Rainmen CC at Great Haseley. 35 overs. Scorecard - www.pitchero.com/clubs/bodleiancc/teams/255079/match-centre/0-5500217/scorecard With the recent return of the ‘Typical English Summer’, it was with a sense of the usual trepidation that the Bodley cricketing collective awoke across this fair County, drew back the curtains and, despite all assurances to the contrary, expected to see yet again that habitual deluge that has come to characterise so many cricketing weekends this year. That persistent, flesh drenching and bone chilling rain that would require a significant investment in assorted rubberwear by all concerned if there was to be any prospect of play – Ackland excepted of course, who inexplicably already possessed quite a substantial and impressive collection of ‘pre-talced’ attire due to his many and varied ‘other interests’. To the astonishment of all, however, those clever people at the Met office had called it right this time, and it was sun, sun, glorious sun that spilled into the rooms, hearts and minds this auspicious Sunday, and warmed the cockles of all who sailed on the good ship Bodley CC, for today, at last, the season could get back underway. And not a moment too soon, for as Pam Ayres had observed, ‘The season of mists and mellow fruitfulness’ was now upon us, and todays opposition were the Rainmen – a quite recent fixture to be sure, but one which always offers an enjoyable match played in the true spirit of social cricket. And so with a warm sun beating down from an azure sky, all assembled at Great Haseley for what promised to be a feast of sport. Whether due to some diktat from the mysterious ‘Committee’ that runs Bodley cricket, or some Palace Coup driven by the belief in his ‘inspirational leadership’, today Bodley would take to the field under the charge of a certain Stuart Ackland who, with his recent run of inexplicable success, was fast becoming the Nick Clegg of Bodley Cricket. And although not wishing to suggest that all this success had gone to his head, his style of captaincy was now beginning to make Sting appear humble and unpretentious by comparison. Fortunately for Ackland, the runes appeared to have fallen rather auspiciously yet again, for although Bodley were missing a few stalwarts due to injury and the demands of Community Service, today would see one of those joyous mixes of youth, experience, technique and crashing ineptitude that are so much a hallmark of Bodley cricket. Tasked to deliver victory unto Ackland today were fellow regulars Matthew Neely, Andrew Milner, Gavin Robinson, Dave Busby, Phil Burnett, Dan Shaw and Tim Philipson, with vital support provided by Bodley occasionals Archie Lewins, Arthur Contero-Olsen and Ash Shaw. Rainmen by contrast were clearly resorting to a tried and tested formula, with decades of cricketing experience clearly on show in their selected eleven, and so as always with this fixture, it was no given which way this would fall. What was undeniable however was that there were bound to be a few thrills and spills along the way before the contest was decided, so, without further ado, let us cut to the action as it unfolds on the field of dreams. Having won the toss, and electing to open with the experienced Brook and Trimingham, Rainmen were clearly intent on securing that much sought after ‘platform’ from which many an innings has sprung forth to secure victory. And with his laudable belief in the essential verities of ‘social cricket’ Ackland had, to all intents and purposes, decided to help them on their way with his choice of Bodley’s opening attack. Now the choice of silver-streak Burnett as first-up was sound enough, but there we leave the world of rational thought entirely, and enter the rather murkier waters of the Ackland cricketing brain. Now it is a common belief that the definition of madness is to do the same thing again and yet expect a different outcome, and having conceded what to many would be an indisputable, career-ending thirty-nine from his opening two overs in the previous match against Alpine, some may have considered Ackland to have finally tipped into some metal abyss when he nominated Philipson to partner Burnett from the other end. Now to the casual, and admittedly generous observer, it may be remarked that by bowling consistent dross, Philipson lures opposition batters into a kind of ‘run-frenzy muscle-memory’ that so often proves their undoing when facing a half-decent bowler from the other end. And although always somewhat of a spurious rationalisation, this belief was sufficiently robust to provide that required glimmer of hope to all sporting mediocrities when there was little else to draw upon other than a fathomless well of despair. And so it came to pass that as the Rainmen batters delighted in their good fortune at the run-buffet on offer from Philipson, they soon found that any attempt to make hay from the other end was fraught with danger. As such there was a certain inevitability when Trimingham attempted to help himself to a ball from Burnett that was disarmingly, and resolutely orthodox, and duly clattered into the stumps to the delight of Bodley, who are by constitution wary of any team who look