One
of the best things about being a resting academic, is the chance to keep late
winter hours, absorbed in cricket matches taking place thousands of miles away,
rather than being tucked up by ten on a theoretical school night. This
employee-friendly freedom affords one the opportunity to take advantage of
Sky’s loss-leader attempts to inveigle potential subscribers in to signing up
and signing away £100 a month for their product, as the free to view Sky Sports Mix channel disgorges tempting
titbits normally only available to those foolish enough to willingly engage in
media-friendly modern slavery. Although the recondite appeal of many of the
events may be entirely in the eye of the willing beholder. On whiteout Saturday
during the Beast from the East interregnum, I watched with growing amusement
and no little contempt, Allardyce’s Everton produce as spineless a second half
showing that could be imagined, outwith the tactical fiascos Pards has long
been noted for. I’ve not got anything against Everton; it’s Allardyce I reserve
my contempt for and the 2-1 defeat at Turf Moor was as shameful as anything
Benitez has cooked up. Allardyce, like Pards, Benitez and all the other
tactical dinosaur bullshit artists still stealing a living in the dugouts of
the top flight, was at pains afterwards to blame the team and not himself for
the shameful display that had wrested defeat from the jaws of victory.
As
I see it, one of the most pronounced differences between football and cricket,
is the question of ultimate, personal responsibility when the wheels come off.
In football, it’s the manager; justifiably I suppose, as he’s the one who
trains, selects, coaches and generally, signs the chuckleheads whose
incompetence drops their club in the clarts. In cricket, despite the autonomous
and almost singular role of the players, it seems to be the captain who stops
the buck. Unlike blaming the manager, I am ambivalent regarding this approach
to the apportioning of error.
With
this in mind, I watched the fourth one day international between New Zealand
and England, at the University Oval in Dunedin, initially with admiration, then
annoyance, contempt and finally amusement, as England heroically strove to lose
the thing, despite batting first and being 267/1 after 38 overs. Once Bairstow
had departed after a thrilling, bellicose 138, those sent out to partner Root
batted with contemptuous, contemptible, vainglorious disdain for the Black
Caps’ attack. Captain Eoin Morgan, Ireland’s cricketing response to Sir Roger
Casement, must accept responsibility for enabling a patina of arrogance that
permitted repeated frightful shot selection which saw Buttler, Morgan, Stokes,
Moeen and to a lesser extent Woakes, perish abysmally for a combined
contribution of a less than stellar 12 runs, while Stokes lost his momentum,
becalmed at the non-striker’s end. He made a century, but his last 20 runs were
all singles as England posted 335/9, partly thanks to last over heroics by
Curran. A reasonable total, but perhaps 80 less than they ought to have got if
they’d played the game properly and judged each ball on its merits. At first it
didn’t seem to matter, as Wood and Woakes had NZ 0/2, but as the cold night
drew on, the Black Caps doggedly chased the total down. Taylor, hobbling
grotesquely on one leg like an amateur theatrical attempting Richard III in
fancy dress, bludgeoned 181 and I rose to gently applaud him, before retiring
amidst lightening skies at 6.15 am once New Zealand had completed an unlikely 5
wicket win.
The
game received little publicity, with zero evident support in the media for my
castigation of England’s Redmondite Jackeen captain I might add. However, I’m
used to minority opinions on marginal sports. Take for instance, the
Northumberland CCC AGM at Jesmond on Monday 26th February.
Literally, this was the calm before the storm; a temperate, almost balmy night,
mild enough to persuade me to walk home afterwards. Of course, the next morning
the whole landscape had changed, with half a foot of pure white snow carpeting
the region. Similarly, the shape of Northumberland cricket was altered; a small
measurement on the Richter scale perhaps, but a decisive and irrevocable difference,
whereby the old order changeth, yielding place to? Well, time will tell us…
In
total, there were 20 people shivering in their overcoats and, in my case,
nursing vending machine coffee, in the austere function room at Jesmond Cricket
Club, where I’d last been for my ex-wife’s 50th birthday party
before Christmas. Having held Northumberland membership for 4 years, this was
the first time I’d managed to get to an AGM, which might have been the case for
a few others, as presiding and retiring Chairman Alan McKenna expressed his
surprise at the size of the gathering. Harry Pearson once memorably compared
the average Northern League attendance to the faithful at Church of England
evensong; not many there and those present being elderly. Compared to Minor
Counties membership gatherings, non-league football crowds are akin to a Metro
station teenage grime festival.
