Between Cricket World Cups, a hotly anticipated Ashes series and the scintillating prospect of economic and political annihilation under Boris ‘But I’m Just Trying to Have a Good Time’ Johnson, there has been little room for surplus excitement this summer. Lesser sporting events and less eccentrically flamboyant and vocally unhinged politicians have tried – and failed – to steal the limelight these past few weeks. That is, until the Hendrick’s XI rolled back into town.
In the closest thing to a home game they’d ever played, and in what could legitimately be described as a ‘local derby’ against fellow nomadic Londoners the Plastics XI, our shambling heroes took to the relatively pristine ground of Battersea Park. After shooing away the far more professional looking local Under-11 teams at 12.30pm sharp, 22 players sporting mismatched kit in various stages of physical decay staggered, bleary-eyed, onto the pitch as the sun reluctantly edged its way out of its mid-summer hibernation.
The Hendrick’s-Plastics rivalry is one that has gained momentum over four seasons of increasingly close skirmishes following the Plastics’ first-ever outing as a side in 2016 up to last season’s tense, fractious and deliriously celebrated final-over victory for the gin-enthusiasts – which had left the on-going score in their favour at two wins to one. Against the backdrop of a Cricket World Cup as exciting “as smoking crack in a suit doused in petrol during a high-speed car chase”, the two teams and their equally garish club colours –the green and grey of Hendrick’s jousting against the lurid pink of the Plastics – would once more clash upon the urban parklands of England.
First Innings: The Return of Gilbert (Plastics to bat)
A gloriously dreary morning of English summer rain had left conditions perfect for bowling, with captain Tim Saunders holding his nerve to win the toss in superb fashion and electing to take to the field. Despite the return of electric paceman James Gilbert from a “sexually sustained” ankle injury (as it was widely reported in all the national tabloid newspapers), he did not immediately resume his usual berth at the head of the bowling attack. Perhaps looking to rebuke Gilbert for his previous failure to report for duty, or perhaps just to indulge his own baffling eccentricities, Saunders would give the coveted opening place to tedious trundler Henry Wickham.
Upon revealing his controversial plans to the team just seconds before the game was due to begin, Gilbert was furiously declaring the tactics “absurd”, “ludicrous” and “preposterous”, among various other blustery terms of indignant outrage.
However, much to Gilbert’s chagrin, the “farcical” strategy proved to be effective. The openers appeared unnerved by the gaping chasm of disparity in pace between Ed Robinson’s lethal line-and-length and Wickham’s barely hittable dearth of accuracy, speed or consistency. Eventually, a trademark airy, looping delivery enticed the batsman down the wicket only for the ball to elude a savage beating and slip into the grateful gloves of Saunders for a sharp stumping. “Vintage spin bowling!” came the wildly generous praise of Robinson from the boundary, as he looked to undertake some personal PR rectification after some robust criticism for his in-game sledging of teammates.
The batsmen alternately blocked, smashed and scrapped their way through the opening overs, riding their luck at times. A tough early chance was presented to specialist fielder Harry Hole, who, as always, displayed the most relentless, unerring enthusiasm for putting himself unquestioningly in the line of fire –presumably undaunted by his near-disastrous genital mutilation from the previous game. As such, he found himself stationed in a series of increasingly dangerous positions by a grateful Saunders; silly mid-off, silly mid-on, silly point, silly mid-wicket and short extra-cover were all, at various stages, generously patronised by his joyful presence.
When eventually Gilbert was called upon to bowl he did so like a man with a point to prove, unleashing a searing level of pace and aggression terrifying to behold. He did so alongside new man Ollie Holland, who made an immediate impact with ball in hand, returning 2-30 as Hendrick’s continued to draw upon a glut of ex-Abingdon boarding school recruits, much like England siphoning off native South Africans to swell their ranks.
Finding time to fit in some cricket around his hectic schedule as the newly appointed CEO of ‘As Seen by Ravi’ wedding photography, Ravi Patel was particularly keen to make his mark. In stark contrast to the previous game, when he had attempted to pull out shortly before kick-off, he practically grabbed the ball from Saunders’ hands between overs, declaring himself “good for another one” each time as he twirled away to great effect, picking up 2-18 in a customarily exciting spell.
