With the wind in their hair, adventure in their hearts and questionably prepared Wightlink Ferries sandwiches in their hands, the Hendrick’s XI set sail for their first official ‘overseas’ tour.
It marked the start of an exciting new chapter, with the scandal, shame and salacious text messages of the Tim Saunders captaincy having been swept away with the salty spray of the English Channel. And, after much negotiation between the Hendrick’s hierarchy and the government of the Isle of Wight, the voyage was finally afoot.*
*Concerns had been raised over how long families would have to quarantine for and how much of the hotel they would have dominion over – the swimming pool, luxury spa and golf course all being designated as non-negotiables.
Upon embarking, the challenges of leaving the mainland continued to be felt. Logistics Manager James Hewlett had erroneously declared Josh Peffers’s pick-up truck to be a ‘heavy freight’ vehicle, leaving him and three others festering in the bowels of an earlier ferry flanked by 16-wheeler haulage lorries and double-decker coaches.
It marked the start of an exciting new chapter, with the scandal, shame and salacious text messages of the Tim Saunders captaincy having been swept away with the salty spray of the English Channel. And, after much negotiation between the Hendrick’s hierarchy and the government of the Isle of Wight, the voyage was finally afoot.*
*Concerns had been raised over how long families would have to quarantine for and how much of the hotel they would have dominion over – the swimming pool, luxury spa and golf course all being designated as non-negotiables.
Upon embarking, the challenges of leaving the mainland continued to be felt. Logistics Manager James Hewlett had erroneously declared Josh Peffers’s pick-up truck to be a ‘heavy freight’ vehicle, leaving him and three others festering in the bowels of an earlier ferry flanked by 16-wheeler haulage lorries and double-decker coaches.
They eventually made landfall, with James Gilbert’s Lexus arriving shortly after, laden with passengers awkwardly positioned among his sizeable cortege of clothing and personal stylists.
He arrived at the hotel with a local sherpa loyally ferrying his gear inside, the extensive collection of shoes (six pairs, some identical except for the colour), no doubt weighing him down. A few swift pints at the establishment’s well-provisioned bar followed, setting them up for what would be a tour described as “disgracefully mismanaged” and “an affront to the good people of the Isle of Wight” by several commentators. And so our tale begins. |
Friday. Arreton CC.
Standing on the boundary edge ahead of the opening T20, the Hendrick’s hierarchy took stock of their assembled crew. At one point the touring party had looked set to hit as many as 18, with Hewlett fretting that there wouldn’t be enough matches to go around. But as departure approached the numbers plummeted, much like Tesla’s stock after one of Elon Musk’s typically incendiary Tweets, briefly leaving the tour in jeopardy.
Most memorable among the excuses for absence was Ravi Patel, who responded to questions about his previously confirmed attendance by firing off a message curtly explaining that he could never make the dates and “was never intending on coming”. Some weeks later he would warmly congratulate the team in person for what he hoped had been “a successful trip to Cornwall”.
First Innings: Arreton to bat
As they warmed up with uniformly unintimidating slow-medium, anticipation was high for some characteristically weak-medium cricket. Apparently no-one had told the opposition opener, who duly took apart the bowling as if plying his trade in the pro leagues. Ball after fluorescent pink ball was detonated into neighbouring fields, with the batter even lambasting the slow over rate with a jibe about the correlation between the game’s ever-increasing length and number of lost balls.
Wickham and Gilbert took some shellacking early on that left them both firmly in line for Worst Bowling Performance. The dubious honour was eventually awarded to Gilbert, who later treated the squad to a late-night, spoken word rendition of Andrew W.K.’s ‘I Get Wet’ – a song for which the title is also almost all of the lyrics.
Most memorable among the excuses for absence was Ravi Patel, who responded to questions about his previously confirmed attendance by firing off a message curtly explaining that he could never make the dates and “was never intending on coming”. Some weeks later he would warmly congratulate the team in person for what he hoped had been “a successful trip to Cornwall”.
First Innings: Arreton to bat
As they warmed up with uniformly unintimidating slow-medium, anticipation was high for some characteristically weak-medium cricket. Apparently no-one had told the opposition opener, who duly took apart the bowling as if plying his trade in the pro leagues. Ball after fluorescent pink ball was detonated into neighbouring fields, with the batter even lambasting the slow over rate with a jibe about the correlation between the game’s ever-increasing length and number of lost balls.
Wickham and Gilbert took some shellacking early on that left them both firmly in line for Worst Bowling Performance. The dubious honour was eventually awarded to Gilbert, who later treated the squad to a late-night, spoken word rendition of Andrew W.K.’s ‘I Get Wet’ – a song for which the title is also almost all of the lyrics.
Meanwhile, the attack was mercilessly flayed, with sizzling new golden arm Jamie Swift Drake and weary old dependable arm Tom Metcalf the only bowlers to escape with an economy rate below nine runs an over. Captain Qas Khattak helplessly shuffled his troops to little avail, watching aghast as hitherto proud economy rates were pissed up the wall in the blink of an unbelieving eye.
