'AWNIOGO': NANTWICH (A)

Saturday August 19

Clambering out of the tardily-arriving Heardmobile at Nantwich, it was clear that we would again need plenty of Factor-15: the temperature, like Addo’s hairstyle, was firmly stuck in the 80’s. I suppose that Cokey, Bazzer, Drew, Tavs and all the other less young members of the first team squad can recall the famous Indian summer of 1976 when Viv Richards belted, tarmac melted, and milk curdled inside cows. Can it really have been as hot as this year?

With no time (or inclination) to warm up, I went for a quick browse of the wicket. The last time I played at Nantwich it was debatable whether the holes on the square were deeper than those in the adjoining cemetery, but this year they had obviously flooded it since, apart from the odd muddy looking wicket-end, it had a green tinge to the surface, probably an effort both to inject pace and to stop it from breaking up. However, we all felt that this appearance was misleading and that it would be slow and low, and so it proved when the first ball of the match – bowled by Shaun Brian after Addo had won the toss and elected to field – bounced about three yards in front of me and shot through for four byes. Lovely jubbly! When I had finished staring at my feet in dismay, I looked up to see Addo standing about fifteen yards away from me, glaring intently, brandishing a fist and clenching his teeth. I assumed that this gesture meant ‘come on Dog, get stuck in’, so I steeled myself for an afternoon spent trying to limit the damage on the most difficult pitch I would have to ‘keep on this season.

view across the square 

Nantwich got off to an excellent start, reaching 47 without loss in 10 overs. I didn’t think that either Billy or Barrington had bowled badly; it was a simple case of Nantwich capitalising fully upon the odd loose ball that was interspersed with the good stuff. Iain stuck to his task well and in the twelfth over was rewarded with his first wicket for a month when Lee Prince, who had not been batting as regally as his name suggests, slashed at a ball that was angled across him and offered me a simple catch.

The breakthrough brought to the crease the Nantwich professional, ex-Durham all- rounder Mark Briers. Last year Briers had played for Nantwich as an ‘amateur’ and finished second in the Section A bowling averages as well as topping the batting with an average of 87.2. However, as he was the professional for Cornwall at the time, the league deemed him to be an ineligible player and subsequently stripped Nantwich of all the points they had accrued in the matches in which he had appeared. This proved enough to send them down. 

Swanepoel -- but not the ex-Nantwich player, Adriaan
 

When their original professional, Adriaan Swanepoel, was forced to return to South Africa earlier this season due to a serious knee injury, Nantwich legitimately engaged Briers as a replacement, although it does seem a waste of money when Nantwich are not playing for anything because of their impending withdrawal from the league (a decision doubtless provoked by last year’s penalty). 

Anyhow, we were a little wary of his reputation before the game started but I reassured the lads by explaining that he couldn’t be any good as he had ginger hair. Good or no good, it was almost certainly his reputation that saved him from the embarrassment of a golden duck when a straight, full delivery struck him plumb on his front leg, barely six inches in front of the popping crease. Committed conspiracy theorist I may well be, but I am pretty sure that a lot of umpires are disinclined to give a professional or ‘big name’ player out early in an innings for the simple reason that they want to watch them bat! After this lucky escape, Briers went on to bat for over an hour, compiling 33 runs, all but one of which came in boundaries. Cokey’s nagging accuracy eventually forced him into a reckless shot and he was bowled.

By the time he had taken this wicket Cokey was bowling very tidily, fully exploiting the morsels of help that the track was offering him. He continued to forage away on off-stump or just outside, nipping the ball both ways, and he fully deserved the wicket of Davies who had spent 2 hours in making a scratchy, unconvincing 52. Having beaten his outside edge at least a dozen times, Coke finally got him to nick one and I was presented with another easy catch that left Nantwich on 137 for 3 as we took the second lot of drinks. 

Entering the session’s final hour, the game was intriguingly poised. We had only bowled 33 overs, so, rather than attacking, we had little choice but to send a few quick overs down. The two batsmen, Marsh and Symns, were playing in markedly contrasting styles against some probing spin from Addo and Harv, the latter of whom was looking uncannily like Cary Grant due to the sweat that had flattened and parted his usually rigid Barnet. Marsh was using the full extent of his considerable bulk to launch into anything even slightly over-pitched whilst, initially at least, Symns seemed happy to block. Then, suddenly, he sprinted down the pitch at Harv, missed, and gave me the chance to take off the bails, have a cup of tea, read the paper and recite the Lord’s Prayer all at the same time. It took me back to my days in the Staffordshire under-11s when many a batsman was dismissed by the same formula: stumped Oliver, bowled Harvey. This phrase has now found its permanent place in cricket’s Hall of Fame. 

