Out!

Angel umpire has given it out.

Baroque dissent

From Palazzo Te, Mantova, Italy...

Empire CC, Finland

Yes, there is cricket in Finland. Quite a thriving scene in fact. Shortly after arriving here I got in touch with a number of clubs in the Helsinki region (including the previously-mentioned Espoo CC) but clearly news of my lack of prowess had preceeded me for only one replied to my emails. Sad face. But what a one it was: the mighty Empire CC, a team whose talents have been drawn from all corners of the globe. India, Pakistan, Finland, England, New Zealand, South Africa, Germany, Switzerland, and probably some more besides...

So far we have had indoor nets every week. These have included not only fielding practice but also warm-ups and motivational team talks. It's a far cry from Hyde Heath, I can tell you. The overall standard is roughly similar, however: I think a match between Empire and the Heath would be a very close run thing.

With the season about to begin, we've had a Twenty20 practice match against Helsinki CC (eight of whom are in the national team). My two overs were predictably expensive but I did remove their opener with a well-flighted leg-break. I was then bowled second ball as we got thrashed. But the match did provide my first chance to look at our home ground in Siilitie (which apparently means Hedgehog Road). As you can see form the picture below, the outfield is made of gravel. Less clear is the matting wicket, and the athletics track inside the boundary.



We also had an indoor tournament in Turku, during which I again took wickets at a high price. We won two out of three of our group games but it was not enough to qualify for the final. Our involvement in the tournament ended in acrimonious circumstances, with allegations of bribery, match-throwing, and some convoluted discussions about ethics in cricket. Probably best not to go into the details...

Photos by Jo Hadley.

Hyde Heath, Finland?

So while perusing potential cricket clubs in Finland for whom to ply my not especially desirable services, I came across the aptly named Espoo Cricket Club. According to their website, "ECC is one of the most respected cricket clubs in Finland because of its both on-field and off-field performances." (What does an off-field performance entail, out of interest?)

Fascinating stuff, you may say, but what does their ground look like? Well, this is where it gets interesting. Because, in the photograph on their website, their ground looks EXACTLY LIKE HYDE HEATH. Not vaguely similar, or even uncannily similar, but EXACTLY THE SAME. In short, they are using a photo of the mighty Heath to advertise their own club. What on earth is going on?

Also, it's worth noting that the club has some pretty hilarious Player Profiles. Something to consider for HHCC perhaps...?

The origins of cricket?

Stumbled across this in The Louvre on a recent trip to Paris. Cricket, religion and art history - together at last...

Stats! 2013 & 2014

Few things sum up the true tragedy of Cricket Tragics quite like our obsession with stats. And on few occasions is this as obvious as the annual Hyde Heath cricket dinner, where each table is garnished with pages of averages from the season just gone. Most years this serves as a brutal reminder of the rank hittability of my bowling, but over the last two years I feel like my averages have been on the up. Sadly the 2013 dinner never quite organised itself, and we were at a wedding for the 2014 instalment. So this is our first sight of the averages from the past two years - put together with great dedication and admirable statistical by Ben Sonley (although the look has been altered somewhat - we're quite pernickety about the aesthetics of spreadsheets...) .

And whaddya know, but things have been looking pretty fine. Leading wicket-taker in 2013, averaging over 40 with the bat in 2013, over 50 in 2014. Ah, life is good. These are the kind of numbers to sustain a man in the long Nordic winter months.

Dotted throughout these spreadsheets are some fine individual performances: Fiddy's 28 wickets at 19 to carry the bowling in 2014; Stanley's extremely impressive first two seasons for the club; and Will Cousins' admirable total of no less than four ducks for the year. One name stands out in pretty much every column though: Shrimpie. What a class act.

Anyway, enough words. Now for the numbers.

Mmmmmm stats.

(Oh, one quick thing: due to the antiquated formatting of this blog we decided to upload JPEGs rather than fiddle around with the tables in HTML. The best thing to do is click on the image and a larger, more legible version should appear. Then peruse at your leisure...)

First up, 2014

And now 2013

HHCC vs Ivinghoe & Pitstone

And so, like that, Hyde Heath's 2014 season came to a close with a match almost completely sullied by some of the worst behaviour I have ever witnessed on a cricket field. You know that thing teachers always say – “It only takes the actions of a few to ruin it for everybody” – well, this was a case in point. We've played Ivinghoe & Pitstone for years, and they're a great side. They play the game like us: hard but fair, trying to win, but having a chat and a laugh at the same time. All, that is, except for a few. Unfortunately, one of those few was the opposition captain, and he behaved not like an adult, and certainly not like the captain of a respected club like I&P, but like a spoilt little infant who had lost his favourite rattle.

The irony is, as Charlie pointed out afterwards, that rather than take his rattle away, we had actually returned it to him. He took our largesse not with gratitude but with the kind of attitude that sees fixtures get dropped.

Anyway, enough rattle metaphors: to the tale itself...

It began, as so often, in farce, as by the scheduled starting time of 1pm Hyde Heath had barely half a team. By 1.15, we had nine, and got started. Soon, the oppo were in a pickle, with new boy Anees bowling beautifully (perfect line, decent pace, a bit of bounce and some movement either way). I made a very easy catch look very difficult (caught between my legs at mid-off) before, much to everyone's amusement, Jez pitched up and immediately snaffled a sharp chance at gulley off Anees. Only the ball before, Capper was querying Charlie's decision to persist with not only one gulley but two. Admittedly, it's the first catch I can recall there since the glory days of James Aird.