Ross Quest looked briefly threatening, his pace and bounce enhanced by the trampoline elasticity of the astro-turf wicket. But it was Ajay Shah who would eventually make the breakthrough, snaffling the other opener for just eight with over half the innings already complete. Metcalf proved to be a revelation, taking an immaculate 1-19 from his four over before Peffers got in on the action with a late wicket and Swift Drake was recalled to the attack and a catch was finally held – in the once-more dependable mitts of Gilbert. |
The tourists had, admittedly, been further hampered by dropping the opposition assaulter on no fewer (or greater) than three occasions, the most costly being Shah’s early clanger, for which he blamed a surplus of suncream on his hands. Another went down a few overs later, Quest shelling what would have been an absolute stunner.
The final, and ultimately least impactful, of the trilogy came late on as Hewlett was wheeled into the attack to conjure up one of his trademark partnership-breakers. With the aggressive opener by now on 99, he slammed a gentle looper down to long-off, where Khattak was this time the offending man.
Hewlett’s response was swift and brutal, loudly berating his skipper for the unfortunate error until the ball was returned to him, only to then launch it angrily into the turf in a display of petulance not seen since the last time Cristiano Ronaldo was denied a penalty. It was an unseemly spectacle that rightly earned him a lesser seen ‘Hissy Fit Fine’ later that night.
Having now racked up triple figures in a knock no less destructive than Jos Buttler’s T20 World Cup outings, he did at least finally retire at this particular milestone – although many had hoped he would take this option sooner. Metcalf adopted his usual stance of apoplectic rage to the perceived injustice, dashing off a stern letter to the ICC (the Isle of Wight Cricket Council) to make his feelings known.
The fact that the next highest scorer notched up 17, with no other batters breaking into double figures, was telling of the game’s complexion. In the end, the final score had sailed breezily, like a plastic bag caught in an updraft, to a dizzying 165-4.
The final, and ultimately least impactful, of the trilogy came late on as Hewlett was wheeled into the attack to conjure up one of his trademark partnership-breakers. With the aggressive opener by now on 99, he slammed a gentle looper down to long-off, where Khattak was this time the offending man.
Hewlett’s response was swift and brutal, loudly berating his skipper for the unfortunate error until the ball was returned to him, only to then launch it angrily into the turf in a display of petulance not seen since the last time Cristiano Ronaldo was denied a penalty. It was an unseemly spectacle that rightly earned him a lesser seen ‘Hissy Fit Fine’ later that night.
Having now racked up triple figures in a knock no less destructive than Jos Buttler’s T20 World Cup outings, he did at least finally retire at this particular milestone – although many had hoped he would take this option sooner. Metcalf adopted his usual stance of apoplectic rage to the perceived injustice, dashing off a stern letter to the ICC (the Isle of Wight Cricket Council) to make his feelings known.
The fact that the next highest scorer notched up 17, with no other batters breaking into double figures, was telling of the game’s complexion. In the end, the final score had sailed breezily, like a plastic bag caught in an updraft, to a dizzying 165-4.
Second Innings: Hendrick’s to bat
The mood was mixed at the break, a record Hendrick’s T20 run chase required to overhaul the target. It was a task that looked much sterner when Khattak was dismissed for just one run in the second over, the mantle of captaincy further weighing down some already indifferent form with the bat. Owez Madhani and Olly May then built a solid platform, the former at a more circumspect pace for a T20, while the latter rattled along with his usual sense of impatience. Just as things were starting to look promising, a suicidal single was inexplicably attempted, Madhani calling through his partner several seconds after drilling the ball straight to a fielder. May, initially bemused and unmoved, eventually set off and was inevitably run out. |
He stormed off, face even redder than usual, a deafening crescendo of expletives exploding as soon as he was within earshot of his teammates. At the risk of causing irreparable offence by repeating some of the sickening language that flew from his lips, we’ll paraphrase gentlemanly:
“I have to say, I’m really not convinced there was a run there. In fact, if I may be so bold, I’d go so far as to suggest it really was a rather shoddy call – if you’ll pardon my language”, before finishing, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to return to my motor vehicle and smash the fucking shit out of my steering wheel.”
He could be heard, and seen, some moments later inflicting what we assume was lasting damage to his car, before turning his fury to his laptop (still having some important barrister work to conclude) and hammered the keys to pieces as he fired off a few no doubt terse emails to unsuspecting legal colleagues and clients.
Meanwhile, back on the pitch, Gilbert’s season-long campaign to be promoted up the order had finally come to fruition, the new captain more open to the idea than his string of predecessors. Despite not unleashing his usual barrage of boundaries he provided some solidity in the middle order as Madhani continued to drift along nonchalantly at the other end.
Unsurprisingly it was the arrival of Quest at the crease that ignited the innings, but he found support hard to come by as they struggled to keep pace with the required rate. A late boundary from Metcalf continued to underline his credentials as an increasingly attacking lower-middle order striker of the ball. It followed his belligerent 27 not out in the successful run chase against Dulwich Lawnmower – a knock capped off by a towering six towards the Land Rovers of south London that would later earn him ‘Cava Moment of the Season’ (and a bottle of Co-op’s finest).
Sadly, on this occasion, they had run out of rope, falling a mere 44 runs shy despite posting one of their best-ever T20 returns. But their business was not quite done. The customary run-off race-off was held after the match to determine which of May and Madhani would have to officially carry the can for their horrendous mid-pitch mix-up (despite the fact it was clearly, irrefutably the fault of the latter).
