Lemon Bella writes:

Indian Skimmer and I attended this match due to my brother and his drunken bidding at a charity auction. Phil Tufnell was the guest speaker at the auction and was, according to my brother, “rubbish”. If I ever have cause to arrange a guest speaker from the world of cricket, I now know not to book Phil Tufnell.

The man sitting next to us had bought extra umbrellas. I hate umbrellas because all they do is disperse the water so that one patch of you gets incredibly wet, rather than all of you getting slightly damp. However, the man was very insistent that we used one so we did. He had enough for the people behind us to use too, although I think they only used it out of politeness as well.

It rained a lot, so in the end we were quite grateful for the umbrellas. There were also some bright spells in which there was no rain. Interestingly, cricket occurred during the rainy bits and not during the bright spells.

This is most definitely the way forward. Shivering in a rain jacket is so much more enjoyable when there’s cricket to watch, and during the dry spells you can read a book or go in search of pies, so you really don’t need any cricket to watch.

It was clear that the crowd appreciated the innovative and practical way the umpires and regulators dealt with a tricky situation. Personally, I particularly liked the bit where, when a result was imminent, they took everyone off lest the crowd see any kind of “match”. “Matches” are so old-fashioned and only hold the game back.

Tags: match report by King Cricket
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Lemon Bella writes, or rather ‘wrote’. Sorry for the delay. The disorganisation that led to this match report’s delayed appearance is totally, totally uncharacteristic. Totally.

TOTALLY… Anyway, Lemon Bella writes:

Indian Skimmer and I went to the Kent v New Zealand match.

On the first day there was quite a lot of actual cricket and we watched it. Although, when Justin Kemp walked past in a pair of shorts we watched that for a while. We hope the ECB let Justin Kemp stay. Even if they say he can’t, we hope Kent still employ him to occasionally walk past us in a pair of shorts.

At breakfast on the second day our B&B man told us that Michael Vaughan’s time was up. We know better than to dismiss his statements now, so we’re expecting Michael Vaughan to be ousted any time soon.

It rained so hard on our walk in to Canterbury that we turned around and went to the zoo instead of the cricket. We saw a lot of bored animals lying around and scratching themselves. This is exactly what we would have seen at the cricket, so we felt justified in our decision.

In the afternoon there was some sun, so we drove to the cricket ground. They wanted to charge us £10 for parking at the ground despite there being only half a day left. This made us ANGRY so we parked at the bottom of the hill (£2.70) and walked up instead. We told a man about this and he was ANGRY about it too. We don’t know who he is, but he always seems to know what’s going on so we think he may be employed by KCCC in some capacity. We hope it’s something to do with car park pricing policies.

On the final day, we stopped for coffee on the way to the ground. There were New Zealand coaching staff in Café Nero and one of them knocked our coat on the floor. We waited around to see if Brendon McCullum would appear and order a low fat hazelnut latté with extra foam, but he didn’t.

Play was called off once ducks settled on the outfield, so we drove home and watched Stargate: Ark of Truth on DVD and ate chocolate brownies.

Tags: match report by King Cricket
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668 Neighbour Of The Beast sent us what can only be described as a monumental match report. You people are picking on us because we admitted that we felt bad when we had to edit stuff out.

Here’s the shortened version:

As part of this year’s getting out and seeing new grounds thing, I thought I would go and watch Durham at their most southerly fixture. Its always difficult for them this far south.

Despite the recent run of bad weather, ice cream stocks are still low. I couldn’t get either a blue bubblegum or a cherry ice lolly and had to settle for an apple one. I rode out my resentment by sitting in a deck chair. I found the blue stripy assembly and also the ice lolly rather soothing. I heartily recommend both.

Day two had all the makings of a disastrous day - time obsessed man was on my bus. I wasn’t prepared for him being around on a weekend 214 and had sat perilously close and within his firing line. Luckily for me some new-in-town Scousers had drawn the shorter straw by sitting even closer, cheerfully taking the full brunt of his continual circular time-based questions.

