Worth more than two birds

Last week marked the final week in the generic (although definitely a step up from the Burgmann Colleges of this world) accommodation at the University's temporary summer honeymoon getaway residence. I had the pleasure of a twin room, and Di arrived only after I moved out. That meant that I was able to sleep in one of the beds and make forts, on a miniature scale to Fort Whoop-Up

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fort_Whoop-Up

complete with a whisky store, at which I was the major customer, and a saloon in which I put my spurs up on the nearest stool and told the barkeep of the trouble brewin' down in Medicine Hat. Anyway, we are now in our new place, which has more character than an Agatha Christie novel.

I bought a bed, although that was after much umming and ahhing in the Lethbridge IKEA equivalent, known by the partially unpronounceable name 'JYSK'. I had gone a good portion of my life without knowing what a 'box spring was' - apparently it is the poor man's bed frame. So I bought a bed frame, and a matress - with a future cricket captain on the way there was no need to skimp on the matress... and, in a deer-in-the-headlights daze, I asked the attendant what the story was re the box spring. She said that it was not essential... but 'added some height'. BANG! Height adding is what I'm all about, so I had no hesitation in buying it. She was a little puzzled at my trio of purchases, but was good enough to sell them to me nonetheless.

I pieced together the bed, whence the title for this post. There was a classic set of 'non-language-specific' instructions, which brought all of us together as citizens of the world. This was the first page.

Note, not just the prison-cell depiction of the placing of one's bed, but that one bird had been crossed out, leaving two. I figured that, in the bed composition department (if nothing else) I was as good, if not better than two birds, particularly ones whose heads and legs were not attached, which must lead to very compromising times in the allen-key rotational stakes, that is, if they can get the time off from moonlighting as toilet posers. Oh yes, and there is a hammer there. I had no hammer. I did, however, have the recent purchase of two 1kg cans of tomatoes to 'watch my back'. These helped in the hammering, with some judicious rotations to avoid the expectoration of tomato juice over the bed frame.

(Recently, I thought it a wise move to reaquaint myself with one of my childhood heroes, Sherlock Holmes. I tell you now, the second time round is a bit of a let down. Perhaps people were more easily fooled in the 1890s, or in their pre-teen book reading days, when the only other serious competitor was R.L.Stine, of the 60 chapters, each two pages, gambit. The climactic ending of one of the novellas hinged on Holmes' constructing a dummy which 'looked just like him', and thereby delaying the miscreants sufficiently long to gleam his incriminating information. Oh yes, and there is lots of air-time to the word 'ejaculated', in the classical sense meaning 'thrown out'. Thus, Watson will, periodically, interject ('throw between', sure) with 'But surely Holmes, you cannot be serious?!' with the customary third-person two-step of ', I ejaculated'. That seems to have lost its way in the modern world. It would be a brave man who brought that one back. I'm trying to bring back flat caps to Canada,


but the reintroducing of 'ejactulated' into family-friendly conversational currency, is out of my league.)

Anyway, the final product of the bed was an Everestian behemouth.


I had to perform a little run-up and primary-school-high-jump-scissors-kick to even gain access to this Procrustean bed, but, fortunately, my feet didn't ram up agains the footboard. On her first night in the house, I had to provide Di with the two-step step-ladder (and some tanks of oxygen) to aid her ascent.

I'm not sure whether the inimitable JYSKians are keen on their refunds, but this is an exercise for the forthcoming week.

A new city, a new blog

With the move across the Atlantic, it seems only fitting to nab a little more of the internet's real estate. There are still cricket tales to be put in here, perhaps once Australia returns from England and before November the 25th.

In the meatime, catch up with all the latest from the land which played in the very first international cricket match, at

www.timinlethbridge.blogspot.com

Canada

Well there is certainly more to come re the cricket reports. Worms, Manhattans pictures of Burt Reynolds, you name it. But, that will have to wait until this evening. First is the announcement that, rather than construct a site called
www.timinlethbridge.blogspot.com

I have opted to add on the Canada travels to this account. Here is something I prepared at the airport hotel:

Before leaving Heathrow I bought some ‘noise cancelling earphones’, which somehow bend the laws of physics to their every whim. There is also some room for battery insertion, presumeably if I want to cancel more noise than I need and actually effect an X-men type silence over my fellow travellers. Unfortunately I had traded in the last of my pounds and was unable to play the role of Silencio.

I had the privilege of sitting near a female Sherlock Holmes of a flight attendant on the trip over. She would roam around, not unlike Clive Lloyd in the covers, and with narrow, Clint Eastwood-esque eyes, ask “Any rubbish?” I replied that I had none to which her eyes narrowed even further. Looking to my right she asked “Is that not rubbish?” Touche salesman. The blokes at immigration stapled in an A4 sheet into my passport. Now my passport wallet is as thick as a bankers (do we still hate bankers? What’s the story with that?) and may well be the cause of a mugging in Downtown Lethbridge. I hear that Canada is without the crime-centric AK Cities of this world, but forewarned is forearmed, literally.