“I have to say, I’m really not convinced there was a run there. In fact, if I may be so bold, I’d go so far as to suggest it really was a rather shoddy call – if you’ll pardon my language”, before finishing, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to return to my motor vehicle and smash the fucking shit out of my steering wheel.”
He could be heard, and seen, some moments later inflicting what we assume was lasting damage to his car, before turning his fury to his laptop (still having some important barrister work to conclude) and hammered the keys to pieces as he fired off a few no doubt terse emails to unsuspecting legal colleagues and clients.
Meanwhile, back on the pitch, Gilbert’s season-long campaign to be promoted up the order had finally come to fruition, the new captain more open to the idea than his string of predecessors. Despite not unleashing his usual barrage of boundaries he provided some solidity in the middle order as Madhani continued to drift along nonchalantly at the other end.
Unsurprisingly it was the arrival of Quest at the crease that ignited the innings, but he found support hard to come by as they struggled to keep pace with the required rate. A late boundary from Metcalf continued to underline his credentials as an increasingly attacking lower-middle order striker of the ball. It followed his belligerent 27 not out in the successful run chase against Dulwich Lawnmower – a knock capped off by a towering six towards the Land Rovers of south London that would later earn him ‘Cava Moment of the Season’ (and a bottle of Co-op’s finest).
Sadly, on this occasion, they had run out of rope, falling a mere 44 runs shy despite posting one of their best-ever T20 returns. But their business was not quite done. The customary run-off race-off was held after the match to determine which of May and Madhani would have to officially carry the can for their horrendous mid-pitch mix-up (despite the fact it was clearly, irrefutably the fault of the latter).
An abject performance from May, which saw him choke unmanfully on his bottle of beer (much like he had done earlier on his blinding torrent of rage) while attempting to down it between the two 22-yard sprints, handed his opponent a comfortable victory. And it would not be his last run out involvement for the tour.
Evening entertainment With the Man of the Match bottle of gin reluctantly given to their tormentor, the Hendrick’s XI returned to the hotel to prepare for the evening’s frivolities. The ‘three amigos’ of Metcalf, May and Madhani sharing a room provided a particularly interesting sub-plot. |
Madhani attempted to repair his somewhat damaged relationship with May, simultaneously straining ties with Metcalf, who held conflicting opinions about acceptable time to be spent in the bathroom. It led to Metcalf furiously banging on the door, Madhani blissfully unaware of his roommate’s annoyance, as evidenced by his reciprocation of the door knocking some minutes later.
“It was all just banter”, he would fondly recall weeks later. “We’re like a comedy duo. I did think it was a little odd when he started shouted and demolishing a chair soon after, but I guess he just didn’t really care for that particular piece of furniture”.
At the curry house, Peffers launched a stinging sartorial critique of Swift Drake’s repertoire of short-sleeved shirts, while Madhani helped himself to three portions of chicken pakoras, repeatedly assuring the other orderers of the dish that theirs “would definitely be coming out soon”. Time would prove him to be mistaken.
“It was all just banter”, he would fondly recall weeks later. “We’re like a comedy duo. I did think it was a little odd when he started shouted and demolishing a chair soon after, but I guess he just didn’t really care for that particular piece of furniture”.
At the curry house, Peffers launched a stinging sartorial critique of Swift Drake’s repertoire of short-sleeved shirts, while Madhani helped himself to three portions of chicken pakoras, repeatedly assuring the other orderers of the dish that theirs “would definitely be coming out soon”. Time would prove him to be mistaken.
The end of their dinner was signalled subtly but forcefully when the most physically imposing member of the staff was sent to stand in silently intimidating proximity to their table. “Is it time to leave?”, they asked. He merely nodded solemnly, like some gigantic henchman in a Bond film.
The final stop on their evening odyssey was Ryde’s premier, and only, night club, which a number of the team descended upon like hyenas upon an injured antelope. And they weren’t the only ones. Recently ‘reshuffled’ cabinet minister Michael Gove could be seen trying to gain entry without payment, slurring something that sounded like, “I’m the Duchy of Lancaster, don’t you know”, before the doorman pointed out that entry was already free – much to the MP’s evident disappointment. |
Saturday. Porchfield CC.
The rising of a new day brought gloriously warm sunshine and an exciting new format. Timed matches were a rare occurrence in the Hendrick’s XI’s long and ignominious history, but captain Wickham was quick to pounce on the offer, espying an opportunity for some of the line-up’s stodgier batsmen to bask in the spotlight for a change.
Nevertheless, the skipper’s decision to bowl first was met with raised eyebrows and the occasional passive-aggressive, “Really?”, “Hmm..” or “Sorry, what?” (cough, Ajay). A forceful sun continued to dry out a pitch previously waterlogged for several weeks, leaving it a turgid, unpredictable surface offering little encouragement for bowlers or batsmen (or ample encouragement for both, depending on which team you were playing for).
First Innings: Porchfield to bat
The boundaries were vast and the constitutions delicate, with the sound of horses and turkeys from adjacent fields providing a uniquely rural soundtrack to the match. Quest, stationed on the boundary, could be seen enthusiastically trying to whip them up into an ever more vocal frenzy of support. It appeared to work, with a couple of early wickets in the May-Swift Drake partnership looking promising.
