Over

This is my 500th post on this blog. Thankfully it is about something important; the end of the 2019 cricket season...

Watching:

The 2019 cricket season is over for me. There remains one final round of county Championship fixtures to be played, though the ECB, in their usual infinite wisdom, have scheduled these to begin not on a Saturday or Sunday, which would provide for the maximum possible attendance, but on Monday 23^rd September. Despite the incredible summer we’ve had, with the World Cup and a drawn Ashes series courtesy of the stellar performances of Ben Stokes (influenced in no small way by Bad Boy JED Carr), the domestic long form game is half hidden away by the ECB, who seem to regard it as a kind of eccentric elderly relative, compared to the supposedly much-heralded all singing, all dancing 100 ball bollocks we’ll have foisted on us next year. Then again, our domestic game is managed by an organisation that also saw fit to start a series of Championship games on the weekend of the World Cup final and scheduled the 20/20 quarter finals with such aplomb that Lancashire, with Old Trafford in the middle of hosting the Fourth Test, were forced to play their knock-out tie at Chester le Street.

Personally, I watched some or all of 37 different games in 2019, the vast majority of which involved my beloved Tynemouth, at 10 different grounds, 3 of which I’d not been to before. My first cricket blog of the year (http://payaso-de-mierda.blogspot.com/2019/07/the-rainy-season.html) contained a precis of the first 22 of these and the week after, I wrote about my predictably emotionally fraught return to Felling with Tynemouth in my 23^rd game (http://payaso-de-mierda.blogspot.com/2019/07/slight-return.html), so it’s only right I bring things up to date by discussing the rest of my viewing pleasures. Except, there wasn’t a lot of cricket to watch for large parts of the season; having seen the game at Felling washed out in early afternoon on July 13^th, the week following saw an even earlier curtailment. We’d bowled well to restrict Eppleton to 76-4 at lunch, having already pouched a bonus point for bowling, when the skies opened even before the teams had properly sat down to eat. Clearly, there was no prospect of play. Indeed, North Shields had to call off a pre-season friendly that same afternoon and if you can’t play football because of a waterlogged pitch, there’s no way you can play cricket in such conditions. Ironically, it turned into a lovely evening by 6 o’clock, but the players had long dispersed by then.

The day after, which was predictably glorious, I did my bit to support the Midweek Cricket League, who were playing a challenge match against the West Tyne League at Corbridge CC, allowing me the chance to tick off a new ground. Corbridge, like the adjoining Tynedale rugby club, had suffered tremendously from flooding after the Tyne burst its banks a few years ago. Consequently, the replacement pavilion is a splendid structure, almost like a sporting version of the Sage.

I’d not really thought about coming to this game, but umpire Peter Woodley, who had been standing at the Tynemouth v Eppleton game and was standing in this one along with his wife Gillian, suggested I come along. As he’s our divisional officer in the Midweek League, I acquiesced and found myself willingly pressganged into acting as drinks monitor, in return for a goodly share of a stupendous tea. This made up for the fact that the train out to Corbridge was absolutely rammed to the gills with post-Pride revellers returning to the north Lancashire and south west Scotland corridor, not to mention a gang of Christian cyclists out on a jaunt. It’s a good job I wasn’t playing, though it was a shame to see morning cry-offs had reduced the Midweek side to 9 players, because I’d never have fitted my kit on the train. Batting first, the Midweekers amassed 163-6 from 30 overs, during which the main point of interest was Peter insisting one young lad, whose radar had gone awry, had to go off after bowling a series of unintentional beamers. In reply, the West Tyne team struggled to 72-5 before a lad from Haydon Bridge came in and won it by himself. All in all, a good day, but rather poorly supported.

The last Saturday in July was another desperate day for the weather, to the extent that Benfield’s friendly against the University was switched from their home ground at Prudhoe, to the astroturf 4G facility at their Cochrane Park training ground. The Lions eased home 4-1 and put in a great performance, under floodlights as well, so it was with a sense of incredulity I learned of a 3.45 start between South North and Tynemouth. Amazingly, the rain had ceased and so, post football, I headed to Gosforth, hampered by the lack of a direct bus (I wasn’t cycling in those conditions!), which meant I arrived at the start of our innings. South North, the NEPL galacticos, had been having a sticky season of gross underachievement for money invested, though at least with their state-of-the-art pitch technology and all-round hi-tech wizardry, they’d been getting the games on and avoided the maddening stop start playing time other teams had. It hadn’t done them much good, as Burnmoor, Chester le Street and my beloved Tynemouth had them in our sights. There was no way the NEPL title was going to Roseworth Terrace.

