The Batsman, The Penguin......And Other Cricket Moments

Hello there, Hope you're feeling well today.

Me? Let's just say I've started writing this at 4:02am on a bank holiday Monday morning. Insomnia still rules.

But let's talk about yesterday and when hunting for a thing to do discovered that close to where we are renting at the moment there was going to be a cricket match near where I live. No flashy pyrotechnics and music of the twenty twenty. Just an amateur friendly between a few teams to while away the warm British summer Sunday. For once the cliché became reality.

The home team was the Barry Wanderers Cricket Club, who apparently were living up to their name given that we were in the nearby village of Sully and in a late change the I suppose showbiz divas of South East Wales Cricket that is Barry West End.

And just to explain how good the weather was. Before I took my spot I photographed this of the nearby sea.

Remember this is South Wales Not The South of France

I walked to the spot and took my place.

Third tree from the right

So the classic British summer scene was in place.

The other of course being pouring rain

Before I chat about the game properly I should mention that brought this with me for the tea interval.

William Faulkner - Go Down,Moses

Not only will I claim to be the first man to bring a William Faulkner novel to a cricket game but you'll note that amongst the Batsmen there's a Penguin (and if you think I brought this book down specifically for this moment......well yes).

The Wanderers were the first to bat in this forty over game. Leaving the divas of Barry West End to field. There was motivational noises of encouragement throughout. Plus the occasional other comment.

"The ball's heavier than when I was in France for the holiday."

"Well that's French cricket" (Bet he voted for Brexit).

Action came early. The first wicket was caught and bowled for six. 6-1

More encouragement "Go on Rees!" (or is that "Go on Rhys!"?) . As he was fielding.

It has to be said that the teams consisted of men with a wide age range. This is a good thing. It also explained this remark.

"He looks like Brian Close". It was a statement that aged the speaker. And as I understood it it aged me as well.

After the first overs by the fast bowlers of the team along came the spinners, including "the Indian George Clooney" that was shouted to him by his team mates. How this would make him bowl better I couldn't say.

At the other end was a big balding guy.....who was rather good. This I mentioned to the fielder who'd moved to the position near where I was.

To Wait For One Ball In A Cricket Game Hoping You Won't Drop It

The guy in the picture (who I think was called Andy - more of him later) tells me that the bowlers name was Des and he was a good all rounder. Proven in that he'd got the second Wanderers wicket bowled. 56-2.

Now for insect moments. Given that it was a hot summer's day they were all likely to come out including the ahh....




and the "get it off me!"




Because of where they were situated there were nearby some generators surrounded by a fence. Invariably a shot went into this.

And of course it was locked. No matter. "Andy" was on hand with a hosepipe and was able to move the ball towards him so he could reach it. Cue the jokes which I'll just leave to your imagination.

A ball is caught 91-3.

Our friend Andy then bowls. Another ball is caught. 123-4.

A further wicket as a ball is flicked stylishly......straight to the grateful hands of the fielder 136-5.

Two further wickets tumble. It's 163 for 7. However the score has been ticking along and in the last few overs the Wanderers move up a gear with boundaries all over the place.

The innings finishes at 213 for 7. Unsure how to call this. But for an interlude let's see another picture of the sea by Sully.

But now back to the game.

And you'll notice that I've taken a different position

The West End innings commences. The first bowler for the Wanderers is a young man called Mark. Shouts of "Marco" go around the pitch and, most surprisingly of all Roman emperor "Marcus Aurelius"The home team then winning the battle of team banter. Going all cultural and BBC4 on us.

Quick aside: The game revealed I needed a new pair of trainers.

A score is speedily built up. 38 when the first wicket is bowled. Cue our friend Andy to take centre stage.

"Take it easy on a grumbling Tummy". Probably the most confusing and disturbing statement of the afternoon is then shouted out.

Apart from when stalled by a couple of Wanderers spinners (of which I'll come back to later) our friend Andy and his partner decide it's time for Barry West End Showtime. Boundaries occur thick and fast and with ease. Including.....

Boys were asked to find the ball somewhere behind those trees.

