After a mid-season break to rehabilitate knocks and work on technique, the Plastics turned up to a lovely ground in North Enfield carrying several injuries and no technique. A sobering walk through two cemeteries might have been seen, by men of lesser character, to portend a gloomy afternoon, but fortunately the heavy reminder of our mortality served only to assure us that no matter how good this lot might be at cricket, they were human too.
Not fully-formed humans, mind. North Enfield had taken our warnings of "weak-weak" seriously and were giving a run-out to some of their colts and some more of their seniors. Again, men of ego might have been insulted: the Plastics take it as a sign of a welcoming club who just want to enjoy our glorious game. Charlie, of course, lost the toss but was given the choice – perhaps their captain had heard of his season-long afflictions with the coin and wanted to offer sympathy (or perhaps he didn't care either way). Opting to field first such that his men might get a tan in the lovely sunshine, we got underway at exactly twelve minutes to two. Niall and Jamie opened the bowling, with Jamie making use of a significant slope to aid his devilish in-swing and Niall showing off his usual variety. Four overs in, Saril Jones came into the attack in order that we might keep Niall a bewitching secret, and bowled a very tidy opening spell; he and Jamie picked up one apiece to let us into their middle order relatively early on. Without disrespect to the aforementioned, though, Maithri was absolutely something else. North Enfield had snuck a 1st XI batsman into their line-up, just in case. Their umpire told your author that this guy bats at 4 for what is a successful 1st team, and he looked very accomplished. Maithri cared not. With his knee back towards full health, he could finally bowl seam up, and with devastating effect. Wicket maiden. Wicket maiden. Maiden. A squirt through point's hands for two and a thick uppish edge for two more. Another mis-field. It wasn't till halfway through Maithri's fifth over that anybody could get him away on purpose and without our help. Bowling straight through an eight-over spell in a stern test of that dodgy knee, 2-12 off 8 will get him called up to our first XI once we have one. Charlie turned his arm over for a couple before deciding it was a batter's day and Matt, hampered by a hamstring injury exacerbated while running four for some other team, bowled three but felt out of sorts. Davies picked up a wicket off a disgraceful ball that kept low and bowled worse than his 1-11 off 3 suggests. James had already excelled himself before coming on to bowl – a couple of hasty chase-downs and one genuinely astonishing snap dive at backward point that allowed him to parry the ball to the man at cover did what I believe is called "preventing a single". His bowling, though, took him a step beyond. Admittedly, two of his three wickets were players who would show themselves to be bowling specialists (and young enough to be James's grandchildren), but the stranglehold he placed on them warranted wickets. That aforementioned 1st XI player, though? Mr. Number 4 for a league team? The one who'd spare their blushes if it turned out we were competent? Bowled round his legs by one that floated, drifted up the slope, dipped back down it, and gently turned into its leg-stump destiny. A glorious ball and a glorious spell: 5-2-15-3. Jamie and Niall mopped up the tail and we had our total: 174. Eminently doable. Unfortunately, because 8/11 of our players don't know where fielding positions are and at least 10 aren't clear on what it means to "stand next to that yellow flag", their innings did take THREE AND A HALF HOURS. We desperately need to work on that, because by the time we came to bat, the clouds had gathered and the light was failing. Before long, rain started to fall, and it only got heavier. Conditions would doubtless play a part. Peter and Mr Robert opened. As mentioned, one of Enfield's colts was clearly a bowler's bowler. His short stature meant the ball came out on a unusually flat plane, but at some speed and consistently on a length that made it difficult for either opener to get him away. Frustrated, Mr Robert went after one and was stumped. He would be in good company later in the match. Mike was in at 3 and under strict orders to defend the good balls and punish the bad ones. The former was achieved with aplomb, but on a wet pitch in bad light against steady bowlers, the latter turned out to be scarce. 29 balls faced for a sensible 5, eventually dislodged by one that swung a bit. Peter got a season's best 16 and faced down 40 balls for that: opening after keeping for 40 overs really is not easy, but our own Sangakarra is making it his own. Bradbury, having told everybody else to play slow and not do anything they didn't need to, managed 13 off 15. Again, the pitch probably his undoing as one plugged and pulled him through his shot too early. Davies, who joined his captain to a plea not to just hit everything and score the usual 13 off 8, only scored 2 off his first 11. He didn't look comfortable, which is what happens when you've played ten minutes of cricket in six weeks. Soon, though, he unfurled a "forward defensive", and then did it again just in case people missed it. His eyes might have betrayed the excruciating boredom of hitting a cricket ball anywhere other than the boundary, but numbers don't lie – he was out there for an hour, and even someone of limited talent will accidentally score 20 if you give them that long. Matt joined him, promoted to 6 after missing out on his bowling allocation. A couple of lusty blows for four and a couple of quick pinched singles: plus ca change. Caught and bowled, though – again, a slow pitch and an instinct to punish slow bowling his unfortunate undoing. Maithri, as close to buzzing as he gets after that bowling performance, in at 7. Maithri's technique is live textbook action but for whatever reason that refuses to translate into runs. Davies met his demise having for some reason decided that a floaty ripper from their captain pitched up just outside off was definitely the bad ball to be punished that over. Meting out a huge clunk over cow corner, the stumps were broken before anyone could cry "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST PAY ATTENTION?!". James joined his fellow bowling hero and would somehow only face 9 balls batting at 8. Well, I say somehow. Niall, promoted to 9 to see if that could test his season-long duck, attacked his batting with fervour. Sprinting out, doing side steps, stretching out the shoulders: a sight to behold. Straight into his batting stance (guards are for people lacking natural talent), North Enfield hustled to their positions: perhaps, they thought, we had reversed our order to keep them interested. Perhaps this guy was as much a maverick with bat as ball. Perhaps he – wait, what the fuck is he doing? The ball, a gentle long hop outside off, was probably not set up for a cross-bat swat to mid wicket. It almost certainly wasn't set up for Niall to fall straight onto his arse having tried to perform that very shot. The keeper, presumably baffled, took a moment to remember he was allowed to stump even a talent of this proportion, and proceeded to do so. Niall checked with the bowler's end umpire for some reason but eventually conceded his wicket. Sprinting off again to get ready to open the bowling in the second innings, he saluted his adoring faithful and stormed into the pavilion to learn that Peter had the entire thing – all two minutes from gloving up to taking them off again – on video. That video has entered lore. Jamie, wondering how he could ever top that, decided he'd try to bat without a bat. Called back by the more boring members of the team, he agreed to carry the implement out with him, but not to bloody well use it. Six-ball duck. Saril Jones in at 11. "Agricultural", they say. "Rudimentary". Pfft. BANG – OK, only for one, but still. CRASH – again, only a single, but well run. WALLOP – there it is, the big shot over the bowler's head for four. Job done, basically. Run out for 6. We ended up on 116ao. It probably could've happened if anybody batting 8 or higher had decided to stick around for another five overs, but we live and learn (the same lesson we've been taught in every match). Man of the Plastics: 50:50 Maithri and James. Man of the other team: we're not allowed to give gin to children.
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THE TEAMFormed from a collection of players who met on the internet via social cricket at Archbishop's Park, Plastics XI represents the foolhardy members of that group who decided they wanted a bash at proper cricket instead of playing with plastic balls. The team's ability is best described as "weak-weak". Luckily, our social media game is much stronger. Find us on: Archives
October 2021
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