Soon they were 12 for 3. So far so good.

And then it happened.

Luke ran into bowl, delivered a knee-high full-toss, which their captain bunted back at him to be safely pouched. We all converged on the bowler to congratulate him. At that point, instead of walking back to the pavilion, the batsman (their captain) appealed against the umpire, crying in no uncertain terms that it ought to have been a no ball. The square leg umpire disagreed, but nonetheless, the fellow umpiring at the bowler's end decided, after concerted pressure from his captain, that it was indeed a no ball. In the most spineless display of umpiring you could wish to see, he held out his left arm. “No ball,” he whispered meekly.

Understandable, we were pretty irritated, but Charlie told us that if that was the umpire's decision then we would get on with it. Rattle duly returned.

But that was not the end of it, not by a long shot.

For the rest of the innings, every single time that a fielder made any kind of noise, the batsman, John-boy (as he seems to be known) decided to walk away to square leg and lean on his bat until absolute silence had descended. Ben counted that he did this no less than 43 times over the course of his innings (he eventually made 70 or 80). Assuming each delay used up around 30 seconds, that is 21½ minutes of their innings wasted. As you can imagine it was monumentally tedious for the fielding side, not to mention hypocritical: somehow, “John-boy” was only ever put off by Hyde Heath players (and the occasional plane or distant child). The sporadic din of garbled drivel coming from the his own side seemed not to affect him in the slightest.

It was also counter-productive: we only ended up bowling 32 overs, and that was despite the fact that they didn't bring us any drinks at the half-way stage of their innings. Not that it really mattered: Uzi and I were both expensive (although I finally removed “John-boy” well stumped down the leg side by Capper) and Anees returned to finish things off with a six-wicket haul (including a beauty of a slower ball nicked to Dom at 1^st slip). They were all out for 162.

And then the fun really started.

After an excellent tea, the Hyde Heath openers were ready for action. 10 minute early no less. Understandably, “John-boy” was not keen for us to have the extra batting time, but he even refused to allow us to move the clock forwards in order to get on with the game. Instead we all stood and waited for ten minutes, despite protestations from his own team.

Once things got under way, there was time for yet another moment of petulance from “John-boy”. I accidentally hit a drive from the nets onto the field of play. “Sorry!” I shouted. He walked towards the ball, picked it up, and chucked it into the trees.

Unsurprisingly, our batsmen received a relentless barracking from this “John-boy” stationed at 1^st slip, and several of his cronies, including the half-witted umpire who had caused the problem in the first place. (Amusingly, this chap fielded down at fine leg for a fair amount of their innings and we actually had a bit of a chat. Much to my surprise, Jez even brought him a glass of squash – thereby conclusively securing the moral high ground for the Heath. It was only when in proximity to his captain that he behaved like an oaf once more). Our umpires – Tim Barnsley, Richard Cousins, and Charlie – were also relentlessly heckled. So much so that Richard stepped in to tell their captain in no uncertain terms to keep his mouth shut and stop questioning our umpires. Cue some fantastic finger-waving antics, reminiscent of Shakoor Rana and Mike Gatting all those years ago.

What is funny about situations like this is watching fielding sides get their knickers in a twist. When I came out to bat, they appealed for everything – LBWS when I was halfway down the track and outside the line; caught, when even their own fielders (one of the sane ones) admitted I hadn't hit it – and then got increasingly outraged as none of these ludicrous appeals were given out. It's unfair, they cry! What I&P failed to realise is that Barnsley actually loves giving our players out...

That said, Richard's parting words at the drinks break were hardly likely to pacify matters. And then he got in his car and drove off, leaving us to deal with the aftermath. Thanks Richard!

Fortunately, by the time my batting was needed, we were nearly home. Dom and Henry had laid a solid platform against some high-class bowling and extremely tight fielding. Henry fell clipping to midwicket, but Dom and Shrimpie held firm amid the abuse and built a partnership to break the back of the opposition's total. Dom eventually fell for a well-composed 35, Uzi timed a few blows before getting himself out, and I came in to steal a bit of glory at the end.

All the while, Shrimpie was playing a blinder: impregnable in defence, decisive in attack – his cover drives both elegant and forceful. But it was the mental strength never to rise to the bait that marked this innings apart. Not once did he lose his cool and attempt to whack a few statement boundaries; he simply kept batting until the game was won – fairly comfortably in the end. It was probably the best innings, given the circumstances, that I can remember seeing at the Heath.

Afterwards, like adults, we shook hands with the opposition – all except one. The captain, “John-boy”, had already fled to the pavilion. Then, just as they were leaving the pub, he had the cheek to criticise our tea – despite admitting to having not eaten any of it. So not exactly a trustworthy witness then.

The worst/best thing is that the majority of his team were happy to have a drink and a chat in the pub afterwards: they knew he'd behaved disgracefully, and many apologised to us on his behalf.

If a Hyde Heath player ever behaved like that they would never play for us again. I'll be interested to see how Ivinghoe and Pitstone proceed.

HHCC vs Roxbourne

I awoke on Monday morning with a cricket-ball-shaped bruise on my shoulder and an ear covered in blood: the former evidence of my failure to evade a fiercely struck Capper on-drive while standing at the non-striker’s end; the latter the result of a collision with a tree of fearsome thorniness on the course of my night-lit stumble home from The Plough. But, oh!, such injuries were nowt compared to the terrible damage wrought upon my already battered bowling figures in the course of one final, fateful over. In need of the three wickets that would have secured a great victory, instead each delivery was crunched to the boundary with increasing inevitability. Was it 24 off the over? Or just the 20? I declined, understandably, to check.

