Winning the toss has never seemed more important than in these days of endless, relentless heat – winning the toss means you can choose to bat and (mostly) watch from the shade of the pavilion until the sun has at least started to decline, even if the temperature hasn’t dropped much. On the Sunday we welcomed Chilmark it had been almost two months since it last rained in Hampshire, and the only patches of green on the pitch belonged to the astro-turf (which doesn’t count) and a little area around the place where they plug in the sprinkler(which maybe doesn’t count either). The rest of the pitch was one tinder-dry sea of yellow-brown grass that almost seemed to turn to dust at a touch.
Chilmark are a strong bowling side, and they had some help from the wicket. They made short work of our openers, Bardy and Flipper, and even OC, Benno and the Skipper, coming in at three, four and five, did not last as long as they deserved. OC (16) was driving strongly, before unluckily skying one. Benno (17) was tucking them away on both on and off side with his usual soft-handed skill before being given out LBWto one that he was sure was going down leg. Skip (6) was starting to build a solid partnership with Benno before unluckily chopping one on from outside off. There was bad luck for Jolly, too, who spanked one with characteristic nonchalance (one of the watching Racqueteers was heard to say that he seemed to be batting with his 9 iron) and began to scamper down the wicket – only to be run out by a remarkable direct hit at long range, from mid-on. Chilmark’s fielding was as good as their bowling.
It was Tom Talks (31) and the President (23) who steadied the ship. Ted played not only his typically ebullient power-hits but also some textbook forward defensives – before being caught. The President was settling in for what looked like his innings of the season, driving beautifully into the gaps, but time was against him, and he was run out seeking invaluable runs in the last over alongside G (6).
As a team total, 135 did not feel like enough, especially when the ball was skipping over that hard-baked turf to the boundary – or at least it was on the rare occasions that we were given a loose delivery to hit. In response, Chilmark sent their tail out first. It almost looked like it might have been a miscalculation after we claimed the first three wickets for 11 runs, and the fourth when they had 40 on the board. The President took one early wicket, caught and bowled, and G took another – pouncing on a wandering batsman for a skilful stumping. (And a stylish one; G sported an elegantly tied neckerchief throughout the match.)
In all, Farmer Chris (3 for 37), the President (2 for 12) and Head of Trout (0 for 24) all bowled their unnervingly accurate slow-medium to good effect. When Chilmark’s stronger batters started to come in, Tom Talks (0 for 15) and the Skipper (2 for 8), took up the reins – and bowled with such intent that we began to have real hope. The Skipper took two excellent wickets (one tempted into a catchable shot, the other clean bowled), and Tom Talks fired in some superb out-swinging balls short of a length that allowed us to place two expectant (if ultimately disappointed) slips.
In truth, though, 135 was just too hard to defend, despite some excellent fielding. Jules and Flipper especially were indefatigable, and Benno was bravery itself – after one ball was thumped into his hand, uncatchably hard, he flung himself at the very next shot and somehow held onto it despite dislocating his finger and drawing blood into the bargain. (The Skipper’s Claire, mercifully, was on hand to pop it back in with decisive kindness. Or maybe that should be kindly decisiveness – either way, it was quickly, skilfully done. Claire also deserves special mention for her hard work on serving and clearing up the teas – which were beautifully prepared by our other Clare, she who might perhaps best be known as Headmistress of Trout.)
In the end, Chilmark cruised past our total with time and batsmen to spare. (Not such a lot of time, though, and not such a lot of batsmen either – we took seven wickets.) If it was a loss, it was an extremely enjoyable one against worthy and notably friendly opponents. This being Sunday cricket, there were some rather Sunday moments. In Chilmark’s innings, the match ball, having failed to maintain that roundness that, in balls, is generally held to be a virtue, had to be changed – and then changed again when the replacement proved no more spherical than the original. Play also had to be halted while a local artist sauntered across the on side, paintboxes in each hand, blithely unconcerned by the fact that 15 people had to stand and watch his sedate progress while waiting to recommence their temporarily halted game of cricket.
It was generally agreed, however, that the champagne moment of the match (or I should say the champagne moments, because the action was often repeated) was when the noble head of Head of Trout disappeared into the giant hedge by the tennis court like an eager retriever, leaving his noble nether end waggling towards the rest of us. In the pub, afterwards, the Skipper said he would not quickly forget the sight of those fiery orange trainers emerging from the thicket, nor Trouty’s muffled but excited shouts of ‘Nearly got it! Nearly got it!’
Sometimes even your losses feel somehow sunny. This game was definitely one of those.
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