How Out |
Total |
Balls |
4s |
6s |
FOW |
|
1 |
I. Howarth |
not out |
51 |
(64) |
7 |
1 |
- |
|
2 |
M. S. Rundle |
b Ackland |
0 |
(11) |
- |
- |
1-19 |
|
3 |
G. J. Timms * |
c MacKinnon b Ackland |
4 |
(7) |
1 |
- |
2-29 |
|
4 |
R. P. Turner |
b Robinson |
1 |
(7) |
- |
- |
3-34 |
|
5 |
L. G. Ainsworth |
not out |
53 |
(65) |
5 |
- |
- |
|
6 |
D. Emerson † |
b Milner |
8 |
(7) |
1 |
- |
4-104 |
|
7 |
C. D. Roberts |
run out |
2 |
(7) |
- |
- |
5-118 |
|
8 |
J. D. Hoskins |
st Neely b Philipson |
6 |
(9) |
- |
- |
6-132 |
|
9 |
J. C. W. Hotson |
c Shackleton b Busby |
5 |
(4) |
1 |
- |
7-138 |
|
10 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
11 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Extras |
NB1, W9, LB1, B6 |
17 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
TOTAL |
(for 7
wickets, 30 overs) |
147 |
|
|
|
|
|
# |
Bowler |
Overs |
Maidens |
Runs |
Wkts |
|
|
1 |
Robinson |
6 |
1 |
28 |
1 |
|
|
2 |
Ackland |
5 |
0 |
15 |
2 |
|
|
3 |
M. N. Webb |
5 |
0 |
24 |
0 |
|
|
4 |
Milner |
6 |
1 |
24 |
1 |
|
|
5 |
Shackleton |
4 |
0 |
20 |
0 |
|
|
6 |
Philipson |
3 |
0 |
19 |
1 |
|
|
7 |
Busby |
1 |
0 |
10 |
1 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Note: I. Howarth retired on
51* at 94-3 (20.5 overs) and returned at 138-7 (29.1 overs) |
||||||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Team |
Bodleian |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
# |
Batsman |
How Out |
Total |
Balls |
4s |
6s |
FOW |
|
1 |
M. D. J. Neely † |
b Hoskins |
3 |
|
- |
- |
1-7 |
|
2 |
D. Shackleton * |
retired |
53 |
|
8 |
- |
- |
|
3 |
M. N. Webb |
b Ainsworth |
29 |
|
3 |
- |
2-80 |
|
4 |
A. F. Milner |
not out |
40 |
|
6 |
- |
- |
|
5 |
G. A. Robinson |
c Emerson b Timms |
14 |
|
2 |
- |
3-135 |
|
6 |
G. E. D. Jones |
b Timms |
0 |
|
- |
- |
4-135 |
|
7 |
M. Webb |
not out |
2 |
|
- |
- |
- |
|
8 |
T. Philipson |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
9 |
S. G. Ackland |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
10 |
D. F. Busby |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
11 |
A. J. MacKinnon |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Extras |
NB1, W2, LB3, B4 |
10 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
TOTAL |
(for 4
wickets, 30 overs) |
151 |
|
|
|
|
|
# |
Bowler |
Overs |
Maidens |
Runs |
Wkts |
|
|
1 |
Roberts |
5 |
0 |
19 |
0 |
|
|
2 |
Hoskins |
5 |
2 |
6 |
1 |
|
|
3 |
Rundle |
5 |
0 |
13 |
0 |
|
|
4 |
Timms |
5 |
0 |
40 |
2 |
|
|
5 |
Ainsworth |
3 |
0 |
10 |
1 |
|
|
6 |
Howarth |
3 |
0 |
17 |
0 |
|
|
7 |
Hotson |
2 |
0 |
25 |
0 |
|
|
8 |
Turner |
2 |
0 |
15 |
0 |
|
|
MOTM: I. Howarth Champagne Moment: D. Emerson’s
reactionary catch as keeper Buffet
Award: J. C. W. Hotson’s Taleggio
tart with walnut pastry |
Opposition:
V023 / 22 Ground: G082 / 01 Captain: C022 / 53 |