Earlier, despite losing the toss, things had started well against a 10-man Roxbourne team. The oppo’s tight bowling and excellent ground fielding allied to a pitch that, while flat, was also a little slow, meant that scoring was tricky – or at least we made it look so. We built a solid enough opening stand, however, until I got bowled for 35. Capper continued on for an important 79 that held the innings together, and as the opposition’s fielding crumbled (hundreds of catches were dropped) a middle order of Jez, Luke and Nick gradually upped the run rate in the closing overs.

Fiddy strikes!

It was great, in particular, to see Nick back on the cricket field after a lengthy injury break and one huge six proved that class is indeed permanent. Even more impressive was an audacious upper-cut off their opening bowler which sailed away for a one-bounce four. On the back of Nick’s hitting, we closed on a solid 200(ish) and repaired to the pavilion for tea, which, in what is surely a first for village cricket, included, yes, CANAPES. True story. Smoked salmon mini-blinis. Take that John Paul Getty.

Perhaps unused to such luxury, neither of our opening bowlers – Ben and Sohail – were quite on-song. With Luke and I also struggling for consistency, Charlie was unable ever really to force the game. Spencer bowled extremely well for three wickets (including a beauty first ball) and Sohail bowled an excellent second spell to pick up another three, but with the pitch starting to slumber and Roxbourne losing interest in the chase, the match began to peter out. Until that final over – from which I feel I shall never recover.

HHCC vs Bank of England

Back in 2004, Andrew Flintoff gave a piece of friendly advice to West Indian all-rounder Dwayne Bravo: “This game's got a funny way of biting you on the arse,” he said, before continuing, worldly-wise: “I've seen it all mate. Let's see where you are in three years time.”

The irony is that in three years time, Bravo had cemented his place in an (admittedly ropey) West Indies team, while Flintoff, the big man, had just led England to a disastrous 5-0 whitewash against Australia, and been fined for drunken pedalo -bothering. When the teams met next, Bravo performed creditably while Flintoff was nowhere to be seen.

If only Flintoff had realised at the time that his words could also be applied to himself. If only Hyde Heath had realised that too, as we made the most straightforward of run chases somehow into the most nail-biting of farces. Although Bank of England bowled tidily enough, it was over-confidence that nearly did for us. Charlie was so confident that he had showered and changed; I batted like a was still not out from the week before – attempting to drill my first ball back over the bowler's head, missing comfortably, and pottering back to the pavilion.

That, it turned out, was the second dismissal in a hat-trick as Liam got himself LBW first ball; Dom – who had earlier continued his fine recent form with another half-century, and alongside Shrimpie, scored the bulk of the side's runs in another excellent partnership – was the first of the trio. It meant that within just two runs of our target we lost no less than four wickets. It may have been embarrassing cricket but it made for entertaining viewing. I've never seen a changing room laughing so much as the wickets tumbled. There's something hilarious sometimes about inevitability.

Thankfully we weren't chasing many, and it was Charlie's earlier canniness that was to thank for that – especially as several of his batsmen, brimming with (over?)confidence were requesting we “give 'em a few” to make a game of it.

We found ourself in such a position thanks to probably the tightest hour of cricket I've seen from the Heath. The pitch – the same as last week – was a little slow and low but played very true, and we were never going to blast through them. But Sohail was as full and straight as ever, Ben hit that perfect, miserly length, Fiddy found his rhythm, and even my first two overs were pretty tight (obviously the next five were total rubbish). We also fielded brilliantly: Dom made a very difficult chance (coming down over his left shoulder as he ran backwards from mid-off) look easy, while I, ambling forwards from mid-on, made a very straight-forward catch look exceptionally tricky. “I've never seen a thirty year-old look more like a seventy year-old,” said Shrimpie, encouragingly.

Perhaps all those teas are finally taking their toll. Devilled eggs, smoked salmon, chikken tikka wraps.... Mmmmm cricket.

Return of the Mack (HHCC vs Gamecox)

Ah it’s good to be back! I have to confess that, as much as I enjoyed reading the match reports while gallivanting around South America, it was not without the odd pang of sadness: to be unable not only to play cricket each week but also to write half-baked rubbish about it afterwards. I’m afraid this season’s residence in the realms of factually accurate reporting must take a brief soujourn back into vagues-ville, at least for this week.

One number, however, will be etched in my memory for some time: 71 (with a little star after it for good measure). Yes, I scored my career-best, a match-winning (no need for modesty here) unbeaten innings of 71 (71!) that, in partnership with Liam, saw us chase down what had at one point looked like an imposing target of 198 with several overs to spare. “Hell, yeah!” is, I think, the appropriate phrase.

In pursuit of such a total we needed a quick start. And we got one courtesy of an extremely impressive opening partnership of 90(ish) between Dom and Shrimpy. Shrimpy played some gorgeously timed drives, while Dom was typically severe on anything short and/or leg-side. I’ve forgotten how Shrimpy was out, but it precipitated the all-too familiar Hyde Heath collapse. Will Cousins came and went; Wade was given out LBW by Tim Barnsley (which led to a distinctly unedifying dressing room tantrum); and Dom was dismissed for 50(odd) after a firm lofted drive saw the bowler dive full stretch into the air to complete a stunning one-handed return catch.