Obviously,
I’ve not been a lifelong Northumberland member, but even during the short
period I’ve followed the county, I have been lucky enough to enjoy priceless
memories; the run to the final at Wormsley in the 50 over competition in 2015
and the agonising failure by a single bonus point, to claim the 2016 Minor
Counties 3-day title. Admittedly last year was a disaster, without a single
victory in either competition, but the core problem that clearly and repeatedly
manifested itself was the inability to turn out a settled team. All esprit de corps was absent. Contrast two
losses to Cumberland at South North; the 2015 3-day game, where with Adam Cragg
absent, Mickey Allan and Conor Harvey came within 2 balls of a heroic draw and
the 2017 50-over contest, where 72/1 ended up as 123 all out and a thumping
defeat. Such stinking capitulations were the signature scent of summer 2017. In
a sense, they were unavoidable with so many changes because of unavailability,
late call offs and a myriad of other problems and excuses, leaving the county
adrift at the foot of the table. However, from my perspective, the solution was
clear; concentrate on getting back to a core squad of players who appreciated
the chance of playing for the county. Perhaps that’s a naïve hope and
indicative that I don’t know what I’m talking about. Sorry if that’s the case,
but surely stability is better than revolutionary change on a whim?
The
first and most shocking change is the departure of Jacques Du Toit. Captain
Nicotine, the man whose batting could light up the darkest of days (just ask
Chester le Street) was not only the captain and the pro, but also the very
reason why you’d want to watch Minor Counties Cricket, for the style and
panache of his hitting, which just shades Oli McGee’s inventive use of
profanity as the top attraction the county had to offer. I’ve lost count of the
number of times I’ve seen JDT flaying the bowling; balls ending up lost in the
graveyard or rolling off down Manor House Road and Shortridge Terrace, no doubt
ending up in the Dene. From now on, if I
want to see JDT bat, it’ll either mean watching Newcastle in the NEPL or
attending Jesmond for the game against Cumberland on August 19th.
Having been relieved of the captaincy, Jacques has opted not to continue as
Northumberland’s professional, but to head the opposite way down the A69 from
his rural bolthole towards Carlisle, Workington, Furness and Penrith.
I’m
no expert, but I feel this leaves the county immeasurably weaker in both
batting and bowling, though I wish new captain Tommy Cant, who plays for
Tynedale in the Northumberland and Tyneside Cricket League, rather than in the
NEPL, all the very best. Another departure sees coach Russell Tiffin relinquish
his role, with John Tindale, from Newcastle, stepping into the breach. Again,
good luck to John and his son Sean who has left Newcastle for South North.
Finally, Alan McKenna has stepped down after 17 years and Gordon Halliday from
South North (a gentleman I cannot speak too highly of, following certain
dealings I had with him last summer) has taken the chair.
The
meeting was over in 30 minutes, with the last part being given over to a
presentation for Alan. This was well deserved, but I did wonder why votes of
thanks for the sterling efforts of the absent Messrs Du Toit and Tiffin were
not recorded. Perhaps it was an oversight. Perhaps it isn’t the done thing. I
don’t know, but I do think it should have happened. While I’ll still support
Northumberland, I do feel slightly less enthusiastic about them now that
Jacques has gone.
That
said, I feel ever more enthusiastic about supporting Tynemouth, especially
because of the indoor adventures in the 6 a side tournament I’ve witnessed this
winter. Having twice seen them in action at South North, progressing through
the Northumberland competition and then seeing off the challenge of Whickham at
Durham in the North East final, I was immensely keen to travel to Old Trafford
and support them in the Northern final. Win two games there and the National
final at Lords on March 25th was the next stop. Exciting stuff;
almost as hair-raising as Fanta’s driving on the way down. With the team in 2
cars, the travelling support consisted of the Hallams and us two big lads.
