Moving into the
season’s second half,
we had a visit
from Longton and our old mate Harv
who made 50, over
a third of their score;
we gave early
chase before settling for a draw.
Then we headed off
again to Porthill Park,
but this time
failed to make a mark
as our opponents
seemed to be runnin’ scared,
batting
on…and….on…before they finally declared.
Now I know chasing
big scores is one of our strengths,
but not when
craters mysteriously appear on a
length!
Suddenly 240, at
about six-an-over,
was as likely as
smuggling a missile through customs at Dover
and after we
collapsed to 29 for 5
we quite sensibly
opted just to survive,
Jakey steering us
home for a draw:
they got 8 points,
us just 4.
Little Stoke next. Their mood was bleak:
we’d knocked ‘em
out of the cup the previous week,
and
they were in the battle against relegation
so must have come
with a hint of trepidation.
The weather was
fair, the wicket was flat,
we won the toss,
they had a bat,
but we bowled like
lamb dressed as mutton –
easy pickings for
Salmon and Dutton.
However, I should
make a special mention
for a bowler
almost ready for his pension:
in conditions
approaching a batsman’s heaven,
Coke bowled 16
overs, 3 for 11 (!!)
to help us rein
them in just before tea
after which the
new cherry was tossed to me (!!!)
and when I
immediately stuffed Wacaday for rawbone pace
they declared,
leaving 239 for us to chase.
A quick 40 for me,
20’s for the rest,
and Addo playing
at his Sunday best,
stroking a
perfectly paced unbeaten ton:
finally, a home league game was won!
Just as the title
race was warming up,
we had the
pleasant diversion of the Charity Cup.
Having seen off Oulton, Barlaston and Hem Heath
We had a final
against Checkley and their gritted
teeth.
Now I know
Moddershall’s scalp is highly seductive,
But getting too
het up is counter-productive;
they think we’re
“cocky, a little bit arrogant” –
at least, that’s
according to Jason Carrigan.
On what, you may
ask, is this dubious opinion based?
Well, it’s because
our relaxed approach is not to their taste.
But when the sun
is blazin’ you’ll find it quite wise
not to race around
like blue-arsed flies!
Nevertheless,
believing us to be all but satanic,
instead of
focussing, Checkley get a bit manic,
and sides that
show all the composure of headless chickens
tend to offer us
some easy pickings.
Yes we have style,
yes we have culture,
but we need no
second invitation to behave like vultures –
and this final, a
two-night occasion,
had some thrills
and a touch of abrasion,
yet whilst it
wasn’t exactly an out-and-out stroll
we always seemed
in total control.
They made 96
against some tidy stuff
but I think they
knew it wasn’t enough,
and once we’d seen
off the threat of Mahmood,
I suddenly felt
inspired, in the mood;
determined to
spring a bit of a surprise
I decided to take
part in Stars in their Eyes.
“Tonight, Matthew,
I’m going to be Inzamam-ul-Haq” –
that’s right: a fat
bloke who likes to attack,
walking down the
pitch, across my stumps,
mixing flicks with
one or two thumps!
Andy Carr thought
I’d been taking speed
but by the time
I’d finished we had a sizeable lead.
I got bladdered,
my head started to spin,
I had no house keys
so decided to break in
using the nextdoor
neighbours’ wheelie bin,
which I now
realize was pretty dim...
...and after a
fractured elbow I can reveal
that you should
never try to climb on anything with wheels!
The second night I
sat there, wanting to sob,
as Moddershall
finished off the job.
Billy won the Man
of the Match,
another one added
to his growing batch.
Back in the league we visited Crewe ,
a ground with the soul of a public loo,
but hey, we still had a job to do
and when Banerjee was snared by Drew
we really began to turn the screw.
They’d made a hash of their chase,
unable to counter Mauler’s fiery pace.
but our 25 points came with sadness laced
when Addo took one flush in the face,
blood gushing all over the place.
By now big games were coming thick and fast
And with me and Adj removed from the cast
it fell to Hawkster to run the show.
We had a whip round for Neil Johnson as sub
pro
but instead signed an Akhtar who’d won no
emmies
yet would come on stage for the Talbot
semis.
Betley had been built up by Simon Cork,
but could his men walk the walk?
In a word, the answer was ‘No’
as the bowlers, led by Tugger, stemmed an
early flow.
Our chase was dominated by Roger Shaw
who made a dazzling unbeaten 104 –
the boys were thrilled, Doc got rowdy
then ripped the kecks off poor old Proudy!
