Guildford City vs HWRCC 2nd xi
Guildford won the toss and took to the field.
HWRCC 192-8 Sayce 50, Forbes 39, Soppitt 34
Guildford City 151 Soppitt 3-7, Ewen 3-36
Sayce, Lofting, Forbes, Fudge*, High, Clark+, Soppitt, Ewen, Greenwood, Hill, Lown
After every away game in the Fuller’s League this year the visitors are required to fill in a form. The form is an official record of the facilities visited. What happens with the data collected is not year clear. Perhaps, shortly, the Wick will receive a letter. It will tell us what we already know. That the outfield is a bit bumpy. That it keeps low at the Millennium Wood end. That deer dump on the grass. That we have excellent parking.
The forms marking Guildford City’s 2nd xi ground will be equally emphatic. Unfortunately the Old Guildfordians ground at which the 1s usually play was being used for a running event. All over Guildford slightly overweight females dressed in inappropriate lycra were dragging jiggly bits towards the ground, more in hope than expectation one surmised. Anyway, with the whole area under a sea of picnicking supporters and muffin tops, no cricket would be played there.
Which left your correspondent and his team mates to drive around Guildford, briefly stopping off to ask directions from a bemused Worplesdon and Burpham groundsman before arriving at something which resembled down town Bagdhad. Curated by Guildford Council this ground is a Barry Crocker bearing about as much resemblance to our own fecund pastures as, as Hamlet remarks of his dead father and his uncle, a Hyperion to a satyr. It was not the lush green meadow of the picture here...
Hyperion, Gentlemen, lest you forget, was one of the Titans. He was father to Helios, the Sun God. Shakespeare is suggesting that he was an all round good guy and someone to be looked up to. A satyr, on the other hand, is a grotesque creature, half-man and half-goat, symbolic of sexual promiscuity. A dirty sort of smelly thing, always rutting and probably, after rain, smelling rather grim. Shakespeare is not fond of satyrs. He is suggesting that a satyr is contemptible. The comparison, then, that he draws, is designed to tell us that the one is excellent, the other beneath contempt.
Which sounds harsh. But, like the Latvian Police, also fair. After a while the surroundings grow on you. But this is like the dangerous “office effect”. The office effect is a long observed phenomenon. It is where a perfectly ordinary member of the opposite sex joins a company and is immediately marked as a five of out of ten. Were the member a female she would be attractive, but largely unremarkable. Over time the individual’s personality, charisma and good eggness shine through and they unaccountably creep up to an unmerited eight out of ten. There is then a need for recalibration to bring people back to their senses because if a truly outstanding candidate were to join the company, with the scale so obviously out of whack there would be dangerous talk of tens or even, God forbid, elevens. And as everyone knows, there is no such thing as a ten out of ten.
Dear reader, I hope, despite these wanderings, that you are getting the picture. That, like a well directed telegram, the message has arrived. It was a stinker. The pitch was a patchwork of bare earth and closely mown tufts of grass. It was bereft of sightscreens. At one end we were lucky to have a half white mock something or other house behind the arm. At the other there was a children’s playground, and, gloriously, a dark red van belonging to Her Maj’s postal service. You couldn’t make it up. The pav was functional shall we say. There was no parking. All day dangerous looking locals walked dangerous looking dogs round the outfield. After Lingfield’s showers which, on weekends during the winter, might spit out icicles, Guildford’s were hot enough to cook lobsters humanely.
The pitch would play a decisive role in the game. Like an allrounder who boshes a quick fifty, pouches a couple of catches and takes four for, it was always involved. Whether producing a scuttler to bowl their unlucky opener for 49 before he took the game from us or in producing prodigious turn for their skipper’s offies or in putting doubt in the minds of nervous chasing batters it got involved in a big way. Every time you thought it had finished contributing it would stick its hand up or go through its bowling warm up motions in an exaggerated fashion to let you know it was there. Only seven batsmen made double figures.
Hmm. That’s almost 800 words without actually mentioning the game. Perhaps I had better get on with it. Fudgey lost the toss and, like Cilla Black belting out a catchphrase (Surprise, Surprise!) with the audience assisting, we were inserted. We were asked to watch Paul Sayce, on debut, and MS, bat. While MS looked untroubled he perished by edging one onto his stumps without playing as he has been known to. Forbes joined Sayce in the middle and a strange sense of calm descended on your humble scribe. As these two bats caressed and creamed the ball around the park it was very pleasant to be wearing the Dove, the Magenta and the Black. Class. Real class. Nothing belted, nothing smacked, nothing muscled all a joy to watch. Oh the off drives. Oh the glances. Oh oh oh oh oh. They put on almost 100 for the second wicket. Really, really good. Sayce perished eventually for 50, Forbes for 39. Both deserved more.
