Jubilee Clipped

Dunc’s match report from the Sunday 1st Team rained off match reads thus:

Jubilee Clipped.

An agreeable if not sun drenched Somerset village scene awaited the visit of the Easton Cowboys Sunday 1st eleven, no doubt with near immeasurable titillation.Much of the population of Britain had had typical behavior suspended this weekend, replaced by Royalism beyond the usual call of duty even in this, alas, Sceptred Isle. Red white and blue bunting and Union flags adorn sticks and strings in a display of patriotism apparently designed to raise ire in even the more peaceable Republicans among us.

A gently dented Mazda homed in on it’s destination amid the palpable screeching funk that is James Brown. The sight of three burly gentlemen hovering over and discussing the condition of the wicket and offering furtive glances skyward in what appeared to be a rather resigned, almost chagrined manner is not one which gave this reporter much confidence that any subsequent cricket match thereupon would reach it’s full term.


A little rain overnight had given the usually low skidding Blagdon wicket a kind of school chocolate pudding consistency. The ‘Blades’ are a swashbuckling batting side, and so in view of these parameters, Mr. Bolton, upon winning his fifth toss in a row (??), wasted no time pondering his decision to insert them on what was likely to be a helpful strip if one wished to execute a quick victory before the Met Office prediction of heavy rain rendered the playing surface aqueous beyond any reasonable argument to the contrary. It is worth noting at this point that 1600 hours was the prognostication for the Heavens to truly open.

Of course, argument to the contrary does not always have to be reasonable to be aired, and so when a grumpy young opening batsman maintained he wasn’t going out to bat until it stopped raining, barely muted Cowboy rumblings alleging poultry-style courage were heard emanating from the visitors changing room.

But the vagaries of the British weather, such as they are, allowed a vapid sun to peep timidly from behind a dense blanket of cloud for a microsecond and the game began.

The pitch has a distinct slope running across it’s full length which can be exploited by a bowler. Mr. R. Tinkler, seemingly buoyed by his third selection of the weekend, set about the task of bowling from the ‘Cutting Back into the Batsman’ end. After one leg side delivery, the appropriate radar adjustment was made and an accurate 5 balls followed, the last of which somewhat ruined the batsman’s afternoon by clean bowling him.

One was trusted by the skipper to have a bash from the ‘Giving the Batsman Swishing Room Outside His Off Stump’ end. The trust appeared to have been a trifle misplaced as the over yielded 7 runs.  A reference to testes was the singular gist of a loud and angry outburst from the errant bowler. Mr. T’s next over was accurate and 2 runs from the bat ensued. Mr. Errant Angry’s next over was a wicket maiden. I think we all went off for a rain break enabling us valuable drying time.

Upon our return, the run rate upped a few gears. A rather vacant Antipodean umpire then counted a 4 ball over. But that was enough for another wicket to fall caught behind thanks to Jeff’s ravenous glove work.

RT1 Esq. conceded just 2 from his next with no entries to the W column. Mr. Vex’s next was then smacked over long on for 2 boundaries by one of the aforementioned burly gentlemen, who then edged one to Jeff who snapped up his second regulation keeper’s victim of the afternoon. We all went off again. Nowhere was dry enough anymore. Rizla ninjas began their obligatory exercises.

The ninth over of the day was bowled by RT2. His first ball was quite good, despite the fact that it was delivered from a body position perhaps best described as base over apex. The remainder of the over was conducted in increasing inclemency and included one wide which trickled to the batsman’s end following a very high parabolic trajectory indeed.

Ya basta was the general consensus.

We all skulked off.

It stopped raining.

A few disgruntled Cowboys carried out a makeshift trial on the soggy square. It concluded that ‘The Blades’ were guilty of evading a thorough pasting if the finishing score of 35 for 4 from 9 overs was anything to go by. With the absence of opposition representative cross-examination, no mitigating circumstances were taken into consideration, the judges and jurors were about to pass the axe to the executioner when the time reached 1600 hours and five seconds and it hammered with rain.

Sheepishly, we retreated knowing the correct conclusion to this game had been achieved. The peace and repose of the Somerset countryside was reinstated as we all rolled off presumably to muse with limitless incredulity how on earth we still have a monarchy, and why, oh why, is Gary Barlow apparently now in charge of British entertainment.

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