2nd XI v St James (Sussex League) 7 May 2005 |
|||
| Pummeling the opposition, as the great, stubbie wielding
Australian public will testify, doesn’t make for particularly entertaining
cricket. Whilst the Benson’s stiffs are hardly going to match Ponting’s
Canary Yellow Army blow for blow this summer the mismatch was comparable
to that which occurred during the recent Anzac series.
The difference between the two teams was the greater strength in
depth enjoyed by the Bensons in all three, key areas of the game, bowling,
batting and fielding. Bowling, though, or rather the ability to take 10
wickets, was the reason why we won and they didn’t. Ask any captain who
their match winners are and he will name his strike bowlers. On Saturday,
with no-one taking on the Shane Warne role, the
pole bowling positions were filled by Spider Boy Williamson, starring as
Glen McGrath/Brett Lee hybrid and Matt Ades, posing as Dizzy Gillespie,
the trumpet playing, mullet headed, medium fast swinger from Darlinghurst,
NSW. Skipper Guilford, tossed successfully for
the second time in two attempts and chose to bat on Bob Major’s equivalent
of a polished granite, kitchen work surface. Taking to the metaphor to
extremes, only a Michelin starred bowling attack would have been able to
generate juice from this surface. The opening salvos from the veteran St. James’s attack were distinctly Brewer’s Fayre. Delivered at such a sedate speed that even to describe it as medium pace would be tugging at the red bows on a freshly printed copy of the Trade Description Act. It was surprising to see Bullet drag a delivery from Thommo (no relation to the surfer from Greenacre, NSW, and former partner of one DK Lillee) on to his stumps. Ford (like the Mustang, only more reliable) and Spink (me) then compiled another 100 runs before a 15 year old, Alan Mullaly look-alike, broke up the party with a touch of late swing to send back the man two and half times his age to the pavilion. Salvoes from Spider (Brighton’s Water Sports Queen) Neil Robinson (the Stepford Wives’ favorite) pushed the Bensons up to 238 before Captain Guilford (the Blank Panthers’ favorite) bought everyone in for tea. First sample of cricket’s most ridiculous ritual under new management and it was good. Sandwiches – ham, tuna, and a transcendent cheese and pickle - bulging with fillings, looking home made and definitely not stored in the fridge 24 hours before kick-off. Also noticed one of the tea girls commanding Dick to serve her a pint of Orangeboom before service. St. James’ poke now. Their charge towards victory never gained momentum. The batting order appeared to be determined by age, starting with the oldest first and moving through the seven ages of man from senility through to pre-pubescence. If this order also represented a family tree then the beast at number 5, Steve Collins, came from its illegitimate branch. Taking guard with his side deep in the mire at 67-3, he flayed his opening two deliveries, from, Spider to the cover point boundary. He continued in this vein, crashing off side boundaries for the next twenty minutes until Spider drove him too far onto the back foot and too close to Terry Kay, adjudicating with his customary resourcefulness from square leg. With the squire’s illegitimate offspring tragically killed by a Spider piloted combine harvester, the more genteel members of the St. James’s clan suffered quick deaths from a combination of the latter’s straight deliveries and deliveries from assorted uphill trundlers making use of the cross breeze and our man in the mid length white coat, Terence Kay. He stood there all day, the centre of the bright white, flapping canvas that is our new sea-end sight screen. Erect like Robert Kilroy-Silk at the count in ? but with ladles more charm and huge dollops of integrity where his doppelganger has none. The viewing public can say what it likes. We were the winners. The game of cricket a comprehensive second. St. James someway behind, in third. Impressive that, in a two horse race. |