The day started liked most other days. Alarms went off, boners were tucked in or shrouded in towels for the morning dash to the shower. Bogel had swum, Dow was being spooned in a Marae in Grey Lynn somewhere listening to the National programme on a bedside alarm clock and Tolich was staring down the barrel of a few more hours sleep.
Clothes were on, breakfast had and it was out the door to a cloudless sky, summer was in the air, but most of all it was Wednesday, it was Crix day. The quiet anticipation of that afternoons game was creeping up, made all the more significant not only by the weather that the cricket gods had bestowed upon us, but more so due to the task that was at hand. Facing the top team in a match that a win was essentially needed to restore some momentum in the Fat Pitches season after what could only be described as a devastating loss the week before to competition middle-of-the-roaders ‘Looking to’.
The thought train was different from last week, captain Dow, possibly in a moment of blind madness had reversed the batting order – roles had been reversed and responsibilities had been shifted. The day dragged on, Auckland city sparkled in all its glory but for 8 remarkable men, the world seemed be rushing around them.
Finally it was 5pm, the rush home, bus lanes, red lights, whatever it took.
Clothes were off, undies on, another pair of undies on, where the fuck is my cricket shirt – there it is. Jimmy Buffit™ hat. check. $12.50. check.
We all pulled up one by one, if we had the chance some of us may have taken two cars down each, our staunch approach of “shove your carbon footprint up ass, homos” had us psychologically ahead from the get-go. It wasn’t until I saw one of the opposition wearing pants, and nearly chocked on the mouthful of protein gel I was sipping on, that I knew we were in for a match. These guys were jocks.
I could hear them snigger as we threw a tennis ball around waiting for the gear bags to arrive, as they swapped stories of innings past and who’s sucked who off the most in the team.
We had been designated the far field, most likely due to the fact that we had a reputation for hitting big, the longer boundaries were to ensure a tighter game.
Taji’s dad had kindly offered to umpire, but luckily he was being supervised. Just the way it should always be if you know what I mean. Surprisingly Sean Pollock-Dow lost the toss and we were sent to the field. After a impressive ten minute show of our fielding and catching ability to the other team, reminiscent of dancing birds pre-mate, the eye was in and the field set. It was a comfortable and confident field after 3 games, each man knew his place and the responsibility that came with that standing on that particular patch of grass for the next hour.
Kirschberg opened the bowling with an outstanding attack of line and length, gently working the concrete astro to his advantage and leaving the batsmen with little to grab hold of. The field was tight, controlled and every time bat hit ball there was a man in position to keep any run opportunity to a minimum. Taking for 2/26 hats off to an outstanding bowling effort.
This set the Pitches up for an exciting day in the field, the tone had been set and we all knew we had to perform in the field to give ourselves a chance with the bat. It soon became clear that last weeks high extras tally was not going play a huge part in the game.
Their middle order stood their ground, with Dwayne Barrie surprising most with a quiet, yet reflectively well earnt 50. Clypse followed through with another stand out performance of a skilled medium pace attack, with some variation keeping the batsmen on their toes. He was unlucky not to take a wicket during his spell. Conceding 24 runs in this fast paced competition is still a noteworthy achievement.
Seedow had his mind on the prize, a marked improvement from last weeks performance both with the ball and in sweeping cover of the long boundary. 28 Runs, with many of those coming off the bat of their top scoring batsman was a tough ask and a commendable effort. Captian was throwing down some serious pace and combined with the ever effective keeping of Clypse was unlucky not to take a scalp. Conceding only 13 runs, this was how the Pitches liked to play.
Tolich and Jon both taking advantage of the heat and sending batsmen back to the stands, line, length and pace variation played a significant factor in the ability both these bowlers had to surprise the batsmen at the last moment. Huge potential in these players, I look forward to watching their careers. Swanny’s two overs only gave away 14 runs, in the scheme of things this was a courageous effort against a ferocious period in the batting attack.
20 overs, 147 for 5. We knew we had a job on our hands, but after a much improved effort in the field, combined with our reliable, proven batting line up – beers were opened, dart sparked and some boisterous confident banter was thrown about. It was Dow and Tolich padding up, progress was slowed somewhat as Tolich attempted to find a small to medium size box to ensure maximum comfort on the field. Tim Bogle, the well presented son of Harsha Bhogle, the famous Indian cricket commentator and journalist born in 1961 padded up to head to square leg for quick entry upon the first wicket, or should I say entry upon the quick first wicket.
Surprisingly it wasn’t pants who opened the bowling, it was woolly jersey who marked our his 27 pace run up first – and 3 balls in it was a well placed Yorker at 2 meter Peters toes that found its way onto the stumps. 1 wicket down for none. Bogle jogged in, ready, 3 weeks worth of mental preparation had left the big fella a little nervous. Straight bat, bat to pad, eye on the ball, block the first ball no matter what. It was all flooding back from his secondary school rep cricket days. After a powerful elegant defensive drive to mid on, the confidence of getting the first two balls out of the way was abruptly shattered with a viciously fast, Yorker no-ball onto the stumps. The second wicket down before the chalk had even touched the scoreboard or so we thought until the official committee deemed Bogle had a conciliatory run against his name. Bogle 1 off 4 balls, 4 first grade level balls.
Kirschberg, reliable, defiant, competent Kirschberg hadn’t even made it square to leg yet before he was called upon. This was also to be short lived, with a poorly called LBW from an obvious bat on pad sending him to the showers early. We were surprised we didn’t see men in camo gear with shotguns hung across their forearms arriving in the car park – [insert funny duck hunting joke here] Seedow held the fort, welcoming several new batsmen to the crease and plugged away with some magical cuts, and a dominating drive for 4 runs down to long on. Eventually being caught (?) for 11 runs and the highest strike of the day.
It was a collapse. But we had a Ca-lypse. Sliding into an instrumental role in the middle order, away from the fanfare and glitterati of the opening pairing of previous weeks. He effortlessly carved out a respectable 13 considering the circumstances, with a strike rate of 72 – this was sensible cricket at its best. Jon, eased into his innings but soon found his stride in front a gaggle of female fans – gracefully directing the ball around the park to secure a much needed total of 9 pity it wasn’t 89 – we may have been in with a chance. Before finally succumbing to the heat, and constant media harrasement over the ‘nun gate” fantasy saga that has dominated headlines in recent weeks. Sceptics are crying foul, accusing Jon of a deliberate move to gain himself an average.
Captain Buffit himself took the crease, and threw everything into an outstandingly fast paced innings - with a lucky slip from the bowler, saving himself from a near certain run out after a communication error left him wanting in the middle of the pitch. A combination of boundaries and hard yakka sent him home with the days top scorer certificate at 18. Excellent efficiency with an SR of 120 – how efficacious can you get? It was Swanny who held the fort at the tail, and giving great emphasis to the comepetition name – last man stands, he stood and he was a man. Craftily weaving around a still hardened bowling attack, he managed a noteworthy solo effort for 11 installing some dignity in what was a patchy effort by half of the Pitches.
But he was only a man, and the reality of batting solo will hunt you down and snatch you without warning, and this is precisely what happened – it was all over after a lucky caught and bowled, The Fat Pitches we all out for 64 after just 15.4 overs. We all felt the pain of being bum raped that afternoon, and in years to come nothing was really the same. The pitches all lost touch, and never really spoke of the day they got bum humped by the Cavaliers down by the bushes at Cox’s bay.
Captain – 3
Seedow – 2
Jon – 1