I came to the wicket at number 6 just in time to see Fiddy and Jez depart for not much. All of a sudden we were 118 for 6. But I managed to hit a couple of boundaries and their captain responded by setting some truly atrocious fields: at one point, their (very) slow left-armer had only two on the off side. With the pitch a belter (thanks Mikey!) and the outfield quickening up in the summer sun, it felt almost impossible not to score runs. Meanwhile Liam never looked like getting out (apart from that one ball where he looked like getting out) and we cruised home surprisingly comfortably.

It was quite a turnaround from the first half of the game. Perhaps it is tea that should take the credit. Chicken tikka wraps were a clear highlight, and it was excellent work by Spencer to spot several going uneaten on the oppo’s table. It showed the reactions of an athlete and great presence of mind to nip over there before anybody else had noticed and bring them back to the Hyde Heath table. If only we’d showed such commitment in the field…

After Sohail failed to turn up, we were left very light on bowling. Ben was tight early on, and returned at the death (in an excellent piece of captaincy from Charlie) to strike immediately, but he deserved more than his one wicket. Spence struggled with his run-up and was a little erratic, and it was left to me and Shrimpy to get through a sizeable chunk of the overs. I bowled ok-ish given the long lay-off and was happy to finish with 2 for 60 or so off 12. It would have been better had I not been hit for two massive sixes in my last over and dropped a fairly straightforward caught-and-bowled chance.

That drop was not the only one. As the batsmen began to accelerate, the fielders wilted and chances began to go down, including a couple of missed stumpings. I forget how many we dropped but it must have been somewhere in the region of four or five. What I don’t forget is Charlie juggling, and then dropping, a nice loopy dolly at mid-off. Always hilarious. As I said, it’s good to be back!

Bogota vs Cali

Long-standing readers of Cricket Tragics (is there any other kind?) will be aware that your erstwhile correspondent is away in South America for the vast majority of Hyde Heath's 2014 season. You will no doubt have missed his heroic exploits on the field, and no doubt the more, his impressive feats of recollection and reconstruction of it, on these very virtual pages.

Our replacements have done sterling work in our absence, and – the occasional barb directed this way notwithstanding – it has been a pleasure to keep abreast of goings-on at Fortress Heath and beyond through the perhaps less jaundiced, and certainly less self-concerned, eyes of Dom and JC.

Men. Cricketers. Heroes.

That said, we note in passing that the last match report on the Hyde Heath website is from 1^st June, a whopping 24 days ago. We'd have received at least four or five increasingly direct emails from Mrs Capper by now if such negligence had occurred under our watch...

Anyway, onwards, to more preamble! As already touched upon, and as these same long-standing readers will also be aware, Cricket Tragics, tends to focus on the deeds of the narrator – despite our/my/its/their slightly confusing oscillation between first person singular and plural (and even worse, the third person – see above). So they/you should not be surprised to learn that little will be said about the historic fixture between Bogota and Cali that we were so privileged to have umpired earlier this month. (Besides, it was a boring, one-sided match, and WE ONLY BLOODY WENT AND WROTE ABOUT IT FOR CRICINFO.)

Instead, we'll tell you all about how we got on in the next day's Twenty20 match by means of bullet points and subheadings and things (such flair for the bureaucratic style is sadly missing from HHCC's match reports):

Our ride: sure, the driver was armed....

1. The Arrival
Our ride to the Bogota Sports Club, on the outskirts of Colombia's capital city, was befitting of such a valuable cricketing asset as yours truly: yes, an armour-plated Land Rover laid on by the Ministry of Defence, aka the British taxpayer (thanks Dad!). Fret ye not, however, Bogota is not that dangerous (any more); no, we hitched a list with the British defence attaché – an affable Brummie fellow with an obsession with sporting celebrities and a tidy line in medium-paced outswing.

2. The Venue
You can read more about the club itself in the PIECE WE WROTE ON CRICINFO, but, in truth, it was a weird, soulless place: vast and brick and adorned with silly bits of English memorabilia (Wills and Kate above the mantelpiece: *gags*). Also, apart from the cricketers, it was populated solely by a few very rich fat men and their tennisy wives.

The pavvy: not a patch on the Heath's bucolic idyll. Probably nicer than The Plough though...

3. The Pitch
Matting on concrete. Chances of spin? Zero.

4. The Teams
Bogota vs Cali. Both nice folks by and large, except for the odd massively competitive Australian, but then that can happen to the best of us.

5. The Altitude
2,600 metres above sea level means running anything further than three yards is a nightmare. Even for a well-honed athlete such as ourselves.

6. The Batting
We (Bogota) won the toss and batted first and I came in at 4 (or 5) after a steady (or shaky) start. Wearing borrowed trainers and *gasp* tracksuit bottoms, with a broken thigh-pad and a box slipping down to my knee upon every minor movement, it's along time since I felt this amateurish with the bat in hand. (“Since last season you mean, mate?” “Yup, hilarious.”)

I somehow survived my first ball despite an entangulation of bat and pad, saw off their threatening Aussie quick, and began to really prosper through a combination of gritty blocks, mistimed straight drives, and the odd almighty nurdle. Then I got run out following a mix-up with my partner, despite being forewarned by the umpire that the batsman in question was “a headless chicken”. Oh well. The team made 111 for 7 off 20 overs, my contribution an attritional (some might say counter-productive) 10.

