Saturday July 28th

Higham and Mockbeggar CC beat St Anne’s Allstars Invitational XI by 62 runs. Scorecard

For the first time in my cricket career, a comparison was drawn between me and Mike Atherton. Remember Lord’s in 1993, when going for a third run and his century he slipped over and was run out in tragic style? In this match I departed in similar but much more undignified circumstances. But though Athers was met by warm sympathy as he returned to the pavilion, I trudged back to be greeted by my team mates heartily pissing themselves. Both dismissals however, mine and Atherton’s, ensured our team’s defeat.

More of the run out later. It should not detract attention from the home side’s brilliant, brutal batting, and our poor bowling; two factors which made their victory thoroughly deserved.

There was an inauspicious start to the day when Adam Clements, our principal strike bowler, rang the captain to declare himself too hungover to play. On a works jolly in Birmingham, he had been making extensive use of the free bar till 6am. In bed by 7am, he enjoyed a refreshing thirty minutes sleep before his alarm went off. In the face of extreme nausea, he now had the prospect of a six leg journey from the Midlands to Rochester, via Barnes to drop off his golf clubs.

Loyalty to one’s team only goes so far. "Could your other brother play?" the captain was asked by the stricken Clements. He could, and the short-armed strike bowler was off the hook.

It was a shame, as his accuracy would have come in handy on a day when our bowlers erred far too often in both line and length. Before calling in sick he had probably seen the pitch. It was an absolute shirtfront, and together with the sunshine and baking heat, conditions were as favourable for batting as you could imagine.

Unfortunately, we lost the toss and were condemned to two and a half hours chasing leather. Higham and Mockbeggar put us to the sword, racking up 261 for the first wicket - from just 27 overs - a record for their friendly side.

The tone was set by our disappointing opening spell, with both Jones and Tristan Haddow-Allen giving the batsmen plenty to hit. Neither batsmen allowed the bowlers any margin for error. Anything slightly short was cut or pulled; anything full was driven with clinical disdain and perfect placement. Too straight and it was tucked away through square leg; too wide of off, and it was hammered through the covers or behind point. The lightning fast outfield only exaggerated the rapid pace at which the runs flowed.

Both batsmen - Nick Shackleton and Kevin Twitchett - were clearly genuinely good players, well out of our league. Well though Shackleton played, it was Twitchett who really pummelled us. He outscored his partner 2-1 as he racked up 147 from 90 balls, including an awesome 33 fours.

He devoured our bowling like a plate of chips. For a while it seemed that whatever the line or length of the ball, he would hit it for four. Consider these sequences: six fours and a two from eight balls; four fours from five balls; five fours from consecutive balls. He wielded his bat like Thor’s hammer, or a giant swatting away flies with a tree trunk. It was as if we were bowling underarm to Sachin Tendulkar.

The continuous boundaries hampered the pace of play. We seemed to spend half our time searching for the ball in the fields and ditches which surrounded the playing area. Combined with the intense heat, it took us over two and a half hours to bowl the 27 overs of the innings.

Our bowlers had no answer to the skill and intensity of their batting. Tristan improved in his second spell, while Tom Morris, Joe Johnson and new signing James Morgan bowled with maximum effort and decent control. But no one had the pace or movement to actually get through them. Poor Garreth, meanwhile, took some hefty stick. His two overs of googlies disappeared for 36.

A few chances eventually came our way but went begging. Towards the end of their innings the batsmen began to hit uppishly, keen to give us a consolation wicket. We were just as keen to spurn all such opportunities. As at Priory Ruins four weeks previously, our outcricket began to unravel.

Twitchett was dropped at square leg (a dolly) and at backward square (a sharper chance) before being well held by Josh Milligan at square leg off a no ball. And he would have been run out had the keeper not somehow contrived to remove the bails without the ball in his hand. There were plenty of overthrows too, and singles turned into fours when the fielder gave up the chase and lazily watched the ball dribble to the boundary.

The torture eventually came to an end when Twitchett prodded Mozza back to debutant Felix Haddow-Allen at mid on, eliciting the declaration. Shackleton finished with an excellent unbeaten 72 from 78 balls, with 10 fours and 3 sixes.

Our batsmen now had a tough task - either score 262 to win or bat through 50 overs for the draw. The pitch was still placid, but the fielding side would have the advantage of the drop in temperatures since their innings.