But the sun beat down fiercely, the score began to climb worryingly high, and fatigue visibly augmented the festering array of hangovers. It was a situation not helped as a fourth-wicket partnership progressed at an astounding pace, with the ball travelling to the fence despite the considerable distance it had to overcome in doing so.
Faced with hostile conditions and superior firepower, man after man withdrew himself from the attack, complaining of a variety of ailments, both real and imagined. Shah lasted four overs, a spell that felt Herculean in comparison to his replacement, Quest, who sent down two, while his subsequent substitute Metcalf managed just one, conceding almost as many as he had done in the entirety of the previous evening’s endeavours.
With the reserves running low, Peffers was fetched up to fiddle and fumble down a collection of what we will loosely term ‘deliveries’. The captain himself, like a skipper determined to sink with his ship, insisted on sending down over after over of innocuous, wicketless stuff described generously by his opposite number as “devilish”.
Much like a World War One general (if you’ll excuse the promiscuous mixing of metaphors) sending wave after wave of men to glut and block up the combatant’s front line, the desired effect was eventually achieved. With a century apiece to their names and their lust for blood (and runs) now satiated, the two batters quietly sheathed their swords and returned home, like mighty samurai withdrawing from their quest.
Nevertheless, the skipper’s decision to bowl first was met with raised eyebrows and the occasional passive-aggressive, “Really?”, “Hmm..” or “Sorry, what?” (cough, Ajay). A forceful sun continued to dry out a pitch previously waterlogged for several weeks, leaving it a turgid, unpredictable surface offering little encouragement for bowlers or batsmen (or ample encouragement for both, depending on which team you were playing for).
First Innings: Porchfield to bat
The boundaries were vast and the constitutions delicate, with the sound of horses and turkeys from adjacent fields providing a uniquely rural soundtrack to the match. Quest, stationed on the boundary, could be seen enthusiastically trying to whip them up into an ever more vocal frenzy of support. It appeared to work, with a couple of early wickets in the May-Swift Drake partnership looking promising.
But the sun beat down fiercely, the score began to climb worryingly high, and fatigue visibly augmented the festering array of hangovers. It was a situation not helped as a fourth-wicket partnership progressed at an astounding pace, with the ball travelling to the fence despite the considerable distance it had to overcome in doing so.
Faced with hostile conditions and superior firepower, man after man withdrew himself from the attack, complaining of a variety of ailments, both real and imagined. Shah lasted four overs, a spell that felt Herculean in comparison to his replacement, Quest, who sent down two, while his subsequent substitute Metcalf managed just one, conceding almost as many as he had done in the entirety of the previous evening’s endeavours.
With the reserves running low, Peffers was fetched up to fiddle and fumble down a collection of what we will loosely term ‘deliveries’. The captain himself, like a skipper determined to sink with his ship, insisted on sending down over after over of innocuous, wicketless stuff described generously by his opposite number as “devilish”.
Much like a World War One general (if you’ll excuse the promiscuous mixing of metaphors) sending wave after wave of men to glut and block up the combatant’s front line, the desired effect was eventually achieved. With a century apiece to their names and their lust for blood (and runs) now satiated, the two batters quietly sheathed their swords and returned home, like mighty samurai withdrawing from their quest.
The threat of relentless boundaries now gone, the ball eventually found its way into the hands of Khattak. He almost immediately proved a golden-armed saviour, snaffling a couple of quick wickets that signalled the start of a very, very late shift in momentum – long after the damage had been done, raising questions as to why he hadn’t been parachuted in earlier.
For reasons known not even to himself, Wickham then yanked him sharply from the attack after just two overs, apparently affronted by the barefaced, effortless success of his bowler, and perhaps seeing it as a test of his own manhood.
Gilbert was reinstalled, providing some justification for the decision with a wicket that owed much to a truly sublime piece of trickery in the field by Quest, who somehow held onto a one-handed catch nailed at him a shade over head high. It gave the team something to genuinely celebrate on a punishing afternoon, although some form of medieval sorcery was widely believed to be the true source of his achievement.
For reasons known not even to himself, Wickham then yanked him sharply from the attack after just two overs, apparently affronted by the barefaced, effortless success of his bowler, and perhaps seeing it as a test of his own manhood.
Gilbert was reinstalled, providing some justification for the decision with a wicket that owed much to a truly sublime piece of trickery in the field by Quest, who somehow held onto a one-handed catch nailed at him a shade over head high. It gave the team something to genuinely celebrate on a punishing afternoon, although some form of medieval sorcery was widely believed to be the true source of his achievement.
The returning Swift Drake should have been rewarded with a late scalp, but endured a rare wicketless match thanks to the incompetence of the captain, who continued to impose his presence detrimentally across the game. Bafflingly opting to swap positions with Madhani for the final over of the day, the ball duly looped to him a few balls later. A comfortable chance was then gently shepherded to the floor, with teammates obligingly blaming the sharp glare of the sun on his behalf.
Second Innings: Hendrick’s to bat
It left them with a stiff, some would even say rigid, target of 254 to win. Thankfully for them Hewlett had, excitingly, declared himself to be a ‘batting all-rounder’ earlier that day, having sent a lengthy press release to all the major papers. Expectations were understandably high. He quickly gobbled up the chance to open the batting, being the only player on the pitch not to have been given at least one over with the ball.
