Archive for September, 2008

P-P-Put Down By Penguins

Tuesday, September 23rd, 2008

It augured well: A rare sunny September morning; the Beamers, having been thwarted by capricious weather for most of this season, raring to go on their home turf; a Welsh visiting team who were reported to have had three nights on the lash; Captain Rob Nicholls winning the toss and capitalising on the bound-to-be-frail Welsh by putting them in to face the renowned pairing of Musso and Renshaw.

What followed were the longest 2 and a ½ hours of this scribe’s life. Early forays were promising, the Pwllheli Penguins pinned down by bowling straight and true. Then! Tragedy struck on Renshaw’s run-in; reduced to a canter, it was immediately apparent that a muscle was strained or torn, and his action consequently reduced to Dob. The Beamers’ mood slumped, and fell further when Jim Kerr – having spent the years since his last appearance for the Beamers plying his skills in cricketing backwaters like Australia – showed that time had indeed dulled his razor-sharp fielding skills, as he let a crawler go through for four.

Some clever bowling by Musso claimed the first wicket, but the going was hard, and against a talented Welsh strikeforce the Beamers were leeking (sorry, couldn’t resist…) too many unnecessary runs. Young Ben Rigby, taking Kerr’s lead, let a few through his normally-reliable fingers, Johnners at wicket-keeper let a few through his normally-reliable legs, and as time passed and the eyes repeatedly followed the ball towards the boundary, a figure was spotted; yes, the Dobmeister himself was observing the action, his tightly-folded arms indicating his displeasure, his scowl directed at the selectors…

Wickets fell oh-so-slowly – Gordon Young sporadically worked his magic by turning them this way and that – and the runs game quickly, and spectacularly; one six hit off Kerr is still travelling back down the M4. However, Kerr’s revenge came immediately with a contender for ball of the day – a beautiful Yorker – and his consistent probing line and length was an inspiration, some light amidst the gloom.
It was now apparent that the Welsh were not content to have spent three days drinking, and were opening the cans with zeal, whilst further undermining Beamers’ confidence by batsman-umpire chatting in their vowel-free language then laughing; the joke was on us, but we couldn’t understand the punchline. To cap it all, they appeared to be amusing themselves by directing their fours towards little girls cycling around the ground, like shooting fairground ducks.

Just before 4 o’clock, Mussett returned to the attack and used his well-honed craft to scupper another boyo; however a total of 210 certainly spoiled the otherwise faultless spread supplied by Pret-a-Rigby. My favourite was the chicken and chutney, a solid-yet-spicy combination surrounded by a hint of salad and a moist brown bread.

The Welsh continued their psychological warfare, with more cans opened and one of their number taking to the field wearing a comedy hat. No matter! Rigby and Pete Bailey were opening, so Maf at No.3 could put his feet up. Alas, the ball had started to move – a trait hardly seen since 1.45pm – and a beauty took Bailey out. Maf, for the 2nd week running, demonstrated his ability to stay at the crease and grind out a draw by swinging at a wrong’un and quickly returning to the bosom of his ecstatic teammates. Around this time the Captain remembered to tell some Beamers that he’d agreed with the Penguins that they could play 12 fielders, a charitable act akin to the taxpayer bailing out hedge fund managers.

Some also questioned Captain Nicholl’s selection of yours truly at No.4, including yours truly, and a few nervous prods gave substance to the worries; a slow but solid 13 covered a mishit by Rigby to mid off, a plum LBW for Nicholls, and a lively 14 from Ali that ended with a poorly-chosen lifter off a bit of Welsh Dob. The ‘higher order’ were gone.

Gordy followed soon after, LBW courtesy of a lifted finger from Maf that the Welsh hardly appealed for. Siddo turned up with children to urge the Beamers on, and was soon joined by the injured but otherwise physically perfect God Rigby, plaintively crying ‘What’s going on? WHAT’S GOING ON??!’ Beamers looked away, embarrassed, sheepish (could that count as another Welsh gag?).