Tom Morris and Tristan Haddow-Allen made a comfortable start but were never able to score with the fluency of the Mockbeggars’ openers. Although their opening bowlers were perfectly playable there were few bad balls and little to hit. Fresh from his 147, Kevin Twitchett came on first change to bowl a very accurate spell, conceding just 14 from his six overs, with 3 maidens.

We hoped Mozza could reproduce his heroics from Priory Ruins. When he’d reached 24, alas, he aimed an uncharacteristically loose drive around one which moved in a touch. Morgan then neatly tucked a boundary off his legs, before falling to a superb diving catch by Shackleton in the gully. There was suspicion it may have been a bump ball.

Enter the people’s hero, Josh Milligan, for his debut Allstars innings. He immediately displayed a deft touch, good eye,and solid defence. A stunning lofted on drive for four hinted at rich potential. Glory was there for the taking, but impatience intervened. His twelfth ball was clubbed over cover, where Dave Hughes, running backwards, took a magnificent one handed catch.

Before this match Joe Johnson was averaging 51 for the season and was now looking forward to filling his boots on this splendid batting pitch. Imagine his display therefore when, heaving at his very first ball, he missed and heard the sound of ball on stump.

We had now slipped from 59 for 1 to 64 for 4, and a massive defeat would have ensued but for an excellent 70 run partnership between Tristan and Nick Jones. Bowlers Craig Cooper and Alan Taylor took a little punishment as Tristan hit some fine square cuts and Jonesy drove expansively. One lofted drive was so expansive, in fact, it whacked his partner on the wrist with a crack we could hear in the pavilion.

Tristan was in pain, and with his concentration failing, eventually holed out at long off. His 64 was his second fifty from four matches and comprised 9 fours.

Nick continued the good work, though, first with Joe Holland and then Mike Bovill. The overs were now ticking away and a draw was becoming an increasingly plausible result. Would Jones switch to a defensive strategy? Not quite, as he continued to try and hit every ball for six. This approach had earned him 33 runs, with 7 fours, before, inevitably, he missed one and lost his off stump.

Felix Haddow-Allen only learned he was required to play at 8am that morning, having previously had no connection with the team whatsoever. But he now arrived to play one of the most impressive innings of the match. He was going to fight hard for the draw, and his cool, assured manner, sturdy defence and good shot selection almost got us there.

All seven wickets to fall by this stage had been pretty soft. Mike Bovill, however, was determined to cling on like a limpet and protect his stumps for dear life. A tenacious figure he posed, playing forward to every ball, his slightly hunched stance giving the impression he’d gone out to the middle with a six inch long bat. He survived 28 precious balls, before a mistimed defensive stroke looped up to silly mid off.

I now joined Felix in the middle for a brotherly partnership which resembled less the Waugh brothers than the Chuckle brothers. If Tristan is Ian and Felix is Greg, I am Trevor Chappell. Actually, I’m probably Grandma Chappell. As Tristan was also in the middle umpiring, there were now three people called Haddow-Allen on the field, a new world record.

I managed to nurdle a few runs, narrowly avoiding running Felix out while going for my first, after a diabolical lack of calling on my part. Despite my trademark play-and misses and total lack of footwork, I somehow survived for a while and helped add a few runs for the ninth wicket.

We were twenty six balls away from saving the match when diaster struck. Felix played a stroke and we ran two. There was then an overthrow, and, to my surprise, I saw Felix thundering back down the pitch for a third. Unfortunately I had run so far past the stumps when completing the second run, I now had to cover thirty five yards to make my ground.

My first mistake was to try to run too fast. About a third up the pitch I began to lose my balance. It was as if I was trying to run through jelly or over a bouncy castle. "He's going! He's going, he's going...he's gone" observed Joe Johnson from the pavilion as I tottered and then fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

My second mistake was to believe I had to have my bat to legally complete the run. By the time I got up, went back for the bat and resumed the run, it was of course too late, and I was run out by about a yard.

Though disappointing from personal and team perspectives, I seemed to have provided great entertainment judging by the tears rolling down the cheeks of my team mates back in the hutch.

Garreth Duncan was a bit unlucky, as one bounced awkwardly to knock off a bail, and we had lost by 62 runs.

We should really have saved the game. The draw was only four overs away and too many of our wickets had been sold too cheaply.

Higham and Mockbeggar were deserved winners though. But spare a thought for their player Twitchett. The abiding memory of the match, for all observers, should have been his remarkable match winning innings. Instead it was the performance of a captain who neither knows the laws of the game, nor is able to run twenty yards in a straight line.