(Credit: Pete Langman)

On a day hotter than Beelzebub’s jockstrap the Cricketers trickled into the idiosyncratic but beautifully situated Fontwell Park knowing full well that today’s game could not possibly be closer than last year’s thrilling fixture. With their kitbags herded into a specially designed enclosure, they swathed themselves in suncream and took on board heroic quantities of appropriately formulated hydrating fluids and waited, bated breaths forming little thunderheads of their own as they awaited news of the toss. There was, it appears, no possibility of batting first that day, and so to the field they took, wondering whether it was only the Englishmen out in the field, as the mad dogs were conspicuous in their absence.
The Fontwell opening pair were from opposing ends of the spectrum, with Spicer a young, buccaneering blond; his partner Roberts careworn, cautious and greying. The pitch was dry, the outfield fast and, in certain areas, almost vertiginous in aspect, and the ball appeared as keen to find a resting place in the dappled shade of the surrounding vegetation as the players themselves. Runs, as they say, flowed like wine at Stuart Royal entertainment. But not all runs are equal. Where Spicer’s came from the very meat of his bat – when he could penetrate an infield patrolled by the watchful eyes and sharp hands of Salaskar and Shah – Roberts was more abstemious with his willow, teasing the field with edges in-between the slips and down to third man. It was no surprise when Shiv castled him with a wicked ball in the second over. But Fontwell were already running at 6 an over. The introduction of King and Stevens into the attack stemmed the flow a little, but Spicer was joined by Holly White, who looked worryingly capable until she fell to a deceptive slower ball from Stevens. It is a feature of the Fontwell wicket that, while to call it a flat deck would be to invite opprobrium from all but the most myopic – the wicket climbs to a peak in the middle before falling away once again – a full-toss dips wickedly as it approaches the stumps as if drawn to the earth by a magnet. And so White was yorked.
The Cricketers rejoiced – after all, they were practically into Fontwell’s tail. And so, despite some heroic fielding, Things Got Out Of Hand. Let’s not undersell this. In this heat, and in an atmosphere so humid and airless all but the ball moved as if through treacle (and not the vapid golden syrup kind, more the thick, black backstrap molasses that has no business being anything but not-quite-yet-rum), fielding was a trial. Batting, however, appeared to have taken all the breezes, as Spicer and Andrews gave the scorers cause to complain. It is true that as his innings began Andrews looked for all the world as if he was just looking for a way in which to shovel the ball into the greedy hands of Shah at midwicket, but things didn’t quite fall out that way, and by the time Spicer decided that, on 44, now was the time for an ugly, flat-footed hoick to cow, the score was 75. Hang on. 75? Of which Spicer had hit 44?
After the spectacular act of self-destruction that did for Spicer, Andrews slowly got into his stride, and while wickets fell about him, he quietly worked his way up to fifty, as was announced by the ringing of the pavilion bell. The Fontwell innings, which had at one point been looking quite daunting, fell apart as Kudmany took two wickets in an over – 153 for 5 with 7 overs remaining looked rather more imposing than 154 for 7 with 6 to go. A few final lusty blows and Tozer closed Fontwell’s account with two wickets in the final over, one of which, as tradition dictated, was played on. Still 181 was not a bad total, not at all.
And so the ragged band of Cricketers sought to rehydrate before chasing down the Fontwell score.
The Fontwell attack was organised and disciplined, and their fielding, as Salaskar discovered after falling to a very fine catch from Haines at square-leg, was sharp. Shah was next in, and looked in fine touch before falling LBW to Caterinella, a decision he perhaps felt was somewhat harsh considering the length of time he held the pose, front foot as far down the wicket as it could be without being unscrewed and hurled at the bowler. Smudger soon followed, caught on the crease by the same bowler. He was even less happy with the decision (though, to be fair, it did mean he could return to his ringside bottle of rosé). The Cricketers were up with the run rate, but as we know, cricket is a fickle mistress, and it only takes a couple of special balls for everything to change. Chowdhury had long passed the bell-ringing stage and appeared in total control when he edged to the ‘keeper, bringing King into the fray. At 104 for 4 off 17 things ought to have been simple, and while King and Funge were at the crease, so it appeared. Then he fell to a stunning catch by Townsend off his own bowling and with 40 needed off the final six overs Fontwell were clawing themselves back into the game. One more wicket and things would begin to look rather different. But there was still time for the bell to ring for King’s half-century, and he stepped up the power. 24 runs in two overs and the Cricketers reached the line with overs and wickets to spare.
If the game wasn’t quite as nail-biting as last year’s tie off the final ball, it was a fine, keenly-contested match which left all and sundry wondering how they’d managed to stay on their feet for so long, and inestimably glad that they had.