Staffs U-11s: Old Trafford, 1984
(Harvey and Oliver at each end of front row)

The most noteworthy incident of this partnership took place not on the square but along the top boundary, in between the sightscreen and pavilion. As we toiled away beneath the sun’s unremitting rays in air so still it could have been an artist’s model, a bizarre, isolated wind picked up and blew along for what cannot have been more than fifteen seconds, swirling people’s hats into the air and knocking over a sturdy looking bench. Then, just as abruptly as it had appeared, it died out. ‘What in the name of Jesus H. Christ was that?’ I thought. It could have been some sort of supernatural energy-ball, or a poltergeist, or a small tornado, or even a particularly powerful bottom-burp. Cokey told everybody it was “just a twister” and reassured us all that it was nothing to panic about.

If that wasn’t sinister enough then, a little later, something even more extraordinary happened. No, Addo didn’t bowl an over without changing the field. About half-a-dozen overs before tea, Marsh drove Harv for a straight six into the graveyard at the bottom end of the ground. No doubt thinking about our sluggish over-rate, the umpire immediately reached into his pocket for the spare. Shaun Brian had not noticed this and was busy looking for the quickest way of entering the graveyard. Yet before he had chance to go and retrieve it, and before Harv could turn his arm over with the spare, the original ball flew back onto the outfield, apparently of its own accord. The immediate theory was that it had hit a gravestone and ricocheted back. This seemed implausible, a case of scared people trying to pacify themselves. The length of time between the ball disappearing over the hedge and re-appearing on to the outfield discounts this, unless it did a bit of pinball. It was definitely the result of paranormal activity. If there’s something weird / in your neighbourhood / who ya gonna call? / GHOSTBUSTERS! 

Bustin' makes me feel good

Anyway, in amongst the afternoon’s more surreal happenings, there was an important cricket match being played. By the tea interval Marsh and his skipper, Andy Newton, had taken the score to 213 for 4 from 51 overs. As we came off for some much needed refreshment one home supporter commented, rather loudly, “I don’t know how this lot are near the top of the league. We’re a much better side”. Could we make him eat those words?

A couple of our players rather naïvely thought that Nantwich would declare, if not at tea, then soon afterwards. I was sure they would use their full complement of overs, primarily because – let’s face it – it is more fun batting in hot weather than fielding. If that wasn’t reason enough then the fact that there was a smidgeon of animosity between the two sides, and that their pro was injured and unlikely to bowl, was certain to dissuade them from dangling any sort of carrot. Smudge wasn’t too thrilled at this prospect and threatened to “twat them” if they batted for the full 60 overs.

So, with a maximum of nine overs still to bowl, we took the field knowing that Nantwich could put the game out of our reach. We had to try and bowl these overs not only as quickly as possible, but also as economically. Marsh seemed eager to attack but was denied much of the strike by Newton who, unlike his more illustrious namesake, Sir Isaac, didn’t appreciate the gravity of the situation and just blocked out ball after ball, seemingly intent upon denying us bonus points at the expense of killing off the game. Meanwhile, our over-rate wasn’t helped by Drew who was carrying a bottle of frozen Tango around with him and thus wanted to field on the boundary at all times, even when the situation required him to come into the ring. Eventually we finished our overs having picked up one further wicket, that of Newton, who gloved a ball to slip off Addo that had, rather ominously, gone straight through the top. 

Sir Isaac 

We were left with the daunting task of having to score 250 to win in an hour and five minutes plus the last 20 overs. During the changeover the more experienced and level-headed members of the side were saying “let’s just get the 175”, whereas the more wildly optimistic among us were thinking solely in terms of victory. Admittedly, it was an improbable target, but definitely not impossible. Besides, when it comes to batting, we are, by nature, a cavalier side and will chase targets to the point of being suicidal. It was that method that had got us where we were. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Cokey was so sure that this was a chase too far that he offered to eat my father’s sun hat if we won…

“Come on then Dog, it’s Dean and Cartledge time: shot-a-ball”, said Addo enthusiastically as we walked out to begin the chase. Well, I certainly obliged. The first ball I received, from French, the medium-paced left-armer, was shortish and angled across me. I slashed hard, got an edge, and was caught by Marsh at second slip for a golden duck. Well, I suppose if you’re going to get a blob then there’s no point hanging around all day for it!