Your correspondent surveys the pitch: flat as a concrete pancake. Lovely Colombian-themed stumps though.

7. The Lunch
Huge plates of burgers and chips were admittedly pretty tasty, but of course lacked the charm and finesse of the Hyde Heath tea: cucumber sandwiches, pakoras, slices of melon, chicken tikka wraps, scones, cakes, scotch eggs... not to mention the bloody tea! No tea. Unbelievable. Fortunately there was plenty of cheap Colombian lager instead.

8. The Bowling
I have it on good authority (I definitely did not just make it up) that nobody has spun a single ball on the Bogota pitch in all its years of use. So even as prodigious a ripper as yours truly (3000RPM as standard) was unlikely to get much out of it. Needless to say, I didn't turn a thing. But I bowled my two overs tidily enough, didn't go for many, and even got the crucial wicket of a man in blue tracksuit bottoms who hadn't ever played cricket before. Bowled leg stump. Oh the glory! Oh the adulation!

9. The Fielding
In customary fashion, I made my presence known in the field by dropping a catch. It was actually quite difficult though – running in from mid-on and diving forwards, I could only get one hand on the ball and it didn't stick. Irritatingly I had just been moved ten yards back by the captain the ball before. You'd never catch Charlie making that mistake...

10. The End

Anyway, it didn't matter. Cali never looked like threatening our total and were all out for 54. Victory! For cricket and for cricket writing too. And the pen remains sharp for August's eagerly anticipated return to Fortress Heath.

Cricket and Empire

Just came across this amazing description of a version of cricket played off the coast of Papua New Guinea:

"Trobrianders played cricket according to a number of rules which departed from the MCC-defined game. These included no restriction on the number of players per team (as long as the sides were even), throwing rather than bowling, a smaller-sized wicket, the incorporation of elaborate dances at the fall of each wicket and feasting at the end of the game (though of course all international cricketers now seem to have their own versions of each of these), and a convention whereby the home side always won."

from Dominic Malcolm's fascinating Globalizing Cricket: Englishness, Empire and Identity

Pages Of... cricket!

In another departure from the hallowed turf of this here blog, we also had a piece published in a fantastic magazine called Pages Of (which, incidentally, is co-edited by Mrs Tragics). It's loosely about trying to explain why cricket is awesome to people who probably don't care, with some half-baked stuff about social history and national identity.

Oh and there's some excellent pictures of Hyde Heath cricketers. Chris, remind me to send you your copies!

Here's the opening bit:


I find it difficult to say when exactly I fell in love with cricket, or indeed why. I remember the first time I really followed the sport obsessively: it was 1997, I was 12, and my father had recently taken me to Lord’s, the “home of cricket” to watch a one-day international between old foes England and Australia. The match has since become famous for the sparkling debut performance of the 19 year-old Ben Hollioake, who died just five years later when he crashed his Porsche into a wall outside Perth in Australia. But for me, it was the series that followed – The Ashes – that marked the origins of my near-obsessive passion for cricket. What is strange is that, recently rifling through an untouched drawer in my childhood bedroom, I came across imaginary scorecards and team selection lists that included players from years before that – players I don’t remember having even seen, live or on the television.

But it’s 1997 that stands out. The Ashes that year was a six-Test series (six matches of five days each, taking place over the course of eleven long summer weeks). It was a rarity then; unheard of now, as the game begins to change irrevocably. What, I think, struck me then about cricket was a sense of slow unraveling not seen in any other sport that I know of. 


To read the rest, buy the magazine!

The Architecture of Cricket Grounds

Cricket Tragics recently branched out by having a slightly peculiar piece of writing about the architecture of cricket grounds published in an amazing quarterly magazine called The Nightwatchman. It's published by Wisden and has articles by real writers like Marcus Berkmann, Mark Rice-Oxley, and Dileep Premachandran. Plus, it's made of paper rather than internet.

Naturally, we were pretty excited. Here's the first few sentences by way of a taster:


If, as Nevile Cardus wrote in 1930, “cricket is a game which must always be less than its true self if it is taken...out of the weather of our English summer”, then what are we to make of The Oval as it stands, wet and empty, on a cold November morning? The cynic, or the Englishman, might point out that the wet and the cold are both integral parts of the summer sport in this country, just as likely in August as they are in November. And, indeed, the fourth day of the Ashes test match here was a total washout, with the match ultimately ending in a draw despite Michael Clarke's aggressive double declaration. I was there on the opening day, when Shane Watson made the most of a close LBW escape and some nervy bowling from Chris Woakes and Simon Kerrigan to post a big and belligerent hundred.

But it feels an age away now, as water drips slow and sad from concrete overhead to soggy concrete underfoot. As an art critic by trade, I'm used to visiting museums and galleries when they're closed to the general public. No hordes of schoolchildren, no frazzled parents, no tired tourists: just a white-walled calm, and the time to stand and look and think. It's quite a privilege. But a cricket ground, on the other hand, becomes a kind of ghost, or theatre of ghosts – an empty arena reverberating around the silence of past events, glories, players, public.

And yet, this emptiness and the absence of cricket starts to focus the attention on the ground itself...


To read the rest, buy the magazine! 

