We are a London-based cricket club. Although we don't have our own pitch, we usually play our home fixtures in Greenwich Park. This blog records our regular triumphs and occasional failures.

Tuesday 3 June 2008

Who ate all the runs?


Well, I don't know about you but I thought it went very well on Sunday.
Yes, it was a daunting target.
Always is at Finchley.
But we got stuck in like true, fearless Cincinnatians, just going for it like the good old days.
Big Jim showed the way, eyeing up a big one to long leg.
One minute, it was there. The next, it was despatched. Never seen a piece of marble cake go so fast.
Then there was the vice-skip.
I mean, OK, he's not technically perfect. Might even have been LBW in front of the cress sandwiches.
But my, what a whizz with the teapot. Shots all round.
"Who want's a fill-up? Tim? Here you go! Adam? No problem," he said, swivelling round to show that even with a stance like John Wayne waiting for his next horse he can twist and turn like the best of them. Mind, Dan played a blinder. He hoovered up every crumb. Nothing got passed him.
Oh, and there was our very own marathon man.
"Oi, I'm now the fastest one in the team!" said Andy O.
He was too. Those chicken and ham sarnies have never disappeared off a plate that quick before.
Pity he dropped that easy one. I thought it was a dolly but he's never been that fond of cheese and tomato.
He could learn a bit about stickability from Tim R. Solid, dependable, he didn't go for big bites. Just stuck in there, quietly munching away at his plate while his brother Jack, well, safe as houses as usual.
Anyone else would have spilled that mini-bakewell but not our Jack.
The only blot on the tablecloth was the absence of home-made brownies etc.
Sadly, both Tim R and Jack told their better halves not to bother with the the oven gloves this week.
Dicing with death there, boys. Do you want to get dropped off the top table?
Apparently, there was some cricket either side of the tea.
Some lot called Finchley clubbed 238 for 5 off 40 while we let them win, chugging along to a creditable 112 for 9.
Some rude Aussie bloke called Frank got three for 34 as if we care.
But Rockie did us proud, turning away back to his mark oblivious while the rest of us celebrated a stumping off his bowling.
But hey, it's only a game.
Anyone for a cuppa?