With French bowling from one end, one would have expected Jennifer Saunders to be on at the other. Instead, it was the not-so-absolutely-fabulous Mark Symns who would try his luck, and in the seventh over of the innings he had Addo caught behind for 25 as he tried to cut a ball that was much too close. Next man in, Andy Hawkins, strode to the crease hoping to bat better than he had bowled, and joined Harv in an excellent little partnership of 45. During this stand, Nantwich had introduced Briers into the attack and he immediately settled into a rhythm, completely flummoxing Seth with his googly in an over that only cost a single run. Clearly we could not afford to get bogged down and it was fortunate for us that Briers, severely impeded by a groin strain, had to be withdrawn from the attack. 

not the Nantwich new-ball attack

As in so many other of our seat-of-the-pants run chases, we lost a crucial wicket just as it appeared that we had established a platform from which to push on. On this occasion it was Harv who fell, having made a fluent little 31. During a light-hearted net-practice in the week I had joked with Dickie that he couldn’t play off his legs (whilst he said that I could do nothing but!). Today he did nothing else but punch ball after ball through the on-side, making it quite tough to bowl at him. However, he tickled a regulation ball from Symns and was caught behind, once again succumbing in his thirties.

Harv’s dismissal came in the middle of a four-over period leading up to the final hour in which we scored only ten runs. This stutter left us requiring a mammoth 169 runs from 20 overs at nearly 8.5 runs per over, a task that no other side in the section would contemplate, especially with numbers 1, 2 and 3 sat in the hutch [how quickly Twenty20 would change perceptions in cricket – nevertheless, they had no obligation to have 4+2 in the circle]. If Nantwich were in any doubt as to our intentions, then 18 runs from the first two overs of the last 20 surely laid them to rest.

Having himself replaced Briers, Andy Newton brought on Marsh at the Cemetery End to replace the tiring Symns. This could have been a strategy to keep us interested in the chase – with the accompanying aim of buying a few cheap wickets – yet it had the unexpected effect of slowing down the run-rate as the hulking Marsh’s opening two overs of off-spin cost only 7 runs. In between times, Newton picked up the wicket of Iain Carr for 17 and suddenly the asking rate had soared to almost 10 per over.

scoreboard pressure at  Nantwich CC

Kev Colclough, who I had to coax into strapping on his pads, was sent in at number 6 in the hope that he could feast rather better on the fayre being offered out in the middle than he could on the sandwiches he was munching his way through. Armed with his trusty long-handled mooing-stick, Coke meandered out to battle and almost immediately began to wreak his own special brand of savagery: 45 runs were garnered from the next four overs as cultured strokeplay took a back seat to good, old-fashioned thuggery.

Still Newton and Marsh persevered. The latter, clubbed for 17 in his previous over, had an extremely vociferous appeal for a stumping against Cokey rejected but was brought off, along with his captain, with 8 overs remaining. At this point we still required 71 more runs and Newton decided to revert to his two opening bowlers in an attempt to split the dangerous combination of Coke and Hawk.

Having passed 50, Hawk had begun to play sublimely, mixing deft placement and aggressive running with shots of immense power, particularly his trademark slap-drive. Symns’ returning over only produced three runs as Coke struggled to adjust to the change of pace, and when the following over was rescued with a timely last-ball boundary it was evident that the pressure was still very much on us. We shall never know whether Andy was thinking along the lines of ‘All we need is one good over’, but clearly that was not going to be enough and it showed when he was bowled by Symns for a fine 83 as he tried to give himself room to launch another shot through the offside. 

Nantwich were crying out for Swanepoel
(not this one, Candice, but Adriaan, the ex-pro)

The man entrusted with the job of helping Coke to score 53 runs from the final 5 overs was Drew, who had sat patiently throughout Seth and Coke’s exhilarating stand of 88. The atmosphere on the pitch was electric, with Newton marshalling his now ragged troops as best he could in the face of the Moddershall onslaught. The tension amongst our players was also showing and the normally unflappable Barry Brian, due in next, said it was “enough to make him want to take up smoking”. It is a good sign when somebody can retain their sense of humour in the face of such pressure, but still, I suspected that the only two people actually enjoying themselves were Heardy and Cokey. 

French, the lesser of the two bowlers, conceded only three singles from his first three balls, but then Cokey inside-edged a four to fine-leg and hoisted the following delivery over wide long-on for six as the required run-rate came down to exactly 10 with four overs remaining. Symns did as best he could in the next over, keeping the ball pitched-up, but when Cokey managed to clear the boundary with a mistimed drive to bring up his first half-century of the campaign, it appeared that the momentum we had gained would prove decisive. However, again French began his over, the third last, with three miserly balls that yielded only a couple of singles. The balance of game was literally fluctuating with each delivery. We needed something special to prevent this over from fatally derailing the chase, but with the boundaries well protected and Cokey looking tired it was not going to be easy. We had recognised that Kev was exhausted and tried to get his inhaler out to him, if only to provide him with a chance to catch his breath. Cokey refused. Obviously he would have much preferred a pint.

