We left our scorebook in El Segundo
We gotta get it,
We got-gotta get it.
Well, not El Segundo, exactly. Cowes .
Before we got-gotta get it, there’s the more pressing matter
of finding someone to blame, and therefore to remorselessly and mercilessly
take the rise out of. My money’s on Mr Naughty.
This is also a rarity: I’m totally in the clear. I’ve been
nowhere near the thing, so I’m in Not-Guilty
City
When you start to question whether perhaps enough is enough
and feel that maybe, just maybe, you should give the poor bloke a chance, that’s
the time to heed AD’s advice.
“Should we lay off the poor bloke? D’you think he’s taken
enough stick?”
(Quizzically) “How would that be possible? Keep going.”
Rain didn’t stop play
It hadn’t rained for weeks. We hadn’t played a game for two
week. So, naturally, it drizzled. Then rained. Then chucked it down good and
proper.
Nobby, Dave-O and Mr Naughty were huddled under what had
earlier been a bench table parasol. I was sat out in the rain. “Are you mad?”
they said. “I’m getting acclimatised”, I said, between chattering teeth,
wringing out my batting gloves, “I’m next in.”
To general glee and merriment, when I went in G had nearly
got his fifty, and when the game was over, he was no nearer. I did try to get
him the strike. It just didn’t work out that way.
In the last over he only needed seven more runs.
First ball: down leg side. I tapped it away. Found the gap
in the field. It ran away for four.
Second ball: same ball, this time it was stopped by a fielder
and G had the strike.
Next two: absolutely spot on middle stump. All he could do
was block them.
Fifth ball: he managed to get it away, but just for one run.
Last ball: me back on strike, wet ball slipped out of the
bowler’s hand, full toss, nice height, went for four.
The theory was that he was just avoiding having to fork out
for a jug of beer.
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