James Hewlett continued his happy knack of partnership breaking when he deployed a looping full toss with his very first ball that baffled the batsman and took out middle stump, with a sheepish Hewlett announcing that he would be “taking out an ad in the local paper to formally apologise”. Elsewhere, Oli May, Josh Peffers and Adrian Crawford bowled tidily in an innings punctuated by fewer wides and no-balls than usual, although a string of dropped catches would continue to check their progress, as the fielders – with the foresight to tee up a dramatic late finale – attempted to balance out the proficiency of the bowlers.
Undoubtedly none were worse than a truly stunning clanger from Wickham during Gilbert’s final spell. Having spent much of the pre-match pep talk reminding teammates of his fury over misfields and dropped chances off his bowling, Gilbert would suffer the ignominy of a painfully simple chance being shelled after a magnificently hostile couple of overs. Wickham attempted to later atone for the calamitous mistake with a completely non-pivotal run-out from the final ball of the innings, which, unlike the World Cup, made virtually no impact on the game itself. The guilty fielder could be seen slinking away in shame and ensconcing himself among the Tesco quiches and Bakewell slices during the mid-game tea.
Second Innings: A Chase of Two Halves (Hendrick's chasing 211 to win)
The Hendrick’s response, to use a mercilessly flogged cliché, was a game of two perfectly contrasting but equally supple and firm halves. As the clouds cleared and the sun sharpened its steamy focus on the game unfolding below, Saunders and Hewlett strolled majestically out to the middle. Perhaps imagining that they were making their way through a raucous members enclosure after exiting the famous Long Room at Lord’s (a room later declared by Hewlett, upon seeing it televised during the aforementioned World Cup, to be “lacking in the sort of lavishness I would’ve expected”), they began the chase in superbly British fashion.
Much like England’s own fantastically fraught final against New Zealand, it proved to be a watchful, low-scoring opening. Attritional cricket at its most painfully protracted. Unfailingly accurate bowling at the stumps lent itself only to cautious but sumptuously executed forward defensives – particularly on the part of Hewlett, never more at home than when showing the full face of the bat to probing but largely innocuous deliveries.
It was left to Saunders to play the role of aggressor, cutting late, pulling earlier and searching for gaps in a relatively gapless infield. As the boundary was found with barely perceptible increases in regularity, the score neared 100 and the innings reached the halfway stage, Hendrick’s looked well placed. Saunders, growing redder and redder in the face under the strain of the chase and beating of the sun, made a memorable 50 at just shy of a run a ball, and looked keen for the drinks break.
Sadly, it proved to be a bridge too far for the embattled brigadier, whose resolve finally wilted under the weight of pressure and heat, and a sharp catch at short cover simultaneously ended a fine knock and ignited a marvellously unpredictable new phase of the match.
Peffers came in to negotiate the final couple of balls before the interval and then negotiated approximately the same number of balls after it, during which time he managed to engineer a comical run out (is there any other kind?) of Hewlett in scenes reminiscent of Ian Botham’s famously deliberate running out of a slow-scoring Geoffrey Boycott. Was Peffers perhaps the stooge deployed by the skipper to expedite the removal of his opening partner? Only Saunders will know.
Hewlett was incensed, as much by the decision of umpire Wickham to raise the dreaded finger as by Peffers’ calamitous calling – or failure to call at all. He stormed off, launching various items of equipment at the scoreboards and unsuspecting teammates, later remonstrating firmly with Wickham over post-match pints at The Latchmere – the confrontation reopening wounds from a similar incident between the pair in 2014 when ‘Trigger’ Wickham had jettisoned the same batsman to a stonewall LBW decision.
Whether or not the controversial, presumably premeditated, running out of Hewlett had the desired effect is still a matter of great debate in the (currently non-existent) Hendrick’s clubhouse. His dismissal triggered a middle-order collapse that saw them slip from 91-0 to 125-6, as a previously close but manageable chase swerved into the territory of anxious, nail-biting and various other generic superlatives. It was England’s World Cup final played out in miniature, with only marginally fewer drunk and delirious fans shouting from the grandstands.