HHCC vs Goodwill Wanderers

A win! A bloody win. After a joyless August, the (no longer) mighty Heath registered our first victory since July 28th. With Abbots Langley dropping out on the Thursday, much conferring took place and it was finally agreed that Goodwill Wanderers would be the day's opposition. And what an aptly named cricket team - for they proved a most entertaining bunch, full of abuse directed (as it should be) relentlessly towards their own players.

But before we get to the report proper, first, an apology. Last week's match report was written after a very boozy evening and I'm afraid it all got a bit Mark Nicholas in places ("Stephen Harmison, with a slower ball, one of the great balls. Given the moment, given the batsman, and given the match…" Yep, sorry about that one, chaps.) So this week, a review in strictly rigorous fact-based fashion:

1. Hyde Heath fielded first. (I can't remember if we won the toss.)

2. We bowled. Ben sent down a very tidy opening spell to pick up one wicket; at the other end Spencer picked up three, but was expensive in his second spell. Ateeq took two (or one) and I took one.

3. I bowled the best I had in some weeks but proved expensive as one of Goodwill's batsmen made an inexplicable 60 or so, in which he looked like he might get out any second but periodically timed the ball, much to our surprise.

4. Sohail bowled well, although his figures were ruined by a sole death over that cost 16, and Goodwill finished on an eminently threatening 179 (later upgraded to 180 for reasons that never became entirely apparent).

5. My fielding was ghastly.

6. Tea was belting, with jam and cream bedecked scones the stand-out performance in a strong all-round display.

7. After being horribly dropped offering one of the simplest caught-and-bowled chances you could imagine, Dom proceeded to compile a second consecutive half-century, and along with Capper, finding form after a couple of low scores, put together an increasingly authoritative opening partnership of 120 that effectively sealed the match. Both timed the ball well, with Dom particularly strong on the cut, and Capper timing the hell out of it off his legs.

8. Jez and I then came in to steal some glory with a few boundaries against a demoralised opposition (who have clearly never witnessed a Hyde Heath collapse before).

9. We went to the Plough.

10. The end.

HHCC vs Roxbourne

The pattern of the 2013 season continued this Sunday at home against Roxbourne, as Hyde Heath again fell just short of victory, with the absence of several key players increasingly keenly felt. On the plus side, it was an extremely enjoyable and competitive game, thanks almost entirely to a quite brilliant innings from Dom Haddock, who pitched up at Fortress Heath having only just returned – engaged, no less! – from glamorous Copenhagen.

With most of the team slow to arrive, the mighty Heath were forced to bat first and the makeshift opening partnership of myself and Capper got off to a poor start, when after a couple of well-times strokes, Henry was bowled by a gently away-swinging yorker. Jez, at number 3, and I steadied the ship – although it turns out there is such a thing as too steady, and after a rather painful 11 off 40 balls (dropped three times, never looked like scoring any runs) I was finally caught behind having a horrible swish.

Thereafter, our middle order stuttered and all looked grim, until Dom rocked up, played himself in carefully, before accelerating through the gears. At first he made himself comfortable, judging the pace of the pitch and the bowlers; then he pushed the singles hard to irritate the fielders, bowlers and captain; before really cutting loose in the final overs. It was probably the best innings I’ve seen Dom play – placing the ball perfectly and running hard, or drilling it through the gaps for boundaries, he made a mockery of line or length or fielding positions.  In the final two overs, there was a sense of inevitability about his batting that echoed Michaels Hussey or Bevan at their best. Whatever field was set, whatever the bowler bowled, Dom placed it where he wanted – for a scampered single to keep the strike, or in the gap for yet another boundary. It was pretty amazing stuff.

Given useful support by Ben, Angus (who injured himself trying to keep up) and Stanley (who played one glorious stroke through the covers) Dom was able to drag us up to a relatively respectable 150ish thanks to his unbeaten 65 off 47 balls. Especially impressive as he was about 12 off 30.

Unfortunately, from there our lack of bowling was exposed. I opened and picked up a couple despite bowling dross (the wickets came from a brilliant stumping by Capper and a quite extraordinary one-handed catch low down by Spencer at cover) whilst, at the other end, Spencer picked up three, bowling with more height and pace than usual. But he probably bowled an over too many, and despite being 7 down , the oppo cobbled together a sufficiently significant partnership to take them over the line. It’s rather been the story of our season – just a bowler or batsman (or both) light.

How we could have done with Richie Austin.

HHCC vs Bank of England

Veronica Hartley presents the trophy to the two captains.

As bad light prevented England from what would have been an historic 4-0 series victory over the old enemy, Hyde Heath marked our own long-standing fixture with a touching tea-time ceremony in memory of the man who originated it, Brian Hartley. A couple of hours later, and the newly inaugurated Brian Hartley Trophy (a rather nice silver tankard) was held aloft by the captain of the Bank of England, as we recorded our sixth loss of a disappointing season.

Chasing an arguably below-par 165, the Bank cruised home with 3 overs to spare thanks to a monumental effort by one of their young batsman who saw them home single-handedly with one of the most clinically inevitable centuries I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness. We didn’t bowl badly – I was reasonably accurate, as was Sohail, Spencer was steady, and new man Usman bowled with pace and swing away. We did probably have attacking fields for too long (Usman still had two slips, a gulley and a backward point when he was past 70), and I think we could have tried a few more bowlers. Charlie was limited by the attack at his disposal, but Sohail should have bowled more than just 6 overs, and I probably would have given Dom a couple just to see what happened on a stodgy wicket.

