White Hunter CC at Brockwood Park. 35 overs. Scorecard - www.pitchero.com/clubs/bodleiancc/teams/255079/match-centre/0-5299868/scorecard Such is the organisational prowess of the Bodleian CC bureaucracy, it was carefully arranged for the writers of this report to travel down to Hampshire in the same car. Having been collected by literary agent Stu, we set off on yet another Bodleian cricket journey wondering what fortunes would be left us to describe. Early on in the journey, Stu advertised the vacant position for match report writer, and how could his two passengers turn down this lucrative, once-in-a-lifetime deal? The journey took us into the South Downs National Park and en route Stu, now re-imaged as a tour guide, pointed out the real Watership Down which inspired the eponymous novel. Was this a portent of our fortunes on the cricket field? Would the day reveal a new Hazel-rah for the Bodleian Buck Rabbits? Pondering these thoughts, we continued on our journey to Brockwood Park, the latter day Efrafra, resolute that our anthem today would not be, “Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run: don’t give the farmer his fun, fun, fun” but rather “Run, Bodley, run Bodley, run, run, run: don’t give the Hunters their fun, fun, fun.” Brockwood Park cricket ground sits atop the South Downs National Park. On arrival, one is taken into a generously-proportioned courtyard, along one side of which stands a line of seven green garage doors. At the farthest end of the drive sits the clubhouse, noteworthy for the domestic civility of its facilities. In the dressing room was a long dining room table, and adjoining this a kitchen, lounge, and flat-screen television. The ablution facilities were clean, had toilet paper, and hot and cold running water. In the toilet could also be found a leaf from the Winchester Bible (the back of frame revealed this was a facsimile) and autograph versions of poems. On the wall of one of the rooms of the dressing-cum-dining room are mounted the heads of an impala, hartebeest, and a third anonymous antelope which was not a G-nu. Clearly designed to invoke the g-nashing of teeth (those readers of the riper years will, we hope, appreciate the Flanders and Swann reference here), these trophies did not dismay before we boldly strode out onto the field. It transpired that this was someone’s house, which doubles as a cricket pavilion, for beyond this lap of luxury lay further delight: the back garden which is a full-sized cricket pitch, used only five times a year. For this day, it would be our field of dreams. If you build it, they will come, and on this day, as those who read on will find out, come they did. But first we needed to get through the first innings. The pitch was unusually pristine for a Bodley fixture and ideal for batting and the posting of a large total, and so upon winning the toss skipper Neely’s eyes lit up and decided we would bowl. Of course, every great field marshal knows his troops. One of the rules for this contest was that no one would be out first ball. For the bowlers, this opened up a jurisprudential conundrum, yet to be tested in the law courts on the grounds of equality: was it possible for the first ball to be a wide? Not that this needed testing for today Bodley conceded not a single wide or no-ball. In fact the only extras to be recorded were 5 byes when the ball hit the helmet behind the ‘keeper. Despite this triumph of extratudinal parsimoniousness, the 35 overs in the field were spent in attrition. White Hunters came out with intent, both barrels at the ready to face the charge of the Bodleian Buffaloes. Opening pair Ackland and Burnett bowled line and length, but the WH openers were finding the middle of their bats and with frustrating consistency sending the fielders scampering to collect the ball from beyond the boundary. The breakthrough was wrought by Hewett, who came on as first change having mastermind a plan to bowl as one should to a heaving, across-the-line opener: on the stumps. A mistimed hoik saw the ball sail through to remove the bails. The WH strategy, however, continued to unfold according to plan, as volley after volley was fired to the boundary rope. Bodley were unlucky: shots in the air fell into empty space where our absent 11th player would most definitely have been. Despite the heavy artillery of the WH batting, Bodley persevered. In addition to assisting four WH batters to retirement, two further wickets were taken: a fine catch by Busby off the bowling of Robinson (flattening Philipson in the process in the season’s first though unlikely last comedy collision); then a clean bowled by skipper Neely. And so to lunch, which was a satisfying mix of the semi-healthy and diabetic-coma inducing fare that is so satisfyingly popular with the cricketing fraternity, all washed down with tea that looks like it’s been brewing in a bucket for at least an hour. As always much thought was given to the state