By now one of the Penguins was visibly drunk, but against this flagrant breech of good sportsmanship and respect two Beamers nobly tried to make a contest of the day itself – a difficult task – and achieve the much less-contested accolade of Beamer’s Man of the Match. Showing fortitude, patience, tenacity and a sound cricketing brain, Musso and Kerr showed the higher order how to do it, momentarily worrying the opposition into thinking that the game could be spun out to a wholly-undeserved draw.
It was not to be, Musso going down to a ball that hardly rose off the pitch, and a brave Renshaw’s now hardly-moving leg ensuring that his usually nimble in-crease footwork was AWOL. Small consolation was offered by a total of 99 – which would have won last week’s game – and the skipper’s observation that we have been walloped by a group of Welsh drunks could not be gainsaid. A long – if hardly full – season showed on the Beamer’s countenance and demeanour throughout the day, and it is left to those lucky enough to be selected for Twineham, Wineham and Dine’em to salvage some pride for the team.

P-P-Put Down By Penguins

Tuesday, September 23rd, 2008

It augured well: A rare sunny September morning; the Beamers, having been thwarted by capricious weather for most of this season, raring to go on their home turf; a Welsh visiting team who were reported to have had three nights on the lash; Captain Rob Nicholls winning the toss and capitalising on the bound-to-be-frail Welsh by putting them in to face the renowned pairing of Musso and Renshaw.

What followed were the longest 2 and a ½ hours of this scribe’s life. Early forays were promising, the Pwllheli Penguins pinned down by bowling straight and true. Then! Tragedy struck on Renshaw’s run-in; reduced to a canter, it was immediately apparent that a muscle was strained or torn, and his action consequently reduced to Dob. The Beamers’ mood slumped, and fell further when Jim Kerr – having spent the years since his last appearance for the Beamers plying his skills in cricketing backwaters like Australia – showed that time had indeed dulled his razor-sharp fielding skills, as he let a crawler go through for four.

Some clever bowling by Musso claimed the first wicket, but the going was hard, and against a talented Welsh strikeforce the Beamers were leeking (sorry, couldn’t resist…) too many unnecessary runs. Young Ben Rigby, taking Kerr’s lead, let a few through his normally-reliable fingers, Johnners at wicket-keeper let a few through his normally-reliable legs, and as time passed and the eyes repeatedly followed the ball towards the boundary, a figure was spotted; yes, the Dobmeister himself was observing the action, his tightly-folded arms indicating his displeasure, his scowl directed at the selectors…

Wickets fell oh-so-slowly – Gordon Young sporadically worked his magic by turning them this way and that – and the runs game quickly, and spectacularly; one six hit off Kerr is still travelling back down the M4. However, Kerr’s revenge came immediately with a contender for ball of the day – a beautiful Yorker – and his consistent probing line and length was an inspiration, some light amidst the gloom.
It was now apparent that the Welsh were not content to have spent three days drinking, and were opening the cans with zeal, whilst further undermining Beamers’ confidence by batsman-umpire chatting in their vowel-free language then laughing; the joke was on us, but we couldn’t understand the punchline. To cap it all, they appeared to be amusing themselves by directing their fours towards little girls cycling around the ground, like shooting fairground ducks.

Just before 4 o’clock, Mussett returned to the attack and used his well-honed craft to scupper another boyo; however a total of 210 certainly spoiled the otherwise faultless spread supplied by Pret-a-Rigby. My favourite was the chicken and chutney, a solid-yet-spicy combination surrounded by a hint of salad and a moist brown bread.

The Welsh continued their psychological warfare, with more cans opened and one of their number taking to the field wearing a comedy hat. No matter! Rigby and Pete Bailey were opening, so Maf at No.3 could put his feet up. Alas, the ball had started to move – a trait hardly seen since 1.45pm – and a beauty took Bailey out. Maf, for the 2nd week running, demonstrated his ability to stay at the crease and grind out a draw by swinging at a wrong’un and quickly returning to the bosom of his ecstatic teammates. Around this time the Captain remembered to tell some Beamers that he’d agreed with the Penguins that they could play 12 fielders, a charitable act akin to the taxpayer bailing out hedge fund managers.

Some also questioned Captain Nicholl’s selection of yours truly at No.4, including yours truly, and a few nervous prods gave substance to the worries; a slow but solid 13 covered a mishit by Rigby to mid off, a plum LBW for Nicholls, and a lively 14 from Ali that ended with a poorly-chosen lifter off a bit of Welsh Dob. The ‘higher order’ were gone.