Thankfully the team’s very own Ben Stokes, in the form mid-line-up mainstay May, was on hand to deliver his usual degree of ginger-haired hostility. He teed off with reckless abandon as he has done so many times before – most notably during his club-record 143 not out at the tail end of the previous year, when he single-handedly won the season closer despite taking an early blow to the head and suffering what trainee medic Saunders incorrectly diagnosed as ‘Walk and Die’ syndrome. It remains the most scandalously improbable victory ever pulled off by the Hendrick’s XI – and the same type of inspiration was needed again.
He came together with the breezy belligerence of Robinson, who orchestrated a smash’n’grab 18 from 12 balls, before May marched on with school compadre Holland. He struck 10 boundaries on his way to a fiery 53 from 48 balls but would eventually succumb to some diligent bowling, ratcheting up the suspense once more.
The words ‘super over’ were never far from the lips of fraught Hendrick’s contingent watching on from the boundary edge. Meanwhile, Holland and Gilbert appeared completely unperturbed by the score or situation, batting on serenely in singles through the closing overs as the required rate crept ever higher. Cortisol levels were off the charts, but the two men stuck to their task with an unmistakable nonchalance, despite calls from the boundary edge for something even vaguely resembling a sense of urgency.
Nevertheless they kept Hendrick’s just within touching distance of their target. Much like the Great British Pound, the required runs dropped steadily until there were 13 needed from two overs, and then seven from the final six balls. Gettable but, as we’ve seen from the international stage to amateur arenas, things are often not so straightforward. After scampering a single from the first ball, predictions of a run-a-ball over culminating in a super-over showdown grew ever more likely.
Then, when amendments to field placements had been checked and double-checked, Gilbert set the place ablaze. Having never previously shown the slightest inclination to clear the ropes, he casually rocked back, swung hard, and launched the leather high and wide over mid-wicket. Even the couple enjoying a romantic pitch-side evening didn’t need to take cover, as the ball sailed well back into the neighbouring undergrowth.
Cue a euphoric pitch invasion, poorly coordinated high-fiving and wild, unsportsmanly cheering. “Majestic”, “stunning” and “incredible” were just a few of the words Gilbert used to describe his six. “It was one the finest shots ever played to win a game of cricket”, he modestly declared after the match. “I imagine the mere memories of this moment will sustain everyone here until the chilly autumn of their old age. I know I’ll certainly be aroused at the very thought of it for years to come.”
A life-defining day for all involved. Sport played at its very finest.
World Cup? What World Cup
In the closest thing to a home game they’d ever played, and in what could legitimately be described as a ‘local derby’ against fellow nomadic Londoners the Plastics XI, our shambling heroes took to the relatively pristine ground of Battersea Park. After shooing away the far more professional looking local Under-11 teams at 12.30pm sharp, 22 players sporting mismatched kit in various stages of physical decay staggered, bleary-eyed, onto the pitch as the sun reluctantly edged its way out of its mid-summer hibernation.
The Hendrick’s-Plastics rivalry is one that has gained momentum over four seasons of increasingly close skirmishes following the Plastics’ first-ever outing as a side in 2016 up to last season’s tense, fractious and deliriously celebrated final-over victory for the gin-enthusiasts – which had left the on-going score in their favour at two wins to one. Against the backdrop of a Cricket World Cup as exciting “as smoking crack in a suit doused in petrol during a high-speed car chase”, the two teams and their equally garish club colours –the green and grey of Hendrick’s jousting against the lurid pink of the Plastics – would once more clash upon the urban parklands of England.
First Innings: The Return of Gilbert (Plastics to bat)
A gloriously dreary morning of English summer rain had left conditions perfect for bowling, with captain Tim Saunders holding his nerve to win the toss in superb fashion and electing to take to the field. Despite the return of electric paceman James Gilbert from a “sexually sustained” ankle injury (as it was widely reported in all the national tabloid newspapers), he did not immediately resume his usual berth at the head of the bowling attack. Perhaps looking to rebuke Gilbert for his previous failure to report for duty, or perhaps just to indulge his own baffling eccentricities, Saunders would give the coveted opening place to tedious trundler Henry Wickham.
Upon revealing his controversial plans to the team just seconds before the game was due to begin, Gilbert was furiously declaring the tactics “absurd”, “ludicrous” and “preposterous”, among various other blustery terms of indignant outrage.