Knackered, I nabbed my luggage and walked down to my hotel. Eleven dollars for internet in the room cannot compete with zero dollars down in the lobby: my flat cap and 7-euro jacket must have bought me some street-cred with the porters as they extended the ‘5 minute usage’ up to the full half hour. I thought it might be pushing the Commonwealth relations a little too far if I actually wrote and compiled this entry while there – indeed the searches for pictures of Micheal Keaton (see below) might have aroused suspicions. I caught up on Netherlands vs Slovakia on the TV before heading down for dinner. The menu was star studded with beef: apparently more than half of the beef consumed in Canada is supplied by Alberta. Bang. There were tenderloins, striploins (which sounds surely too raunchy for inclusion in a family restaurant), and plenty of other cuts getting around. I thought that I would save my first steak experience for a time when I was actually awake: I opted for the nachos, under the ‘lite bites’ menu. It was anything but the former. If I had pulled a Michael Keaton


I might have got through three-quarters of it. As it was I ordered a ‘glass’ of beer – I don’t think pints have made there way here, least not in the airport. I let the inhouse pool go through to the keeper, while also getting the Blues leave out on the in-room movies. For some reason I thought that watching Anthony Hopkins in the succinctly titled film “The Wolfman” would be a good way to pass a transatlantic flight. Error. Time to wait at the coffee shop to be whisked away to Lethbridge. Classic times. More soon.

A good day to score runs

And so it came to pass that Balliol took on the close rivals over the past few years: Keble. Entries

Sunday, May 25, 2008

First win of the season (Part 2/2)

and

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Career Best

for a prologue.

Keble batted first on a two-paced track and, after a slow start, powered their way to 185 for 9. This was the fourth year in which Simon Quinn opened for Keble, wearing his wide-brimmed Greg Chappell special, saw off the opening bowlers, and looked set for a big'un. But the potentiality was revoked with some Clive Lloyd esque fielding at cover by the Sourgen which showed that 5/4 of a stump is all you really need in order to take aim. Clarkey finished, as always, with parsimonious figures, and an important early wicket. Gav nabbed, four --- count them four --- maidens in his stint, which meant that, despite taking some tap towards the end when there was more swinging than in a 1970s Burt Reynolds movie


he finished with figures of 2-27 from his 8 overs. Vidhu bowled the classic off-spinner's game. Runs and wickets, lad --- runs and wickets. A couple of catches and a stumping at pretty good prices: 15 runs apiece. There is always the Jason Krejza figures of 8 for 215 on debut, which comes to just under 27 for each wicket --- and of course the world-beating figures of Bryce "You've done it again" McGain who netted 0 for 149 off his 18 overs. My desktop calculator imploded when trying to calculate the bargain prices with which his wickets were scalped.

The stumping was a comic affair. With the ball cantering in at the 40 mph mark, the batsman played every which way but loose. I waited like a man with 59 minutes to spare before catching his next bus, and pushed at it hard with the gloves, knocking it onto the stumps, breaking the bails. Out - sure, but it looked ugly, and there have been plenty of those not given. With the batsman still out of his ground, but turning to come back in, I gathered the ball and wrenched off stump out of the ground with my gloves (ball included) --- perfectly sound. I looked to the umpire with a bit of a sheepish on my face... but he gave it out on the first attempt 'for the poor shot, if nothing else' --- classic umpiring.

With half a dozen overs or so to go, Keble began to hit out, and it looked as though 200 might be on the cards. Roscoe came back into the attack and bowled with the fire of a sunbaked Western Cape to keep the onslaught to a minimum. Nine down for 185, which would take some chasing on a wicket with the vintage Jowett mixture of herbs and spices.

Alas, Keble pulled a Luddite movement on us and didn't have a bar of SJ's 21st century scoring system. The only stats are therefore from the Balliol innings, with the scorecard below,


along with the worm.


Ah yes! But before the report on our innings, the drama mid innings. There were one too many plonkers in the Keble side for my liking - during our innings I heard one say to one of our umpires "If the bowler's heel is on the line [popping crease] then it is not a no-ball." I'm not sure of the universe in which that is a Law, but there you go. The classic, bouncer over head height called No-ball (correctly) was disputed again. That old chestnut. But the best was the mid-innings fiasco when Captain Kohnny requested Jim to roll the pitch.

