The Cap Fits

Throughout the endless, saturated, frozen early months of 2018, the one thought that drove me on with any semblance of hope or optimism for the future, was the scheduled arrival of the cricket season. Despite outfields resembling lakes, April 14^th was always on the horizon. Sadly, there were clubs and teams that didn’t make it that far; Seaham Harbour, where I’d seen Tynemouth win a 1^st XI 20/20 game in June last year, called it a day from NEPL Division 1, meaning their titanic struggle to overhaul Mainsforth and avoid relegation last summer had been in vain. Thankfully, they’ve managed to get a team together to play in the North East Durham League, which is a relief as it is their 150^th year. Consequently, NEPL D1 is running one team short this year and, having given clubs the option to relegate 1 side and promote 2, from both Durham and Northumberland for next year, the turkeys have decided not to opt for Christmas in July. Instead, there will be no relegation and the Durham and Northumberland winners will play off, as Castle Eden did when claiming a place ahead of Swalwell last year.

Monkseaton are now running with 2 teams as the thirds have opted just to play friendlies this year but intend to return in the future. Sadly, there is no good news of Hebburn, where I saw my final game of 2017. Despite, or perhaps because of, the rejuvenation of Hebburn Town football club, who look certain to return to Northern League Division 1, the Alliance side Hebburn Reyrolle who use the “small” pitch are rumoured to have been served notice and the cricket club have resigned, as there are rumours of a new stand for the “big” pitch on the site of the current square. There may be other departures I’m not aware of. All very sad. Equally sad, but eminently sensible, was the decision by the NEPL to postpone the opening day until August Bank Holiday. When all local football, other than that played on 4G, was rained or frozen off, you know it just isn’t cricket weather. Thankfully, it was on the Saturday afterwards.

April 21^st dawned glorious and cloudless. I woke, early and excited, the way I used to on the first morning of the summer holidays; enthused and invigorated by the endless possibilities of the weeks that stretched out unimaginably far into the distance. The walk up to Preston Avenue was filled with wonder; unlike the last time I made the journey in September 2017 for the final home game of the year, when I took a call on Washington Terrace to tell me my mother had passed. This time, Park Avenue and Northumberland Park provided a sunlit path of built solidity and nature’s eternal improvisation that seemed appropriate for what I was to experience. There’s a new entrance sign at Tynemouth Cricket Club and the driveway has been resurfaced. More pressingly, the outfield looked dazzlingly perfect; a complete transformation from the swamp-like conditions groundsman Jacka had posted only a week earlier on social media. I took time out to thank him for his efforts; he really had done a splendid job in the most trying of winter conditions.

Before taking my seat in front of the pavilion, warm handshakes and greetings were exchanged with those I’d spend large proportions of my Saturdays and some Sundays with, over the course of the summer. Then, a seemingly endless tirade of abuse related to my admittedly offensive Hawaiian shirt, served as a welcome back from the team, with the chief abuser being captain Ben Debnam. This marked a new low in my eyes; the sledging of a spectator. Karma took over as Ben lost the toss and Whitburn put us in. Bearing in mind the weather we’ve had and uncertainty over how the pitch would be, this was a bad one to lose and things looked ominous when Nick Armstrong was out without scoring. However, this dismissal ushered in the arrival of Durham 2^nd XI player Mike Jones, one of three debutants along with Scottish spinner Mark Watt and wicket keeper Jack McCarthy. This lad Mike Jones got some talent mind. Rarely have I seen a Tynemouth batsman dominate the attack in the way he did. With the able assistance of the skipper, they took the score to 127 before Ben was bowled for a solid 40. This is where the new NEPL playing regulations foxed me; I knew play started at 11.45, but it had passed me by that the new, and eminently sensible, modification to the order of the day is that there is now only one break, between innings. Consequently, I’d still been expecting lunch at 1.45 and had arranged a lift up to Ashington to watch Benfield with Ginger Dave. As it was, I left at 139/3 when Matty Brown was out for 10, missing Mike’s century. He made 120 out of 202/9 declared from 51 overs, so it was reassuring to learn the old Tynemouth tendency to a batting collapse was still lurking in the background.

