THE MIKE
MARTIN MEMORIAL MATCH 2016
MATCH REPORT
After receiving my 5am alarm call
from the jackdaws in the valley gutter (ill-considered nesting site m’thinks..)
and the starlings in the eaves, chez
PK, and having thrown open the shutters, I was greeted by a sodden steely
greyness.
Matters meteorological had not
improved by the time PK and I reached the ground later that morning. Somewhat bolstered by Rossco’s marvellous
weather app, we donned our waterproofs and made light of Neilo’s ‘nightmare’
ups. After yet another sacrifice (two
Marlboro Golds) to the Theoi Meteoroi, benevolent Zyphrus , no doubt egged on by
Michael himself, chased away the misery and we were set fair for the rest of
the day.
I shall leave any ovine eulogies
to others, but, suffice to say, this year’s (English) lamb appeared to go down
a stormer. Aided by fine contributions
from Vanny and Lu (and PK with the secret bottle of Montagny Premier Cru),
lunch was hugely enjoyed and, having agreed on sides and Skippers, Jamie
Mackwood and I tossed on the square and the 21/21 contest got underway soon
after 3pm (miracle!).
I have no idea who won the toss,
but I and my Skilbecks took to the field. First blood was taken by Ollie Akdeniz
(a municipality and district governate in Mersin, southern Turkey) with Nathan
Fox (x!) caught, with the tally reading 18. The next three batsmen, Arthur
Mynott, Jamie Mack & Kit Ross all scored 20 plus, with Mackwood retiring
with the maximum 25. Despite at least
three dropped catches (the author being culpable), all but one of the five
wickets went to hand (one, to dismiss Zac Keeling by someone called ‘Bastard’
in the scorebook) and The Grigson XI ran out of overs with 101 runs accumulated.
Scones, hand crafted by Captain
Mackwood, Jo Jo’s bodgelies and Annabel’s cake adorned the tea table (thanks to
them all), which was just as well, having
had a protracted gap of nearly two hours since our last meal.
Stomach gripes assuaged, the
Pryke twins, Algy and Guy, opened the Skilbeck assault. It must be hard, when
coached at school to adopt considered and technical batting, to adjust to the
urgency and pressure of the frenetic MMMM, and indeed, after two overs, the
scoreboard read 3 runs, one of which was a wide. Just as the spectating Skilbecks were
invoking the help of the Extras Gods (no Greek translation available),
redemption (Elios?), personified by the avatar known as Guy Denning, was thrown
the ball. “Ahhhhh, 11 off the over” sighed
the Skilbecks a short while later, only to be then presented by a maiden (yes a
maiden in the MMMM!) by none other than Rossco (an over without an extra from
Paulo, let alone a bloody maiden, has to be some sort of record). Guy Pryke was
first to go with a creditable 14 and our so-named doomsday machine Ant Lund
followed after his first ball (leaving wife Zoe wondering what all the blustery
bravado spouted by her husband for the last 20 years had all been about!). However, the Skilbecks rallied (both Harry
Langham and Bertie Hanna retiring with the maximum) and despite some fine
catching on the part of Jake Clifton, they passed the required total with three
overs to spare.
Excitement continued after the
game when Zak Keeling locked himself out of his running car. This gave Ant a chance to prove to his wife
(who had long departed in search of excitement) that he was good at something;
as coat hangers, hacksaw blades and rubber bands were requested. In the end PK
had to drive home – brow furiously knotted by Poseidon (notoriously grumpy) –
to retrieve spare keys.
We all eventually reconvened at
The Bull for much needed refreshment, where I mounted a table to emit my
customary few words and present the cup to myself. However, just as I was stepping down toward
my waiting cider*, Toby Mynott arose and read the MMMM rules (apparently sent
him by Grigson who was slumming it at La Colombe d’Or in St.Paul de Vence), one
of which, he maintained, is that all players, including the wickie must bowl at
least one over. As a result, I remounted
the table and presented the trophy to Jamie Mackwood, who is a girl who makes
scones. I shall debate this with Neilo, who, unfortunately for me, is in charge
of engraving and also a cousin of the fiendish scone-lady of Dallington
herself.
A wonderful day
P.S. Next year will be the 20th
Mike Martin Memorial Match. Let’s make
it a corker.
* The Chairman has been struggling
over the last year or so with acute distention, violent flatulation and extreme
discomfort brought about by the consumption of ales. From Harveys, through Guinness, to innocuous
lagers, and despite Hippocratic
ministries, the journey has been one of mounting gloom (so much mounting on
these pages). However, he did survive,
with no ill effect, two pints of Magners.
Huzzah! It’s a tad sweet for me,
so if anyone can recommend something more tart the Chairman would be much
bolstered.