Gordy followed soon after, LBW courtesy of a lifted finger from Maf that the Welsh hardly appealed for. Siddo turned up with children to urge the Beamers on, and was soon joined by the injured but otherwise physically perfect God Rigby, plaintively crying ‘What’s going on? WHAT’S GOING ON??!’ Beamers looked away, embarrassed, sheepish (could that count as another Welsh gag?).

By now one of the Penguins was visibly drunk, but against this flagrant breech of good sportsmanship and respect two Beamers nobly tried to make a contest of the day itself – a difficult task – and achieve the much less-contested accolade of Beamer’s Man of the Match. Showing fortitude, patience, tenacity and a sound cricketing brain, Musso and Kerr showed the higher order how to do it, momentarily worrying the opposition into thinking that the game could be spun out to a wholly-undeserved draw.
It was not to be, Musso going down to a ball that hardly rose off the pitch, and a brave Renshaw’s now hardly-moving leg ensuring that his usually nimble in-crease footwork was AWOL. Small consolation was offered by a total of 99 – which would have won last week’s game – and the skipper’s observation that we have been walloped by a group of Welsh drunks could not be gainsaid. A long – if hardly full – season showed on the Beamer’s countenance and demeanour throughout the day, and it is left to those lucky enough to be selected for Twineham, Wineham and Dine’em to salvage some pride for the team.

"It’s in the bag" – Watersfield 14th September

Sunday, September 14th, 2008

I’ve tried to write a witty, uplifting match report that somehow captured the tension and excitement this match produced but failed. In the end Musso’s succinct message couldn’t be bettered:

Watersfield Nightmare!

Its amazing how having to score 17 runs can suddenly seem like having to score 170 to win the game.

Oh the humanity!
Oh the humanity!

Siddo can be excused ( i suppose ) for being dismissed by what was said to be the best ball of the day. It was quite good i suppose, slipping between dimensions as it did on its way down the wicket and re-emerging from a wormhole to dip, turn and lift through a 5cm ‘Gate’ into middle stump.
Steven Hawkings has been informed of the event and was lost for words……

I hold myself in contempt for feeling completely comfortable and then chipping a leg side delivery into the hands of Watersfields best fielder.

Maf, you just need to listen to me. Unfortunately the ‘take the lid off’ approach that had been planned when we got past 50 with no wickets down probably didn’t help.

Esso was conscious of having to score at least 8 off every delivery when only 0.03 of a run was actualy required.

Smith decided that rather than kicking the ball away he would let it roll gently onto his back foot which was planted firmly in front of middle stump.

John Riches will have to go down in the book as ‘did not bat’.

Anyone not mentioned above, however, did a good job.

Beamers lose by one run

“It’s in the bag” – Watersfield 14th September

Sunday, September 14th, 2008

I’ve tried to write a witty, uplifting match report that somehow captured the tension and excitement this match produced but failed. In the end Musso’s succinct message couldn’t be bettered:

Watersfield Nightmare!

Its amazing how having to score 17 runs can suddenly seem like having to score 170 to win the game.

Oh the humanity!
Oh the humanity!

Siddo can be excused ( i suppose ) for being dismissed by what was said to be the best ball of the day. It was quite good i suppose, slipping between dimensions as it did on its way down the wicket and re-emerging from a wormhole to dip, turn and lift through a 5cm ‘Gate’ into middle stump.
Steven Hawkings has been informed of the event and was lost for words……

I hold myself in contempt for feeling completely comfortable and then chipping a leg side delivery into the hands of Watersfields best fielder.

Maf, you just need to listen to me. Unfortunately the ‘take the lid off’ approach that had been planned when we got past 50 with no wickets down probably didn’t help.

Esso was conscious of having to score at least 8 off every delivery when only 0.03 of a run was actualy required.

Smith decided that rather than kicking the ball away he would let it roll gently onto his back foot which was planted firmly in front of middle stump.

John Riches will have to go down in the book as ‘did not bat’.

Anyone not mentioned above, however, did a good job.

Beamers lose by one run