Carib Beer XI vs Old Boys - July 29th 2010

As our strangely disjointed 2010 season with its cancelled games and poor turnout reaches its conclusion, we again headed off to Wray Crescent in Finsbury Park to take on the AEAT Old Boys, one of our favourite oppositions, given that most of them are known to out captain and leader Martin Haigh as previous work colleagues and rivals. It's also a line up that includes "frog in a blender" Rob Moss, the arch nemesis of our flame haried Northerner, Phil Cordey, who sadly could not be in attendance this week. The friendly rivalry between these two and the constant sledging of each other that results is one of the features of these clashes, and would surely be sorely missed tonight. However, given the frequency and regularity with which Mr Moss is sledged, even by his own team members, the game would not be totally without mirth and entertainment.

The game was a little slow to get started, and it was again with some trepidation that we discovered the pavilion to be locked up and with no sign of a "groundsman" to open them for us (although quite what the groundsman of a plastic wicket is required to do is beyond most of us, given that the outfield remained unmowed for several weeks). Nevertheless, we again began looking around the attendant luggage as the two teams began to assemble at the ground for likely stump replacements, in the event that we were again to find ourselves with the proper stumps firmly behind lock and key on the other side of the pavilion door. As we began to assemble in the middle of the pitch, to begin our pre game workouts, a keen eyed member of the assembled ranks spotted a gentleman in a high visibility jacket in an adjacent street, clearing up some loose ends in a council garden, and, putting two and two together, suggested asking him if he knew the whereabouts of the groundsman, and if possible, how we could contact him. To our great surprise, it turned out that the gentleman in question WAS the groundsman, apparently moonlighting as a local gardener, complete with keys to the dressing rooms, who, although rather irritable having to speak to a member of the public, he agreed, if we would wait for 15 minutes, to open up the pavilion and allow us to retrieve the stumps, on the proviso that he wanted the doors shut again by 20.45 pm sharp.

We now had our stumps, but given the slackness of the northern line problem induced tardiness of the two teams arrival, and our enforced early finish, so that the groundsman could no doubt return home in time for eastenders, we would be pushed for time for a full game. The obvious solution, suggested by our rapidly returning to greatness Captain, Martin Haigh, was for a game with a reduced number of overs. Opposition Captain, Old Boy Drapes, agreed to Martin's suggestion of 16 overs, and having probably lost the toss, we were inserted and asked to bat first (Although this is an assumption, given our strict instructions to our illustrious captain to ALWAYS FIELD FIRST given us more time to drink our beer at the end of the game - it seems unlikely that Martin would have coluded in ensuring this didn't happen).

Aging medium pacer Carib Rogerson, and Ringer Guy were asked to pad up and open our innings. As we waited for the fielders to assemble, we became aware that the field looked somewhat over-populated. On counting up, we found that the Old Boys actually had TWELVE fielders. Given that we only had 9, this seemed a little unfair, and after some frantic negotiations, it was decided that we would take one of their players, electing, on the basis of him not strictly being an "Old Boy" to request the services of David Jowsey and he trotted off to switch teams. The opening bowler was John Allen, who has played for us once or twice, and for most of the Caribs, is just a little bit too lively. We therefore, began slowly, wearing a few loose deliveries, and scraping together the odd single in the first couple of overs, attempting to target the weaker bowling from the other end, in the hope that we could see off Old Boy Allen's opening overs before climbing into the first and second changers. We almost managed it, but in Old Boy Allen's 3rd over, the ball cannoned into Carib Guy's pads, and our relentlessly correct official Umpire Michael "General" Lee was forced to raise his finger and send the shell-shocked Carib opener on his way. However, almost a third of our overs had by now been expended and we had only progressed to some 25 runs.

Next man in was our Keen Wicketkeeper, and veteran of 3 seasons, Andy Bowen, just the man you don't want at the crease when your scoring rate needs to accellerate. Andy's first few balls were delivered by the firey Old Boy Allen, and by his own admission, Carib Bowen didn't see 'em. However, as his spell came to an end, we breathed a sigh of relief, as Steve Curtiss, a one-time Carib Ringer, came on to bowl his usual collection of looped wides and half track grubbers. Carib Rogerson's eyes lit up as he began to consider the proposition of another not out 25. Carib Rogerson has been going through something of a purple patch with the bat this year, the improvement in his batting co-inciding with his horrendous loss of form with the ball. The aging cricketer, now surely entering the twilight of his career, climbed into the shot-put half trackers of Old Boy Curtiss, and despatched his last 3 deliveries for FOUR, FOUR and SIX, taking his score to 28 and forcing him to retire, with the Carib innings now up and motoring.