Returning to Preston Avenue at 5.15, after a stylish 2-0 win for Benfield and the magnificent news of Sunderland’s relegation to League 1, Whitburn were 60/4. Within quarter of an hour they’d subsided to 67/7 and all thoughts of an away victory had gone. Dogged, entrenched defence was the order of the day, led by Ben Markham. He didn’t play expansively or attractively, but he did a sterling job of frustrating Tynemouth, as Whitburn crawled to a losing draw, with 107/9 from 59 overs. Frankly, it was one even the connoisseurs may have labelled as dull. There was nothing for it, but to start on the pints. Mark Watt took 6/9, but still we couldn’t force a victory. However, it was an encouraging performance and so about a dozen of us hung around and got completely leathered. A great night and a wonderful reality check as Paul Longberg, who really should think about a career in counselling, pointed out that while I’ve lost a good bit of weight, “you’ve still got a massive kite.” Useful to get that learnt. Subsequently, I woke up on the sofa at 4.17am in a dreadful state of confused intoxication. It’s wonderful to be back.

Some insane promises are made while in drink and my firm commitment to turn out for Tynemouth Bad Boys in the Midweek League (http://midweekcricket.com/) is one of them. Not having played at all since 1990, which was the summer E culture really swamped the North East (use your imagination), and not properly since 1985 at University, I had long believed I’d never do so again, but as I’ve alluded to in various blogs, one of my motivations for attempting to achieve a semblance of fitness, was to try and play again. The humiliation I felt when gently dissuaded from turning out for Monkseaton 3rds last year left me with two options; abandon my dream or become determined. I chose the latter. Mind, with a Thursday evening home Just Sport Cup round 1 tie against the Civil Service looming, I was absolutely messing myself with nerves, although it had already been affirmed I’d bat 11 and wouldn’t bowl. Thank goodness eh? Of course, I have neither bat nor pads, but I was made aware I could borrow these items. I did think I ought to get my own batting gloves; hence, I cycled up to Silverlink on the Tuesday and, when locking my bike outside Sports Direct, I ran into Tynemouth Cricket club legend, Blackpool goal machine and the player who ought to be wearing Isaac Hayden’s shirt; Sean Longstaff.

I’d not seen Sean since before he went to Blackpool and in the year he’s been away, he seems to have become a much more self-confident and positive young man. Amazing what proper coaching does for a player eh? Newcastle United, please take note. Thankfully, he wasn’t heading into Ashley’s Empire of Evil, so I could make my purchase without embarrassment. You see, even when I turned up for the 6pm start on Kings’ Field adjacent to Preston Avenue, I still felt a bit of a fraud amongst proper cricketers. Mind, since we only had 10 and because I knew most of the players already, the nerves soon subsided. Good job I’m prescribed beta blockers though.

Captain and former work colleague Matty Leadbetter looked like a Network Rail trolley dolly in his club blazer. He lost the toss and we batted. He was out first ball; a true captain’s knock. In reality though, he ought to have been run out without facing a ball. Thankfully others proved more resilient and we made 99/5 from 12 overs. Encouragingly, I didn’t even have to pad up. As the opposition were from 2 divisions above us, I think it was expected they’d win easily. In a way they did, accumulating 100/4 with an over to spare, but it was competitive, sporting, fun and inclusive. I had a wonderful time, both on the field and in The Spread Eagle afterwards, despite only being involved for 3 balls.