The Laws are perfectly clear that, in a match of one day, the captain batting second (and NOT the captain batting first) can request --- indeed, demand --- the pitch to be rolled for a maximum of 7 minutes between the innings. The only time the captain batting first can request that the pitch be rolled is if he has won the toss, decided to bat, there has been no play because of, say rain, and the pitch is a mess when they are about to start after the interruption. But one can't expect plonkers to know that, so some bright spark trooped out to the pitch at tea-time to give Jim a piece of his mind. Jim used a cunning mixture of actual deafness, noise of the roller, and ambivalence to dickheads to ignore any such protestations.

Anyway - to the innings.

Keble started with 'The Don' Gordon bowling fast and furious, which made for fun times. The Head edged one through to the keeper which brought me to the crease, for an ex-captain conference with Wino. Plenty of chat about the speed of the ball and the lack of a helmet, and all manner of other attempts at banter. The really short balls were not that effective as they slowed down markedly, but it was the balls on a length, which made one come forward, only to whiz the head out of the way at the 11th hour, which were the good'uns.

I survived a caught behind shout when the ball flicked the pad strap --- although how it didn't remove my off stump I'll never know. Wino was turning balls off his hip for runs while I took a fair share on the hip, but fortunately my natural padding came to the rescue. If Di had had her way and there were 'exercises' done every morning, then I think I'd still be carrying a Reader's logo on my left flank.

Digging in, SR Waugh style

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZnx5oBBMuI

we saw the openers off and finally managed a few shots. I doubt whether many of mine were controlled along the ground, but that is what Wino is for. We nabbed a 96 run stand, until a long-hop by the legspinner was pulled, but not quite high enough, and caught and midwicket - OGW departed with a cracking 51.

The Sourgen rolled out to join me at the crease and said 'you just keep doing whatever it is that you do'. I still wasn't sure what that was exactly, but I started to head after the spinners. Two classic memories: the first was pulling out the punt pole to hit one of the off-spinners through cow corner for four. A deep-midwicket and a long on go back. The keeper asks "Ought we to have a long-off" to which the reply is "No, he is not good enough to go inside-out." Well, with the fire of a thousand suns I was determined to make all those years of hitting Albert Alla

out of the nets come to fruition. I skipped down and, with room a plenty, hit him over cover for four. No verbal reply needed. The other came from their leg-spinning, roller-objecting firebrand who was bowling from the OUCCCCC end. I hit a full toss for four past long on, and the next ball, slightly shorter, pitched and rose sharply enough to hit the side of my head as I tried to take evasive action. A fun pitch, to be sure. We ran a couple of leg-byes. The next ball was fullish and I went for a sweep and mistimed it completely. The ball spun enough to pass harmlessly outside off to which the leggie said, huffing and puffing "How about some f'ing respect?!" What a trooper.

I broke the cardinal rule of running on a misfield to get run out, at probably the right time. Kohnny and Sourgen played the spinners mercilessly with some cracking sweeps and hoicks, adding 40 from 37 balls. When Gav departed for a blistering 34 from 32, SJ Thwaite and the skip cooled the heads right down to see the match done and dusted with a few resources still in the shed. There was a little madness in the 'we are running for everything' gambit, but we got there with 8 balls to spare.

-----------------

Oh, well, I suppose I'll include it here.

We went down in the semi-final of cuppers against Univ. Gutting. Here are the scorecards:

We thought we had made enough runs --- maybe some more between the last few wickets could have helped, but certainly enough to defend. The pitch was rolled (we thought of sending some text messages to Keble to get their thoughts) and it did play a little better for Univ batting second. But, as The Head says year in and year out, you never know what a good score is on college grounds until the end of the match. It turns out that 185 was a good 30 runs short of par.

Our batting highlights include Wino racking up another half-century with his solid 57, ably supported by Kohnny (36 from 57) and Thwaiters (29 from 31).

Bowling, well...


I dropped two catches from Gav's bowling: indeed this was Baskerville, twice. He went on to score 75 in quick time, so I was feeling Liliputian at best. Great spells from the opening fast bowlers, but we just couldn't nab enough early wickets. Below is the worm which shows the classic 'wickets in hand' trump card.

Well done to Univ --- last gasp for me at cuppers, but I'm sure that 2011, a World Cup year will inspire another Balliol appearance in the Parks.

Last Ball Thriller

Talk about close shaves, this one takes the epidermis along for a ride. The scene: Fortress Jowett. The foe: Worcester. The victory: Delicious.

I suppose the cat is out of the bag, but we managed a win by 1 wicket with a total of 0 balls remaining. Even Thwaiter's scoring database shuddered at the proximity between the worms in those final overs.

To set the scene though: Worcester, several time Cuppers champions and a team full of talent, has never defeated Balliol in my time here. Last year's game was rained off the and previous two times we played was after they had made an appearance in the Cuppers finals (something Balliol has not done since... 2005?). We will still face them in the League in the last week of term, where I'm sure they will be up for a rematch.