We should have won the game. If we had, the league would have looked very different come mid-September. South North had posted 152-5 and we began, with Nick Armstrong and Matty Brown opening, tentatively in the murky light. As Tynemouth are world renowned experts in the art of the inexplicable batting collapse, the first target was to avoid defeat. By the time we reached 50, that was out of the question, mainly because Nick Armstrong batted beautifully; not only was it the best I’ve seen him play, it was the best innings of the season I’d seen, up to that point, while Browny ably supported him with his own half century. As the realisation of first possible and then probable defeat occurred to the South North team, the whole array of shady gamesmanship was rolled out: moaning to the umpire about the light and the state of the ball, endless fielding changes and calls to the dressing room for changes of kit, all of which created a glacially slow over rate until, with poised for a victory charge at Tynemouth 123 without loss with 6 overs to go, the umpires, perhaps alerted by 2 dropped catches by South North fielders, decided to take the players off for safety reasons. Clearly, we demurred, but within minutes, heavy rain had returned, and the game had to be abandoned. South North knew they’d got away with one but, swings and roundabouts, I recalled us standing at 32-7 at home to Benwell Hill when Mother Nature saved our skin, though at least we had the decency to be shamefaced about our good fortune on that occasion.

We gained a modicum of revenge in the Banks Semi final the next day, when we played Crook at home. They are a new team to the league and I’d not seen them before. We made 232, which always seemed more than enough, and they replied with 169, setting us up for a home final against lower division title favourites Washington.

Into August and a real seaside special; Tynemouth v Whitburn, bookended by Whitley Bay v Benfield in the opening game of the season. I thoroughly enjoyed a very composed exhibition of batting in the opening session, that saw us go into lunch 111-2, as I pedalled off to Hillheads. The only contentious event had been a frankly risible appeal against Matty Brown for obstructing the field, when a wildly inaccurate throw hit him on the back as he scampered to make his ground after being sent back by Mike Jones when attempting an impossible run. Frankly, if it hadn’t been for Browny’s back, they’d have conceded 4 overthrows, such was the plight of the attempted run-out. Anyway, after a point secured in a somnolent 1-1 draw, I returned for 5.15, to finding Whitburn teetering at 29-8 in pursuit of 209. There was to be no Stokes and Leach miracle here. Whitburn were all out for 45 as we rediscovered our momentum after the South North disappointment, only for the week after to again see a game washed out, as our trip to Burnopfield was abandoned without a ball bowled.

There was no option than to find succour in sandwiches and cakes at the members tea on day 1 of Northumberland versus Hertfordshire. This annual treat is enormously appreciated by all of us who try to give the best support we can (my headcount was 60 for today’s crowd) to England’s border county, who are still sadly cast as the Cinderella of the Minor Counties. The 2020 season will see a realignment of what we must now call the Unicorns Championship and I’ll return to it, once I understand its ramifications fully. The lads put in a decent first innings here, though other than a flamboyant Michael Richardson knock and a few muscular blows by Oli McGee, there was something rather too circumspect about the rest of the batting. Hertfordshire showed how it was done, racing to 120 off 20 without loss in response to 290, though their efforts were in vain as, you’ve guessed it, rain washed out the next 2 days.

When we finally got some decent weather, it was awful to see Tynemouth 1sts implode through a combination of injury, unavailability, a lack of form and sheer bloody bad luck. Because of Benfield commitments, I didn’t make it to Burnmoor where, at the change of innings, the title seemed within our grasp, having skittled them for 113. Oh, how tantalising was our misfortune to be dismissed for 107, which in retrospect, signalled the death of all our dreams. To the Sunday following and the Banks final at home to Washington. Goodness I was excited for this one; got to the ground early, had a coffee and a chat with Sean about NUFC’s prospects, then saw some excellent bowling and fielding restrict them to 157-7 from 40. You could see it in the eyes of our lads as they came off for tea; confidence, not arrogance, belief, not entitlement. We thought we’ve won this; time to make up for the disaster against Eppleton in 2015. Sadly not; dreadful batting, tigerish fielding and inspired bowling, including a hat trick after successive wides on either side of the wicket holed us below the waterline. Once Mike Jones was out, we vainly clung to the hope Wes could take us home, as a fitting way to end his 2 years at the club, but there was to be no fairy tale here. We made 140 all out and Washington celebrated like crazy, as they deserved to do. It wasn’t funereal in the clubhouse afterwards, but a palpable sad sense of what should have been, hung heavy in the air. The weekend was a massive opportunity missed, with the final providing a result none of us had expected.

The week after, we dismissed Newcastle for 113, with Polly grabbing an astonishing 7-16, and reached 84-3, before subsiding to 99 all out. It was like post-traumatic stress meets mass hysteria. I didn’t make this one because of football commitments, but it was a horrible result. By the time I got to Preston Avenue, news of this loss had filtered through and the 2nds began to lose heart against Newcastle 2nds, to the extent that 54-year-old Keith Brown’s dogged batting saw the visitors home. A hideous stench of capitulation hung over the club, so I exited to the back field to join a crowd comprised entirely of Bad Boy parents, enjoying a picnic and piss up as the 3rds eased to victory over Greenside, courtesy of some lusty blows and immobile footwork from Jazzy. The news that they were now up to second in the table, with every chance of promotion because of the inevitable mergers and resignations the post season will bring, brought some cheer, making me willing to work the bar, solo and unpaid, until 10pm.