like they may average more than a run a ball. Having selflessly removed himself from the attack after a salutary two overs to lick his wounds in the field, Philipson was replaced by the rather austere figure of Neely, who clearly didn’t subscribe to the ‘temp-the-batter’ theory of cricket that seems to be all the rage these days, and duly pulled down the shutters and determined that if the Rainmen were going to score runs then they should jolly well earn them. And with Burnett replaced by the equally resolute Robinson at the other end the match entered a passage of play that was pure attrition, with the Rainmen finding it difficult to get classic line and length bowling away on what was proving to be a surprisingly slow outfield. Indeed, the rewards for Robinson were almost immediate, with Middleton finding the slightest edge, which was assuredly pouched by Bodley’s very own Man from Del Monte Andrew Milner at slip, to the delight of all in the field. The decision to place Milner in the slips has provided rich rewards over the last few seasons, and there is clear delight on his face as he gambols over to take his position. Now some have suggested that his preference for this particular position is due to the proximity of the Wicketkeeper and Batter creating a micro-climate of elevated relative humidity, which is wicked-up through pores engorged by decades of Riviera Sun, thus lubricating his current set of finest English-Oak kneecaps, and providing him with the athletic spring of Zebedee on Pro-Plus. Whatever the exact reason, it seems to work, and as Middleton departed for a disappointing seven, his place at the crease was taken by Pool, who had clearly decided to play himself in. And although Brook continued to accumulate with some hard running and occasional boundaries from the other end, the Robinson-Neely attack effectively constrained any attempt to accelerate the rate. And as Pool finally succumbed to a flighted special from Robinson that was adroitly taken by Shaw behind the stumps, the Rainmen had seemingly stalled, with three wickets down by the end of the nineteenth over, and a rather modest seventy-one runs in the bag. Of course, experience has taught Bodley all too well over the years that opponents often have an uncanny, and entirely unreasonable ability to put their foot down when closing out an innings, compiling literally scores of unwelcome runs. And so with Milner now brought into the attack, collective breath was held as Bodley looked on in anticipation of a renewed assault on the bowling, as the Rainmen sought to post a competitive total. The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry however, and for once it wouldn’t be Bodley that would be beset by much wailing and gnashing of teeth, for Milner was about to announce his presence in the most dramatic fashion. Now retired from the physical and mental torpor of Bodleian Accessions, Milner has more time to devote to his love of cricket and Amateur Dramatics. Indeed, he is even thinking of auditioning for the Park Town Players production of Samuel Beckett’s ‘Happy Days’, where he says he hopes to get the role of ‘The Fonz’. Now Milner has long sought the starring role, and of course famously used to play the mouthorgan in Black Lace, which, to this day, is still regarded as one of the very worst novelty Drag Acts. But today, thankfully, it would be the cricket field where he would take star billing. Now Milner may not walk on water, but he certainly runs on Châteauneuf-du-Pape, and some believe that his much-rumoured bespoke ‘silk cricket girdle’ allows him to glide up to the crease in an almost seamless movement that disorientates the batters’ sense of perspective as he looms into view. Irrespective of the precise spatial-audio-visual reason, there was certainly something mercurial about his bowling today, as he opened his account with a double-wicket maiden-over, with the potentially destructive Brook bamboozled by a ball that jagged back into his stumps off the seam, and Fenton failing to get off the mark two balls later, with Ash taking the first catch of what we hope will be many for a now jubilant team Bodley. With wickets falling as fast as Grant Shapps’s credibility, the Rainmen sought to hunker down, consolidate and then hopefully end with a flourish of runs, but clearly the Bodley attack had been reading from a different script and continued to contain and then strangle the innings. And with the Rainmen struggling to get any momentum, it was inevitable that as the innings entered its final ten overs, and the need for runs became ever more apparent, that they would have to attempt to force the pace. And like the Tally-man when the rent is due, spin-meister Milner came knocking once again, forcing an edge from Peckham that was spectacularly taken behind the stumps by Shaw, who altered direction mid-dive to take a sprawling catch, like a salmon cresting a weir. And so as Nourmand stepped out to the middle with six wickets down, only seventy-nine runs on the board, and only ten overs remaining, things were looking more than a little bleak for the Rainmen. But as Bodley know only too well, an awful lot can happen in a mere ten