West Meon in May is a wonderful thing. ‘The unresting castles’, as Philip Larkin put it – talking about the trees, you understand – ‘thresh / In fullgrown thickness’. They’re full of birds, too. Rooks cawing and scuffling, greenfinches wheezing, and chiffchaffs chiffing and chaffing away with near-maddening persistence. As the Racqueteers took to the field, a trio of red kites were riding the thermals overhead; later, a lone egret drifted by like a small ghost. (I am able to name these species with authority as our team has a resident birder. If OC didn’t stand for Outstanding Cricketer it could as well be Ornithologist-in-Chief.)
But to the game… West Meon won the toss and elected to field. Leo (0) had some early bad luck with a good delivery but Alex (65) and the Skipper (27) began to build a serious-looking partnership. The runs seemed to flow from Alex’s bat, and he reached his half-century in fewer than fifty balls. He was staunchly supported by the Skipper, whose innings was typically judicious – an adjective that could not be applied to the Bard (6), who broke his bat and then got himself stumped. Benno (22) began to build our score afresh, using his wrists beautifully before being run out. Thereafter, none of our batsmen quite managed to get themselves established. OC (8), the President (6) and Jolly (a pugnacious 14) were all caught, and it was left to Rupe (11) and Farmer Chris (4) to see us through to 3.30pm, and the end of our timed innings. On the final ball, Chris delighted the crowd with a well-struck reverse pull that shot to the boundary at backward point. Switch-hitting seems to be becoming a habit.
179 for 8 was perhaps 20 runs short of what we needed as a defensible target. Our performance in the field had to be good. And it was – except their opening batsmen were also good. Relentless in their punishing of the short ball, in fact. It did not help that we had to get some of them out twice. But we will come to Westmeongate in due course…
The President, opening the bowling was frankly Presidential (2 for 37 off 9 overs). He repeatedly served up the Caldwell Classic: straight, with no garnishes. It is a very effectivedelivery, as his figures show: a shade over four runs per over, with two maidens and no extras. At the other end, Leo (0 for 30, off six overs) was also economical. He did not get a wicket, this time, but he did acquire a nickname. As the chalk dust flew up from the dry turf like a puff of white smoke, he was duly elected His Holiness Pope Leo, henceforth to be known as The Pope.
Special mention must be made of our guest Ben, Bamborough’s finest, and his dive at square leg; a 20-year-old might have been proud of it. And of Alex, who kept wicket authoritatively, nimbly, and cannily. He spotted that their number three bat was taking guard outside his ground, and suggested a wider ball to the President. Their plan worked: stumped.
Our first-change bowlers were frustrated, however, by some strong batting. Rupert is known as The Wizard for his baffling ability to turn it both ways, with no apparent change in action. There was not enough turn in this wicket, alas, and West Meon’s batters knew how to take advantage of a slowishbounce that seems designed to set up a pull shot. Their towering number-four bat was looking well set when, as he cruised towards his half-century, he skied one to the President at deep square leg. The catch was superbly taken and the celebrations began.
…until a call came from West Meon’s scorer. The President had stepped over the boundary after taking the catch, she said. The umpires called the batsman back. Many would say this was a fair application of the correct rules. Others felt that Mike had the ball under control before he stepped aside, meaning it was already dead. Others wondered if this was somehow not entirely Sundayish in spirit. Either way, as the batsman returned to the crease and began towering again, hitting sixes with abandon, the Racqueteers experienced… feelings. Fortunately, at 70, he skied another one, this time to the Bard waiting at mid-off. Waiting a very long time at mid-off – or so it felt as the ball mounted to red-kite-height. The Bard was relieved to hold onto it, and only regretted not having had the presence of mind to walk sarcastically towards the boundary, ball in hand.
54 for 3 became 115 for 4, and the fifth wicket did not fall until West Meon had scored 157. Enter OC (1 for 14) and Benno (0 for 7). OC, snorting like a stallion catching wind of an on-heat mare in an adjacent field, made his deliveries buck and rear, and was unlucky not to strike more often. Benno found just the right line and length, as his bowling economy of 2.33 shows. As the sun westered towards the 6.30pm shutoff time, we almost contained them, with the help of one of the Racqueteers’ sharpest performances in the field. West Meon reached their target, though, with five wickets and perhaps six or seven overs in hand.
Oh well. There is always next year. As Larkin continued, ‘Last year is dead, they seem to say / Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.’
The Racqueteers Cricket Club 