The old Carib was replaced by New Member, Carib Uttam, someone else with a reputation for dispatching weaker attacks all round the ground. Uttam, as usual, soon hit his straps, and progressed rapidly into the twenties with a flurry of fours and a towering six, leaving several battered bowling figures in his wake. However, a shocking bit of running, that saw the young student, and potential yanky, jog down the pitch seemingly unaware of the throw rocketing back to the stumps from the outfield, to the waiting bowler behind the stumps. Eschewing a dive, or even a lean in the direction of the popping crease, our hard hitting batsmen watched in horror as the stumps in front of him were disturbed, with him still some way from safety, leaving him stranded on 24, only a single run away from retirement.

Humbled and shamed by this appalling bit of running, he trudged back to the assembled Carib ranks, allowing the great Glen "Goochie" Rayner to come striding out to replace him, bat swinging impressively above his head; there can't surely be many more intimidating sights than watching this 6 foot 6 behemoth striding out, holding what looks like a childs cricket bat in his hands, ready to punish anything loose, by dispatching it clear onto Stroud Green Road. Local residents must have been given news of Mr Rayner's attendance in advance, as rumour has it that several new car body repair shops have opened in anticipation of the business that will be sent their way, should Mr Rayner's blacksmith like hitting begin to pepper local car parks with out of shape cricket balls.

Of course, we weren't to be disappointed, as the legendary Mr Goochie climbed into the now shattered Old Boys attack, his run-every-two-balls innings of 11 included two massive fours and 3 hard struck singles, until, cut off in its prime, his juggernaut innings was brought shudderingly to a halt by another poorly misjudged bit of running, and we had our second run out casualty. However, not to be outdone by the great man, Andy Bowen also decided that a suicidal run was better than no run at all and set off back to the pavilion, the third casualty of what was to become a sad litany of misjudgements displayed by the run-happy Caribs during the evening.

At least the next man in, our dependable and unflusterable Captain, inching his way back into the game, following his appalling injuries, surely wouldn't let us down. On this occassion, Martin was proudly displaying a new addition to his kit, a large helmet, replete with metal visor and temple guards. A couple of us questioned the wisdom of this of course of action, given that the ground, being artificial, seldom induces bounce higher than your thigh, leaving it would seem, his head quite a way from being in the immediate danger zone, especially given that most of the remaining Old Boys bowlers were struggling to bowl the ball in anything like the batsman's half of the pitch, producing multiple bouncing grubbers or balls so wide that Lindford Christie would struggle to get to them. Nevertheless, Martin reminded us that he had of course just overcome some horrific injuries and was not yet back to full fitness, and that following his experiences, he was adopting a much more "safety first" approach to life, and that this, rather than the desire to look rather sillly, had been behind his decision to purchase the said item. We had of course thought this to mean that he would be wearing the helmet next time he ventured into the Scottish Highlands, not that he would be sporting it against one of the worst bowling attacks (Old Boy Allen notwithstanding) that we would be facing all season.

However, Martin's mind was made up and he strode out, fully protected against the pea rolling half trackers, to begin his innings. Unfortunately, however, Martin's helmet was to enjoy a somewhat less than auspicious debut, as it wasn't very long at all that Martin was sent trudging back to the boundary after being humiliatingly dismissed by the completely awful bowling of sledger in chief, and chief recipient of sledging, Old Boy Rob Moss. Martin's short stay at the crease had only managed to increase our score by a solitary single and his excuse that it would take some time to get used to wearing the helmet ellicited little sympathy from his team. Its wearing, and presence in the kit bag, continues to cause controversy, especially amongst the more "traditional" minded (i.e. older) members of the team. However, our innings now drew to a close, and after using up our 16 overs, we had advanced to the not un-defendable total of 105, and we felt that this gave us a real chance of securing another victory.