They played on with the spare balls in the table in the clubhouse....at that moment it meant there was two balls left.

Our friend Andy had a missed run out and a shot that was skied upwards but not caught. Another ball went through the wicketkeeper ...4 byes. Luck it would appear was with our friend Andy.

(A quick aside the Wanderers captain was the wicket keeper. During the match he changed his position so that someone else took that spot. A brave thing to have done)

The score moved to 159 for one. The encouragement and geeing up by the Wanderers team seemed lukewarm. There could only be one result....until.....our friend Andy gets caught out.

His partner continues in the showtime mode. But he tries for a sweep shot and like Dick Van Dyke's cockney accent misses. Bowled. 180 for three.

Then another wicket. 180 for four.....you don't think?

A man called Timmo is brought on to bowl and gets a wicket. Bringing on "Father Christmas" was apparently the answer. 190 for five. You remember the two spinners who halted the onward march of the early order batsman for the West End? Their work has come back to bite the divas on the backside. As there were just two overs left.

Down to the wire

Rees (or is it Rhys?) is bowled. 198 for six. Two overs become one and one over becomes too much thanks to Wanderers tight bowling and fielding. They were tired when they appeared losing but the prospect for victory motivated them.

202 for six. Wanderers win

It was free incidentally and certainly enjoyable. If I can watch another match this season I will.

Thankyou Barry Wanderers Cricket Club and Barry West End Cricket Club. It was a good, enjoyable summer fun.

Until the next time.

In Which I Chat About Cricket On The Radio,H P Lovecraft And Being Misled By An American President

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

Have gone through a number of ebooks yesterday. About as varied as they could be.

So let's start with Can Anyone Hear Me? An account of BBC radio's Test Match Special Abroad by Peter Baxter a producer and commentator. I am a fan of listening to cricket commentary much more than watching it on television. It's a sport with gaps, and because of those gaps the commentators potentially talk about anything without losing track of the game. This is what makes cricket, and particularly cricket on the BBC different as, so far at least, there are no commercials.

Of course the Test Match Special team of the Seventies to the nineties has assumed such mythic status that there is a tea mug of a photo of these men. I have that mug....unfortunately packed awaiting the move. I've also read Peter Baxter's previous book with regard to their exploits in Britain and the best complement I can give this one is that it was enjoyed just as much. The closest way it can be described is as an after dinner speech done by the editor of Wisden.

Needless to say it's is an acquired taste. You would need to like cricket on the radio in the late eighties early nineties. It's like a book on wine, not just any wine but white white, and not just any white wine but from the outer limits of outer Mongolia. But if you have that taste I'd highly recommend it.

So once that was finished the next ebook turned out to be an H P Lovecraft short story Through The Gates Of The Silver Key. I'd never read him before, as I prefer my horror writing to be of the quiet chill down the spine variety. Still he has a reputation as being a master of his craft and I was curious.

Well it was rubbish. Regular readers to this blog will know that I try as much as possible to avoid giving out the details of a book as to avoid spoiling things but honestly I wouldn't know where to start describing this one. All I will say upon finishing this story was to seriously wonder whether Lovecraft was on drugs (a quick check on the internet suggested surprisingly not).

There is a twist to this tale which I could see (even if a ghost was in the way) a mile off. Truly the most horrific thing about it all was that this story actually got published in the first place.

So dear reader, if you approach an ebook with the title "A Book Lover's Holidays In The Open" what would you expect to be reading? Me I'd be expecting a man chatting about his holidays whilst buying and reading books which he'd also chat about. The sort of thing that I, a lover of reading would appreciate.

But no.Former president Theodore Roosevelt devotes just one, ONE chapter to his holiday reading and that's that for books thankyou very much. It's like creating a work called An Opera Lover's Holidays in Europe and only describing fat people expensively singing once. I tell you if I was alive when it was originally published (1916) I'd have demanded my money back under the Trade's Descriptions Act.