However, much to Gilbert’s chagrin, the “farcical” strategy proved to be effective. The openers appeared unnerved by the gaping chasm of disparity in pace between Ed Robinson’s lethal line-and-length and Wickham’s barely hittable dearth of accuracy, speed or consistency. Eventually, a trademark airy, looping delivery enticed the batsman down the wicket only for the ball to elude a savage beating and slip into the grateful gloves of Saunders for a sharp stumping. “Vintage spin bowling!” came the wildly generous praise of Robinson from the boundary, as he looked to undertake some personal PR rectification after some robust criticism for his in-game sledging of teammates.
The batsmen alternately blocked, smashed and scrapped their way through the opening overs, riding their luck at times. A tough early chance was presented to specialist fielder Harry Hole, who, as always, displayed the most relentless, unerring enthusiasm for putting himself unquestioningly in the line of fire –presumably undaunted by his near-disastrous genital mutilation from the previous game. As such, he found himself stationed in a series of increasingly dangerous positions by a grateful Saunders; silly mid-off, silly mid-on, silly point, silly mid-wicket and short extra-cover were all, at various stages, generously patronised by his joyful presence.
When eventually Gilbert was called upon to bowl he did so like a man with a point to prove, unleashing a searing level of pace and aggression terrifying to behold. He did so alongside new man Ollie Holland, who made an immediate impact with ball in hand, returning 2-30 as Hendrick’s continued to draw upon a glut of ex-Abingdon boarding school recruits, much like England siphoning off native South Africans to swell their ranks.
Finding time to fit in some cricket around his hectic schedule as the newly appointed CEO of ‘As Seen by Ravi’ wedding photography, Ravi Patel was particularly keen to make his mark. In stark contrast to the previous game, when he had attempted to pull out shortly before kick-off, he practically grabbed the ball from Saunders’ hands between overs, declaring himself “good for another one” each time as he twirled away to great effect, picking up 2-18 in a customarily exciting spell.
James Hewlett continued his happy knack of partnership breaking when he deployed a looping full toss with his very first ball that baffled the batsman and took out middle stump, with a sheepish Hewlett announcing that he would be “taking out an ad in the local paper to formally apologise”. Elsewhere, Oli May, Josh Peffers and Adrian Crawford bowled tidily in an innings punctuated by fewer wides and no-balls than usual, although a string of dropped catches would continue to check their progress, as the fielders – with the foresight to tee up a dramatic late finale – attempted to balance out the proficiency of the bowlers.
Undoubtedly none were worse than a truly stunning clanger from Wickham during Gilbert’s final spell. Having spent much of the pre-match pep talk reminding teammates of his fury over misfields and dropped chances off his bowling, Gilbert would suffer the ignominy of a painfully simple chance being shelled after a magnificently hostile couple of overs. Wickham attempted to later atone for the calamitous mistake with a completely non-pivotal run-out from the final ball of the innings, which, unlike the World Cup, made virtually no impact on the game itself. The guilty fielder could be seen slinking away in shame and ensconcing himself among the Tesco quiches and Bakewell slices during the mid-game tea.
Second Innings: A Chase of Two Halves (Hendrick's chasing 211 to win)
The Hendrick’s response, to use a mercilessly flogged cliché, was a game of two perfectly contrasting but equally supple and firm halves. As the clouds cleared and the sun sharpened its steamy focus on the game unfolding below, Saunders and Hewlett strolled majestically out to the middle. Perhaps imagining that they were making their way through a raucous members enclosure after exiting the famous Long Room at Lord’s (a room later declared by Hewlett, upon seeing it televised during the aforementioned World Cup, to be “lacking in the sort of lavishness I would’ve expected”), they began the chase in superbly British fashion.
Much like England’s own fantastically fraught final against New Zealand, it proved to be a watchful, low-scoring opening. Attritional cricket at its most painfully protracted. Unfailingly accurate bowling at the stumps lent itself only to cautious but sumptuously executed forward defensives – particularly on the part of Hewlett, never more at home than when showing the full face of the bat to probing but largely innocuous deliveries.
It was left to Saunders to play the role of aggressor, cutting late, pulling earlier and searching for gaps in a relatively gapless infield. As the boundary was found with barely perceptible increases in regularity, the score neared 100 and the innings reached the halfway stage, Hendrick’s looked well placed. Saunders, growing redder and redder in the face under the strain of the chase and beating of the sun, made a memorable 50 at just shy of a run a ball, and looked keen for the drinks break.
