Match Report
Sunday 9 June –v- Barnesbury Eagles at Joyce Green Hospital
The following report was penned by Chris Wilsdon
Buoyed by recent successes over the mighty Brasted and the ever cheating Fat, Drunk and Useless, we entered the fixture against the unknown Barnesbury Eagles with confidence and morale both in the high eighties. Due to lack of interest from Dartford Billy "Safe Hands" Webb had managed to arrange this fixture with "some bloke at work".
Arriving ridiculously early at Joyce Green Hospital we were greeted with a sight more akin to Dominica than Dartford, as the oppo consisted of an array of Rastas, the odd Joe Dak and a solitary Caucasian who stood out like a Pork Pie at a Barmitzvah. The first contest was already lost. Just one of their team had more hair than all the Crusaders put together.
Undaunted ‘Safe Hands’ won the toss and elected to bat, on a pitch that could only be described as interesting. One half expected to be serenaded by Soul Limbo as the Eagles took the field but apparently the drummer broke his arm whilst batting last week and was therefore unavailable for selection.
Fat Boy (are my lawyers on stand-by) and Chuckles opened the innings with some aplomb, sharing in a stand of 41 in the face of some hostile bowling, before Chucks (having already been dropped) decided enough was enough and got himself bowled for 6. The Eagles seemed overjoyed at this breakthrough misguidedly thinking that Chuckles represented some sort of threat.
Gordy, who must have been thinking he was in the wrong team, was obviously fatigued and didn't want to run, as his rapid 20 came off of only 4 scoring shots including two mighty sixes. NWB sauntered to the crease exuding the confidence of a man with an average in the hundreds. Obviously embarrassed by this he offered a simple chance from his first ball but the Eagles had seemingly decided to give us a few runs and the chance was squandered. Undeterred, NWB lofted balls to various fielders until one had had enough of the piss-take and snaffled the "man in form".
Simply, obviously upset by the vociferous wicket keeper, relinquished his wicket two balls later and the collapse looked inevitable. The Eagles were flying high and strange ritual chants along the lines of ‘let's go, let's go, let's go Eagles’ filled the warm summer air. Steve ‘mind me hernia’ Cook, making a welcome return to Crusaders ranks, then took to the crease and smote the ball to all parts of the ground for an entertaining 20.
Gordy, now umpiring, decided to use the law of averages method during his ten over stint - i.e. the ball has hit the pads a few times, one of them must be out; the victim, a dejected Steve Lewis, trudged wearily back to the hutch whilst receiving deserved acclaim for his 61. Yet more tales of stomach upset preceded Slightly to the crease to join Cookie, who, realising the strength in depth of our batting, surrendered his wicket a mere 11 runs later. Safe Hands, Skip, Leader of Men (I could go on forever) then joined Slightly, but this apparent last chance of significantly adding to the score realised only two runs, before Slightly was caught off the glove.
The next batsman was something of an unknown quantity. Lent to us by the oppo and known simply as Singh (as in ‘If You're Glad to Be Gay’) he had apparently arrived on British soil some 24 hours earlier on flight no. LGW354 from Delhi and had no mates, no pubic hair and no command of the English language. This, added to the misfortune of a golden duck, must have made it a really shitty weekend for him. Cruelly promoted up the order to number 10, in favour of an old git with grey hair, this weeks reporter decided (having successfully defended the hat-trick ball) the best form of protest was to sacrifice his wicket for the lowest possible score without actually adding to his already numerous duck tally - mind you, it was a corking delivery coming back from a yard outside off stump to clip the off bail.
Old and Grey then joined the Skip, protected his average and ensured we batted out the two and a half hours, eventually reaching a defendable 143 for 9, albeit assisted by 5 dropped catches and some appalling fielding most notably by the Pork Pie.
The interval arrived. I cannot use the expression tea interval here as the Skip had declined to inform the team that there was no tea. He obviously thought this was some highly amusing, though perverse bluff. I can only imagine that he was silently reeling everyone in as we wandered around looking for scraps from the previous week’s tea. Slightly's much discussed stomach upset had obviously abated during the afternoon as he was seen devouring a Quarter Pounder with Cheese from McDonalds during our 30 minute break. Darren and Jim had sensibly decided to procure their meal in advance of the innings closing. Safe Hands Webb decided to go to McDonalds at 5.15pm and although arriving back at 5.32pm, he avoided a heavy fine by virtue of the fact that the Eagles openers hadn't finished the joint they were smoking and didn't arrive at the crease until 5.34pm
Predictably, the re-fuelled Danglers opened the bowling, although the sight of a frail, 64 year old man walking down the pitch to him cannot have done his confidence any good at all. Old and Grey took the ball at the other end and broke through second ball, dismissing the bemused Pork Pie.
Despite the absence of one third of the triumvate that make up the Detroit Spinners, away at his annual Vicars and Tarts bash, Gordy and Yours Truly were awaiting the nod from the Skip to get stuck in on a pitch that was turning miles. We waited in vain. Old and Grey, after taking some fearful tap and suddenly looking all of his forty something years, was replaced by our opening bat. Fat Boy’s £4 match fee certainly looked good value for money as he embarked on a spell that would last to the end of the match. I can only assume there was a Romulan cloaking device shrouding Gordy and myself, although being caught up in it I didn't notice.
However, Moyse and Lewis stuck to their task admirably despite another appalling display of catching in the outfield. The threatening Jackie was eventually wormed out by this same combination two runs short of a half century. In between times Bill Lewis (alleged father of Chris and no relation to Steve despite the gaunt, Polish look) played the shot of the day, a scorching cover drive off of Danglers, before being snapped up by Chucks on the Third Man boundary.
The threat remained as the Eagles were soon chasing a target of about 3 per over. Despite much encouragement (?) from the rest of the team they could not get on top of the scoring. Simply, made up for a classy display of total dross behind the sticks, with a stumping for the eighth wicket. Steve thought a ninth had been claimed by a run out, as the ball clattered into the non strikers stumps via his outstretched hand. He celebrated by way of a curious dance down the wicket but was cut short by a verdict of not out by the umpire who was at least two yards behind the stumps. At least his dance warded off any evil spirits beset upon the Crusaders by the Eagles' Witch Doctor.
Although defeat still loomed the scent of victory was also in the air as we approached the final over. We needed 2 wickets, they needed 10 runs. Six runs in the first 3 balls were followed by a wicket with the fourth. Danglers was now positively hobbling in courtesy of a bad toe. The fifth ball produced a single; the tension mounted as we wondered what time we would get to Hesketh Park for a pint. Darren manfully bowled the final ball into the ribcage of the number 10 batsman. No run was attempted and a draw was the final outcome. Knackered Moyse, bowling from beginning to end, finished with another six wicket haul.
Everyone agreed it had been a splendid game and returned to the clubhouse at Hesketh Park for an excellent pint of Theakstons. Talk of arranging a fixture next season was rife, so I suggest we start booking evening classes for lessons in Jive very soon.
*Soul Limbo was a hit in 1968 for Booker T. and the M.G.s and is more familiarly known as the music to the test matches on BBC television - Reference courtesy of the Stax record label.
