It's Easier on the Kitchen Table

Tideswell versus the Hitters rained off. What could be more fun than getting out the Cricket Dice? Well, actually, almost anything. Despite this rather unusual midweek format, the result was depressingly familiar...

The Tideswell innings:



And the Hitters' innings:




Obviously, the high point was Stella's hat-trick in his haul of 6-31....possibly his best figures ever. Not having to dive for Greg's leg-side full toss and being able to have a nice glass of Anjou were also very positive.

Mud, Blood, Rhetoric...and an Analysis of Conceptual Art

The Rumble in the Jungle; the Battle of Brookline; the Tussle in Tideswell; Survival Sunday; a Wet Wednesday in Wirksworth - all the ghosts of sporting battles past were being invoked by both sides in the tense build-up to this game. Both skippers had indulged in verbal sparring during the week, Waining accusing Edale's Coker of an act of treachery akin to the breakaway of the People's Front of Judea from the Judean People's Front....oh, there was also a reference to not being able to keep chickens, let alone wicket.(As it happens, I am able to keep chickens...although I do drop a few.) Adding fuel to the fire was some spurious challenge issued after the Baslow game involving two-hundred quid and three-hundred runs. Mark will no doubt be alluding to this in his forthcoming lecture tour, "Mark Reeves, Man of Cricket: Have I Told you About My Catch?" - an enthralling night in the theatre for those suffering from sleep deprivation. I digress....

Waining and Coker, later joined by the new art critic of the Tideswell Bugle & Examiner, Mr. Andy Stelling, were putting nets up on Saturday so decided to conduct the toss right then. Dave won and elected to bat the following day; since we were at it, we thought we might get July's 20/20 out of the way and I can tell all members of the Edale Massive to get there on time, as we're fielding.

Coker's mighty game plan was affected by late pull-outs...as with so much of his life. Two early wickets were secured, including Dave "The Cat" Frenkel, before Waining and Smith came to the crease. Smith demonstrated his interest in Steve Reich's minimalist music by creating some fascinating rhythmic patterns on the houses in Recreation Road; Waining secured his place in the Hope Show by displaying his usual agricultural finesse. Still, it was nice for the Edale fielders to go and meet those jolly friendly people who live opposite the ground.

(It might, at this juncture, be worth noting the two different methods deployed by the two sides to record the score. Tideswell used the traditional box-scoring system as recommended by the ECB/ACO; always at the forefront of the modern game, Edale presented a system based on the Dirichlet Eta Function, which can briefly be explained thus:



As it happens, if one holds that equation up to a mirror one can see the face of Satan shouting "Kill, Kill, Kill..." )

Even without the notorious Roofierella, Tideswell managed to rack-up 177. Smith got 91, Waining 28 and Rumplesayers made 17 not out before Waining declared on humanitarian grounds; there are, after all, only so many cases of self-harm that Buxton Cottage Hospital can deal with.

After a fine tea, Edale batted on a rain affected pitch. Saville went cheaply shortly followed by Willing who presumably had had enough of standing about in the rain. Brendon Whittram made a fine 80-ish, although he did run out Olly Mount; never mind Olly, standing around in a wet, windy field with a load of old blokes for three hours has got to be better than sitting in your house with your mates and a case of Stella on a Sunday. Reeves stood his ground for an LBW appeal from Rumple - presumably on the grounds that he thought the ball was going to spontaneously explode before hitting the bottom of middle stump - but he still got the umpire's finger. Coker played the comedy sweep to Sammy's comedy off-break and saw Waining join in the hilarity by almost dropping him - to be fair, this all happened so slowly that Dave may well have dropped off while the ball was in the air. That was it really; Edale lost by about 55 runs. Sammy the Stag and Rumple got a couple of wickets; Dan bowled well; Andy Stelling had an excellent opening spell, bowling some excellent yorkers.....talking of which.....

Most people went to the George afterwards for beer and chips; Mike enjoyed both the chips left for him and Sammy tried to defend the rather hopeless decision of having a soft drink, claiming his liver was currently registering with an adoption agency. All the usual rhubarb was tossed around, much enlivened by the BAFTA awards on the George's new 129-inch TV; Mark Wallington was again sadly disappointed by his lack of recognition in the best screenplay category. A refreshed Stella noted that going to watch a play in Russian was "pretentious bollocks" and that he wouldn't climb over me to get to Tracey Emin, which seems a little ungallant. (I do fear for Tideswell Amateur Operatic Society when he reviews their new production of "Jerry Springer: the Opera".) Any case, here's a pic to cheer Andy up:

So, the Hitters on Thursday, and another chance to check out the more obscure bus routes of north Derbyshire.

It's not cricket

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a number of broken fingers , must be in want of something to do on a Sunday - given that cricket or taking one's SPA assessment is out of the question. How could one fail to answer the call from a comrade telling one, forty-eight hours before the event, that the Sheffield Wildlife Trust had a half-marathon place going spare? All I had to do was meet up with Barney at secret location and collect my race-pack and badger suit. This part of the mission was a success, with the added treat of a train journey back from Sheffield with a group of very refreshed Wednesday fans singing their jolly folk songs and letting everyone know how much they were looking forward to their night out in Chapel-en-le Frith. Pausing briefly at John Watson's 40th, I repaired to bed in anticipation of the big day.

Race day dawned. The team assembled; fit, lean with the set expression of men about to meet their destiny...or at least the set expression of men wondering if they had been to the bathroom enough and what the queue for the men's would be like at the stadium. The journey was enlivened by a brisk discussion on the atomic clock at Rugby and its relationship to Wallington Standard Time, recent political events and whether we should actually be aiming for Hillsborough on the Don Valley Stadium....fate may have had their hand on our shoulders, but fate certainly hadn't bothered to read the race day instructions.

Arriving, unusually, in good time for the event, the team went through their intensive pre-run preparations; mostly, this was just wandering about looking for a toilet, but Julian McIntosh was seen to be covertly doing some stretches! It stood him in great stead as, as soon as the gun fired, he was off like a rabbit - actually, as soon as the gun fired, everyone shuffled about a bit for three minutes waiting to cross the start line. It takes a while for nearly five-thousand runners to get going.

The course itself was as sly as ever; it is a fairly flat course with the only real climb coming after the rather depressing facade of Bramall Lane is passed - although the collective booing from the blue and white runners rather cheered things up. The climb goes up Cemetery Road, drops down to Eccleshall Road and then climbs again almost to Hunter's Bar. This is the most crowded section of the race, with spectators on both sides of the road and the faster runners heading downhill having turned for home at the top. It's also the place to check how one's comrades are doing. After this section, it's back to the city centre and then the long slog back to the stadium.

The sun cam out for a bit, much to the chagrin of those dressed as the Pink Panther, there was a decent tail-wind on the way back and I managed to keep going despite the lack of training. I also managed to beat most people dressed as animals - a personal triumph. Julian led the team home in an impressive 1:47:15; I beat Wallington and Mount home - although Mark did say how much he enjoyed seeing "Fitzcarraldo" again at the Showroom - with David taking an impressive twelve minutes off his time from last year. Julian was rewarded for his great effort with a medal, a t-shirt and conscription into the Elderly Brothers; I'm sure he had a pleasant evening watching the Happy Mondays on Youtube, picking up some Bez like moves.As is customary on these occasions, the evening ended with future plans being made; it would appear that the Elderly Brothers are going to be spending 2012 on a canoeing marathon in Romania, stopping on the way to subject the inhabitants of the Danube delta to their unique brand of entertainment. It certainly works that Timothy Taylor's Landlord.....

And now, dear reader, I must work on how to knock seven minutes off my time.