Attempting to see the war out in Switzerland, by hiding at deep square leg, I was thoughtfully brought into the game by Sam Robson bowling outside leg stump. The realisation that the ball was coming towards me, at a rate of knots, was terrifying. Assembling all my incompetent keeping skills, I hurled myself to my right, got hit on the wrist by the ball and thoroughly dirtied the knees of my whites. My team mates weren’t too dismissive of my efforts. Indeed, Sam decided he’d like to see a replay of it, so bowled in the same place for the same result. This time I didn’t get near the ball, which whizzed past me over the boundary, but I must have made a decent stab at it, as I heard encouraging noises from the rest of the Bad Boys. Wicket keeper Euan did point out that my spontaneous response of “oh fuck; not again” when I realised the ball was coming towards me was not the correct response. Swearing, it seems, just isn’t cricket.

Someone ought to have pointed that out to the Brideshead Revisited ponces who did their best to turn Jesmond into Galatasaray on Saturday gone. Everyone loves Osborne Avenue; it’s scenic on the verge of idyllic, with a compactness that allows for spectacular hitting that other grounds aren’t set up for. Last year Newcastle got 400 against Stockton; it’s that sort of place. It’s also great to get back there and catch up with the likes of Oli and Ben McGee (and family), The Hudson Dynasty and Captain Nicotine himself, Jacques Du Toit. Pleasantries over with, Tynemouth inserted Newcastle and quickly had them 22/2. At which point the McGees came together for a 50 partnership; Ben collected a composed and fluent 29, while Oli initially scratched about but didn’t get out. In came JDT for his first knock of the year and it was fairly clear when he’d reached 18 from 3 boundaries and a maximum in his first 5 balls, he was in the zone. Both he and Oli had reached half centuries when the rain came at 175/3, to rob the game of a dozen overs. This was my cue to head for Benfield. Just as I was leaving, about a dozen public school sounding student ra ras turned up, accompanied by a few boxes of Amstel, several three litre vats of white cider and, for the chap in touch with his feminine side, a bottle of Rose.

I got back following our stupendous 4-2 win over Shildon, where we’d been 2-0 down after 11 minutes and still 2-0 down after 73, to see Tynemouth were 22/4 in reponse to Newcastle’s 284, where Oli contributed 55 and JDT a stupendous 124. Sam Dinning had just been dismissed and his long walk back was soundtracked to a chorus of derision by the Russell Group reprobates. What followed for the rest of the game was an endless, witless, monotonous cacophony of the most inane chants from the consciously whacky 20/20 sessioners’ songbook. Now I’m a tolerant sort of person when it comes to the language of the snooker hall, but there were a load of people in that ground, supporting both teams, who were more than slightly inconvenienced by the sound and the effect it had on the normally bucolic atmosphere. The result became almost irrelevant as the chanting grew louder and lamer. A friend of mine Dave, cricket club social member and Jesmond resident, called in, accompanied by his 8-year-old son, to see me on his way back from Rafa’s latest tactical masterclass. He didn’t stay, as he wasn’t happy with the bairn being exposed to this sort of behaviour. 

Now I fully appreciate the club needs as much trade as possible to survive and these pillocks were filling the till once they’d emptied their carry out. I also realise that with Tynemouth, having failed to match Whitburn’s resolve the week before, being bowled out with 10 balls remaining for 95 to lose by 189 runs, this may seem like sour grapes. It isn’t. I’m just wondering whether Newcastle Cricket club are happy to have such characters associated with them. Certainly, it would be interesting to see what happened if they decided to follow Newcastle away and replicated such antics at Eppleton, Felling or Sacriston, where Tynemouth are this weekend. I’m next at Jesmond on Sunday for Northumberland’s 20/20 double header with Lincolnshire, where I’ve volunteered to be on the gate. Let’s see what happens if the posh boys show their faces eh?

Unfortunately, I’m not at Sacriston this Saturday. Indeed, I probably won’t see any cricket as I’m at Marske United v Benfield. Thankfully there’s the bonus of the Banks Salver first round game at home to South shields on Bank Holiday Monday. Also, I’m having to miss the Bad Boys’ first league game, at home to Park House, because Benfield are in the League Cup semi-final away to Bishop Auckland on Thursday. However, I will be back (if selected) the week after, especially as I’ve now got my own Bad Boys cap and shirt. I might even buy a bat, hoping never to use it.