Faced with an increasingly lifeless pitch and the possibility of a draw at the end of the innings, it looked a perfect occasion for the great man to ply his usual trade of front-foot and back-foot defence. He duly began with a selection of his greatest hits, inching along to a score of two from 25 balls before succumbing to one he described as “unplayable” while playing a shot Quest labelled, from his vantage point at the non-striker’s end, as “painfully premeditated”.
Khattak’s woes with the bat continued, sadly not unshackled without his captaincy duties, before everyone’s favourite odd couple of May and Madhani came together once more. Nerves were frayed, the team fearing the pair’s relationship would not survive another disastrous, and highly likely, run out.
Second Innings: Hendrick’s to bat
It left them with a stiff, some would even say rigid, target of 254 to win. Thankfully for them Hewlett had, excitingly, declared himself to be a ‘batting all-rounder’ earlier that day, having sent a lengthy press release to all the major papers. Expectations were understandably high. He quickly gobbled up the chance to open the batting, being the only player on the pitch not to have been given at least one over with the ball.
Faced with an increasingly lifeless pitch and the possibility of a draw at the end of the innings, it looked a perfect occasion for the great man to ply his usual trade of front-foot and back-foot defence. He duly began with a selection of his greatest hits, inching along to a score of two from 25 balls before succumbing to one he described as “unplayable” while playing a shot Quest labelled, from his vantage point at the non-striker’s end, as “painfully premeditated”.
Khattak’s woes with the bat continued, sadly not unshackled without his captaincy duties, before everyone’s favourite odd couple of May and Madhani came together once more. Nerves were frayed, the team fearing the pair’s relationship would not survive another disastrous, and highly likely, run out.
But it proved to be an inspired repair job, both personally and sportingly, as they steadied the ship with some miserly defence. They joined Quest as the only three batters to make it into the heady realm of double figures, before the work was left to a worryingly supple lower-middle order.
For the Test match purist, what followed in the scorecard made delightful reading. Strike rates well below 30 across the board indicating the deepness with which they had dug their trench in the crumbling pitch. Metcalf made two from 10 balls, Minchinton a heroic zero from 18 (immediately entered as among the finest ducks to be scored by a Hendrick’s batter), and Peffers six from 22 (actually one of his highest scores and fastest rates of scoring that summer). |
Eventually it came down to the unlikely pairing of Gilbert and Swift Drake. As well as battling to save the match, the duo were simultaneously playing out the final act in their own personal drama of off-field acrimony, awkward repentance and ultimately heroic redemption following the Oxford Tour’s unseemly scuffle.
The rearguard action had the pitch-side Hendrick’s contingent on the edge of their seats, prowling nervously or flirting indiscreetly with the bartender. It was like Monty and Jimmy batting for the draw in Cardiff during that halcyon 2009 Ashes series, withstanding a fearsome late barrage and claustrophobic field placements as the opposition circled hungrily.
On display this time were two very different approaches, Gilbert reining in his instincts to catapult the ball down to long on by playing some of the most extravagant defensive shots seen at any level of the game. Indeed, he exhibited a flamboyance and style matched only by his selection of Charles Tyrwhitt shirts currently occupying most of his room’s shared wardrobe.
At the other end, Swift Drake was very much playing his natural game, the forward defensive being literally the only shot he had so far mastered in his short cricket career (which still puts him one ahead of almost the entire squad). He even managed to incorporate a subtle but extremely professional-looking bat twirl, accompanied by a short walk from the crease towards square leg, that put one in mind of Michael Atherton playing out that hostile spell from Allan Donald and having a few words with himself between balls.
He was missing only the TV cameras and vocal support of the Barmy Army. As the field tightened ever further and a few yards seemingly added to the pace of each bowler, the atmosphere was unbearably tense. The final ball drifted towards the valiant batter, followed by a dull thud as ball struck pad, then a wild appeal from every player, all eyes on umpire Khattak. “Don’t worry, Qas is never giving that out”, came the assured murmurs from the boundary edge.
Sure enough, there came a small shake of the head from their man in the middle as Khattak indulged in the time-honoured tradition of waving his hand slightly to the right, the implication being, “sliding down leg, lads”.
The rearguard action had the pitch-side Hendrick’s contingent on the edge of their seats, prowling nervously or flirting indiscreetly with the bartender. It was like Monty and Jimmy batting for the draw in Cardiff during that halcyon 2009 Ashes series, withstanding a fearsome late barrage and claustrophobic field placements as the opposition circled hungrily.
On display this time were two very different approaches, Gilbert reining in his instincts to catapult the ball down to long on by playing some of the most extravagant defensive shots seen at any level of the game. Indeed, he exhibited a flamboyance and style matched only by his selection of Charles Tyrwhitt shirts currently occupying most of his room’s shared wardrobe.
At the other end, Swift Drake was very much playing his natural game, the forward defensive being literally the only shot he had so far mastered in his short cricket career (which still puts him one ahead of almost the entire squad). He even managed to incorporate a subtle but extremely professional-looking bat twirl, accompanied by a short walk from the crease towards square leg, that put one in mind of Michael Atherton playing out that hostile spell from Allan Donald and having a few words with himself between balls.
