’91 was a strange year, one full of ups and downs. The news recorded the Gulf War and the LA riots, but didn’t make enough of Time Berners-Lee announcing the World Wide Web. Comedy Central was launched, and several Soviet states gained hard-earned independence. Capitalism had cemented its swashbuckling victory through a mixture of heavy hits and crafted tempters — fully evidenced when the first Starbucks opened and Do the Bartman hit number 1. So did Chesney Hawkes, but Bryan Adams ruled the charts for 16 weeks. What is really depressing is that Alex Webster wouldn’t be born for another four years. Things started promisingly against Prince’s Head, on a ground that was just in a park and not their usual. A vanguard of skipper Charlie, official vice-skipper Mark, and fixtures man Maithri went forth to meet and greet the hosts. Said hosts were flummoxed by our new shirts, proudly pink and loudly Zipjetty. They also appeared a bit flummoxed by each other, wondering if we were with them or against them, and where they could get changed. Some confidence was taken by finding a team that momentarily seemed as disorganised as ours. The same vanguard went on to “inspect the pitch” and agreed sombrely that it was indeed in many respects a cricket pitch. A further exchange of inter-team pleasantries introduced us to their captain, whereupon we learned they actually can play a bit and had bowled out their previous opponents for 30. Charlie had already won the toss and, pumped with adrenaline in such rarefied air, exclaimed we would be batting first. A short day was feared. Leo and Jerry, though, didn’t go all the way to Ham (it’s not in between West Ham and East Ham) for nothing. We learned several times last year that 35 overs is a really long time and dot balls can sometimes be hot balls when batting too. Leo was watchful, and Jerry (officially a pinch-hitter) circumspect. Leo fell sooner than anybody would have liked, edging behind to a ringer for their team who we hoped would be their best bowler. Jerry’s innings was cruelly taken away from him just as he was looking to accelerate into his role: sixteen dots, 2, out. Both batsmen assured us the pitch was true with not much pace, and that Mr Robert and particularly Alex might enjoy a bat. Alex had spent the previous half-hour telling your correspondent a lot of the deliveries were begging to be hit and if he was out there he’d be thwacking it all ways. Normally, you’d scoff, but he does have the ability. Mind, he also has the ability to get a very slow sum of three streaky singles and for a while it looked like we might be in for the latter — notwithstanding that there were some blocks in there, a new shot on Alex and an impressive one. Mr Robert had clearly studied exactly how long 35 overs is and was probably acutely aware of how many pennies each one cost. Money’s worth and looking carefully for 4 off 20-odd. Wickets in hand is what we wanted, but at this point we were about 20/2 off 12 and it would’ve been nice to score something. Alex had the same thought. He had been middling some but had found fielders much of the time. Indeed he found one very precisely when only on three with an uppish shot that was put down. Ups and downs. Perhaps sensing danger and frustration both, Prince’s Head brought on a loopy spinner: the kind who pings it over your sightline, into the sun, past the planes overhead coming into Heathrow, and then suddenly onto your toes. Up and down. Tempters. Mostly up, though, and the tempters dismissed with heavy hits. 6. 6. 4. Meaty chunks into the Alex Alley and all of a sudden it looked like it’d be the 50 rather than the 3. Mr Robert continued to bat sensibly and offer the strike to his now warmed-up partner. Afforded the majority of the strike, Alex went on a barnstorming run: 2 2 6 2 2 1 6 4 dot 6. One of those cleared the scorers sat ten yards behind a 60 yard boundary, and threatened the bags 20 yards further back still. Most of them looked like he barely hit it, and perhaps that afforded Mr R the confidence that timing beats speed and precision beats power. A delightful dink over cover shortly preceded a much heftier hit to the same area, which itself was followed by a nicely timed straight drive full of bottom hand. All of this saw Robert into the 20s, still a feat achieved by only half the members. Meanwhile, Alex was on fucking 80-odd, a feat achieved by none of the members nor any of our opponents. If we’d been bowling to him we’d have been muttering about social cricket and the point of it all. If I’d have been umpiring I might have been tempted to give him out, caught Being Too Good bowled Go Play For a Real Team. Another imposing 6. Another imperious 4. The bowlers had belatedly realised he will try to hit anything outside off over mid wicket too, but by this point the ball was coming down with the size and alacrity of a beached whale and [jokes about clubbing whales are not funny - Ed]. Eventually one was skied and, not having known he was in the nervous nineties, Alex came off having scored that scintillating, swashbuckling, astonishing 91. Astonishing too that not scoring a century because it was a realistic option should be a disappointment for anybody on this team. Mark was next in and played a couple of decent shots off his legs, which is a first. They kept bowling it there, though, and eventually it became clear that luck had been playing them for him. Clean bowled for 9. Mr R had by then got his value and had enough. A crafted 25 and