Nearly There
By Ian Clark
WEEK 8
JUNE 28th 2008
3rd TEAM v COWPLAIN (A)
1st TEAM v PYLEWELL PARK (A)
How do you make something that shiny? By intense, obsessive polishing that's how and these guns are shiny. The guards are polite and welcoming and professional but it's an unusual way to enter a cricket ground. It's also a reminder that outside our small Saturday world there's another life, although as we look out on to the immaculate outfield and watch the covers being parted, it seems we've just exchanged one small world for another.
We're at Tidworth on Salisbury Plain. Hannah is here to play for Hampshire Ladies against The Army. Hannah is our fourth team 'keeper but her county duties come first today.
My dad was stationed here during National Service and played here in the '50s. Cricket often has this sense of history. Sometimes generations play for the same teams on the same grounds against the same opponents. Half our first team have fathers who played for the club and teams like Vospers are dominated by dynasties where half the team can have the same surname. And now that surname can belong to a woman.
When I started playing cricket in the late '70s there were no female players in men's league cricket. Ladies' cricket was so far from mainstream club cricket that it was a bittern, skulking in the reeds, seen only by the most determined enthusiast. Now there are a dozen or so women players in the Hampshire League and women's cricket is usually played on Sundays to enable lady players to play league cricket on Saturdays.
Hannah's team mate, Holly Knight, played for Fareham in County 1 last year. Hannah has rarely experienced any sexism or hostility. Most players accept anyone who shares their enthusiasm for cricket and well-meaning condescension is the worst Hannah has had to tolerate.
I nearly had a problem though. Playing for the fourths last season I shouted "bit squarer love" and the large, unreconstructed umpire gave me a look before realising I was directing my daughter.
"Well I never thought I'd hear that out here but I suppose it's all right".
Hannah also has a playing experience that intrigues club players; she plays against current international players most weeks. There is a debate within women's cricket about whether women should concentrate on women's cricket but the main reason Hannah and many others play is the unspoken one: the standard of men's cricket is much higher and they want to improve. The opening bowlers in a 4th team game are often quicker than the England opening attack. But there is no doubt that standards are improving rapidly and most clubs now have girls playing for their colt sides.
The Army have a good opening bowler and Hampshire, including Holly, are 13-3. For the next hour Hannah scraps, first seeing off the best bowler and then scoring cautiously. I hate watching my children play and they hate me watching them play. I usually walk slowly around the boundary, anti-clockwise, flipping a ball from hand to hand. I realise that the only likely effect on Hannah is to distract her, but it makes me feel less nervous. It says something about cricket's superstitions that the only comment about this public ritual is that I am walking round the wrong way (right for runs, left for wickets).
I'm playing for the thirds away at Cowplain today so I can only stay for a couple of hours. The score is 52-3 as I get into the car and Hannah is 15 not out. I crawl out of the army camp, stopping every 50 metres to see another ball and leave Hannah nailing down her county place with both of us relieved I'm going.
The thirds are 2-5. Cowplain are 0-7. Cowplain were promoted with us last year but were reliant on one player and his police shifts have changed. We've played good cricket for 3 weeks but defeat today will see us slide back down.
Danny and Mark H open and the bowling is a woeful mish-mash of full tosses and wides. After 6 overs we are 30-0 and the lower order plump up a collective cushion convinced that, at last, today is the day the thirds will score over 200. 4 overs later and the score is 32-4. The last wicket is Olly, caught behind first ball. Olly has cajoled us to several wins in the past and his wicket is key. Cowplain know this and they are exchanging high fives like March hares.
Swish and Tosders are now trying to save our skin. Its introspective, niggardly stuff, but we all know that if we get to a hundred we have a chance. Cowplain's bowlers, who have been dispatched all season, are now confident. The performance of the teams has been distorted by the match situation and we're just gripping the edge of a match that we have to win.
Tosders is bowled and we are 47-5. Greg has joined Swish and we ratchet our way through the 50s, 60s and 70s, a run at a time. The overs tick by. Swish slaps 3 consecutive boundaries but is then bowled: how often does that happen? That the freedom that enabled a player to play shots then penalises that player by his wicket. 95-6; Swish out for 36; 12 overs to go. I join Greg and decide to bring some mania. Cowplain are an old team and we have to up the tempo and put pressure on their fielding. The next 12 overs go well for us; Greg plays extremely well to end 61 not out and I get 27 not out and we finished 174-6. Greg and I run aggressively and all around us is chaos with misfields and the bubbling over of resentments that often fester in a team used to losing. This culminates in the opening bowler stomping off the field with 5 overs to go.
At tea we bantered; Cowplain were silent. We knew we had won; they knew they had lost. League matches are often like this at halfway; both sides have a realistic view of themselves and we both know that once we had 140 we were going to win.
Cowplain make a dreadful start. Dr. Mike screams down the hill and bowls rapidly. The first 2 wickets fall to catches behind by Greg leaping after they have clipped the shoulder of the bat.
Dr. Mike - what can you say? He is in the great tradition of delightful, unassuming, modest men who morph into Tasmanian Devils on a cricket pitch. Dr. Mike is a dentist; his is a world of precision and control; it's as if his Saturday afternoon is an escape, not only from his working life, but also the pragmatism of league cricket. He tears in, he exclaims, he tea-pots.
The previous season I remember he pleaded with Greg to give him one more over, hands clasped tightly, and rocking. When Greg confirmed that yes, that was the end of his spell, he flounced to the boundary, mumbling "On your head be it!" The skinny dipping on the Isle of Wight tour, the exuberance, the extremes; the sense he's having a great time (or having a terrible time): everyone loves Dr. Mike. And he's a good bowler - quick enough to play in the firsts; if only he had some control.
Dr. Mike comes off; he has bowled a terrific, hostile spell. The game now meanders to its end. Cowplain's lower order plays well, Dr. Mike returns and bowls horribly with noisy self-loathing. Quiet, thoughtful, pragmatic Landers prises out the tail. We win by 39 runs; that's 3-5 and as we leave Cowplain and the chav wedding (play league cricket at a moderate level and you will see a lot of wedding receptions in village halls) there's the warm sense that we'll be safe after all.
Tom is in France playing tennis so we don't get our Saturday night together but all 4 teams have won and the firsts are still top. Half the season gone: firsts are 6-2, seconds are 4-3; thirds are 3-5; fourths are 5-3.