overs. With Ash and Busby now entering the attack, it would certainly be interesting to see how this would play out, though a brace of opening maidens did much to ease the nerves of the Bodley contingent, and despite Wall offering some resistance, the metronomic line and length from Ash in particular offered few morsels to the increasingly expansive batters to feast on, and saw an impressive return of a paltry three-run average over a five over spell. Busby was always going to be somewhat harder to predict of course, and with a delivery style not unlike a juggler having a seizure mid-routine, there is always something in it for the batter if they are prepared to commit to the shot, and disregard any resultant neck strain. Clearly the Rainmen had decided that, all things considered, it was probably too late for any discretion, and so a bit of valour was now the order of the day, and as such the much anticipated acceleration finally kicked-in, with Wall in particular endeavouring to push the score along without having to resort to too much running between shots. For once however the margins seemed to still be with Bodley, and when Robinson returned for the final over, the flurry of boundaries finally ceased when Wall attempted to clear the ropes, only for Ackland to take a rather splendid running-scoop of a catch in the deep, which was not unlike a certain infamous attempt on Tour, though with a rather happier ending this time. The dismissal of Wall for a well struck forty-two effectively rounded off the innings, and as the Rainmen departed the field of play they had done well in the end to post a modest, though defendable 137 for seven wickets from their thirty-five overs. It would remain to be seen if Bodley would be up to the challenge, but before that there was just time for tea. Today the honour had fallen to Milner and Philipson to victual the troops, and so tea would prove to be a somewhat modest affair which seemed to cover most of the five food groups in a variety of shapes, sizes and colours, to a greater or lesser degree, and as we have yet to hear of any significant digestive tumult as a direct consequence of the repast, we can probably chalk that one up as a success. Just before the indigestion had a chance to take hold however, there was the small matter of the Bodley response to the challenge posted by the Rainmen. In between bites of something that appeared to qualify as animal, vegetable and indeed mineral, Ackland had been finalising the batting order, and opted for a mix of youth and experience at the top, ‘throw your bat around’ exuberance for the middle order, and himself bringing up the rear in the coveted number eleven spot. Now this may come as something of a surprise to all those who have witnessed the beguiling repertoire of shots at Ackland’s disposal – some of them on occasion even intentional – but today there was an obvious sense of unease whenever he found himself in the vicinity of a cricket bat, gloves and abdominal guard. Some put it down to his recent run of bad luck when out in the middle. Others put it down to the fact that he had just finished reading Bodley’s former ‘Director of Fitness’ Stephen Arnold’s latest foray into the exciting new genre of Erotic Crick-Lit, ‘Fifty Shades of Play’, and had yet to fully recover from the experience.
When he had finally snapped out of his reverie, and the decision had been indelibly committed to the scorebook, it was with an air of expectation that Neely and Lewins stepped out to the middle to start the chase. Now today the refrain of ‘plenty of time’ was more true than ever, and like the consummate professionals they were, the opening pair refrained from any heroic stupidity, and kept their wickets and the score ticking along in a steady and unspectacular manner. Indeed, the display of orthodox technique at the crease was something to behold – for care-worn veterans of previous Bodley campaigns in particular – and affirmed that old axiom from Milner’s great hero Erwin Rommel, that ‘education is easier than re-education’. It wasn’t until the fifth over that Neely decided that the arms were finally ready for a bit of a stretch and started to carve the ball to the fine leg boundary, which saw the Bodley score start to accelerate in a most pleasing manner. And until the tenth over the game continued very much in this vein, with periodic boundaries scooting the score along, and solid technique seemingly nullifying the threat from opening bowlers Jacques and Middleton. With Brook and Pool now stepping up, it became clear that Brook in particular posed a real threat with the ball, with mid-pace deliveries constantly challenging the stumps, and it was Lewins misfortune that a solid defensive stroke carried just enough to be taken by a rather spectacular diving catch just off the strip, leaving him to depart after a textbook nine runs had been added to the tally. This brought Shaw, and a substantial increase in height to the crease, and it wasn’t long before a clear defined ‘run-drought-feast’ sine wave pattern had started to emerge, and that the bowling of Brook was proving to be the ace up the Rainmen’s sleeve. And when Neeley was finally bowled