Henry VIII wasn't born to be King. Despite the grandeur and pomp with which Holbein later captured his ageing and swelling frame, Prince Henry was a pious and educated sole, bent on a life of servitude and devotion. But then, tragically, his brother died and Henry was plunged headlong into history like Incey-Wincey spider in the face of a monsoon.
God I'm bored...
Filling the time between cricket seasons can be a long and painful process and having explored the Eastern Front I am now joining Mr Starkey on a flouncy romp through late-Medieval England. When I return, I hope, 'twill be summer again.
In the meantime, please enjoy this parchment, from just a few months ago...to the tune of Greensleeves.
Tuesday 14 April 2009
UCLES* Cricket Club v Chemical Engineering (24/07//8)
Winning isn’t everything. Honestly.
But without competition, there is nothing. Without the belief that today might be your turn, your day, your moment we have no contest, no fight and no point. For centuries, human conflicts have ground through years of inertia, despair and stationary decay simply because no side truly believed that they could win.
It would have been so easy for an UCLES* side, a random and confused bundle of old socks spat from washing machines around the world, to have taken to the field last Thursday night with but a shallow teaspoon of belief, wobbling desperately in the hand of a fat, old drunken man with termites eating his wooden leg.
Indeed, had Brock (C) not been a pimp to a veritable production line of young sporting talent, Skipper Bobby may have seen his captaining debut evaporate in front of his eyes long before it ever dreamed of beginning. But they arrived, at the last moment, stepping from a car in unison like a boy band at a key change. Beneath a breathtaking slice of Mediterranean blue, the game was on.
Skipper Bobby appeared seamlessly where Skipper Steve had once stood like previously unremarkable actors moving through white light into the Tardis. Faced with the choice of evolution or revolution, Skipper Bobby chose to make the transition smooth by marching to the toss without a coin and subsequently being asked to field.
What followed was a strange 90 minutes. At times the bowling effort was sublime, nipping and gripping past the edge and each ball brought a real prospect of a wicket. Twice Gould rattled the stumps with glorious in-dippers and even Danson (rtd) managed to pick one up after beating the bat more often than an abusive zookeeper on the night shift.
But in the field UCLES* were failing to match endeavour with intelligence as the ball fizzed around the field, through fingers and into gaps. Farce may be too strong a word, but I shall use it anyway as it is also a very good word. Plinth is also an excellent word but it has no place in this report.
Smith, who confessed in the changing room before the start that ‘he bowled leg-spin’ in the same, sheepish way you may confess to urinating in the communal bath, began his spell with arguably the widest delivery bowled in an UCLES* fixture since Andy Firth’s memorable 20-minute over at Histon. The only difference was that on this occasion the batsman chased it and mistimed a drive from silly point to a racing and sprawling Dewis at deep cover. It was the worst delivery to get a wicket since Trevor Lawrence bowled the Engineering skipper in 2002 off the underside of an overhead pigeon.
Indeed Lawrence would have murmured in Antipodean approval at Smith who was giving the ball so much air it twice had to be replaced due to deep vein thrombosis. Brock and Smith were both among the wickets but the surviving opening batsman was now into an impressive if slightly agricultural groove and the boundary was being peppered like a medium rare steak.
As the UCLES* fielders began to tire, so the opener went clubbing to his century and Chemical Engineering, a side remarkable only for ordinariness, had managed to amass a chilling 172 for 8.
With the sun setting behind them, Skipper Bobby and Linsdell opened the reply with pragmatism rather than ambition. The innings was however curtailed just 3 balls in when those remaining in the pavilion realised no-one was keeping score. The game was held up for five minutes whilst pencil, scorebook and brain were found and a discussion in the middle was held to agree how many runs had been scored. Eventually, it was agreed that there had been 1 and so life could carry on.
Skipper Bobby looked the more fluent of the openers as the UCLES* total passed 50 in just a handful of overs. The visitors’ own leg-spinner accounted for the left-hander with a neat piece of bowling and he also picked up Brock (C) but not before UCLES* most in-form player had rattled a brisk and vital 28.
Linsdell moved passed 50 without ever looking in form and then became hampered by a tight hamstring, hobbling inelegantly up and down the pitch like an ‘It’s a Knockout’ contestant trying to retain jelly in his comedy trousers. But despite this slightly effeminate-looking handicap, Linsdell was continuing to keep UCLES in contention and with 5 overs to go it looked as though Linsdell and returning ex-skipper Dagless had done enough to secure an unlikely victory.
It was at this point, in an ever-developing fog of grey, that the small spoonful of belief began to spill over the edges. First Dagless played-on and then Linsdell finally managed to convince a fielder to hold on to one of the many chances he had offered. Suddenly, it all depended on Brock’s Hollyoaks rejects and slowly, desperately, they picked off the runs until just 5 were needed from the last 5 balls.
Standing nervously 150 yards away at the pavilion, the majority of UCLES* team could barely see the action and only the movement of batsmen between the wickets caught the eye. And then, as the wire was reached and danced upon by a fat, singing lady, there was a shot, a scuffle of feet, a fumble, a shout, more scuffling, a throw, a miss and a general punching of the air. UCLES* were home with a ball to spare.