So what does he talk about as he wanders around the world? Well how much he's a fan of various safari parks but as far as I could gather really just to act literally as a feeder park for hunters such as him so that the stock is constant. There are chapters on hunting that just simply take your breath away by how mundane he describes the act of killing an animal.As if afterwards he's off to shops to get some milk

He's also racist. The N word is used and in a telling remark he describes native helpers in an African hunt showing more effort than "civilised" people. He didn't seem to realise that what he essentially said was that the native African people were better than the white guys. Oh the irony.

As for Native Americans? Well he is a fan of native American culture being kept and that they should have an education (including being converted to Christianity) but for the moment just to prepare them for menial labour until the day comes when they be assimilated into proper society. Let's not forget here that native Americans had to deal with not immigration but what was really an invasion from across the sea.

Let me take this further. If you are a white American how would you react if you read a sentence like this?

The White people have made long strides in advance during the last fifty years thanks to the presence of Latinas in their neighbourhood.

You'd be offended right. What if I was to tell you that in the book Theodore Roosevelt uses exactly the same sentence except for "White People" read Navajos and "Latinas" read white men (white women apparently being of no help whatsoever)?

Theodore Roosevelt reveals himself to being a racist, and possibly even worse than that a patronising racist. Unacceptable views wrapped in a civilised veneer. It possibly could be the best way to describe this book.

My Kindle it appears has a sense of humour. For the next ebook to randomly chosen to be read is Orations by John Quincy Adams who was also a President of the United States. Let's hope I like it.

Until the next time.

In Which I Support Manchester United For The Day And Other Couch Potato News

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

I have cancelled my Sky Sports subscription now that the final West Ham/Boleyn game has come and gone. However there is about three weeks or so before the channels are taken off my screen and so I won't deny I've watched/recorded other things.But these have been football matches, and as it's the tail end of the season not that many at that.

With one exception.

Because after having made myself a cup of tea and porridge once I'd woken up yesterday (Saturday). I plonked my backside onto the sofa and watched a recording of the previous night's Natwest T20 game between Essex and Surrey. Cricket wise although I must admit it's normally a sport I'd rather follow on the radio the team I do follow is Essex. This is because when I was a child they would play a Sunday League game at Valentine's Park in Ilford near where I'd lived when (much) younger.

Of course many things have changed since then. For example 20/20 cricket didn't exist, and you didn't then have to wonder how a bank bailed out by the taxpayer is sponsoring a sports competition. Still, Essex is the team I support and so the early morning was spent watching the match.

Essex however lost. But despite the never knowingly undersold quality of Sky Sports commentary, done by people I suspect annoyed that they didn't have the Test Match Cricket gig, I'd lost interest well before that.Should've just stuck to watching football recordings.

The only piece of real energy today was I made a quick trip to Porthcawl for a bit of shopping and a quick trip to the library. The weather was grim, though Porthcawl can still give a good picture no matter how miserable the day.

Fifty Shades Of Grey

As hinted I've borrowed a new book from the library which is this:

The Three Degrees - Paul Rees

This is about the three Afro Caribbean players who started to play for West Bromwich Albion in the late seventies. Their experiences, including the racism which was (if you consider the bananas) literally thrown at them. It should be an interesting read.

Once all the Porthcawl stuff was done it was time to go home and get ready to become a Manchester United fan for the day.

Explanations for the unknowing are in order. At the end of the Premier League season West Ham had finished seventh. A situation which meant they had missed out of inclusion into next season's Europa League judged on that alone. Their only chance was if Manchester United,already in the competition having finished the season in fifth, won the FA cup that they were contesting that day against Crystal Palace. So it meant that yesterday I was like a lot of Manchester United fans in Britain, having never been to Manchester let alone see them play there.

It also meant that I would be watching an FA Cup Final and rooting for the favourite.

As it happens I've never hated Manchester United like other fans do. That goes for Chelsea and Manchester City too. I think it's because I'm old enough to remember when these teams failed. When they got relegated and the years of empty trophy wise.