Previously content to operate in singles and twos, giving Coke as much of the strike as possible, Drew realized that something more was required and that the onus was upon him to deliver it. Well, deliver he did as the next ball went soaring out of the ground. This was followed by a firm clip off his legs that the badly limping Briers was unable to prevent from crossing the boundary. They had been two marvellous shots in the context of the game, but the one that followed, from the final ball of the over, would have been brilliant in any situation. French cleverly bowled a slower ball, but Drew picked it and waited before sending an exquisitely timed extra-cover drive through the eye of a needle, tantalisingly close to three fielders who were all unable to stop it going for four. For the very first time in our innings the asking rate was less than a run-a-ball as just ten were required. Surely the game was won…

who, exactly, was telling this story?

Addo seemed to think so and he dashed off to the bar to order a couple of celebratory jugs of ale. Nantwich brought their fielders in, as they had to, but a further four runs were gleaned from the opening three deliveries of Symns’ last over. With 9 deliveries remaining we were now within one hit of victory. However, just when we thought that the plot had exhausted all its Hitchcockian twists, Drew, going for glory, holed out to Marsh, his old adversary, who had been posted at cow-corner by the scorebox, and then Cokey, now on strike having crossed with Drew, failed to score off the next two deliveries. Addo rushed into the bar and told the barman to put the jugs on hold!

So, six runs were required with six balls remaining. French, whose second spell figures of 3-0-38-0 had done as much as anything to put us in a winning position, was not entrusted with bowling the final, crucial over. Instead, Newton turned to what was his only realistic option: the wrist-spin of Briers. Bazzer, who was on strike, is renowned as an excellent player of fast bowling but not so great against the slow stuff. To counterbalance that weakness, he had proven himself, both at Crewe Rolls-Royce in the league and Newcastle in the Talbot Cup, to be a cool head in pressure situations. If he felt half as anxious as I did then he didn’t stand a chance.

When the field had finally been positioned, Briers hobbled in to bowl the first ball. It was short, Barry rocked back and cut it away through the infield for what should have been two runs. However, the ball evaded the man sweeping on the offside boundary and skipped merrily over the line for four. The ensuing roar was better than anything the Boothen End could have mustered, but then again there were a lot more of us! The next ball was again short but Bazzer failed to connect and no run was scored. Then, from the following delivery, Barry was bowled. Noooo!

Boothen End: original version

Smudge, the hero of our victory over Buxton, was sent out into familiar territory with about thirty pieces of well-intentioned if slightly contradictory advice swirling around his head. If he was feeling nervous it certainly didn’t show. Whilst he took guard and looked around I lit my umpteenth consecutive cigarette and crossed my fingers. Briers moved in, fired it in flat, and Smudge oinked it away over mid-wicket. He came back for two and the Chase of the Century had been won.

Cokey, who had made a season’s best 63 not out from only 42 balls including 5 fours and 4 sixes, just about summoned the energy to raise his willow wand as he marched off to a huge ovation. Smudge, grinning like a Cheshire Cat (although not one from Nantwich), could only ask of his winning blow, “Did it go for four?” Obviously he had decided that the best way of reading Briers was with both eyes closed. 

Cheshire Cat

Barely able to contain our euphoria, the re-ordered jugs were guzzled down with glee. The gentleman who had wondered how we were second in the league had got an emphatic answer, and superlatives abounded as to how good a win this had been. Graham Hawkins said it was the best run chase he had ever seen, and he has witnessed a fair few! The victory celebrations were even sweeter when we heard that Newcastle had lost to lowly Norton and fourth-placed Ashcombe Park had failed to knock off 174 against Burslem. Although Bignall End had beaten Barlaston to remain five points clear at the top, we were extremely comfortably placed 25 points in front of Newcastle and 32 ahead of our next opponents, Ashcombe Park.

This win was our tenth success of the season, beating our previous best of nine wins which we achieved both last season and in 1992, our promotion year. The omens were all good on the day that the greyhound had caught the hare.

MODDERSHALL WON BY 3 WICKETS

NANTWICH 249 for 5 innings closed (60 overs)

R Marsh 71*, O Davies 52, M Briers 33

MODDERSHALL 250 for 7 (35.4 overs)

A Hawkins 83, K Colclough 63*, R Harvey 31, M Symns 4-77

 
MODDERSHALL 20 points

NANTWICH 8 points