There was lots of talk heading into the game about 'this being the real final' and what have you. This was one quarter of that, but four times of that? No, that one needs a little more thought.

Plenty of Tics players in the Worcester line-up, and the so called 'potential Blues players' which the Cuppers committee love including in their roulette-style seeding system. But a champion team versus a team of champions = there can be only one winner. That winner is clearly Coach Gordon Bombay from The Mighty Duck Trilogy


oh, and us on Monday, dontcha know?

The fact that we managed to beat a team which had such mercenary bandits as 'The Real Bowles', some seven foot-tall gunslinger known as 'Large' and two nomadic ninjas by the elusive names of 'Player 10' and 'Player 11', speaks volumes about our levels of concentration at this elite level of competition.

It was a class act by the opening pair, scuttling along at a fair clip, before one of the best LBW shouts you would ever want to see. Following on from the maverick decision during the previous match against Queens [see previous post] --- in which Clarkey and co went up in a half-hearted appeal and then we all died down when we realised the ball was missing another set of stumps, only to see the umpire fire the batsman off. As he left the field he turned to the umpire and said, in the tone of a brother who has had his elder brother nick his turn on the Sega Mega Drive (mine was a happy childhood) "They didn't even appeal properly." Classic.

Anyway, Trav wraps R Bowles (not the 'Real Bowles', oh no, his entrance into this rich tapestry will come at a later date) square on the pads, in line with the stumps, sure, but one in which I had little time for the appeal. The bloke is a tall man, ball hitting just below the knee-roll on the up. I'm no aerodynamical cavalier, but I thought that was an optimistic appeal at best. I joined in to be part of the crowd. Once we died down, Trav, sensing blood, let out a second, more urgent appeal, continued with the question, politely phrased "What IS that missing?" Apparently that swung it for the umpire and the Rudi Koertzen slow finger came out to say g'day. Bemused and beguiled, R Bowles returned to the pavillion. Trav struck again in his next over dismissing the number 3, but then Worcester had a cool pair of heads at the crease, who put on 99 between them.

A good catch by The Head and a runout from S(olomon,) J(oe) Thwaite from third man removed both established batsmen.

Some lusty strokeplay from the Worcester middle order saw the Foe in Pink reach that 200 mark, which is a good par on any D/L method. However, we all thought that Balliol had done well to restrict the scoring in the latter overs, and as you can see by the Manhattan Murder Mystery Graph

there wasn't an MEK Hussey-esque explosion towards the end.

So 201 to win... always going to be a big ask, and it called for a good all-round effort. The top five all got to double figures - indeed the first five wickets made 184 and the last five made 17, but, as we know now from the previous post, Wino's prophetic 'taking it to the last over' does make strange things happen.

Wino and the Head proceeded with caution and headed to drinks at no wicket for 68. 133 required from the last 20, but with bags o' wickets up the cuff. Jim departed first ball after drinks, and despite a quick fire 14, Gav couldn't overcome the stark reality of 'The Real Bowles', and chipped him a catch. Captain Kohnny, who seems to become Val Kilmer: Iceman, when batting, knocked a barrage of sweeps for four, and put on 50 with Wino, who kept playing the back foot cover drive which caught the selector's eye and secured his transfer from the Welsh hinterland to this side of the Cotswolds. Such was the onslaught of Gav, Wino and Kohnny that the required run rate dropped from 7 to a tick over 5.

Thwaiters arrived, keen to straight-drive his way into Wisden, and belted three boundaries. Then was the first of four, count them FOUR, run-outs. That classic gambit of 'Wait, Yes, Wait... oh ah yes?' Wino departs for a well earned 79. Entire a partnership of Trans-Tasman unity. Thwaiters and I kept the runs ticking over before he was bowled and Vidhu copped an LBW decision in the same over. 12 to win, 2 overs to play, and Arjun and I at the crease. I had already whipped the punt pole out for a mow over the croquet green, and the time had come for another trip down the river.

Arjun hit a ball out to deep cover and we ran a quick one, I turned and was heading back for the second, huffing and puffing like a trooper. I think my huffing swallowed my shout for 2, indeed it was deafening in my mind, but I managed to find myself down the other end almost shaking hands with Arjun, or rather, something far less cordial, when the stumps at the keeper's end were broken.

Arjun was run out in that same over (bowled by the man-mountain known simply as 'Large'), bringing us into the final over needing 6 to win with 2 wickets in hand. Take it to the last over... kept repeating over and over in my mind, after I had calmed down on the sideline.

First ball - swing and a miss. There must have been some collaborative confusion in the mid-wicket conference at the end of the over. Running for everying may or may not mean running for everthing. With the keeper back a bye was 'on', but the stumps were hit and Matty P in his skin-tight white shirt, departed.

