The Highway Hurricanes
— vs Sully Spartans

The Spartans batted first on a lovely warm late summer afternoon at their picturesque Sully ground, which was looking truly idyllic with the sunshine reflecting off the waters of the Bristol Channel. Yes, when God invented cricket this was surely how he intended it to be played – though mindful of the dodgy forecast for later on it was thought wise to restrict the game to 30 overs.

On a good batting track the Spartans were largely untroubled by the Canes’ bowling attack and progressed fairly serenely to (I think) 176 for 6 – with Mr Morgan top scoring with 50 odd. A few days have now passed since the match and I’m afraid I can’t recall any incidents of note – apart from some idiot shying at the stumps and conceding 4 overthrows (though I can’t remember who it was) and Jaffa somehow failing to run out a batsman out near the end. Yes, that was about as exciting as it got I’m afraid – all very genteel. We’re just not used to these slower-paced longer games.

The Spartans seem to have been recruiting heavily from the IPL – and having seen their half dozen or so fit and athletic looking young Indian players warming up in the nets I expected that their bowling might prove to be a bit ‘lively’. I wasn’t wrong (I lasted precisely 2 balls). Nathan flattered to deceive but Dave was looking in fine form before steering a cut straight to a fielder, Sully and new recruit Martin soon perished, and Jim looked to have struck a straight 6 but fell to an excellent catch on the boundary. They were soon joined back in the pavilion by Captain Fantastic and also, after a flurry of big hits, by Mr Campbell. It was all going wrong. The Canes were in deep trouble with 8 wickets down and still a long long way short of the target – but with Jaffa and Lewis in the middle there was still hope.

By this time something very unusual indeed had happened – the weather forecasters had been proved spot on. The earlier sunshine had now disappeared, the wind had picked up, the rain had started, and the temperature had plunged by at least 20 degrees. However, Jaffa and Lewis seemed to relishing the conditions and put together an excellent stand – with Jaff in particular looking to be in majestic form.

The weather got worse. The rain was now lashing down, the wind was now blowing a gale – and it was b****y freezing. I tried suggesting to Mr Morgan that maybe we should be sensible and just call things off – but with the scent of victory in his nostrils he was having none of it.

Myself and Clive were umpiring and it wasn’t much fun I can tell you. I can’t speak for Clive but personally I was soaked through, my hands, nose, and no doubt various other extremities had turned blue, and I was imminent danger of developing pneumonia and hypothermia. It’s not really what you need at my time of life, but I consoled myself with the thought that my shivering and shaking was so violent that it must be clearly visible to my younger team-mates who were sheltering nice and dry in the pavilion – and that it was only a matter of time before one them would offer to relieve me from my suffering (all for one and all that remember?).

Well my friends, I’m sorry to have to say this, because I know how shocked and appalled you’ll be to hear it – but I’ve always believed that a match reporter’s main responsibility is to provide an accurate and factual account of proceedings, and I regret to have to inform you that ……………….. no such relief was forthcoming. I’ll say no more on the matter and leave you to reflect on what that says about the state of modern Britain – and the Hurricanes team ethic in particular.

On a more positive note Jaff and Lewis were going from strength to strength (or maybe they just trying to keep warm – or get it all over with as soon as possible), and with the Indians seeming to be enjoying it about as much as I was, and the standard of their fielding deteriorating sharply as they shivered with hands in pockets (to Mr Morgan’s fury), an unlikely victory seemed to be on the cards – until Lewis was bowled with about 15 runs still needed.

This obliged the no. 11 batsman to emerge reluctantly from the sanctuary of the pavilion where he’d been cowering from the elements – but with Jaff in prime form, and with the bowlers struggling to even grip the sodden ball, all he had to do was stay there while Jaffa knocked off the runs. But no – after running a single he turned back for a second that was never there, but after Jaff rightly sent him back he failed to gain any traction on the greasy pitch, failed to make his ground and was run out –leaving Jaffa just short of his 50 in what would have surely been the finest innings of his career. Cue hysterical celebrations from the Indians (or maybe they were just trying to get some circulation back).

You’ll notice that I haven’t named the kebab-munching moron concerned – er, I mean the unfortunate batsman in question. This is line with the policy that I mentioned at the start which rules out allocating individual blame, and I wouldn’t want him to be getting hate mail from enraged fans, or coming home to find his house burnt down. It could have happened to anyone that’s the point – and anyway I’m sure it nothing to do with him just wanting to get out of the cold and rain at any cost?

Man of the Match – Jaffa