a crucial supporting role. Siril was robotic in his glasses and his swinging action but did not get much of the ball. Captain Bradbury struck a quick-fire 14 with two sightly boundaries, and Joey proved his pinch-hitting credentials with a Stick Cricket-esque 11 from 4 including an enormous six into the tennis courts to take us to tea. 176-6 and plenty of slightly bemused chat about defending totals and whether we weren’t supposed to keep batting till we were all out. To open the bowling, a bit of line and length from our own Sri Lankan Glenn McGrath bowling up the hill, and a bit of unbridled pace from our Tamworthian Merv coming the other way. But perhaps these guys were a batting team, and we barely had a bowling outfit; three frontline seamers, an injured one, an all rounder, and two fundamentally part-time spinners. Wickets would be helpful. Wickets would not come. As ever, Maithri’s radar was on high precision from ball one and he afforded no space. The fielding was good too— high energy, high volume, quickly in and quickly down. Matt’s radar has been known to pick up things that have no business there and get distracted by seeing how fast the plane can go, but not today. Bowling with high intelligence and to swiftly conjured plans, the length control in particular was superb. But the batters looked like they were settling in and clearing the thrust of the Plastics’ attack. Ah. No more. That’s the one. Pitched middle and off, hitting top of off. The ball that coaches will try to teach you, and one Maithri always seems to find. Then, a new batsman fighting a flying Matt and having no chance whatsoever: clean bowled. What an unpleasant surprise it must be to get through an unerring Matithri and face down an injurious Matt only to have to face someone 10 clicks quicker still. Joey fancied his chances up the hill and, as seems often to be the case, was too swift for the batters to offer any chances, and especially absolutely no complete dollies to cover — I would have taken it had there been one. He switched to leg spin for his fourth over but if we ignore that (and the absolutely plumb, dead, gone-as-gone-can-be, really-should-have-walked LBW shout that came with it), 0-4 off three overs had them knowing they’d need to find someone else to put away. Not gonna be Charlie, though. Taking confidence from a fine outing in Team Lynx Africa’s gallant and close loss last week, he conceded only one run from his first two overs, the sort-of-slidey, sort-of-swingy, wicket to wicket bowling proving too miserly for the two who looked like they’d be the firmest resistance. Saril in to bowl with a creaky collar bone and forgoing the robot shades. Perhaps a mistake: a loose first over, that of a man short of over mileage. No, not a mistake: a beguiling four overs followed, chocka with full-length Tommy Cromwells and well-paced ones down the corridor. One good and one sensational catch from Jerry at square leg as well as a sharply taken catch behind the wickets by Peter helped Saril to four wickets from five overs. Their power hitter was still there, though. All bottom hand and good timing, perhaps Alex saw a bit of himself in young Jaymin. Time to show him there ain’t enough room in Ham for the both of them. Switching (rapidly) from trundling seam to rasping off spin, one went straight through the gate and rattled the timbers, earning Alex the hallowed second over of the part-time spinner. The other one went to Mark, who slipped onto leg stump enough to allow a couple of turns for one. Their ringer was in batting and, besides being left-handed (befuddling the Plastics entirely, with Leo at one point taking four positions between balls) was clearly a solid cricketer. He dispiritingly pointed out within carefully selected earshot that two strong overs would put them right back in it: they did only need ten a go. However, with Matt back on again bowling perhaps the best he ever has for the Plastics — at one point, three separate fielders congratulated the line, length and pace of the same ball as its foremost virtue — and very unlucky indeed not to take more than he did, ten must have seemed like a lot. It seems even more when his fielders, namely Leo, prove themselves willing to use any and every body part to prevent a single. And to be replaced again by Joey: ten an over seems like a million when you’re distracted by how many ribs you’ll escape with. Wickets apiece. End in sight. Maithri, having been demoted to 11 on the promise of keeping and bowling a full allocation (and then hauled off after maiden-maiden-wicket maiden and prevented from keeping), came back on for a couple, picking up another before being hauled off once more. Charlie claimed to be concerned about the death bowling and will reject claims to aspiring to personal glory, but one wicket by virtue of a catch even that dickhead at cover couldn’t drop and one straight through number 11 brought it. Holy shit. We won. We won well. The Plastics are here and the ride has started on a high. Get in, losers, and give us our pink shirts. Invincibles ’18 is in full effect. Man of the match: Alex, obviously. Honourable mentions to Robert for a rock-solid innings, Saril for taking four through the pain barrier, and Matt for bowling well enough that a clearly accomplished proper batter pleaded for his spell to be done.
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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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