When Forbes played on too, echoing Lofting’s dismissal, Fudge, then High, then Clark displayed more lower order talent than middle order, collapsing, as they did, like the Hindenburg or R101 but without the loss of life. They went down in flames. Between them they managed to contribute 23 runs to the cause. It was left to Soppitt, once again, to mix aggressive shot making and aggressive running, to build us a defensible total. His 34 runs were invaluable. Doc swung baseball style at a couple to entertain us late on (loud Mooooooos were heard from the sidelines) and we took tea having declared on a useful (if slightly worrying) 191 from 50 overs.
And so to tea. Lloyd Grossman, that excitable foodie, would have struggled to find something to extend his vowels and consonants about. Welllllllllllllllll. Whooooooooooo’s in the kidchin todaaaayyy? There were no truly exciting ingredients. Lloyd gets excited by unusual ingredients. Ohhh. Kohlraaaaaaaabi. Mmmmmmm yesssss gooooooooooseberry. Fresh mushrooooooooooooms. Nope, there was nothing like this. Oh for a DBW tea. And it’s not often you see me write THAT! 6. No more, no less. 6. A D at A level. A pass, but not something you are going to rush home and tell your Mum and Dad about.
Guidlford were to be allowed 45 overs to overhaul us. And the way they set about the target it looked as if they intended to do it in 35 and get off home to watch some light entertainment on the box. My oh my did they play and miss to begin with. Goodness gracious did they try to leather the ball through mid off and miss. Crikey O’Reilly did they hit the ball hard when they connected. They put on lots for the first wicket. 70-ish. When four balls were bowled they despatched them. They could have charged postage and we wouldn’t have blinked. It was good batting. Clark grassed the only chance standing up to Krusty – a thickish edge that didn’t stick and looped to the floor. For a while it looked expensive.
While John Hill and Krusty bowled well, they will not come up against batting of this calibre every week. They will get away with more than they did another day. Ditto MS – who took the first wicket – the first of four great catches pouched by The Wick. Driving uppishly the very good Mohammed hit one towards Soppitt who managed to dive forwards and scoop one up inches from the turf at mid off before hanging on to it and doing a number of forward rolls. Genius and just the breakthrough we needed. Iqbal then smashed MS out of the attack – two huge consecutive sixes disappearing in the arc between long on and the stumps. He looked set to score big and take the game away from us.
With GCCC’s excitable wicket keeper at the other end things looked grim. GCCC passed 100 with only one wicket down. But the team hung in and an outrageous scuttler turned the tide to the Wick. Ewen, who had begun to get inside the head of both bats pitched one on a good length which pea-rolled. If it hadn’t crept through to bowl the bat, it would have been difficult to refuse as an LBW (note: none were given on Saturday despite some double and treble appealing by their keeper). The pitch helped us out – they must have been cursing the Council for putting them up on this rubbish.
All of a sudden things didn’t look quite so clever for GCCC. There was a sniff of fear about them. Early on, when the ball was disappearing to the boundary, there was some VERY cocky spectating going on. You would have thought they were 200-2 rather than 100-1. But now? Silence. Eerie. A very nervy looking No 4 came to the wicket. Scratched around and hoisted one of Ewen’s dobbers over Del’s shoulder. He pouched a second, excellent, catch. Quack. Mahmood, who had, as they say, given it the Barry McGuigan when we batted proceeded to let his team down by missing a straight one from Doc. Quack. Doc bowled excellently all day to return figures of 9-4-24-1. Control. Aggression. Subtle away swing. Really good.
The ‘keeper seemed to be Guildford’s last hope as panic set in. We mentioned this to him. Dick mentioned to him that his crossbatted style was unsuitable for the conditions. He ignored us (although clearly riled) and crossbatted a number of fours and a six. He seemed very pleased with himself. Right up until he slap / pulled the excellent Soppitt at shoulder height two yards to John Hill’s left. Hilly threw himself at the ball and held on to a quite stunning effort to remove him. And with his dismissal went all GCCC’s swagger and self belief. Rehman smacked one back at Dick who clung on to a one handed c&b. The skipper missed one from Del. Hussain was caught by Dom at full stretch over his head (goodness there was some fine catching) from another fine Del- ivery (see what I did there?). Aktar – not looking particularly proficient with the bat – called through his sluggish batting partner for a sharp single to Sayce. Saycey was having none of it and ran him out by so far that he wasn’t in the frame. Quack. A young player who hadn’t taken much part in the game then received the ball of the day from Lown who moved one away off the pitch to knock over the off stump. Quack. We had taken 9 wickets for approximately 40.
What a win! What a great game of cricket! To be so far behind the game and come back so emphatically. To stick at it and hang in there in the field when your cricketing brain said GCCC had it in the bag. Another win batting first. There cannot be enough superlatives to describe Del’s performance. 34 valuable runs to boost a meagre total. 4-1-7-3 with the ball. Two catches that turned the game around. He deservedly walks away with MOM. No TFC for this game as everyone turned up, everyone contributed something, everyone was part of a truly excellent team performance. Well done boys – it was an important one with others near the top of the table all winning. Let’s keep this level of performance going through June…
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