They have a WAGs enclosure at Hove (to exhibit them properly, or perhaps to keep them away from the knitwear fanatics?). It’s a wooden construction; a cross between a rabbit hutch and a Swiss-style chalet, with a garden furniture area. It reminded me of the time I spent a summer living in a similar wooden prefab – a ‘cricket pavilion’ as it was apparently described in the sales brochure.

Yesterday, Big Steve walked past, not looking grumpy at all and I told him I thought he was ‘just fantastic’. He said: ‘Thank you’. He must have held onto that thought because today he was just that - fantastic. I then went and visited the beach and the pier. I had several pisco sours for tea.

Tags: match report by King Cricket
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Sarah comma Canterbury writes:

I went to bed late on Sunday evening. It was raining.

My alarm woke me on Monday morning. It was raining even harder.

I had a shower and got dressed; went downstairs; made a coffee; ate a raspberry yoghurt; and looked outside. It was still raining.

I pottered about for a while and watched the Test match when it started.

It stopped raining but by then it was too late. The Nevill Ground was apparently awash and the game abandoned.

Stupid weather.

Tags: match report by King Cricket
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Matt B writes:

I was up in Wolverhampton visiting my Dad. By late afternoon the relentless excitability of my seven year-old Chinese step-sister, the listlessness caused by a new lurgy and the lure of a still sweltering sunny day drove to me escape the house for a little bit of liberty and peace of mind. My destination? A bit of willow on leather healing.

First I had to cross Tettenhall common which was pockmarked by small gangs of local teenage hoodlums congregating in alcoholic communion. But after making it through a solid-looking line of trees, I found myself suddenly at the fine ground of Wolverhampton CC.

The perimeter fencing included the usual odd advertisements for some local insurance company with cricket ball sized holes punched through them. Behind the fencing, in a particularly pleasant arc of the ground, three cars were pulled up with exceedingly elderly couples sitting in the front seats, silently taking in the day’s play - presumably doing what they’ve done for the last 100 years. In fact one of the cars consisted of three women - two in their eighties sitting on deck chairs beside the car and another inside who was at least 130.

After making sure I didn’t move behind the bowler’s arm, I continued towards the clubhouse. Turns out the opposition were Leamington CC, who I’m sure used to be in the lower Warwickshire League along with my former team Moseley Ashfield CC. Arriviste bastards.

I wanted a nosy in the clubhouse and after gently hurdling the 50cm high white fencing that was no doubt there to make the spectators in front of the pavilion feel important, I peered inside. I was to learn that the groundsman had sold his house to pay for the new clubhouse, which was to include, on the top floor, accommodation purpose-built for him. Whether he was forced into this money-saving scheme or actually wanted his own tower, I cannot say.

Remembering that a King Cricket disciple had claimed that TVs in pavilions show every sport other than cricket, I noted that a play-off between northern heavyweights Darlington and Rochdale was temptingly flickering in the corner.

A perusal of the walls revealed a 1908 combined team photo featuring the club captain’s Select XI versus a WG Grace Select XI. Totally dominating the picture was an absolutely massive man with an enormous, wild-looking face and huge, black beard. The scorecard said he didn’t get much in either innings and I wondered if the people of Wolverhampton had been subjected to one of his famed bellicose rants.

On skipping over the little fencing on the other side, I noticed a sign saying ‘This enclosure is for club members only’. I didn’t care - I was off home for tea.

Tags: match report by King Cricket
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The Atheist from Are You A Left-Arm Chinaman? writes:

I was excited about going to see my first match of the season. This would be a perfect opportunity to wear my sun-hat without the usual sense of shame associated with over-keen headgear. Although its powers are potent, it didn’t prevent pre-match embarrassment on the trains.

I caught the eye of a busker at Monument Station. The hat could not prevent the subsequent blushing and awkwardness. I also saw three grown men play with a remote control car in a car park. They were displaying the sort of dedication that the building of mighty, pink beer-bellies requires.

I also attempted to buy a pair of cheapo sunglasses in the Kennington Tesco. It failed me. I suggest you boycott Tesco when purchasing your fashionable shades in the future.