Sadly, it proved to be a bridge too far for the embattled brigadier, whose resolve finally wilted under the weight of pressure and heat, and a sharp catch at short cover simultaneously ended a fine knock and ignited a marvellously unpredictable new phase of the match.
Peffers came in to negotiate the final couple of balls before the interval and then negotiated approximately the same number of balls after it, during which time he managed to engineer a comical run out (is there any other kind?) of Hewlett in scenes reminiscent of Ian Botham’s famously deliberate running out of a slow-scoring Geoffrey Boycott. Was Peffers perhaps the stooge deployed by the skipper to expedite the removal of his opening partner? Only Saunders will know.
Hewlett was incensed, as much by the decision of umpire Wickham to raise the dreaded finger as by Peffers’ calamitous calling – or failure to call at all. He stormed off, launching various items of equipment at the scoreboards and unsuspecting teammates, later remonstrating firmly with Wickham over post-match pints at The Latchmere – the confrontation reopening wounds from a similar incident between the pair in 2014 when ‘Trigger’ Wickham had jettisoned the same batsman to a stonewall LBW decision.
Whether or not the controversial, presumably premeditated, running out of Hewlett had the desired effect is still a matter of great debate in the (currently non-existent) Hendrick’s clubhouse. His dismissal triggered a middle-order collapse that saw them slip from 91-0 to 125-6, as a previously close but manageable chase swerved into the territory of anxious, nail-biting and various other generic superlatives. It was England’s World Cup final played out in miniature, with only marginally fewer drunk and delirious fans shouting from the grandstands.
Thankfully the team’s very own Ben Stokes, in the form mid-line-up mainstay May, was on hand to deliver his usual degree of ginger-haired hostility. He teed off with reckless abandon as he has done so many times before – most notably during his club-record 143 not out at the tail end of the previous year, when he single-handedly won the season closer despite taking an early blow to the head and suffering what trainee medic Saunders incorrectly diagnosed as ‘Walk and Die’ syndrome. It remains the most scandalously improbable victory ever pulled off by the Hendrick’s XI – and the same type of inspiration was needed again.
He came together with the breezy belligerence of Robinson, who orchestrated a smash’n’grab 18 from 12 balls, before May marched on with school compadre Holland. He struck 10 boundaries on his way to a fiery 53 from 48 balls but would eventually succumb to some diligent bowling, ratcheting up the suspense once more.
The words ‘super over’ were never far from the lips of fraught Hendrick’s contingent watching on from the boundary edge. Meanwhile, Holland and Gilbert appeared completely unperturbed by the score or situation, batting on serenely in singles through the closing overs as the required rate crept ever higher. Cortisol levels were off the charts, but the two men stuck to their task with an unmistakable nonchalance, despite calls from the boundary edge for something even vaguely resembling a sense of urgency.
Nevertheless they kept Hendrick’s just within touching distance of their target. Much like the Great British Pound, the required runs dropped steadily until there were 13 needed from two overs, and then seven from the final six balls. Gettable but, as we’ve seen from the international stage to amateur arenas, things are often not so straightforward. After scampering a single from the first ball, predictions of a run-a-ball over culminating in a super-over showdown grew ever more likely.
Then, when amendments to field placements had been checked and double-checked, Gilbert set the place ablaze. Having never previously shown the slightest inclination to clear the ropes, he casually rocked back, swung hard, and launched the leather high and wide over mid-wicket. Even the couple enjoying a romantic pitch-side evening didn’t need to take cover, as the ball sailed well back into the neighbouring undergrowth.
Cue a euphoric pitch invasion, poorly coordinated high-fiving and wild, unsportsmanly cheering. “Majestic”, “stunning” and “incredible” were just a few of the words Gilbert used to describe his six. “It was one the finest shots ever played to win a game of cricket”, he modestly declared after the match. “I imagine the mere memories of this moment will sustain everyone here until the chilly autumn of their old age. I know I’ll certainly be aroused at the very thought of it for years to come.”
A life-defining day for all involved. Sport played at its very finest.
World Cup? What World Cup