Fonthill Park CC vs Cricketers Club of London

(Credit: Pete Langman)

After a dressing down from matron following the team ignominious capitulation at Blenheim Park, the Cricketers beat a weary path to the glorious, if rather precipitous, ground at Fonthill, deep in the heart of the westy bit of the island. It was here, but some years before, when the game had been tied on the final ball – this year’s match was not quite as thrilling, but it came close ... awfully close.
After winning the toss and deciding to have a bat (a decision which seems so automatic in these globally-warmed times, when one rather expects herds of wildebeest sweeping majestically across the outfield than see a jersey contentedly chewing the cud in ‘that’ part, as to render the toss being for who bats first), the rather beautifully motley crew that are the team discovered a rather fine rosé on offer in the equally finely appointed pavilion. One of the particularly special aspects of this club is the learning opportunities it presents. In this case, it was that this particular expression of the vintner’s art was bein sold at rather less than list price. It’s a proper pavilion that treats a team so. Sadly, it did mean that several players drank more bottles of wine than they scored runs, but details, details.
Anyway, I digress. It was hot. Alex and Neal took to the crease, with Alex soon beaten by the lack of bounce, and hearing the the rattle of the bails behind him as the ball did its worst. 5 for 1. Enter the Smudge, fresh from inter-railing and still feeling the cool hand of a misspent youth on his shoulder. Someone ought to have warned him. perhaps they did. If so, it was to no avail as the ball once again refused the invitation accorded it to behave in a regular fashion according to the principles of classical physics, and instead took the quantum route, taking advantage of some wormhole or other to hit the bat at a point of temporal exactitude that was not exactly expected. Rather than speeding to the boundary as it ought, it simply flooped up skywards and softly flumped into the hands of (mid off?). Oops. 11 for 2. Just as it looked as though the Cricketers had returned to Blenheim in some sort of performative groundhog day, James and Neal took hold of the tiller and steadied the ship, taking advantage of the fast outfield and the gentle slope to give the Fonthill fielders the runaround. But the quantum world was soon back in play, as the ball decided to do the splits and, once more eschewing the opportunity to bounce, bypassed the bat to hit the stumps in the form of both waveform and particle. James out for 13. Cricketers 37 for 3. Still. Better than Blenheim, right? Did I say 37 for 3? Make that 4 as Mark Rhodes fell, LBW, to the very next ball. Even though this was only a 35 over match, things were not looking entirely promising. A good time for Pat to come to the crease. Neal and Pat set about restoring some pride to the Cricketers, and while never entirely set (on a quantum wicket, of course, one never is), they gamely took the score to the verge of three figures before Neal also heard the reunion of wood and earth as the bails fell, their supports torn away by the leather orb of doom. 99 for 5. Malick proved a creditable replacement, as he and Pat took the score to 135 before Pat was finally undone, and he, too, fell victim to the unbouncing ball – his 63 comfortably innings du jour. Good job Barnes Wallis never played on this wicket. At 135 for 6, things didn’t look too bad. A sturdy platform made and eight or so overs left, all it needed was some sensible batting, and ... ah ... I see. Did I mention the lack of bounce? 135 for 6 became 135 for 7 as Malick was castled for 11. Bruce at least managed to get caught and not bowled, but still, 135 for 8 and the ship was floundering. Pete managed to stay in for more than two balls before he, too, was bowled for 3. 141 for 9. Ben didn’t have much of a chance to influence proceedings as John Thorne was bowled for 0. Seven batsmen were bowled, and three failed otherwise to trouble the scorer. It may have been better than Blenheim, but 141 didn’t look like a defendable target. But then again, we didn’t think we’d ever be all out for 34, right?
After a fine tea (with a quite spectacular victoria sponge. Kudos) and several more bottles of rosé, the Cricketers took to the field. All we needed was to keep the batsman dry and whittle away at the wickets. Malick and Bruce opened the attack and, well, perhaps things didn’t go entirely to plan – with one ball of the third over to go, Fonthill had already monstered 24 runs. Then the thinnest of edges did for Spicer who had hit four scoring shots for his 16. By the time Malik took his second wicket, Smith LBW for 5, Fonthill were on 39, and well ahead of the required rate. Pat’s off-spin soon brought the scoring rate under control, however, and with Malik’s third, some sort of miracle appeared in the offing. Then Pat tempted the dangerous-looking web into a daft shot and caught the resulting top edge and it was 47 for 4. Game on. The wickets came steadily. Hobbs was bowled by Pat for 4 (actually, bowled truly doesn’t do justice to this wicket. Pat did ‘im up like a kipper), Bazen (D.) by Ben for 3. Though Fonthill were now 80 for 6, while Spicer (F.) remained at the crease, this topsy-turvy game favoured the home side. But when Ben did for him (for a creditable 37), the pendulum swung back in favour of the Cricketers. Another wicket. This time Bazen (A.) C&B Ben for 14. 114 for 8. When Alex had Catarinella caught by Rhodes, it was 121 for 9 and all to play for. Plenty of time but no room for any errors by the home side on a difficult wicket with the Cricketers resurgent once more. Three overs saw but 3 runs added and the pressure mounted. But pressure works both ways, and when the lid comes off, it tends to blow off. A led-side wide that hits the deck and shoots is all it took, and two overs later, with scores level, it was one run or one wicket. Back in 2019, it was I, the scribe and stumper, who scored the run that tied the game. Sadly, on this day my debt was called in, and the game was lost with a bye.
Still, it was a damn fine game. Down to the line. And by all accounts, the wine wasn’t bad, either.