I noticed that many previous correspondents voiced a preference for pies. I was determined not to eat pie. It was summer; it was sunny; it was hot. This was not pie weather. Maybe a salad? Or an honest sandwich even.

The Oval disagreed.

“I think you’ll find that climactic conditions favour the pie” said the ground, “so that is all you shall have.”

Bloody know-it-all stadiums.

The one saving grace was the pie-monger’s resemblance to an old work colleague. Every Monday morning, we would gather around her office with our plastic cups of coffee as she regaled us with stories of her weekend’s sexual adventures. Her tales, if matter-of-fact in their delivery, were vivid and precise in their detail.

“He did this, which I didn’t like. Then he did that, which I did like.”

We would all try to empathise as we reflected on our own weekends of half-completed DIY projects and trips to the supermarket.

We used to wonder whether there was a bloke, in some other part of London, providing an equally meticulous account.

“She did this, which I didn’t like. Then she shut up, which I did like.”

He was probably sitting behind me. He shouted a lot. “Eh-ssex! Eh-ssex! EH-SSEX!” he would say. Sometimes, he would forget the rest of the words. Those moments were like buttered bliss.

In any case, I got very sunburnt. I also saw a nice aeroplane.

Tags: match report by King Cricket
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Match reports are still welcome. Keep them fairly short and remember, don’t mention the actual cricket.

668, Neighbour of the Beast writes:

With weather set on sunny we set off for Essex with the hope of catching up with a few sub-Saharan migrants, chirping and exhibiting the usual seasonal territoriality.

It was our first time at Chelmsford - seems to be a nice ground full of singing greenfinches, trees, nice stewards. It also has a river next to it where you can picnic as long as you bring a rug. Dan did.

You could tell it was hot, in no time there was someone collapsed round the back of the stand, receiving medical attention.

Dan, who is new to cricket, liked Tim Murtagh’s batting. He scored more than most ‘good on paper’ batters, as did Nash, who had a runner. It’s nice to see that when there are three batsmen gathered together they still need to touch gloves simultaneously.

Nel was as quiet as a man given six disciplinary points tends to be. This was unfortunate, but he did get narked, where stumps were hit and there was some gratifying cap-snatching action after a foot fault over. The real Nel lurks still.

Several common terns flew across the ground (a cricketing bird ‘tick’). The Ford ground has a good selection of overflying birds, all conspicuously indifferent to the action below. It took Dan until tea to be happy with the scoreboard – a classic non beginner’s piece.

Danny Evans and Billy Godleman felt it necessary to wear jumpers. Philander ably took over Nel’s mantle of stroppy sub-Saharan bowler.

The ice cream stands were all closed at 4.30! So a big minus there for the ground. There were also no recycling facilities that we could find for our bottles. The post tea ground was rather quiet - no-one clapped the Essex captain on his return to the pavilion.

A sparrowhawk menaced the starlings who earlier had been conspicuously indifferent to the match while they foraged on the outfield. As for the other sub-Saharan migrants, the nightingales were in full song, and there was a grasshopper warbler at our campsite. It sang all night. What stamina these little scraps of fluff have. Have they thought of crossing them with fast bowlers?

Tags: match report by King Cricket
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Match reports are still welcome. James writes:

The start had been delayed, but when I arrived John Holder and Nigel Cowley were already on their way to the wicket, despite the fact that the main cover was still in place and it was raining quite hard. They gave up and came back and since the only cover afforded to spectators is in the main pavilion, I found myself scurrying inside.

It is a miserable place which has the feeling of the Fifties in both décor and poverty. The Long Room belies its name and the windows are heavily curtained which must severely restrict sightlines if you are tempted to watch from its confines. Behind the Long Room is the Members’ Room whose only concession to the century in which we find ourselves is an enormous TV screen which continuously shows every sport but cricket.

The members sit around at round tables bemoaning the fact that Cardiff is to host the first Ashes Test next summer and that they don’t have a Test. They completely fail to get the point that their stadium (sic) is pre-war at best and unacceptable in this century.