But in the end it probably wouldn’t have mattered: he was simply too good for us. To underline the chasm between him and the rest of us (by ‘us’, of course, I mean ‘them’), when his hundred was brought up, the Bank’s total was only about 120. When he hit the winning runs off Charlie (batting and bowling in the same match for the first time in years) the next highest score was just 23.

I, Block

Earlier, we’d got off to a poor start as Henry cut the fourth ball of the opening over straight to point. Dom and I then steadied things with a careful 50-run stand. It was slow going, but the opposition bowled accurately, found a little swing, and the pitch made all but the rankest of long-hops difficult to time. As we began to grow in confidence, however, Dom skied to mid-off and I gloved a silly sort of late cut / dab shot to be caught behind for 38. After doing all the hard work I was bloody fuming.

The customary clatter of wickets which followed was halted by Matt Sims, who played several rasping shots through the off-side, and Usman, who – despite some ropey calling – looked very solid for his 50. On a pitch with a bit more pace, he could be very dangerous.

There was one moment of genuine concern when one of the Bank’s fielders slid round the boundary to avert a four, collected the ball and hurled it in, only to buckle and remain on the ground. It turned out he’d inadvertently slid along the rubber matting surrounding a new children’s climbing frame that had earlier this season been placed inside the boundary by some half-conscious dunce. The poor fellow in question was taken to hospital with a cut so deep that witnesses said they could see bone. Fortunately, although hobbling visibly, he returned to the ground later in the day. But it’s about time somebody moves that bloody thing.

Anyway, enough local-issue griping. In the end we scrabbled up to 165, which I thought was probably just about enough. With their young centurion in the ranks, however, I think they could have chased many more.


PS. I've been told off for neglecting to mention tea. It was excellent. And there was bloody loads of it! Which is almost as important.

Bourne End vs HHCC

So apparently that old adage about London buses also applies to half centuries. You wait over a decade for one to come along, and then suddenly it's two in consecutive innings. Yes, after my long-awaited maiden 50 against The Full Tossers two weeks ago, 50 number two was registered immediately afterwards, away at Bourne End. If the first was painfully slow, this was a much freer affair – flowing even, with several fours and even a six – although I did benefit from two or three lapses in the field – not drops exactly, more a kind of lethargy that prevented the oppo's fielders from even bothering to attempt to catch the ball. Perhaps the same lethargy overcame our spectators who failed to acknowledge the momentous landmark until after I was dismissed, top edging a pull, for 52. No claps, no jugs people.

Batting at three again due to absences – have I nailed down this pivotal position? Where will Capper slot into the order when he returns? – I came to the crease after the openers had made a calculatedly aggressive start to our chase of 220 in 40 overs. After playing one of the most sweetly timed lofted drives you could wish to see, Dom was extremely unfortunate to be given out caught of his forearm by Ben Sonley, and left the field absolutely fuming. He's subsequently emailed me to say that he has a rather large bruise half way up his arm where the ball hit!

At the other end Shrimpie “had the dog” after several catches were dropped off his bowling and Bourne End captain Azhar had capitalised by depositing a series of increasingly fast, flat deliveries into the nearby field. After smiting several glorious sixes himself (“Do you reckon I can win the sixes cup in one innings?” he asked as I came out to bat) he essayed one big hit too many and got himself stumped.

Strangely, the run rate didn't drop that much as I found an able ally in young Olly who batted extremely sensibly – blocking the good stuff and capitalising on anything legside – and the partnership began to grow. It was by a distance the most I've enjoyed batting: the pitch was a minefield, and the opposition's battery of “quirky”-actioned spinners were turning it square and finding occasionally laughable amounts of bounce. Olly was sconned twice in an over, one was called a wide so high did it bounce over my head, and I have a cluster of bruises on my ribs from a succession of off-breaks that spat off a length. But I felt confident judging the length and there were sufficient bad balls to keep things ticking. Thank god they didn't have any genuinely fast bowlers – Sohail would have been lethal on that pitch. At the half-way stage we were 100 for 2 and very much in the game.

When Olly and I were eventually dismissed, Jez and Spencer kept our hopes alive with a quick-fire partnership, but their dismissals exposed our inexperienced lower-middle order (comprising Gwillem (sp?), Angus, Ben and Liam). And as the run-rate began to escalate, the wickets tumbled, our innings rather tailed off and we eventually fell short by 20 or so.

Earlier, we were so short of seamers that I opened the bowling, picking up two wickets – one to an excellent reflex catch by Ben in the gulley. But it was nothing compared to Liam's quite brilliant snare to get rid of their dangerous number four, who I'm pretty certain has scored runs against us in the past. The batsman was lured into a false drive against Ben, who like those battalions of Gloucestershire medium-pacers in the early 2000s (Mark Alleyne, Ian Harvey, James Averis, Jon Lewis, Mike Smith... any others, Ali?) found a niggardly length to record our most economical figures of the day. The ball in question flew high over Liam's head at point. Backpeddling rapidly, he kept his eyes on the ball, leapt backwards and somehow caught it one-handed. An absolute screamer.

Inexplicably, Liam decided to make up for this moment of brilliant by shelling two much more straightforward catches – one at long-on and one at backward point. Those moments proved crucial, as thereafter the wheels rather came off. Spence dropped one in the deep after having run in too far off the boundary and Angus got nowhere near two that were arguable catchable, as the bowling was put to the sword. Even more inexplicably, I actually took two catches – one pretty well-held inches off the ground at deep backward square leg. But, increasingly lacklustre in the field, slow between overs, and lacking much bowling, we were incapable of preventing Bourne End's late innings acceleration, despite good spells from Ben and Dom. In the end we got closer than might have been expected, but not close enough.