6 to win from 5, with Clarkey our last man in, on strike. Bunt, run, a comfortable single.

5 from 4. Bunt from Trav and another run, comfortably home.

4 from 3. Would you believe - the field is set so deep that they plunder another run!

3 from 2. Tragedy! A dot and almost a wicket. A hit into the covers, set off for a run and turn back. Clarky turns like the QE II, but he jolly well got the after burners on and scampered back.

I was rather disconsolate up in the pavillion. I decided to come down to the boundary thinking that we should get ready to shake their hands.

3 from 1... certainly doable: Trav on strike and his 20 against Queen's included some big shots. Before the bowler ran in there was a reminder about the rules: a tie meant a bowl out! Oh this was getting too much. The bowler runs in, and would you believe it Trav swings, swings well, and gets, oh no, just a single. But wait! A no-ball for height! Clarkey keeps his cool and doesn't go for the glory-suicide second to go for the win.

1 ball left, 1 run to win, number 11 on strike. This is script material. I feel that I could not possible tell the tale in words. Here are pictures taken by Shiv:


Ball is bowled, swing and a miss... surely it is the bye with the keeper standing back...

In comes the throw, Trav is really struggling here, remember the keeper hit once before...

Blimey! Trav isn't even in the frame, the ball is right there! AHHH!!!!!


A miss! A MISS!!!

And, to complete the series, the look of despair from the keeper. Teaches him to stand up, I suppose.

Blimey... I can't handle any more now. I'm off for a beer.

There's still Keble's game to go up... stay tuned.

The clippers to the razor: from an all over shredding to a close shave

Third week saw a colourful juxtaposition of games played at in both home an away venues.

The first 'real' match of cuppers, as opposed to those played out entirely within the mind of Vidhu, those which comprise lightning running between the wickets and the perpetual pleasure of firing Gav out for an LBW --- yes the first real match of our Cuppers run, if you don't count the forfeiture by Corpus Christi. One would have thought that you would bank on playing in the first round of a knockout tournament. Their absence did raise questions of leather jackets, but with Arjun, the Tiger Catching Imperator needing to rest a foot which hadn't seen action since New Zealand won a rugby world cup, the break was welcome.

Thence down to Queens', on the suspiciously low waterplain (that may or may not be a word in actual currency), where the changing room was as cavernous as Ali Baba's cave. Alex Shabbala joined us for his first game of the season, but he had precious little to do, as did 8 of us in the field. There was the usual scratching around start, with Clarky defying being hit by an number of sticks of rhubarb in the corridor of uncertainty. If one could have had Clarky wearing a pinny then the Boycott trifecta would be complete. Probably best to let that one go through to the keeper.

To cut a long story short, Queen's went from 2 for 24 to 32 all out. A classic schoolboy effort there. Number 11 streaked a catch through the slip cordon for a boundary to boot. Why we didn't have 9 slips [see previous post] for ultimate intimidation, I'll never know. Queen's only had 10 men, so it was a race to see who could grab Michelle before the other. Clarky ended up with 4 wickets and Arjun with 5 (for 10 runs or so, which will take some beating).

Owain fell victim to a 'full toss', but Trav, with helmet and not the under 12s netball visor of yesteryear, hit a quick fire 20 to allow us to wrap the match up before half-time. There was some trickery abounding with the teas, with biscuits being kept out of site until the opposition trudged off, leaving us with the remnants. Still, it made a change from the invariable mystery of Balliol's finest tuna surprise.

We were then through to the quarter finals of cuppers, the match report for which will follow shortly.

Thence to another nail-biter: Merton/Mansfield, emerging for their weekly stint away from the library and Sherlockian examination of the Norrington Table, joined us at Fort Jowett for a match with nothing lost between the teams. Last year we went down by one wicket off the penultimate ball, a tough pill to swallow to be sure, and other games in present memory have been tightly contested. No more suspense though, here are SJ 'Statto' Thwaiters' box and dice set of the match, starting with out innings



You might well ask whether such a bowler who sports a name 'Danny Ray', really did ride on in on a 6 foot-glassy tube, with surfboard and Billabong boardies in tow. Fortunately he did not - instead he proved to be batting's answer to the movie 'The World According to Garp'. Knowlesy, of last wicket stand fame during the wedding match (see

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Resurrection

oh, wait, there is no report there - but there is one on Skipper Xavier's blog.)

Anyway, Knowlesy once described 'The World According to Garp' akin to watching a one hundred metres dash wherein the racers hear the gun, stand still for 10 seconds, and then fall backwards. Neither entertainment nor cricketainment. But anyway, Danny Ray did not have wrap around sunglasses and a set of ripped shorts.