As we trudged out to field, our Captain and leader, Martin Haigh, began to look around for volunteers to open the bowling. Our usual opener, Carib Rogerson, in the midst of a horrendous loss of form and rhythm, declined all offers, and the new ball was handed to Ringer Guy and Ringer David. Both began well against the slow scoring nurdlers the Old Boys had sent out to face us, but they began to pick off the odd single, looking strangely untroubled. First change, the old Carib Rogerson was finally persuaded to take an over, and although the first over wasn't too bad, it deteriated rapidly, and Martin himself was forced to take an over himself. Following his disastrous injuries, this was the first time that Martin had been able to bowl for us this year, and although we guessed it would take him some time to recover his line and length, the ever dependable Captain was able to snatch two quick wickets, having opener Old Boy Bell caught, and breaching the lacklustre defences of Old Boy Matt to disturb his stumps and send the second Old Boy back to the hutch.

Following yet another run out, the faffy and fidgetty Rob Moss could be seen trudging out to the middle, to cries and sledging ringing around the ground and glee at the prospect of the Carib bowlers of being able to snare his wicket, with of course fear of the shame of not. Rob's first few balls were against the miserable Carib Rogerson's third and final over, and the old campaigner watched in horror as his half track rubbish was swatted to the boundary in convincing manner. Rob Moss's innings was up and running. Martin Haigh wisely removed himself from the attack, and brought on our pacey sub-continental import Carib Uttam to put the situation to rights. Carib Uttam's pacey deliveries were too much for two of the Old Boys, who were both to see their stumps scattered, but from the other end, the completely un-coordinated Rob Moss continued to add to the run column with frustrating regularity.

Before long, he was approaching his retirement score, and the thought of him walzting off the pitch with 25+ to his name was something that we wanted to prevent at almost any cost. Nevertheless, on 23, he edged a ball through the slips and as the ball raced to the boundary, our Captain Martin Haigh's pained cry of "Oh No" gave voice to the the dismay we all felt as the smile spread across Old Boy Moss's face as he realised he had decisively silenced his 21 critics, spread around the ground and along the edge of the boundary, and trudged off, with the Old Boy's score now dangerously close to parity with our own.

Our official, but currently underemployed Tour Manager Andy Weaver managed to induce a stumping from his lobbed and looping grenades, bringing John Allen, the tormenter of our opening batsman earlier in the peice, to the crease in an attempt to see the Old Boys over the line, although the run rate was still at this point leaning in our favour. Nevertheless, we were to watch in horror as Mr Weavers next ice-covered looper finally descended to earth and was brutally smashed to the boundary for a towering six, even being cheered by the local feral youth who had been menacingly assembling just outside the ground, now beginning to find voice after consuming one to many Special Brews. Later in the over, there was another towering six, and along with the usual few wides, we had given away 15 runs from a single over. Carib Uttam was to suffer the same ignomony fate from the other end, also being smashed for six, and it looked like, even though there were only a couple of overs left, the Old Boys would manage to scrape together a victory.

Six runs were needed from the final over, and Ringer David was brought back in an attempt to stem the flow of runs emanating from the blade of Old Boy Allen. The final over was to be one of the most fraught of the season, seeing a dot, two, a single, a dot and a two, leaving 1 run required from the final ball. Unfortunately for us, or so we thought, Old Boy Allen had conspired to leave himself facing the final delivery. However, the shouts from the boundary interupted our last ball jitters and we realised that the previous run had placed Mr Allen on 25, the compulsory retirement score, and he was forced, to our great pleasure, to leave the ground, demuring to Old Boy Luciani to score a single from the final ball to secure a victory, and the prospect of a thrilling finish to the day in the offing.

Martin correctly brought in the field to crowd the nervous Old Boy, and everyone stood poised to save the single and secure a draw, leaving Ringer David to bowl the final ball. It was on target and and as we crouched down ready to pounce on anything, Old Boy luciani climbed into it, and leaning foward, crashed the ball through the close in fielders, and through the covers for four, almost completely unflustered and we watched as the game, and victory, slipped from our grasp. However, it had been an enjoyable and tense finish to what is always an enjoyable game and we trudged back to the boundary, somewhat deflated, to hand back the stumps to the hovering groundsman and cracked open a couple of tins of beer before heading off to the pub for an evening of post-mortem, with a bit of Rob Moss sledging thrown in for good measure.

Carib Beer XI Lose by 3 Wickets

Scorecard