And so it was the turn of the opposition, who had taken the field full of expectation, to walk back to the pavilion, shrouded in darkness and disappointment, shoulders curved and heads to the floor. It looked great.
As I said, we survive and thrive not on winning but on belief. It just so happens that there is only one thing that makes you truly believe. Victory. Magical, marvellous and unexpected victory.
But without competition, there is nothing. Without the belief that today might be your turn, your day, your moment we have no contest, no fight and no point. For centuries, human conflicts have ground through years of inertia, despair and stationary decay simply because no side truly believed that they could win.
It would have been so easy for an UCLES* side, a random and confused bundle of old socks spat from washing machines around the world, to have taken to the field last Thursday night with but a shallow teaspoon of belief, wobbling desperately in the hand of a fat, old drunken man with termites eating his wooden leg.
Indeed, had Brock (C) not been a pimp to a veritable production line of young sporting talent, Skipper Bobby may have seen his captaining debut evaporate in front of his eyes long before it ever dreamed of beginning. But they arrived, at the last moment, stepping from a car in unison like a boy band at a key change. Beneath a breathtaking slice of Mediterranean blue, the game was on.
Skipper Bobby appeared seamlessly where Skipper Steve had once stood like previously unremarkable actors moving through white light into the Tardis. Faced with the choice of evolution or revolution, Skipper Bobby chose to make the transition smooth by marching to the toss without a coin and subsequently being asked to field.
What followed was a strange 90 minutes. At times the bowling effort was sublime, nipping and gripping past the edge and each ball brought a real prospect of a wicket. Twice Gould rattled the stumps with glorious in-dippers and even Danson (rtd) managed to pick one up after beating the bat more often than an abusive zookeeper on the night shift.
But in the field UCLES* were failing to match endeavour with intelligence as the ball fizzed around the field, through fingers and into gaps. Farce may be too strong a word, but I shall use it anyway as it is also a very good word. Plinth is also an excellent word but it has no place in this report.
Smith, who confessed in the changing room before the start that ‘he bowled leg-spin’ in the same, sheepish way you may confess to urinating in the communal bath, began his spell with arguably the widest delivery bowled in an UCLES* fixture since Andy Firth’s memorable 20-minute over at Histon. The only difference was that on this occasion the batsman chased it and mistimed a drive from silly point to a racing and sprawling Dewis at deep cover. It was the worst delivery to get a wicket since Trevor Lawrence bowled the Engineering skipper in 2002 off the underside of an overhead pigeon.
Indeed Lawrence would have murmured in Antipodean approval at Smith who was giving the ball so much air it twice had to be replaced due to deep vein thrombosis. Brock and Smith were both among the wickets but the surviving opening batsman was now into an impressive if slightly agricultural groove and the boundary was being peppered like a medium rare steak.
As the UCLES* fielders began to tire, so the opener went clubbing to his century and Chemical Engineering, a side remarkable only for ordinariness, had managed to amass a chilling 172 for 8.
With the sun setting behind them, Skipper Bobby and Linsdell opened the reply with pragmatism rather than ambition. The innings was however curtailed just 3 balls in when those remaining in the pavilion realised no-one was keeping score. The game was held up for five minutes whilst pencil, scorebook and brain were found and a discussion in the middle was held to agree how many runs had been scored. Eventually, it was agreed that there had been 1 and so life could carry on.
Skipper Bobby looked the more fluent of the openers as the UCLES* total passed 50 in just a handful of overs. The visitors’ own leg-spinner accounted for the left-hander with a neat piece of bowling and he also picked up Brock (C) but not before UCLES* most in-form player had rattled a brisk and vital 28.
Linsdell moved passed 50 without ever looking in form and then became hampered by a tight hamstring, hobbling inelegantly up and down the pitch like an ‘It’s a Knockout’ contestant trying to retain jelly in his comedy trousers. But despite this slightly effeminate-looking handicap, Linsdell was continuing to keep UCLES in contention and with 5 overs to go it looked as though Linsdell and returning ex-skipper Dagless had done enough to secure an unlikely victory.
It was at this point, in an ever-developing fog of grey, that the small spoonful of belief began to spill over the edges. First Dagless played-on and then Linsdell finally managed to convince a fielder to hold on to one of the many chances he had offered. Suddenly, it all depended on Brock’s Hollyoaks rejects and slowly, desperately, they picked off the runs until just 5 were needed from the last 5 balls.
Standing nervously 150 yards away at the pavilion, the majority of UCLES* team could barely see the action and only the movement of batsmen between the wickets caught the eye. And then, as the wire was reached and danced upon by a fat, singing lady, there was a shot, a scuffle of feet, a fumble, a shout, more scuffling, a throw, a miss and a general punching of the air. UCLES* were home with a ball to spare.
And so it was the turn of the opposition, who had taken the field full of expectation, to walk back to the pavilion, shrouded in darkness and disappointment, shoulders curved and heads to the floor. It looked great.
As I said, we survive and thrive not on winning but on belief. It just so happens that there is only one thing that makes you truly believe. Victory. Magical, marvellous and unexpected victory.
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