After a few quick wickets, Captain Kohnny 'The Iceman' and Thwaiters (eager* to add to his 'data entry' points on the Prince Alberta Awards Scheme) settled the ship. A 95 run stand ensued at better than a run a ball, featuring some sweeping that would put a janitor to shame. I pulled a Keith Miller and declared that I didn't need to make runs today, allowing Arjun and Mr Body to put on an exhillirating 45 off a little more than 5 overs. Vidhu had a call of the day when he proclaimed that a straight six for Alex 'Elle the' Body thundered into the sightscreen: "That will break their spirits." But as it would unfold, these Mertonians are made of stronger stuff than mere Tesco value 3-year-and-a-day whisky, and the run chase proved a single-malt spectacle.



One could label the below picture 'The Dance of the Worms', and market it to the Museum of Modern Art in Paris as the next big thing. They've got 5 spaces which have opened up I hear... too soon?


With four wickets down just after the tea break, Merton needed 100 off the last 16 - overs that is, not Danny Morrison/Pommie Mbangwa IPL madness. Clarky and Gav picked up a couple through the gate, and Statto Junior Thwaite held a tough'un at cover to give the Highlander a wicket. Elle The bowled a ripping ball bouncing over the shoulder down leg side, which the batsman chased, looking for a nibble. His eyes were bigger than his belly though, and the ball glanced off his gloves, into my gloves, in a seemingly perfectly directed advertisement on wearing protective gear.

It was going to be a tough ask to contain the batsmen. Young White, copped plenty of "student/tutor/have your homework in on time sunshine" banter from me, but proved impervious to mental or physical disintegration to power along past fifty. He was ably supported by Goodman, whom, for some reason, we called Roelof van der Merwe. Perhaps that name was conjured in the pub afterwards as Gav and I swapped banter about quick southern-hemispherical wickets vs traditional English puddings.


Here a flash, there a miss, everywhere a heave-ho. Soon it was 22 runs required for victory, from the remaining 4 overs, with 4 wickets in hand, White on 60-odd and Roelof about half that. A tight over for 4 runs, followed by another tight over for 4 runs. 14 required from the last 2. Then, from nowhere, White tries to end it in a couple of blows. A big booming swish outside the line and a miss through to the keeper off Arjun. Another swish, this time getting some of it, but by no means the lion's share of it - no doubt attracted by the Siren's Song of the close tennis-court boundary. Gav steps and inch off the boundary (that inch makes all the difference, or so says The Head) takes the ball, and gently teeters forward to ensure a clean catch. Hello hello? 15 required from 9 deliveries and a new man in - albeit at the non-striker's end. This is where the game passes the standard 10-year-old Glenmorangie test and heads into the round dozen, Cragganmore style.

Arjun lets one ball drop short, and Roelof hammers it through the off-side for four. Next ball, same result - another four through cover point. He burgles a single off the last ball of the over to nab the strike, and it is looking dire: 4 runs to win off one over, 5 wickets in hand and gritty South African off spinner (or whatever) on strike.

Theretofore, Wino keeps yelling out 'take it to the last over', which at the time I thought was code for 'at least if we don't win, we'll get to the last over and receive some sort of consolation prize, like a crew date with Somerville's female rugby team.' But it was not until the last over came around that I realised what he was on about: crazy things happen in the final over. People start to get a bit o' fight-or-flight about them - maverick singles are run, loose shots played, and there is a sudden upgrade from the 12-year-old to the Dalwhinnie 15.

4 to win from 6. Gav, the surgeon, to throw some sand on the floor, roll up the sleeves amidst the clamour of cannon and cutless and try to save a life. Length ball outside off stump: pushed off the front foot in front of cover and a single scampered. I see no one backing up at the bowler's end, and although the Surgeon has hands the size of the Western Cape, Wino's call of 'take it to the last over' cuts both ways... four overthrows would make molehills out of men. I yell 'Hold' with more urgency than a referee at the Crucible, but with less than a referee at the Cauldron - high volume shrills do little to keep the nerve.

3 runs off 5 balls, with the new man on strike. One blow to finish it, and apparently Sesh was used to hitting balls out of the coaster-sized OUCCCCCC ground. He could do it with his eyes closed, so we'd heard. Perhaps it was his trying to replicate this feat which caused the ball to hit the middle of middle. Clatter, cheers, huddle, pep talk - the inners are soaking up with sweat and the heart is sounding like popcorn ah... popping? Bang.

3 runs from 4 balls with none other than Danny Ray walking out to bat. Perhaps he might have been better served in this attire.


I decided to come up to the stumps - no need to have the opposition run through a cheeky bye to end the match (this is such an awesome build up to the Worcester match report that I required a cup of tea from the kitchen to calm back down).