He was missing only the TV cameras and vocal support of the Barmy Army. As the field tightened ever further and a few yards seemingly added to the pace of each bowler, the atmosphere was unbearably tense. The final ball drifted towards the valiant batter, followed by a dull thud as ball struck pad, then a wild appeal from every player, all eyes on umpire Khattak. “Don’t worry, Qas is never giving that out”, came the assured murmurs from the boundary edge.
Sure enough, there came a small shake of the head from their man in the middle as Khattak indulged in the time-honoured tradition of waving his hand slightly to the right, the implication being, “sliding down leg, lads”.
With that the bails were off and the draw confirmed, forever consecrated as one of the most one-sided, undeserved results in a sport well known for such outcomes.
There were delighted high-fives and hugs from the Hendrick’s squad, the last-wicket pair embraced as returning, all-conquering heroes – as everyone looked thoroughly delighted with their 173-run deficit of a draw. Only Quest remained unmoved, later brandishing the match to be “a disgrace” and “the most grave sporting injustice since Maradona’s ‘Hand of God’ went unnoticed by match officials”. Nevertheless, it was time to celebrate immodestly back in the sordid metropolis of Ryde. |
The return to Ryde
An array of venues was sought to immortalise and immediately forget the day’s proceedings. Gilbert arrived late, the hotel having incorrectly pressed the cuffs and collar of his shirt after he sent it to be ironed, despite the service not being offered by the establishment. The rest started in the pub of a castle-cum-hotel, before moving on to a beachfront cocktail bar and then returning to ‘da club’, with its combination of aggressive strobe lighting and even more aggressive locals once again in their customary positions.
This time it was Conservative bench-filler Matt Hancock who could be seen keeping a low profile, copping a fairly ample feel in a darkened corner. “One in every postcode…”, he could be overheard boasting at the bar, before diving back into his sordid business with even more vigour than before.
Elsewhere, the Hendrick’s late-night delegation represented the club proudly. They displayed a repertoire of dance moves, reliably relayed as being “fire”, before helping to simultaneously keep the peace and sow seeds of discontent among some combustible regulars. Their work done for the evening, they slunk once more into the shadows and back to the comfort of their grand hotel.
An array of venues was sought to immortalise and immediately forget the day’s proceedings. Gilbert arrived late, the hotel having incorrectly pressed the cuffs and collar of his shirt after he sent it to be ironed, despite the service not being offered by the establishment. The rest started in the pub of a castle-cum-hotel, before moving on to a beachfront cocktail bar and then returning to ‘da club’, with its combination of aggressive strobe lighting and even more aggressive locals once again in their customary positions.
This time it was Conservative bench-filler Matt Hancock who could be seen keeping a low profile, copping a fairly ample feel in a darkened corner. “One in every postcode…”, he could be overheard boasting at the bar, before diving back into his sordid business with even more vigour than before.
Elsewhere, the Hendrick’s late-night delegation represented the club proudly. They displayed a repertoire of dance moves, reliably relayed as being “fire”, before helping to simultaneously keep the peace and sow seeds of discontent among some combustible regulars. Their work done for the evening, they slunk once more into the shadows and back to the comfort of their grand hotel.
Sunday. Shanklin & Godshill CC.
Peffers and Wickham began the final day with a purpose and dynamism conspicuously absent from their cricketing performances. Having carefully planned their assault on the beachfront arcade machines, they arrived with a sizeable bag of loose change scraped from the interior of Peffers’s truck and set about their quest to bag a couple of Baby Yoda plush toys.
Twenty minutes later they triumphantly met up with the rest of the crew, trophies proudly in hand, having held off the efforts of local parents and children to commandeer the prize grabbers. A round of pirate-themed crazy golf followed, soundtracked by music from acclaimed masterpiece Muppets Treasure Island. Unsurprisingly, Surrey golf course aficionado Peffers emerged victorious, although it would prove to be the only slice of sporting success any of them would taste that day.
First Innings: Shanklin to bat
Staggering bleary eyed to yet another gorgeously idyllic ground, it was time for the weekend’s Last Dance. Still searching for their fist win of the tour, captain Hewlett dispatched Swift Drake to open the bowling – and was immediately rewarded.
The ever-reliable medium-pace maestro burst back into the wickets after a relatively quiet couple of games by his own ridiculous standards. It was a season in which he seemed to have taken a wicket in every over he bowled, and on this fortuitous Sunday he promptly set about dismantling the Shanklin top order.
A five-wicket haul blasted the shambolic Hendrick’s contingent into an early lead, raising hopes that this would finally be the day they left their mark on the rural island. Shuffling in to provide support was Wickham, who somehow snaffled another wicket courtesy of an LBW decision that his captain was quick to deride as “extremely generous… it was clearly going down leg”, before lodging a formal complaint with the match referee.
But early innings momentum soon gave way to inevitable mid-innings drift, possibly due to Hewlett’s socialist-inspired system of bowler selection that saw almost the entire team send down a pre-determined number of overs. Contrived overnight by the great statsman, he drew on all his experience as a career civil servant to dream up an unnecessarily elaborate, confusing and ineffective system of management.
Twenty minutes later they triumphantly met up with the rest of the crew, trophies proudly in hand, having held off the efforts of local parents and children to commandeer the prize grabbers. A round of pirate-themed crazy golf followed, soundtracked by music from acclaimed masterpiece Muppets Treasure Island. Unsurprisingly, Surrey golf course aficionado Peffers emerged victorious, although it would prove to be the only slice of sporting success any of them would taste that day.
