A welcome return to the fixture list by the Will Davies XI. A team of brewers, court jesters, captains of industry, Peter Pan-esque ringers and general drunkenness.
The day dawned hot and sunny. Both teams were blighted with a smattering of the acceptable prejudice of gingerness, so the only thing more plentiful than the beer was the factor 50.
Having attempted to slow the opposition down in the Ship, we whisked them over to idyllic Laxton Park. With the beer tapped, the sausages sizzling in Don’s paella dish, the only blip on the literal horizon was the deep bass throbbing from the Polish nun rave over the hill. Yes, that is a thing. Once we had got past the ‘Wears the soap’ gags, we were able to put the nuns to the back of our minds and get to the game.
Now, the Davies XI have always had a good helping of talented, if increasingly aged, players. Hicks, Squire, Johnson and especially Piggott have batted and bowled us into submission many times over. But Davies did not get where he has in life but turning down an opportunity to hammer home any advantage, and had augmented the squad with selection of his son George, and Piggott’s daughter Grace, a handy bowler. George turned up looking rather dapper in a palatinate (purple if you weren’t at Durham) university first XI vest, causing much reaction in the Stroker ranks. Last year’s opening bowler for Oundle School, he had induced high pitched giggles from Toad and Sperring in the pub, as mutterings of lids and thigh pads, and urgent BBQs that needed attending swept around the ranks.
Kisiel had planned for us to bowl, hoping a good spell in the sun for the carrot-topped Davies would take the wind out of his sails. But having lost the toss he had to change strategy. Taking a page out of the Field Marshall Hague playbook, he called upon the Northants Yeomanry to go over the top into the face of the artillery, leaving our normal high order bats (himself and Todd) in low middle order reserve, sipping sherry and taking snuff, and waiting for the easy pickings once the opposition were exhausted in the field. The ever-dependables, Middleton and Castle strode to the middle, and surprised us all by staying in, in the face of some accurate and at times pacey bowling from Davies and Hicks. Middleton was batting with a particular flourish, maybe part hysteria, and if any of his airy drives had connected we would have been going along at 8 rather than 2 an over. Eventually the siege broke, and the Castle was conquered. Mardon joined Middleton, and they continued to manage to not get out at a sedentary pace.
With the run rate needing defibrillation, Middleton hit out against Grace and was caught. McClair came to the wicket and upped the scoring with some lusty blows, making Mardon look bad so he ran him out. Trumper came, looked promising but was quickly back in the hutch. With the opener bowlers now in the outfield, and the equally talented Squire and Johnson bowled through, Field Marshall deemed it strategically opportune to join the fray. Mardon retired, bringing the artillery of Todd to the crease. Unfortunately, Davies is a wily fox and quickly brought Jnr back into the attack to skittle Kisiel, and thwart the cunning plans. Todd batted well – straight bat to the quicks, buckling his swash to the piethrowers – but as a batting partner performed rather less well. Dearden had travelled 80 miles to play, but was still 20 yards short of staying in for more than one ball, as Todd called him for a single Usain Bolt would have struggled with off his first delivery. Todd was of course deeply apologetic and remorseful, as Dearden was verbally forgiving in equal measure. Kisiel in contrast showed a moment of frankly uncharacteristic concern and sensitivity and arranged for Dog to have a second bat after a brief cameo from our spiritual skipper for the day, Alcorn, in his deck shoes. Alcorn was less worried by the opposition pace than by the fact he was sharing Dearden’s box, and was last seen heading to A+E for a dose of penicillin.
We finished in a late flurry of comedy byes and boundaries and made 153. By no means a strong total, but against a generally impressive attack we were quite happy. Amongst other valiant and unrewarded efforts, Todd got 39, Mardon 35, Kisiel 16, Mclair 13.
After some Ginger Beer (see what I did there), and more sausage than Pornhub, we went out to bowl in the still warm, but cooling afternoon. Unfortunately the opposition were still stuck in the fiery heat mode and despite the early loss of Ginger and Beazley to the unerring accuracy of Toad, we were bowling ok and still being hit all over. We were going at 10 an over and the only positive was this meant Squire and Piggott quickly retired themselves. Wickets though were still falling. Todd managed to bring back some of the pace of yesteryear, but also to field like Orlebar at his best, putting down dolly of the year off the bowling of Sperring. Sperring otherwise bowled as naggingly and as unflustered as ever, Kisiel even confused the batsmen with the frog blend, but pick of the bowlers was Alcorn, who was both miserly and threatening and thus the game ended in a 4 wicket loss in the 23rd over, a much more respectable result than initially forecast. Battle casualties included McClair (hamstring), Mardon (knee), Sperring (late for BBQ), Middleton (sunstroke). Thanks to James, boyfriend of Kitty, for filling in, and fastest bowler seen for a while, if mildly illegal. With a session with Worthers to straighten the elbow we should have a firebrand to call upon in future years. Thanks also to Orlebar for some great action shots from the match.
Otherwise, another great day. Davies accepted the trophy and beer and idiocy ensued.