(Incidentally speaking of the years of empty the best title of a football book ever was Manchester United Ruined My Life by Colin Schindler. Written by a City supporter during United's recent successful period and before the oil money transformed the blue side.It says everything about being a fan when things are not going well)

It doesn't mean I root for them normally (after all in most matches they are the favourite). It doesn't mean I'm immune to cracking jokes about them. It's just that there's no bitter bile that comes from my lips when they are the subject of conversation.

And as I'm rambling on the subject I don't have this hatred towards Millwall either that each others fans are apparently inserted into the DNA. To be honest I feel neutral towards them. A sort of Charlton Athletic state of being.

Tottenham come close. In recent years they've become really annoying. There's something particular about their chairman Daniel Levy that is really dislikeable. When there are shots him on the television during a game, he always looks as if he's about to produce a white cat whilst expecting the arrival of James Bond.

But of course ultimately, there's always Arsenal. I've a group of friends known since childhood from north London who have been rabid fans of the Gunners and have always sort to remind me of their successes and West Ham's failures. Remember one Sunday when I received a phone call gloating over some embarrassing Hammers defeat.For some reason - can't recall now - was in bed laid low by some bug so there was no way I could respond properly. So waited patiently for years until West Ham beat them and I rang them to gloat. I was ...ahem ...thirty five at the time.

I am a fifty two year old man now. But football,and only football has the capacity of turning me into a ten year old boy. When we beat Arsenal in the first game of the season just ended. I viewed it as the long awaited triumph of good over the forces of evil.

But anyway back to yesterday. There was one more match to see before my (temporary) team's game. I'd never watched a Scottish Cup Final Live before and having Sky Sports did give me that opportunity so I took it.It was between Hibernian and Rangers. The latter was recently promoted next season to continue their rivalry with Celtic. A confrontation I can now best describe as being like Cardiff and Swansea with added religion.

Spoiler alert: It was unquestionably the best thing I saw yesterday. Hibernian won 3-2. Thanks in no small part to Anthony Stokes. Apparently he's on loan from Celtic so I assume now that Rangers fans think that he was on an undercover mission to spoil their day. David Gray, their captain scored an injury time and you saw what it meant in his face  and the faces of players,the manager an the fans that the hoodoo of cup failure was now lifted.

Speaking of the Hibernian fans some of them invaded the pitch after the game as did a few Rangers ones. If the TV pictures were anything to go by the wringing of hands at the situation was mainly overdone as although I'm sure there were a few apes of either team it was mainly a case of the Hibs fans being drunk with happiness at their victory. It was the Hibernian manager, Alan Stubbs, who said it best. For when the Sky Sports interviewer tried to get him to condemn the situation he said though not condoning the pitch invasion he understood it. That's a man with a sense of perspective.

By the way Sunshine On Leith is probably the best football anthem ever. If you can watch on Youtube the scenes of the fans singing it after the team received the cup then do it. Your hairs will rise from the back of your neck at the emotion of it all

So to the FA Cup Final and time to watch my team play. Well the first half was, barring a few decisions from the referee Mark Clattenburg that helped United (what a fine match official he is), dull. Time travels fast in a football game when you're bored. It makes your mind wander as well to ask important questions. Such why did Alan Pardew the Crystal Palace manager wear a Triffid on his lapel? And why did the Captain of my team, Wayne Rooney,have a hair transplant when he seems to have settled for a hairstyle best described as US marine?

In the second half Palace, then much to my relief United scored. So by 90 mins the match had to go into extra half time.Then there was a long pause on the TV for about fifteen to twenty minutes whilst I went to have dinner with the other inhabitants of the house otherwise known as my wife and daughter. Unsure what my wife was doing whilst I was watching the football. Daughter was making a hat for her Design and Technology lesson at school and no, I don't understand what a hat has got to do with technology either.

Unpaused the first half of extra time was unmemorable other than for the sending off of Chris Smalling for a tackle more suited to Twickenham. In the second half though my team dominated the game and Jesse Lindgard scored an absolute cracker of a winner.

So my team had won by 2-1. But now it's Sunday my real team is now in the Europa League. So Manchester United ......thank you.

And as it's Sunday I suspect I'd better get acquainted with my wife and daughter again.

Until the next time.