of the game and whether there was enough in the pitch to perhaps wrap it up with a few overs to spare, and once all had been victualled like a freshly coaled Dreadnought it was time to make plans to deliver the inevitable victory. Bodley have been somewhat experimental this year with opening partnerships and the trend continued with the experience of Robinson paired with the impish guile of Hewett. In the fevered excitement of the anticipated run-fest to come, however, no one had noticed that Ackland had once again donned the white coat and scampered out to the middle like General Woundwort and taken up position ominously behind the stumps. Pre-match the Hunters had been pretty clear that the LBW rule was to be interpreted in a somewhat ‘forgiving’ manner so perhaps the general sense of unease at the sight of Ackland in a white coat was somewhat uncharitable. Such doubts had to be set aside however and the gaggle of Bodley troops back on the boundary held their collective breath as the innings commenced. Perhaps the inability of Bodley to capitalise on the initial ‘free hit’ – an ominous trend that would sustain throughout the entire innings – was a portent of things to come but the ball seemed to deftly defy all combative swats and before long the initial early-innings optimism was dealt a cruel blow as Robinson fell victim to a ball that seemed to defy Newton’s Laws of Motion, and no doubt left Ackland pondering the possibilities of bowling even slower balls. Determined to steady the ship, Burnett strode out like a man on a mission and the new partnership promised much in the line of opportunistic nurdling and classic stroke play, and the early signs didn’t disappoint with Burnett finding the boundary with aplomb. Just as things started to look a little more positive however an ancient curse decided to once again wreak havoc on Bodley’s fortunes as Ackland stepped up like a particularly malevolent Jacob Marley, raising the finger of doom yet again this season to dismiss Hewett. Mutterings that Ackland must be playing some form of Bodley LBW Bingo had to be cast aside however as Neely shouldered the responsibility and made for the middle. With Burnett and Neely both at the crease this was starting to look a little more like an orthodox Bodley opening partnership – resilient against the danger ball and spanking anything wide to the boundary. Neely has been quietly accumulating a healthy stack of runs this season and today was no exception as the elusive middle began to be found with cheering regularity and the gentle crack of leather on willow a thrilling soundtrack to events. All too soon, however, the Cricketing Gods decreed that enough was enough, and this time without the assistance of Ackland they dealt Bodley yet another blow as Burnett, in full Joe Root mode, mistimed a good ball down the wicket which was duly pouched by the bowler. With three wickets down and only seventeen runs on the board all thoughts of a sedate canter to victory were being recalibrated as it looked like Bodley may just have to take the match to the end after all. The signs were indeed promising as next out was Jones who was hoping to add to his own recent haul of runs, and if the mantra ‘start as you mean to go on’ meant anything things looked very good indeed as the boundary was immediately found. Jones seems to have discovered new gears this season, and so it was that the partnership finally settled the innings and runs began to accumulate, with Neely in particularly expansive mood and scoring freely, backed up by dogged running between the stumps and resolute and effective stroke-play by Jones. With the good ship Bodley now finally settled on an even keel it was somewhat inevitable that she would yet again be holed beneath the waterline, and so it came to pass that the risk-reward of expansive cricket saw the premature demise of Neely for an aggressive and impressive 23, as a well struck volley was equally well taken and held in the deep by Giles, leaving Bodley 49 for 4. The traditional scramble to pad up now fell to Philipson who ambled out to the familiar inner-monologue and occasional muttering about the importance of batting sensibly with no wild heaves across the line. Of course such good intentions were immediately undone by the promise of an almost risk-free first hit which, true to form, failed to add even a single run to the total. If Ackland was assuming the role of General Woundwort then Jones was most definitely Blackberry, who had once uttered the seeming prescient analysis that ‘if we don’t change our natural ways then we shan’t be able to stay here very long’. With the instruction to bat sensibly and see out the overs until tea, Jones and Philipson continued to add to the total with some purposeful running and occasional boundaries. Some hold that the key to success in cricket is to keep the opposition – and especially their batters – guessing. The Hunters were obviously keen