So... 3 from 4. Fullish outside off - dot. A bit swing a miss and it thunders straight into the gloves. Roelof is backing up a good three or four yards, and he wisely jumps back in his crease. 3 from 3. Dot! Another ball, slightly shorter this time, and only just missing the outside of off stump. Danny Ray plays a calendar month too late on that and it again finds its way into my 'high visibility' gloves (words from the manufacturer, not from me... that was one of the selling points.)

3 runs from 2 balls. DOT! BANG! There is another swing as this ball is right on a length. I wasn't in much of a chance for a caught behind - the reflexes were in good nick but old D.R. played at it well after it had been swallowed up in the gauntlets. Roelof was backing up a good 5 yards now, and I thought of a shy at the other stumps, but again... cool heads.

1 ball to go... 3 runs to win. There is at least a six-pack of conferences: Roelof and Danny Ray (surely the message was 'Well, guv'nor, you've had three sighters... perhaps you would be so kind as to lay some bat on this one?'); Wino and Kohnny (so much experience - fielding placings, sending people out to stop the boundary, but also having enough in close to prevent a quick 2); Thwaiters and Thwaiters (working out the exact moment for a pun to fall on something other than grave silence); and Gav and I (Gav announces to me that he will bowl the ball short and aim for a dot. I told him that would be a gambling man's move as Danny Ray could get bat, arm, helmet or guitar on it and it would race away... Same as before, was my counsel, and he won't hit you in a month of Sundays.)

Last ball of the match. CRASH - Middle of middle stump! Roelof kicks the turf in disgust, Danny Ray slowly takes off his cowboy hat, and Gav, Dr Cricket, goes blimin' mental. A win by 2 runs... and after the loss to Merton/Mansfield in the semi-final of cuppers last year, off the second last ball. It proved to be a match fitting Ardbeg Lord of the Isles 25 years.

Right! Time for another cup of tea after that. Too many of these close-calls and write ups gets the heart a'racin'.

Here's something from Beyond the Cricketing World.

In other news - a builder came around the other day to try to fix a few items in the house. I was typing away at the computer for periods, and then read a few papers upstairs. He kept coming around, looking at me and saying 'So, is this what you do for work?' I got the feeling that he thought precious little of mathematics as a career move. Later on during the day I saw he was battling trying to bring a long plank around the corner through the kitchen. I offered to give him a hand, for which he was momentarily grateful, before returning to his classic banter, "I guess you don't get much of this in your line of work?" To which I responded, "Well, it's a standard first year problem that we all [I guess I meant the Band of Brothers of mathematicians] get given."

He went back to the roofing. What a character.

*So it appears that normally one writes 'eagre' for 'keen'. Apparently 'eager' means

A tidal wave of unusual height, caused by the rushing of the tide up a narrowing estuary.

Fact.

A New Season - a new gadget

Forget about the snickometer, hotspot, or even strategic time outs (and definitely forget the commentary of Danny Morrison): the latest innovation in cricket scoring since the box scoring system was invented by Charles Box (fact!) has arrived at Balliol Cricket courtesy of the 'Red-Haired Wonder' Simon 'Thwaiters' Thwaite - the electronic scorebook.

Here, for the first time, we can see the run rates required (without the agonising pain of mental arithmetic) on a ball-by-ball basis. Spikes, troughs, tough patches, maidens, collapses, gritty SR Waugh partnerships, the lot - all in one package. Above is the so-called worm graph indicating runs vs overs. Note in the New College innings (the Green line) that, at least according to the immortal commentary of Ravi Shastri "The worm is hungry and it has found food." A Citi Moment of Success for sheer commentary mavericity.

Before we examine another feast for the analytical eyes, a match report is perhaps, in order.

Wednesday was the traditional season opener: the Richmond vs Carlton fixture which is sure to set up the season with a bang. There is always some needle in the air (the perfect admixture of metaphors, to be sure) when New College and Balliol meet on the battlefield of Bradman, and the 28th proved no exception.

Phil Clark was stranded in the USA due to the omnipresence of the Imperial Icelandic Ash Cloud, and he was forced to follow the game on live over by over cricinfo updates. Well, Thwaiters hasn't got us linked to the web yet, possibly because there is no wireless in the pavillion (Plummer strikes back) and possibly because cricinfo have their hands full wrinsing Lalit Modi and pegging him to the rusty hills-hoist to dry on a balmy spring afternoon.

The Surgeon was not stuck in South Africa trying to sell point-of-entry visas to Slovenia, as was first thought, but it turned out he was stuck in Byron. Six inches deep in essays about the Big Man, to be precise. With Wino out at Worcester pushing for a place amongst the universities elite, and of course, practising the beautiful 'Blues Leave' (this is where you leave the ball, twirl the bat and really bring in the punters with your style and finesse - see

Sunday, May 25, 2008

First win of the season (Part 2/2)

for further comments) - it was always going to be an uphill battle. But the longest and strongest suit of Balliol has always been heart(s), and the band of XI brothers who took the field that bold April eve had more than enough of their helpings of Weetabix.