Bank Holiday Monday saw the rearranged 2XI 20/20 finals day at Preston Avenue. The second game was Chester le Street against Castle Eden, but we were up first against The Hill. For some reason, I had absolutely no confidence in us for this one, especially as we were required to chase after they won the toss and set off like an express train. While Sam and Benno reined them in, the 150 target looked an imposing one and, sure enough, we gave wickets away like clockwork, playing like the hungover dupes they were. The final total of 68 all out was a tragically fair reflection of our batting efforts. Despite the presence of several thirsty Bad Boys, the magnitude of the defeat broke my spirit and I disappeared home, missing the 2 remaining games. However, I did return to see the last knockings of the James Bell semi-final at home on the Thursday following, when the same two sides squared up again. We lost our grip on the cup with a 40-run loss which, in the context of a 15-over game, is pretty comprehensive.

Of course, it wasn’t just the 2nds that Benwell Hill were able to obliterate; the 1s were susceptible too. The following Saturday, I got to The Hill around 6pm after enduring a public transport marathon from Ryhope (Benfield had lost), just in time to see the best knock of the summer; Kyle Coetzer elegantly displayed his array of controlled attacking shots, with the kind of flourish you don’t mind seeing, even if it’s against your lads and only partly because it’s for nowt. We lost this one by 4 wickets and we lost the next two as well. The last fixture saw Eppleton do us by 3 wickets at their place, but I didn’t make it over there. I did see the final act of the Chester le Street game, arriving when we were 121-6 with a notional 117 needed. Wes and young Joe Snowdon did their best to perform a rearguard action, as did Finn and Evan, who has a classic forward defensive technique that must be applauded. CLS, sensing blood, rounded on our wounded esprit de corps like a pack of famished wolves around timid, orphaned lambs, sending us to another defeat.

Consequently, having seen Ashington play Benfield off the park, I arrived for the final part of the 2s at home to Gateshead Fell, my final game of the year, almost relieved to see the back of the cricket season. My love for the game wasn’t initially restored as, while chasing 238, we managed to stumble from 180-1 to 200-8 in the first half hour I was there, mainly because the shambling, bleary-eyed Bad Boys in the team, who’d been out carousing until the early hours, continued to suffer. That said, strong drink and a late night must have done something positive for Richie Hay as he took 2-30 and made a season’s best 45 for the 3s, who ended their campaign with a win away to Benwell and Walbottle. And then something magical happened; as news of Burnmoor’s triumph against the odds to win the NEPL came wafting across Twitter, we ignored the sad news that the 1s had gone from runners-up to 6^th because of the string of late season losses, as Sam Robson and Jimmy Carr came together to produce a wonderful cameo partnership of thumping and heaving, resulting in a totally unexpected 2 wicket win, that was greeted with mild hysteria akin to a Champions’ League success.

This victory seemed to lift a lot of spirits, as over 30 Tynemouth cricketers from all teams, including Wes for the very last time, got stuck into the pints, often including long draughts of the newly installed Moretti and celebrated the beautiful game for what it is. Our summer. Our pastime. Our own beloved cricket.

Yes, winning is nice, but it was this camaraderie, the piss-taking and plans for the future, including whispers of another shot at the National Indoor Championships under our own Mike Brearley (cheers Poll!) that made it all worthwhile. This, more than anything on the field, restored my love for the game and Tynemouth in particular. Thankfully, I was sensible enough to head home by 10pm, so avoided any chance of last season’s antics when I fell off a table while attempting an air mandolin solo during my dreadful karaoke version of Maggie May. If we win something next year, I’ll try it again! In all seriousness, I am ready for the challenge to carry on watching, carry on playing and, if the weather is clement and the fixtures amenable, to complete the full set of NEPL grounds: Castle Eden, Crook, Shotley Bridge and Willington, along with new arrivals Lanchester and Philadelphia. Roll on April….

Playing:

Last time I provided an update on the fortunes of Tynemouth Bad Boys, I’d just taken a lifetime best 4-23 against Whitley Bay, which led to me to ponder whether it could get any better than that. Frankly, it didn’t, as the rotten, stinking weather that plagued us throughout the whole summer conspired to curtail the second half of our fixture list, limiting us to only 3 further games. In the first half of the season we’d conceded a rain-postponed home Cup tie against Matrics Barbarians as we simply couldn’t find a suitable date to play the game, then lost our Plate contest with the Civil Service, but managed to win 4 league games, lose 2 and concede 1, which was the away game against Cramlington on Friday 28^th June when at least half the Bad Boys squad were a gallon deep at the Riverside, watching South Africa v Sri Lanka, by the time our game would have started.  As far as I’m concerned, Fridays are not midweek nights, so we should avoid playing on that day at all costs. I have suspicions that certain clubs pick these dates as a way of gaining points through concessions, but obviously that’s hard to prove and, at the most vibrant of clubs, there are so many teams that Friday may occasionally be the only option.

