19 – CATCHES WIN MATCHES
“Cricket is a most precarious profession; it is called a team game but, in fact, no one is as lonely as a batsman facing a bowler supported by ten fieldsmen and observed by two umpires to ensure that his error does not go unpunished.”
John Arlott
It is always good to see the return of former players, especially so if they have a stinker.These games have a special edge always hoping that you can put one over on an old mate.
The returning player is always determined to perform well so it adds extra spice but it should always end with a beer no matter what; it is not about life or death after all.
“Meds!
When Paul “Meds” Medley returned, years after honing his craft in the Great Milk Crate Test Matches of our youth, he did so as skipper of Laisterdyke. Meds left the Villas under a bit of a cloud although to this day nobody quite knows which cloud. But, these things happen at every cricket club up and down the country and the mediation skills of ACAS would not be enough to resolve most.
“Dyke” had their origins in the Bradford League but had taken a step down into the Bradford Central League, beginning what was a gradual, almost inevitable sad road to extinction. They were a combative team full of tough cricketers.
They had seasoned pros opening the bowling and a young quickie who was mad as they come. They also had the muscle bound Gary Kingett, a very competitive all-rounder who could smash it miles and bowled at a decent pace, if a closet Duran Duran and Wham fan.
Had he come out earlier he would have been hung.
The game that saw the return of Meds saw us at home and batting first. Duck had ground out a typically hard fought innings and was one clean hit from his half century having batted almost three hours for it. An accumulator, not known to smash it about, uncharacteristically he lashed out violently sending the ball skyward towards the boundary.
It was clear that the ball was not going to make it over the fence and guess who was under the catch? Now Meds always played his cricket with a bit of a strut right from the age of about ten and I admired that even if he never got the runs to match his true ability.
Bedecked in NHS sun glasses, out went a cry of “Meds’ ball!” as he confidently steadied himself. However, there are times when you see a fielder under a ball and just know the outcome. If only there had been time to ring Ladbrokes and secure odds on a spilled catch.
Meds never quite got under it in time, posing for too long adjusting his sunglasses and cap. Over-balancing, he hopelessly groped for the ball only for it to slip between outstretched hands hitting him square between the eyes, bouncing off his head and over the boundary for Duck’s first six-hit of the season, bringing up his fifty in the process.
Off went the sun glasses over the adjoining hedge as well. Ten other fielders collapsed in fits as Meds staggered around the boundary edge with a lump as big as the ball forming on his head.
The old boys in Critics’ Corner almost died laughing in unison.
Micromesh
Med’s great pal is Haighy’s son Phil, nicknamed Micromesh because he is probably the worst fielder ever to step on a cricket field. To Haighy’s eternal relief, Micromesh left the Villas for local neighbours, Hepworth Idle CC.
The nickname arose because balls seemed to be able to go through Micromesh each and every time he attempted to stop one. As for catches, if the ball went up in the air, opposition batters just kept running safe in the knowledge it would be grassed.
Many a bowler has been heard to utter “not him” as a batter hit a ball in the direction of Micromesh, whilst both scorers put pencil to book to record the inevitable boundary in the score book.
A captain can try damage limitation and attempt to hide fielders like Micromesh where the ball is not expected with any frequency or pace. However, cricket is cruel at times and Micromesh was in as much danger on the boundary edge as the ball tended to follow him.
Practice Makes Perfect
Fielding in recent years has become a much more important part of the game not only at the very top level but also at clubs up and down the country. Most of us practice hard as the last thing you want to do is let the team down – there are plenty of other opportunities in a game of cricket to do that. Others seem content to chance fate, taking their chances when Saturday comes.
Dear old Brian “Suzy” Sewell, a stalwart from the olden days had a trick of trying to con the batter that he had lost the ball. His attempt at deception was to pretend to fumble the ball, slipping it under his sweater making the batters think it had passed him.
There were several flaws to this plan most notably that not in thirty years of playing did Suzy actually run anybody out. The last time I ever saw him attempt this was farcical beyond belief.
In those days the cricket sweater was often a voluminous thing, generally made by doting grandmothers. As the batters took the bait Suzy’s eyes lit up but as he searched for the ball he started to struggle like an amateur escapologist. I swear they ran another three before the team came across and ripped his sweater to bits.
He never played again.
“Me Mum Would’ve Caught That!”
We all drop catches no matter how hard we practise and sometimes the dreaded “dolly”, the one Geoffrey Boycott is fond of describing as “that easy me mum would have caught that one!”
I know this feeling well, the desire to borrow a shovel from the garage and dig a hole to bury yourself in. Equally, take the odd blinder and after a quick check to convince yourself that you have actually caught it, any number of celebrations can commence. You don’t confess that you never saw it, hung out a hand and hoped for no broken fingers.
Age is a killer for fielding prowess; catches you normally would have swallowed hit you anywhere from the intended palm of the hand to your armpit. So you just give it your best and go from weekend to weekend hoping that somehow you will stop the ball, no matter which part of your body it hits.
If a catch goes down, please dear God the batter does not rack up a brutal hundred.
My Favourite Drop Of All Time
Cricket is a game based on respect for the game, the opponent and the umpires. Treat any with contempt and you reap what you sow. The character here shall remain anonymous although well known for having more clubs than a Sunday golfer and prone to outbursts of behaviour that would shame a three year-old.
Although he was not bowling, somehow he had found himself – sulking as usual – in what is known as the inner ring. This is the domain of those fielders mobile and alert enough – two qualities not associated here – to stop batters taking easy runs.
A false shot and the ball spooned up in the air towards him for what appeared to be the simplest of catches. Unbelievably, with the ball still in the air he decided to become a television commentator. Here’s what happened next.
“Oh that’s a bad shot by the batter – what a way to end the innings” he cried oblivious to his teammates’ jaws dropping in unison.
“Come on down to Daddy, lets be having you” he yelled. Had the ball been capable of rationale thought, it must have come to the conclusion that the guy beneath needed sectioning.
“Its mine and you’re toast batter…on your way lad… you’ve had your day!”
It was at this point that we all wanted to race off to the bookies to wager our houses, savings and families that this catch would be grassed.
“I’m ready for you now” he wailed skywards as he slapped hands together, adjusted wristbands only for the ball to drop gently in then bounce out as if to say “that’s made you look a twat hasn’t it?”
It is the only time I have ever seen a bowler laugh at a dropped catch – two batters, two umpires, Critics’ Corner en masse and even the tea ladies fell about on the floor as the troubled one, not untypically, tried to blame anything – even a Gulf Coast wind current – for his moment of shame.
Sport is life and, as in life, respect is priceless.
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