In the next game we managed to wheedle
an uninspired draw at home to Cheadle
where, finally, came some proof from the
agile skipper
that he really was a top-notch slipper
when, one-handed, inches from the flooe
he snaffled the dangerous PF Shaw.
Yet until a fired-up Billy saved the day
this had been a rather toothless display
as hostile as hippies in 60s San Francisco
we only got lively during the post-match
disco.
Then, as night was banished by a crisp July
dawn,
two blokes, naked as the day they were
born,
plunged into a rural lake for a spot of
swimming
like two whales that’d decided to take up
slimming.
We completed a weekend devoid of cheer
by losing our sole cup match of the entire
year,
bowling ok but batting tripe
as we got turned over by an up-for-it Knype.
(Maybe we subconsciously decided not to be
greedy
And gave up this cup as scraps for the
needy?)
No doubt this loss was a big fat kick up
the rear,
a shock that mad it crystal clear
that, although ’97 was a tough act to
follow,
failure would be slightly easier to swallow
only
if we each gave it 100 per
cent:
Jah
maximum effort and comm-it-ment.
We had little need to consult John Ketley
before our next encounter at rustic Betley
for the heat was approaching 100 degrees
and there was no sign of a cooling breeze.
It felt more like Mykonos
but Addo had little choice on winning a
crucial toss –
he might have been half-tempted to have a
bat,
especially as the wicket was pancake flat,
but realizing this would have met with
abuse
he invited Betley to have first use.
I found a cool spot in which to bask
as our bowlers set about their task.
Betley tried unsuccessfully to bat us out
of the game
for which Butler
because when they needed to go ballistic
he seemed more concerned with personal
statistics
which his teammates thought a little
naughty
as they declared after tea on 240.
Optimism was scare among our supporters
but if there’s one thing recent years have
taught us
it’s that in our neediest hour
we can always rely on our batting power,
players it’d be impossible to cramp
on a ground the size of a postage stamp.
And despite previous comments in the Green ‘Un
their attack was hardly a mean’un
so I was feeling confident, all in all…
…until I saw two quick wickets fall!
However, instead of a strategy of
consolidation,
Hawk and Billy chose utter obliteration;
instead of clamping up and getting tense
they just kept smashing it into the fence.
With both batsmen totally in their stride
(Billy hardly bothering with the offside),
but rather a curious method was applied:
scratching his head, looking pensive,
he opted to go ultra-defensive:
seven on the boundary, two on the square,
would this contain our marauding pair?
He began his run with that annoying skip,
Billy waited with his trusty whip
then sent it sailing straight out of the
ground –
the ’Pies roared; Butler
“Put ‘em all on the boundary!” Mauler shouted,
Yet a spell of 3 overs for 39
had not helped arrest Betley’s decline…
We had passed 100 before Hawky fell
And the confidence was beginning to swell.
We separated Cokey from his pint of ale
and gave him instructions to “give it a
whale” –
‘pinch hitting’ it’s called in cricket’s
vernacular,
and whatever its name it was pretty
spectacular,
though not very textbook, but does it
matter
when you give it such an uncomplicated
clatter?
(I’m sure the reason he scored as fast as
he did
was that he’d entrusted his pint to a
thirsty Syd).
Iain marched on to a brilliant ton
and by the time he was out the game was
won.
As run chases go, this was immensely
ruthless;
OK, Betley had become increasingly
toothless,
but we sense a chance, went in for the
kill,
and all achieved with calculating skill –
no rabbit’s feet, no horseshoes, no
four-leaved clovers
as we banged off 240 in just 32 overs!
By now we were starting to peak
and carried the momentum into the following
week:
Knypersley showed the will, but were not able
to stop us jumping to the top of the table
past the season-long leaders from up in Cheshire
an Elworth side that was now feeling the
pressure.
We drew the next match, Caverswall away,
yet, thankfully, nobody else won on a
miserable day…
The first Talbot Cup final had succumbed to
the weather
just as our caps were ready for an
illustrious feather:
Longton had capitulated to 138 all out
but the rainclouds spared them a
humiliating rout
so we voyaged once more to Longton’s arena
expecting them to be less complacent, a lot
meaner.
“It’s a pity,” said someone as our lads
walked out to field
“that the seconds are playing the Talbot
Shield” –
even so, the ‘Pies support was hearty and
strong,
the bowling, however, had all gone Pete
Tong.