Suffice to say, we weren’t outnumbered by the massed ranks following the other
3 sides, lucky enough to have qualified.
Rather
charmingly, when discussing this event prior to departure, Laura had got a
little confused at the difference between Old Trafford (football) and Old
Trafford (cricket), inquiring whether the Man Utd v Liverpool game had been
played early on Saturday, to avoid the crowds getting mixed up. Surveying the
vast acres of virgin tarmac in the car park and estimated that, despite the
presence of 4 cricket teams, supporters and various Lancashire CCC employees,
there were approximately 74,800 less here than the day before’s game up the
road, you’d have to conclude that police probably insisted the two events didn’t
clash.
Tynemouth
had been drawn against Woodlands from Bradford in the second semi-final, with
Derby Congregational versus Shrewsbury Grasshoppers first up. One significant
difference to both South North and Durham was the size of the playing area,
especially in terms of length. Not only did it make scoring a 6 very unlikely,
but it allowed fast bowlers an appreciable run up, which helped the quick lad
from Woodlands no end. One problem was the malfunctioning scoreboard, which
meant we didn’t really know how close the first game was, until it was
announced Derby needed 1 to win. The ruddy-cheeked, large-limbed Salopians had
batted first and, aided by a plethora of wides and no-balls, reached 102. Local
knowledge, in the shape of a garrulous third umpire, stated that somewhere
around 130 was a good score, so it seemed the Asian lads of Derby Congs were
favourites to go through, which they did by 2 wickets, augmented by some truly
woeful, ill-disciplined bowling from Grasshoppers who also had the shame of a 5
run deduction for dissent.
For
the avoidance of doubt, we made our way down to the side of the playing area by
the scorers’ table to keep abreast of developments in our game. Tynemouth were
fielding the strongest team possible: captain Martin Pollard, the Sams Dinning
and Robson, Chris Fairley, Finn Longberg and MVP Andrew Smith. Polly won the
toss and Tynemouth batted. As is always the case, Smithy and Sam Dinning got
off to a great start and both were required to retire having reached 25. Chris
Fairley gave good support, but Sam Robson didn’t do as well and Finn, who may
need to visit an optician, confessed he simply didn’t see the 4 balls he faced
from Woodlands’ fast bowler. Frankly the tigerish, ginger mopped Yorkshireman
looked scary from where we were sat on the other side of the net, never mind
facing him. Polly had a smashing cameo of 23, which we speculated may have been
more than he scored in the whole of 2017, though Fanta claimed it was actually higher
than the rest of his career put together. In the end, we made 116 all out,
which was competitive at least.
Agonisingly,
it was just too few as we lost off the last ball. This was despite Smithy
taking 2 wickets in his first over. Woodlands just kept plugging away and were
aided by a couple of unfortunate fielding aberrations that yielded a 5 and then
a 6. After those two calamities, you could see by the body language that we
just didn’t believe we’d get through. The lads were very down afterwards;
especially Polly who was devastated to lose. However, half an hour later, after
digging in to a rather impressive buffet, a more philosophical attitude
prevailed. It was better to fall one game from Lords rather than to lose on the
last ball of the final. Also, it meant we could leave early enough for Fanta to
get back in time for Endeavour.
In
the final, Woodlands beat Derby Congs by the small matter of 72 runs and will
now face Hagley from Stourbridge in the first National semi-final, while the
University of Exeter take on Broadstairs in the other. Best of luck to all 4
teams, but I really wish we could have been there. However, let’s be honest
about this, for Tynemouth to have made it so far was a great achievement for
the club and the NEPL. All the blokes who turned out were an absolute credit to
the game, the club and themselves. Hopefully, this will make them all even more
keen for the start of the 2018 season; April 14th, snow permitting…
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