Oh, and before we conclude this week's match report, special mention should go to the makers of Bourne End's tea. Well-made sandwiches were supplemented by an absolutely belting chicken biryani – heated up in the pavilion and served in 22 separate tupperware boxes alongside a cooling yoghurt and mint sauce. Yum! Perhaps it was the curry that contributed to all those runs. Ahem. Sorry.

The Carpenter's Arms vs HHCC

A brand new fixture, courtesy of the conference (how much conferring actually takes place, I'll never know) saw Hyde Heath cricketers travelling all the way to the village (town?) of Harpenden and its rather charming environs, to do battle with the Carpenter's Arms CC, inside the very pleasant grounds of a well-heeled boarding school.

Winning the toss in a limited overs match, Charlie decided (eventually) to have a bowl. Things started badly as Jez rediscovered his wide problem, but at the other end, Spence bowled with accuracy and a bit of movement with the new ball to pick up three wickets and help disguise the fact that, for a limited overs game in particular, we were pretty light on bowling. Replacing him, I then picked up two further wickets (to fairly average shots) to leave the Carpenters in need of some rebuilding.

Fortunately they were able to do so thanks to a talented left-hander, and, off another batsman, one of the worst dropped catches I've ever seen. Shrimpie, whose bowling has really picked up in recent matches (the very quick and the very slow deliveries now supplemented by a good stock ball that has a bit of loop at decent pace and still grips a fair bit off the surface) enticed the batsman into a poke outside off stump. The ball looped gently - no more than a little under-arm lob - straight to the hands of the man stationed at 1st slip. Inexplicably, however, the ball went not cleanly into his hands, but clunked into his thumb and thudded to the floor. A moment's pause for bafflement. The realisation that it had truly happened. Derisory laughter all round.

And the culprit? Um, yup. Sorry chaps.

On the plus side, this enabled me to pick up another three wickets (two to fairly average LBW decisions) to make it five in total. Two jugs in consecutive weeks. Good lord.

Furthermore, that the opposition were able to recover to post 164 (still well below par on a flat pitch with a fast outfield) meant that Henry was able to record his first hundred of the season, putting some fairly average bowling to the sword - strong as always through the legside but also playing the occasional back-foot forcing stroke through the offside. In his slipstream, Dom made 30-odd and Shrimpie chipped in with a few, and that, ladies and gentlemen, was that. Another win for the mighty Heath.

HHCC vs The Full Tossers

Another wicket for Shrimpie

A great week for sporting patriots (an Ashes thrashing, some rugby, that tennis fellow, some other stuff) reached what was universally acclaimed as its apotheosis on the hallowed turf of Hyde Heath last week, with a long-awaited maiden half century from your humble correspondent. Long-awaited, it must be said, in more ways than one: for not only is this something like my 14th season at the club, but it was also one of the most painfully tedious innings that Fortress Heath has had the misfortune to witness in some time.

Batting first after losing the toss, we lost Matty fairly early, before I (batting at three due to several absentees) and Shrimpie put on a hundred or thereabouts for the second wicket, of which I contributed about 12, or maybe 15, certainly no more than 20. Shrimpie was at his best, timing every shot perfectly and manipulating the ball into gaps with ease. I was leaving elegantly as ever, and playing and missing with real flair. The crowd surely sensed something special...

Once Shrimpie was out for 60-odd, played on (I think), Heath newcomer Mike (a friend of Shrimpie's form Lacey Green) proceeded to demonstrate what an asset he could be for the club with some powerful hitting and judicious defence on his way to an impressive debut fifty. Meanwhile, I pootled along, increasingly hot and exhausted, but really nailing the odd forward defensive. Strangely, I also hit my first six ever (a rank full toss obvs) and then somehow I had 50, before being caught (rather brilliantly in fact at long-on) attempting to hit another. Oh well.

I actually caught one

Of more note, perhaps, than my non-existent strokeplay was the occasionally fractious dialogue with the opposition, The Full Tossers. At the half-way stage of our innings they had only bowled 18 overs, and the more quickly Shrimpie scored, the slower the over-rate seemed to become. Whether or not this was a deliberate policy, there certainly did seem to be a lot of field changes (possibly to counter my vast array of strokes) and things did get more than a little frustrating - to the extent that words were exchanged and threats made. But we all kissed and made up shortly afterwards, as it should be with village cricket. By the time of tea, they'd bowled a perfectly respectable 40 overs, so all was well.

After some smashing cucumber sandwiches (thanks me!) it was back out in the blazing sun. Ali bowled his usual immaculate line and length and Shrimpie varied his pace and found some turn, and soon their top order were in tatters. Shrimpie took five wickets (of which I managed to catch one at midwicket) and by drinks, with no other bowlers used, the draw was the only option for the Full Tossers. From that point, it was a case of trying to winkle out the remaining wickets, with short spells for myself, Liam, Tim Nutman (making a welcome return to the club) and others. Despite a rare run out by me (bullet arm? Err, rubber bullets at best), we were unable to take that final wicket, as their captain bravely came out (in jeans, after having earlier retired hurt) and blocked out the final over. A four-jug draw, therefore, and very easily they went down too.