In fact, things were looking a little bit
sorry
as we were put to the sword by Messrs
Womble and Morray.
Wides, no balls – we were all over the
place
and they passed 150 with still 15 overs to
face;
I felt we needed at least three fielders
more,
while the Longton support predicted a
record score,
but it’s a funny old game, our beloved
cricket,
for once we’d taken a couple of wickets
I could sense the pendulum starting to
swing –
our bowlers suddenly became merciless as
Ming.
Tugger set a deep field for big-hitting
Nige
and their dangerman seemed only happy to
oblige
when, as if in some drunken stupour,
he slog-swept one out to Jimmy Cooper
who dived forward to pick up a tremendous
catch
that put us squarely back in a pulsating
match.
Longton’s innings fizzled out to an
eventual 224 –
challenging, yes, but they’d have been
hoping for more,
and when we came out to bat after tea,
we’d have a slight advantage,
psychologically.
Now, although we were with batsmen packed,
it was crucial we keep our wickets in tact;
likewise, we couldn’t afford too slow a
start –
and what we got was cool, and smart;
in fact, it all appeared meticulously
planned
as Addo and Dodge compiled a 70 stand.
Meanwhile, Big Nige’s day went from bad to
worse
(perhaps a little like this epic verse?):
he seemed intent on banging it in.
P’raps hoping to ruffle the hair on Shawy’s
chin,
but Dodge responded in the usual fashion
and gave the big fella a bit of a mashin’:
a trademark six over cover’s head
and all of a sudden the fielders spread,
but when Addo fell, followed by Jakey,
things could have got a little shaky.
The Longton fielders buzzed, looking
visibly lifted;
their support felt the momentum had
shifted.
Agatha Christie couldn’t have scripted
greater suspense
and I freely admit I was getting quite
tense,
so as Hawk joined Rodge out in the middle
I scuttled off for a quick Jimmy Riddle
and returned to see us nicely progressing
until something happened that was quite
distressing:
Shawy, on 60-odd, played and missed,
the bails were removed with a flick o’ the
wrist.
The umpire thought awhile, then gave the
stumping,
Longton converged, fists a-pumpin’;
the decision was dubious to say the least
but now was the time to unleash the beast…
…the helmeted Mauler strode out to battle
to be met, predictably, with a little bit
of rattle.
With 8 overs left and 64 required
now was the moment to get inspired:
at this point of almost total parity,
Mauler started finding the car park with
regularity.
I can’t say he has the grace of a ballet
dancer,
but this sort of brutalism has no answer.
Mauls was seeing it like a balloon,
the spinners were going to the moon;
Longton were running out of chances,
so they brought back the pro, Nigel
Francis,
devising a plan – in theory sound –
to cramp the batsman with right-arm round.
The ball was dug in, predictably short,
(a good idea, you might have thought)
but Mauler, never one for circumspection,
took a step in the bowler’s direction
and, with arms cramped and a horizontal
bat,
sent the ball steepling towards the block
of flats!!
At this point we knew the game was won,
and with nine balls left, the job was done
–
not for the amount, but the way they were
scored,
Mauls’ runs won him the MoM award.
The presentation featured Bengers causing a
kerfuffle:
he headed for the home dressing room, keen
for a scuffle,
and people can concentrate on this trifling
trouble,
but we just thought: “that’s part one of
the double!”
Hitting these heights made us absolutely
elated
and we inevitably played the following game
as though still sedated
as Newcastle
might, with a touch more ambition, have got
a lot more.
Then the day after came the final of the
JCB
where we made it three victorious finals
from three.
“Wait till we’ve got a full team out”, had
been Checkley’s premonition.
They did, and the result was total
demolition!!
However, it was the league that was the
real obsession,
And next we visited Elworth in the midst of their depression.
We made 200, which was certainly gettable
but their response was pretty forgettable –
after losing early wickets, they hardly
played a stroke,
despite this approach sending their hopes
up in smoke!
Porthill, meanwhile, had narrowed the gap:
We led by just 7 points entering the last
lap…
Now, you didn’t need to be a genius to
notice
that Leek
had improved since the arrival of Ottis,
and with Porthill breathing down our necks,
it was time to give the muscles a flex.
For an hour or more, Leek batted well,
passing 70 before the third wicket fell,
but the middle order’s stay was brief
thanks to 5 for 20 from ‘The Chief’.
We finally skittled ‘em for 188
but, confronted with a sloth-like over
rate,
aAnd the division’s paciest new-ball pair,
We knew we were only halfway there.