adherents to this approach to bowling and served up a veritable smorgasbord of bowling styles, often within the same over which, we would like to think, is something they have learned from the Bodley attack in past encounters. Such variation does not sit easily with the more ‘agricultural’ batter, however, and so it was with a degree of inevitability that the sudden transition from slow loopy lobs to full-pitched probing deliveries undid Philipson as the traditional heave across the line made its return and the bails danced a merry quadrille in the air. Returning to the Pavilion with rather more choice words being muttered and a disappointing 19 added to the score Philipson passed the baton to veteran Milner. Resplendent in his colour-coordinated cricketing attire, and resembling from some angles a young David Essex, Milner seemed eager to join the fray, bringing literally decades of cricketing guile, nous and prowess to the crease, as well as his now legendary Nietzschean ‘Will to Win’ philosophy. As so often during the innings alas, early promise proved transient as Milner fell victim to a genuinely unplayable ball that jagged viciously in off the seam and hit off-stump. Readers may well be wondering how Jones had been progressing while the Bodley attack faltered all around him? Put simply he was really rather enjoying himself and building on the fine form he had bought from his previous knock against the Authors, with his new expansive and aggressive play proving the equal of the bowling attack, with a combination of well-worked singles and boundaries seeing his total inexorably grow to something that could just elevate him to the exalted ranks of the Bodleian immortals. Now partnered by Riley, Jones continued to harvest the strike and add to his tally while Riley doggedly defended the good and punished the bad ball. And then the Miracle of Brockwood Park came to pass. Aware that he was somewhere ‘close’ to his first half-century – but determined not to know how close – Jones survived a few more sticky deliveries before smiting yet another boundary to finally cross the line, and retired from the field of play with an exceptional 53 to his name and well-deserved congratulations from both teams. Those who have been associated with and endured Bodley Cricket for any length of time know well that the ranks of centurions and half-centurions are exalted indeed and to admit any new member is a very special moment, so well done that man! Jones’s retirement meant that the innings would be rounded off with yet more excitement as Busby now took to the field with a steely determination to blood his new batting gloves and ease Bodley over the 150 mark. Although clearly a legend in his own time – and indeed possibly others – the somewhat singular approach Busby brings to the game never fails to deliver, and true to form he was soon engaged in a curious and entirely characteristic melange of stoical defence, whirly-gig bat-swinging and frenzied running that added to the score and general bemusement of onlookers. Typical was the wild slash at a ball so far down the leg-side that it was practically in a different postcode – cue huge cloud of dust as bat gouges the ground and comedic collapse as he somehow contrives to fall over his own feet ending flat on his back – though mercifully behind the line. Whilst this unconventional display was somehow inching Bodley ever closer to the 150 mark Ackland was limbering up on the boundary like a young Olga Korbut, eager to do as much damage with the bat as he manages with his finger. Alas – and with a general sense of disappointment – it proved not to be as the Riley/Busby partnership clung on like grim death until Busby spooned a catch to Hobbs on the final ball, leaving the field with a gallant and hard fought 6 runs, Riley undefeated on 6 and Bodley just over the line on 151. And so ended the third game in what is proving to be yet another exciting season. As always there was much discussion and reflection on what had gone wrong, what had gone right, and back to what had gone wrong again as per Bodley tradition. The history books will of course record it as yet another fairly hefty loss, but as with most Bodley games there are special ‘moments’ that transcend mere stats, and to witness a Jones half-century must surely rank as one such moment. The journey to Brockwood Park may have been more Waterloo than Watership Down but these things are ultimately peripheral in the ceaseless quest that is Bodley cricket. And unlike the French post-Waterloo, our next encounter will be against old favourites Peasemore rather than the Prussian First XI so “Play up! play up! and play the game!" PTB, TP
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Note from the Ed.Generally written on the night of the match after a valedictory pint. Any sparkling prose or accuracy is entirely accidental. Archives
September 2022
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