Arjun, who studies tigers don't you know, leapt into the fray (I've got about a thousand more den/cub/crouching tiger classics to go, so hang on tight) with a couple of early wickets. With Terry Alderman-esque swing he opted for the two leg slips as opposed to the classic 9 slips back in Lillee's day
(note the subtle cigarette advertising in the background). I only saw this photo recently, but I do remember seeing SR Waugh employ this field against Zimbabwe... I was in year 9 at the time, but I think I remember the commentators saying 'I guess that shows how little Waugh thinks of Mutandera'.


Anyway - Arjun was bowling inswing like Fred 'the Demon' Spofforth. I suppose I was then Jack Blackham

although without the look of a man who wishes to caress whatever he manages to touch.

VSS bowled with good flight, and despite succumbing to temptation with the potentially superfluous quicker ball, tied one end down and caused plenty of strife. Trav 'The Highlander' MacLeod flew downwind and was unlucky to finish without a wicket, but his parsimonious overs added plenty of Pascals. Shiv 'The Lawmaker' bowled at the death - courageous, sure, as a leg-spinner, but taking the pace right off the ball proved difficult to be got away. There were, as usual, some poor applications of the Laws of Cricket: the ball, to be adjudged a wide needs to be wide of the batsman in a normal batting stance, and wide of him when it PASSES him. There were mad free swings going on, playing over the top of the ball. Oh, we'll have a bonus run for that, cheers me ol' mucker. That makes me the happiest man in Christendom.

Jack Cox, not the bloke after whom the apple is named, nor the bloke after whom the inter-departmental Oxford cup is named, bowled some nice, Gary Larson esque dibbly dobblies on debut which helped keep the scoring rate down.

Sadly, Thwaiters, our very own Chris Harris (above) didn't get a crack with his reverse door-knobs.

A sharpish caught and bowled by Penfold and a couple of well-executed run outs did the trick. I should say that the runout credited Thwaite/Trudgian had precious little to do with me. The throw was sufficiently robust and precise that I could have used my gloved hands to rather clumsily brew a pot of tea while aiming a judicious deflection off the box onto the stumps. But you save those tricks for the big crowds.

Some of the wheels came off during the last 5 overs, but with Captain Kohnny promising a diabetic's delight in wine gums for next game, we can only get better. Either 'wine gums' is not in use in Australia as a term to describe chewable goo, or I have led a very Colgate-centric life.

Do feel free to click on the scorecards and photos for a closer gander.

Needing 191 to win from 40 overs, Ed and Jim got us off to a flying start. Sure, 20 odd runs came in the second over, mostly due to wides and byes, but you still have to run them. Ed 'Boony' Latter belted a few around the park for a quick fire 28 - an excellant start. Jim survived a sharpish appeal for caught behind, added a couple more, before being cleaned up by Buckfield, the pick of the bowling.

After almost heading off to the hospital for a finger scan, the courageous captain Kohnny steered Balliol into a commanding position with plenty of SR Waugh-esque slog sweeps to rattle along to a 49 off 42 banquet. After a couple of quick wickets, it was down to the redoubtable combination of TS Trudgian and VSS, two old hands who had seen it all before. 54 runs required from 10 overs. Doable, but with no fielding restrictions and a slowish pitch, some MG Bevan cool headedness was called for.

Our run-rate graph - notice the cruise-control mode after the fall of the last Balliol wicket.

In the end, after some lusty hitting (no Matthew Hayden Walk this time) - see

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

Losing is problem that MacGyver himself can't fix

for more details - and some Linfordian running between wickets, we needed 6 runs from 7 balls. To be honest I had been hitting every ball in an arc between square-leg and mid-wicket, but inexplicably there were not legions of fielders placed there. VSS managed to play the ball on both sides of the wicket with equal force, and perhaps they confused us in appearance. Likely? Sure. I did have a brain melt after the antepenultimate over. I hit a four from the last ball and went up to Vidhu to talk about our game plan (I think we needed 18 from the last 12). After that I walked up ready to take guard for the next ball of the over. The captain looked at me and (I thought) said to the keeper "Did you see that last shot?" No reply from the keeper, so I inferred that the captain was talking to me "Did you see that last shot?" Well, I replied, as a matter of fact I did, wasn't it awesome? Ah, I see, you want me to change ends - fair play.

So, with 7 balls to go I got out the wide-punt pole mow across the leg side, which somehow quantum-tunneled under A Asher at forward short leg, and thundered away for four. A couple of lusty singles next over and it was done, with an MG Bevan degree of efficiency - too much in fact, we still had 4 balls to go. Below is the final Balliol scorecard.

A classic start. Tune in for more after the Cuppers match on Monday.