The loudspeaker system employed at the ground is fully functional in the toilets but mysteriously absent in the Members’ Room and so if you want to watch any cricket you have to keep dashing outside to see if it has stopped raining. This is irritating since the number of chairs available is strictly limited and to make this excursion risks losing a hard earned seat.

There were several rain interruptions during the day. At 6pm it stopped raining and the umpires announced that play would begin at 6.15pm. Why wait fifteen minutes? The watery evening sun was certainly not going to dry the outfield during this delay. The umpires then announced that despite the loss of thirty overs during the day only four more would be bowled. I then drove home during the next ninety minutes in brilliant sunshine.

Tags: match report by King Cricket
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Suave writes from La Republique:

The rain had stopped when I got off the tube at Regent’s Park, and I was looking forward to a nice afternoon definitely not watching cricket.

Unfortunately, it started lashing it down as I was halfway through the park. I got soaked and battered by bloody hailstones. I felt like I was being peppered by the West Indian pace attack of the mid to late Seventies.

I wasn’t really dressed for it, as it was cold and windy. I really should have listened to KC when he said that April means double trousers.

When I got to the game, the fella on the ticket stand told me that there’s no guarantee of play, and no refund. I paid the £14, and swiftly made my way to the Lord’s shop.

Inside, they had all sorts of really badly designed Lord’s clothing, that I imagine the old duffers in the MCC bacon and egg would love. No-one under the age of 50 would buy it, I’m sure.

At this point Suave purchases an alarming number of things. Here they are in list form: Long-sleeved England Twenty20 shirt, England one-day shirt, England Test shirt, Wisden Almanack and a ‘Gregg Chappell Albion sun hat’. He then takes a short breather with a pint of Marston’s Smooth, before continuing.

I then made a trip round to the Middlesex CCC shop to see if they had any nice things. They didn’t.

I felt a bit bad about not buying anything, so I bought Fatty Batter by Michael Simkins.

After this, I had a pie. It was called a Chicken Of Aragon (named as such because it’s made of chicken and tarragon, and one of the wives of King Henry XIII was called Catherine of Aragon). It was fantastic, so I bought a hot coffee, a pint of Marston’s and another one. Two pies! I bet Rob Key wishes he were my pal.

One supremely posh old boy with really big gold rings on his pinkies stood in my way when I wanted to watch some cricket. I asked him if he would kindly move and he apologised profusely, saying: “Sorry dear boy, it’s early in the season and I seem to lose my etiquette in the same way a player loses his form.” Off he toddled, looking the worse for wear to drink. I liked him.

Some cricket happened, although I was busy reading Fatty Batter.

Tags: match report by King Cricket
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Mel writes:

I arrived at the home of the Oxford University Cricket Club with a sore shoulder and a light wallet. The former was due to packing a heavy bag to cover all weather eventualities (although in hindsight the mosquito repellent was a tad unnecessary). The latter was due to forking out £12 to park in Oxford city centre for five hours.

A large number of spectators failed to materialise (as did the players - the weather was not good), and I found that upon arrival I comprised precisely 50% of the crowd. My fellow specator was a dead ringer for Germaine Greer, which was unfortunate as he was a man.

I struck up a conversation, only to discover that Germaine had once been the Dutch national team’s wicket-keeper, and so I was kept amused for a considerable time whilst he tried to teach me the correct pronunciation of Ryan Ten Doeschate.

We companionably ate our sandwiches (mine from M&S, his provided by Rugby Travelodge where he had spent the previous night). Coincidentally, we had both also brought along a piece of fruit (he a pear, me an apple). Conversation had moved on to Ruud Gullitt, Johan Cruyff and the Dutch Resistance movement during World War II as the clouds cleared, and I prayed that play would begin before I ran out of Dutch-related conversation.

He must have sensed that I was on the verge of bursting into “Tulips from Amsterdam” and announced that he was bursting in an entirely different manner and went in search of the toilet. I was quite relieved myself, as I only had Denise van Outen left up my sleeve.

Tags: match report by King Cricket
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