Halfway between Cambridge and Saffron Walden is a little place where the very future of mankind in being shaped and determined. Whilst us mere mortals pass the time clerically enhancing the banality of our existence so those within the confines of the Sanger Institute go about re-defining what it means to exist at all. There is a sign on the front door that says, ‘You don’t have to code DNA to work here, but it helps’. Where God giveth brains, so he nicketh the sense of humour.
Set within the confines of this substantial campus is a small patch of grassland, a recreational area for the staff, like a wheel in the cage of gifted hamster. It is, itself, a nice enough area – but for the train line that scratches nosily behind a dense row of trees – and a large pond dominates one side like an alcoholic's liver. As a cricket venue however it is not the best, speckled with animal faeces like a turkey farm on Christmas Eve, run scoring is harder than origami with wet lettuce.
With no pavilion facilities available the UCLES* stars had to take turns to change in toilets, like something out of a George Michael video. Wylie stood for a moment by the side of the pond looking for three-eyed fish – once more confusing real-life with The Simpsons – as the sun provided another burst of bland and inelegant heat.
Skipper Steve’s luck with tosses is now so poor that he has long since stopped bothering to call. Instead, he just shrugs enigmatically and submits to whatever the opposition captain chooses. In this instance, UCLES* were asked to field.
The Sanger pitch was, as always, a herby minefield and with accurate early bowling from Danson and Wood UCLES* were restricting the scoring. Having drawn the edge more often than Rolf Harris on a U2 tour, Wood eventually took matters into his own hand by hitting the stumps. At the other end Danson’s deliveries were tighter than a fish’s skin.
With just a handful of runs scored in the opening eight overs, the game was dramatically brought to a halt by an attempted pull of Ordish that struck the Sanger opening batsman firmly above the eye. Had he been Marco Materazzi he would probably have rolled all the way into the pond. As it was, he dropped to the floor and had to be tended by West as he bled onto the pitch – fortunately not on a length.
After a few minutes he was escorted off the field to be tended further by an arriving paramedic. A nasty incident that was handled well by West, who perhaps ruined his hero status by wondering out loud whether the opposition had time to clone a replacement.
Just moments after the game restarted another injury was suffered as a Canada goose (Branta canadensis) fielding just behind square on the leg side boundary suffered a glancing blow to the shoulder. Do geese have shoulders? Anyway, despite protestations from Wylie, the paramedic was not keen to tend to the injured bird.
Ordish recovered his composure to collect a wicket in what was now officially the longest over in UCLES* cricket history, some 15 seconds longer than the 76-ball over Spittle bowled during his 2005 ‘erratic’ period.
With Siyambalapitiya bowling a tight and effective spell from one end and Ordish mixing the unplayable with the unreachable, Sanger limped their way to 90-8 in their overs. Having made nearly 200 the previous week, UCLES* had given themselves a great chance of back-to-back victories.
Linsdell and Gill began the chase reasonably well but when Linsdell was bowled trying an extravagant shot the hosts had the early wicket they needed. Wylie’s stay at the wicket was over before Linsdell had re-sheathed his bat, the pop-star fending a rising delivery away from his face and straight back to the bowler. Facing the reality that this was not going to be a quick chase, Gill and Skipper Steve steadied the innings reasonably well but when they both fell in quick succession the double-figure target suddenly seemed a whole lot more daunting.
As the game reached the business end so runs began to come as White, Wood, Siyambalapitiya and, most impressively, Ordish, found the boundary with some powerful blows. But just as the UCLES* appeared to have the game in their grasp, another wicket would pull Sanger back into the game.
When West fell at the end of the penultimate over UCLES* had slumped to 85-9 and the burden of victory fell to two masters of the game – Danson and Ladds. For a moment, just a moment, it was 1970. A pint of milk was a guinea, cars were driven behind a man with a flag and everyone smoked a pipe. Such a heady and intoxicating dream was however crushed moments later as Danson fell trying to smash the winning runs.
Playing cricket at Sanger has always been like playing the banjo with a slice of quiche and once more a low-scoring contest went against UCLES*. If I had a pound for every time an UCLES* side had lost a game by less than 12 runs in the last 5 years then I would probably have a fair fistful of cash – certainly enough to be able to afford a decent selection of vegetables to go with a delicious plump breasted Branta canadensis.