First Innings: Shanklin to bat
Staggering bleary eyed to yet another gorgeously idyllic ground, it was time for the weekend’s Last Dance. Still searching for their fist win of the tour, captain Hewlett dispatched Swift Drake to open the bowling – and was immediately rewarded.
The ever-reliable medium-pace maestro burst back into the wickets after a relatively quiet couple of games by his own ridiculous standards. It was a season in which he seemed to have taken a wicket in every over he bowled, and on this fortuitous Sunday he promptly set about dismantling the Shanklin top order.
A five-wicket haul blasted the shambolic Hendrick’s contingent into an early lead, raising hopes that this would finally be the day they left their mark on the rural island. Shuffling in to provide support was Wickham, who somehow snaffled another wicket courtesy of an LBW decision that his captain was quick to deride as “extremely generous… it was clearly going down leg”, before lodging a formal complaint with the match referee.
But early innings momentum soon gave way to inevitable mid-innings drift, possibly due to Hewlett’s socialist-inspired system of bowler selection that saw almost the entire team send down a pre-determined number of overs. Contrived overnight by the great statsman, he drew on all his experience as a career civil servant to dream up an unnecessarily elaborate, confusing and ineffective system of management.
A robust fifth-wicket partnership took root, both batsmen taking a liking to the extra (or indeed, any) pace offered up by Gilbert and Quest. The latter was particularly furious at his wicket-taking impotence, brooding angrily for the remainder of the match while muttering mutinously about “not getting much help in the field” and being “yanked off after a couple of overs”.
Meanwhile, their extensive supporting cast indulged in the usual Sunday tradition of generously serving up extra balls for the oppositions delectation, each over seemingly longer and more torturous than the last.
The collective suffering was embodied by Metcalf, whose visible mental and physical disintegration during his lone over was later described by the man himself – perhaps a touch hyperbolically – as “the most embarrassing five minutes of my entire life”. Upon its eventual completion, a mere 13 balls and, miraculously, only 11 runs and one unlikely wicket later, he immediately charged from the field, dispatching the lounging sub fielder back into the fray.
In a tour of few runs and even fewer wickets, Minchinton’s emergence as a genuine gloveman in the absence of usual partial-ball-stopper Saunders was a rare bright spot. While it was no doubt a risk to station their finest outfield stopper and spectacular catcher behind the stumps, his enthusiastic glove work and even more enthusiastic appealing quickly made him a new fan favourite in the position.
He was called into action frequently to block the array of off- and leg-side wides dispatched into his vicinity, with the innings mercifully ending as the clouds were gathering. An ominous portent for what was to follow.
Second Innings: Hendrick’s to bat
There are moments in sport where a team has to rely heavily on one individual to achieve greatness, or just avoid horrible, crippling humiliation. Sunday was one of the latter.
Meanwhile, their extensive supporting cast indulged in the usual Sunday tradition of generously serving up extra balls for the oppositions delectation, each over seemingly longer and more torturous than the last.
The collective suffering was embodied by Metcalf, whose visible mental and physical disintegration during his lone over was later described by the man himself – perhaps a touch hyperbolically – as “the most embarrassing five minutes of my entire life”. Upon its eventual completion, a mere 13 balls and, miraculously, only 11 runs and one unlikely wicket later, he immediately charged from the field, dispatching the lounging sub fielder back into the fray.
In a tour of few runs and even fewer wickets, Minchinton’s emergence as a genuine gloveman in the absence of usual partial-ball-stopper Saunders was a rare bright spot. While it was no doubt a risk to station their finest outfield stopper and spectacular catcher behind the stumps, his enthusiastic glove work and even more enthusiastic appealing quickly made him a new fan favourite in the position.
He was called into action frequently to block the array of off- and leg-side wides dispatched into his vicinity, with the innings mercifully ending as the clouds were gathering. An ominous portent for what was to follow.
Second Innings: Hendrick’s to bat
There are moments in sport where a team has to rely heavily on one individual to achieve greatness, or just avoid horrible, crippling humiliation. Sunday was one of the latter.
Continuing to cement his place in the Dom Sibley role of anxious and ungainly top-order blocker, Hewlett opened with the reliable presence of May at the other end.
After scratching around and running himself out without troubling the scorers too profusely, the skipper was replaced at the crease by a string of successors who fared little better. As single figure scores were racked up like balls on a snooker table, May continued manfully at the other end. Temper by now well and truly out of his system after Friday’s vehicular-based bout of violence, he merely watched with a wry smile as his batting partners struggled to get the ball off the square. |
Madhani was unable to build upon what had been a respectable season, with the rest of the middle order wilting tragically. Wickham’s dismissal, scuttling towards square leg like a white-clad crab to the last ball before rain temporarily stopped play, gave them much to ponder at the unscheduled mid-innings break.
Fortunately they had Quest and Khattak lurking in the lower reaches of the batting line-up, raising hopes for a sensational second-half rally. Things looked good when Khattak set about his work, rediscovering some of his usual fluency with a stylish array of shots and a strike rate soaring well above 100.