However, being frank, there are some lads amongst us who don’t fancy away games if we have to travel further north than Bates Cottages or west than Heaton Medicals. Consequently, the away game against runaway league leaders Merz & MacLellan up at far distant Ulgham only attracted 3 availables; Unknown Hat, Tynecastle and me. Luckily rain intervened as a weekend of monsoon conditions resulted in them calling the game off on the Monday, so we ended up with 1 point instead of -5 and a £10 fine for defaulting, as M&M never bothered trying to reschedule for late in the season. In that instance, we got lucky, but the opposite was true of the next fixture.

Our home game against Sparta was scheduled for Thursday 18^th July; as they were bottom of the table and we’d clouted them by over 100 runs at Heaton Medicals back in May, confidence was running high. Sadly, we fell foul of the labyrinthine Midweek Cricket admin regulations. When Merz & MacLellan called off the game on Monday 8^th July, we should have confirmed the home game with Sparta for 10 days hence there and then. We didn’t and because of that, they cried foul and said they couldn’t possibly play at such short notice. As required, we offered alternative dates of Thursday 8^th and 15^th August; no dice. They had a game on one of them and weren’t available for the other. We sent the matter to divisional officer Peter Woodley to adjudicate and he decided it should remain unplayed.  Now I like and respect Peter tremendously, but I don’t hold with his decision here. We should have had the points; I know his decision had more than one eye on keeping a struggling team afloat, but I doubt Sparta’s continued existence was dependent on that result. However, at the end of the day, I’d rather they played on next year than we got 8 points and they folded.

Right; time for some cricket, at last.  Tuesday 23^rd July was a glorious, sunny summer’s day. I finished work at 4.30, took the 54 northwards and arrived at Bates Cottages just in time to see suspended home captain Ross Symington mowing the wicket. It didn’t look helpful for spinners, which is probably why Benno and Strez had them on the ropes at 12-6. For Corinthian purposes, I sent down a couple of dreadful overs, allowing them to recover to an eventual 79-8, with Benno back at the death to claim two more scalps and return our best bowling of the season; 5-8.  In response, we had an early wobble before the glittering teeth and lustrous bouffant of JED Carr took on the mantle of all-rounder, tactician and player coach, gaining the win by 7 wickets.

Our last home game, following the Sparta debacle, saw High Stables in the neighbourhood on Thursday 1^st August. It started absolutely slinging it down around 5.30, but as their captain said; “we’ve travelled 30 miles to get here, so we’re playing.” Now that is an attitude I can empathise with. They put us in, and we amassed 127-7, which proved to be enough as they struggled to 89-8. I collected my shabbiest wicket of the season, which I’d like to blame on having to bowl with a bar of soap, but probably has more to do with my innate lack of ability. Let’s be honest, the hip high full toss on leg stump is not an integral part of the leggy’s attacking array. I could hardly look at the unfortunate batsman who hit it straight down Richy Hay’s throat at deep square leg. Fair play to High Stables, as they all came back to the pub afterwards and proceeded to outdrink us. Goodness knows how I cycled home that night. I must say it was great to catch up with my pal Ian Dowson who is their keeper; it was just a shame that Tuesday 6^th and Thursday 15^th August were so wet that the return fixture was again called off, having been postponed during a previous period of intense thunderstorms, back in week 6.

 We were back to basking in glorious sunshine when what turned out to be our final game away to Genetics took place on Monday 5^th August at the highly impressive Swalwell Cricket Club, where Northumberland have played Minor Counties 3-day fixtures. Unfortunately, we didn’t turn in a performance that fitted our surroundings, enduring our biggest thumping of the season, subsiding to 69 all out (I contributed a first baller) and seeing them rapidly accumulate 70-1, though I did take the only wicket with another stock delivery; a hip high full toss on leg stump that Captain Sturrock pouched.

And then, the morning after, it started raining again, so it was season over. We finished 4^th in Division 2, which was confirmed at the end of season league meeting at Blue Flames that I attended on account of the fact I was working when the Bad Boys end of season night of debauchery took place. Suffice to say, the captain’s blazer has been passed on to Dan Storey and the season begins again on 20^th April 2020. We have trips to Felling (Matrics Barbarians), Cochrane Park (NE Tamils), Belmont, Mitford and Harton & Westoe (South Shields Bangladeshis) to look forward to. Winter well everyone.