By the time we entered the final hour
our response was really beginning to
flower;
130 still needed, but 9 wickets in hand,
the bowling had changed, it was time to
expand
just when Addo holed out. But I felt nifty
and accelerated toward a 40-ball fifty
before getting in too much of a hurry
and snickin’ off to the keeper – but we
didn’t need worry:
I wouldn’t say we were totally cruising
but we certainly didn’t look like losing –
well, that’s what most of us thought,
but soon things became pretty fraught
as four wickets quickly tumbled.
“We’ve gone and blown it,” somebody mumbled.
Still, thanks to field placings that were a
wee bit strange
the required run-rate was still easily
within range,
although with Ottis and Harris smelling
blood
things were not looking particularly good.
This was the time to show our greatest
strength:
Seven down, 30 short, we demonstrated the
batting order’s length:
despite Leek chucking some tidy arrers
we were guided home by Drew and Baras.
It was a crucial win, absolutely vital,
keeping us ahead in the race for the title
But some gloss was taken off victory number
ten
as we heard Porthill had managed to win, again!!
For the penultimate game, to Audley we were heading
without Billy (ushering at Emily and
wattle’s wedding).
Addo won the toss, a decent way to begin
on a wicket that looked like it might take
spin.
Mauler snared Semple for the crucial
breakthrough,
but they progressed well and, at 90 for 2,
it was time for Addo to grasp the nettle –
he’d not bowled for weeks, but showed his
mettle,
coming on to pouch four wickets
as Audley felt the heat,
leaving us totally in the driving seat.
With 152 to get, and bags of time,
to fail from here would have been a crime,
but with Hawk notching 50 with customary
flair
we won with plenty of time to spare –
an easy victory perhaps, yet still one to
savour.
The question now was: could Elworth do us a
favour
and prevent Porthill picking up another
win?
…Well, no, because a ringer was drafted in
(and without doing our rivals a bit of a
disservice,
they needed more bowling pro’s than just Boden and Jervis!).
Thus Dave Millns, from Leicester ,
who took 7 for 50,
represented Porthill’s attempt at pulling a
swifty,
claiming Mo Hussain had had an
international call –
as stories go…well this one was tall.
However, try as they might to bend the
rules,
they’d discover that Moddershall were
nobody’s fools.
Our management went ‘through the
appropriate channels’;
the League convened one of its many panels
and Porthill knew by the end of the week
they’d be without a pro for the final game
at Leek…
Stone, who’d also tried to be a little bit cute,
were similarly denied an illustrious
substitute,
and so as the ‘aristocrats’ entered the
last match
hovering precariously over the relegation
hatch,
they were faced with slumming it up at
Sneyd –
How much more motivation did they need?
All the forecasts had predicted a monsoon
about which we weren’t exactly over the
moon.
Since Carpe
Diem is the Moddershall motto,
we didn’t want to spend the day getting
blotto;
we wanted to win it out in the middle,
to render irrelevant Porthill’s attempted
fiddle.
So when rain decided to stay away
We had our chance to SEIZE THE DAY!
Adj won the toss and asked Stone to bat.
Now, you might be thinking that that was
that,
but out opponents batted with rare
determination,
albeit without being able to find any
acceleration;
we were content with disciplined
containment –
the bar was the place for today’s
entertainment!
They declared at 199; we repaired for tea
and heard that Leek had made 2-4-3.
The situation was looking pretty bright,
but Stone wouldn’t go down without a fight,
Even though things must have seemed quite
black,
armed as they were with a three-man attack:
Millward,
Moose, and the veteran Flower,
against
the Magpies’ famous batting power?!?!
Shaun bowled with wit, aggression and speed
managing to put one right on my swede,
but I carried on to make a useful 52 –
in fact, everyone that batted made a few
as the job was finished with the minimum of
fuss
when Chewy smeared another boundary off
poor old Russ.
A second championship secured on our
beautiful ground,
on went the stereo – pumped,, we all jumped
around,
just the fourth club to do a league and cup
double,
plus a couple more trophies for our troubles.
and so, underneath a steady shower of
champagne,
we sat reveling in our unparalleled
campaign.
And here the story ends, though not because
I’m lazy,
but because my recollection simply starts
to get hazy.
I’m not sure if the DJ played jazz, soul, techno
or punk
Because, I’m afraid, I was very, very drunk.
CARPE
DIEM, Y’ALL
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