by the self-same Brook in the twentieth over after accumulating an impressive half-century, the platform seemed to be well and truly set. Moreover, with Shaw now indulging in a seemingly endless repertoire of elegant strokes that resembled an erotic dream by Leni Riefenstahl, Bodley seemed to be increasingly confident that the Rainmen total could and would be chased down. And as Contero-Olsen replaced Neely at the crease, it wasn’t long before the chase resumed, with the hundred-up passed in the twenty-second over, and the Bodley contingent on the boundary increasingly confident that it was merely a question of when, rather than if the victory would finally be secured. Perhaps it was the air of anticipation that was the undoing of Contero-Olsen, or perhaps the wily spin of that man Brook again, but as the ball turned-off the pitch and found the stumps it was clear that, like so many Bodley players before him, he had been swiftly disabused of any notion that life is fair. This brought Philipson to the crease, whose approach to batting was striking for both its unsuitability and its brevity, and it wasn’t long before the usual casual disregard for the situation at hand kicked in with the inevitability of death, though by the time that that man Brook had pierced his piecemeal defence, he had at least struck a couple of useful boundaries which brought the finishing line that little bit closer. As Philipson trudged off with the usual muttered profanities, he was replaced by the rather more orthodox Burnett who, after a few singles to settle the nerves, must have thought he was there for the duration. In true Bodley fashion alas this turned out to be mere hubris, for he wasn’t accounting for the rather idiosyncratic umpiring approach adopted by Busby, for when Brook guided a ball onto Burnett’s pads, turned and appealed quite volubly, point-blank into Busby’s face, it seemed as if time stood still. Indeed, such was the passage of time that elapsed that Burnett must have thought he was safe and sound before, inexplicably, the Busby finger was finally raised and Burnett sent on his way, muttering very dark deeds indeed, which seemed to chime uncannily with the sentiments being expressed on the boundary. With the score now on 131 after the twenty-sixth over, and wickets in hand, it was time for one of those legendary cameo performances for which Bodley is renowned, and this time the honours would fall to cricketing legend Milner. Now as any Bodley aficionado is all too aware, a Milner innings is the sort of thing Proust would have written about if he had drunk Blue Nun, and it was clear from the violent willow windmills he performed on his way out to the middle that he was itching to do battle, but I suppose that is what comes of reading too much Bertrand Russell. And it wasn’t long before the years were rolling back as Milner carved a ball to the deep, though the running was a little less sprightly than before due to the recent advent of twenty-four hour opening which had, alas, put paid to those late-night dashes to the off-licence. And so as Shaw clubbed a final four off Fenton to secure the victory for Bodley in the twenty-eighth over, with an impressive unbeaten sixty-five to his name, Bodley could at last breath a collective sigh of relief at a job well done. The five-wicket margin may have suggested an easy win, but as any veteran of the game knows all too well, there are few givens in the storied world of Bodley cricket. And there had been much to cheer in the performance, with both Robinson and Milner bagging three wickets apiece, sterling parsimonious support from Neely, Burnett and Ash, and the usual fireworks from Busby. With the bat, standout half-centuries from Neely and Shaw had clearly tipped the balance, with dogged support from Lewins, and in the field there were excellent catches by Ash and Ackland, and a slinky-like performance behind the stumps from Shaw. Special mention must also go to Brook from the Rainmen, who managed to bag all five Bodley wickets in a gruelling nine-over spell of relentless on-the-stumps bowling that proved to be as challenging as it was effective. All-in-all it had been an almost complete performance against an opposition who, like Bodley, were true adherents to the spirit of social cricket played in a competitive yet convivial manner. Remarkably this was also the third consecutive victory under Ackland’s leadership. He was a little reticent about whether he was still wearing his ‘lucky Gregg’s pants’, and although the somewhat ‘musky’ scent suggested he was, most thought it best not to pursue that particular line of enquiry. What was beyond question however was that with a win-rate like this the mysterious ‘Committee’ would be hard-pressed not to confer some honorific title on him at the close of the season, as per the Bodley constitution set out by Viscount Milner. And so, as all concerned kicked off their time-served studs, and basked in the early evening sun that bathed this picturesque corner of Oxfordshire, all seemed very much right with the world, as indeed it always should of course, until the next time that is… TP.
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