Among the highlights reel was a particularly delicious six, filthily spanked over his favourite scoring area of mid-wicket. Meanwhile, May continued to crash the ball mercilessly to the boundary, contributing 14 of the team’s 16 fours and two-thirds of their sixes.
But when Khattak was bowled and Quest inexplicably ran himself out after facing just three balls – having possibly become embroiled in some sort of sordid match-fixing rouse – the Hendrick’s optimism quickly went the same way as the weather. They were at least treated to a valiant and entirely unexpected rear-guard effort from the usually fragile Shah, whose innings of 17 balls was his longest by a factor of almost 17, as he attempted to stick with the majestic May.
Fortunately they had Quest and Khattak lurking in the lower reaches of the batting line-up, raising hopes for a sensational second-half rally. Things looked good when Khattak set about his work, rediscovering some of his usual fluency with a stylish array of shots and a strike rate soaring well above 100.
Among the highlights reel was a particularly delicious six, filthily spanked over his favourite scoring area of mid-wicket. Meanwhile, May continued to crash the ball mercilessly to the boundary, contributing 14 of the team’s 16 fours and two-thirds of their sixes.
But when Khattak was bowled and Quest inexplicably ran himself out after facing just three balls – having possibly become embroiled in some sort of sordid match-fixing rouse – the Hendrick’s optimism quickly went the same way as the weather. They were at least treated to a valiant and entirely unexpected rear-guard effort from the usually fragile Shah, whose innings of 17 balls was his longest by a factor of almost 17, as he attempted to stick with the majestic May.
By the time last man Swift Drake came to the crease, victory was still balanced precariously on the edge of the table and the Ginger Favourite (May’s latest nickname and new brand of spicy biscuits, set to hit the shelves of Waitrose in 2022) was within sight of another memorable century. Having showcased his mastery of the forward defensive to such heady acclaim the day before, it looked perfectly poised for their number 11 to inch them towards a memorable finale.
The spectating contingent watched on with varying degrees of interest. Peffers periodically shouting so aggressively at the Spurs match on his phone that he interrupted the bowler’s run-up and provoked the always tetchy May to disapproving retribution. Metcalf was sat, sunglasses on despite the overcast conditions, with headphones in, presumably listening to Nine Inch Nail’s ‘Hurt’ on full volume, while Hewlett was in his element with the power of a full-sized digital scoreboard at his fingertips, tapping away at the controls like a child playing with a new Christmas present. |
Sadly the Minister of Defence could not repeat his heroics, straying from his true purpose of obstinate, technically beautiful blocking to attempt a rare run-scoring shot. It proved his undoing, clean bowled with May left stranded on his island of cricketing competence having amassed 87 runs from just 96 balls.
It brought a winless tour to an end, the only remedy for which was a stop at the drive-thru McDonalds on the way back to the ferry port. As milkshakes and Chicken Selects® were consumed they reflected pensively on their first tour away from both the mainland and beloved patriarch Saunders.
To borrow a phrase recently used to describe German Premier Angela Merkel’s indelible mark on European politics, “Long reigns often leave long shadows”. A fresh start it may be, but what does the future hold? We tracked down Saunders, luxuriating at the time of writing in a tax haven frequented by a number of senior MPs, to get his thoughts on the turbulent transition.
“The oversea tour is certainly a new barrier broken down. A new achievement for the team”, he offered, over the loud slurps of a fruity cocktail. “I’m also quite excited about the devolution of power and the breaking up of the autocracy and cult of personality I’ve built around myself over the past 10 years.
It brought a winless tour to an end, the only remedy for which was a stop at the drive-thru McDonalds on the way back to the ferry port. As milkshakes and Chicken Selects® were consumed they reflected pensively on their first tour away from both the mainland and beloved patriarch Saunders.
To borrow a phrase recently used to describe German Premier Angela Merkel’s indelible mark on European politics, “Long reigns often leave long shadows”. A fresh start it may be, but what does the future hold? We tracked down Saunders, luxuriating at the time of writing in a tax haven frequented by a number of senior MPs, to get his thoughts on the turbulent transition.
“The oversea tour is certainly a new barrier broken down. A new achievement for the team”, he offered, over the loud slurps of a fruity cocktail. “I’m also quite excited about the devolution of power and the breaking up of the autocracy and cult of personality I’ve built around myself over the past 10 years.
“I’m tired. It’s been exhausting. Trying to find opposition to play and then blackmail people into playing for us. Satisfying every whim and ludicrous request of everyone in the team. Gilbert’s demands to bat in the top three. Simon always having to come in at six. The fact that Josh only knows square leg.
“It weighs down on you. But it’s for the good of the team. I think they will thrive under new leadership.” Indeed, rumours are already swirling of a Saudi takeover, the club’s hierarchy apparently welcoming of the morally dubious oil money but more sceptical about the piracy of television rights. And now that wispy hair-covered egg shell Avram Glazer is breaking in to the world of cricket franchise ownership, a bidding war for the lucrative Hendrick’s XI brand may well be in the offing over the winter period. |
With generous ‘consultancy payments’ discreetly finding their way into the hands of several influential Tory ministers, the prospects for riding roughshod over any financial fair play regulations looks highly promising. We look forward to announcing an exciting and expensive new epoch for the Hendrick’s XI very soon.
If you’ve read to the end, a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you.
If you’ve read to the end, a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you.