Match report

Surrey v Lancashire 40-over match report

Sam writes:

Grey skies greeted us on Sunday morning as we prepared to head to Croydon for the first 40 over match of the English domestic season.

The day almost got off to a disastrous start. My girlfriend put some potatoes on to boil and told me that in ten minutes I should add some garlic to them. She got out of the shower to find me preparing to sprinkle raw garlic over said spuds. I didn’t know she meant fry the garlic first.

Arriving at East Croydon station we endured the 20-minute walk to Whitgift School. Sunday morning on Croydon High Street is not something I would recommend to anyone. “If there is a hell, this is what it looks like,” my other half sighed.

The weather improved dramatically as we entered the ground for free, courtesy of a friend’s borrowed membership card and a ‘guest pass’.

Roary Lion was there.

We wondered how you get the job of being Roary Lion. We concluded that the audition would mainly involve doing a ‘cocky walk’ and demonstrating that you can wear a lion’s head and a tail while holding a cricket bat.

Whitgift is quite a small ground but on our customary ‘wander’ before the toss we managed to find ourselves in the wrong place.

A man in a suit asked us if we were “with the tent people.” We mumbled something and shuffled off to set up camp under a tree.

It soon became clear we were sat directly between the most annoying people in the ground. On one side was a group of men who appeared to be placing bets with each other on the outcome of every single ball of the match.

On the other, an excitable teenage boy who loudly exclaimed “OH MY GOD THAT WAS CLOSE” every time the ball went anywhere near the stumps, bat, wicketkeeper or boundary. He also kept up a tireless commentary of cricketing facts, 95% of which were completely incorrect. And he kept referring to Surrey all-rounder Matt Spriegel as ‘Springle’.

At half time I went to get a cup of tea and walked past Alec Stewart.

Send your match reports to king@kingcricket.co.uk and on no account mention the cricket itself.

Mumbai Indians v Chennai Super Kings, IPL final match report

Alex writes:

I watched the pre-match sunglasses-fest/pose-athon while tucking into Kashmiri lamb shank rogan josh. Unfortunately, my reluctantly embraced ‘no beer’ policy meant I enjoyed the main event in my room, accompanied by a bottle of Bisleri bottled water.

What I like to call “the IPL ad endurance challenge” really demands something stronger. Indian IPL advertising makes you think that the “more ties!” ad is on low rotation in the UK.

Being as it was the final, there was a wider range of advertisers than for the league matches, which typically featured the same three ads repeated a billion times each. For this match, there were as many as seven different ads and there was even one I hadn’t seen before.

I’m quite familiar with it now.

Sadly, neither of my favourite ads appeared: the Fanta ad (I fancy the girl) nor the Havells ad where a guy hangs someone, makes a glum expression and then walks home. That one’s a classic that would probably be less impressive if I understood the voiceover at the end.

IPL third place play-off match report

Alex writes:

Is there any sequence of words in the English language more exciting than ‘third place play-off’?

I’m currently working on the horrifying theory that my internal issues might be caused by beer. This is not a theory I’m keen to see proven.

Deccan Chargers v Chennai Super Kings, IPL semi final match report

Alex writes:

British Airways have given me the gift of time. First they offered me a flight 10 days after the one that was cancelled. Now, their phone line is so busy I am not even allowed to wait on hold.

What to do with this time? I decide to get a shave. I can get one at my hotel for 15 times the price of where I’d previously had one in a less-touristy part of town. Maybe it’ll be 15 times as good.

It is exactly the same.

The hotel has a calmer but less fun atmosphere. If there is one area where the hotel shave experience is superior, it is in the fact that the barber doesn’t have disconcertingly long nails on his left hand – the ‘arse hand’ for those that don’t know about these things.

After such an exhausting day, I fall asleep during Deccan Chargers’ run-chase. Fortunately, Brian phones to ask if he’s woken me up.

The next morning, I am still unwell enough to be discomfited, but not sufficiently sick to warrant calling a doctor.

British Airways are still too busy to let me wait on hold, so I busy myself growing more facial hair in order that I might have an activity for the next day.

Mumbai Indians v Royal Challengers Bangalore, IPL semi final match report

Alex writes:

Having made my daily and pointless call to British Airways, I set about persuading myself that it was somehow acceptable to stay in a hotel far more expensive than any I’d ever spent a night in before.

Having accomplished this to some extent, I prepared for my evening of eating and watching the IPL semi final.

“Do you want to try the buffet?” asked the waiter.

My bowels had twice woken me in the night, so this seemed a bad idea. A greater number of different dishes increased the likelihood that I would eat something that disagreed with me. It’s a numbers thing.

“You get unlimited beer with it,” added the waiter and it suddenly occurred to me that more dishes meant less of each one. Surely that was a good thing?

While waiters and customers hovered watching the match, I ate too much – largely because staff would repeatedly bring me the dishes I had purposefully rejected in a vain attempt to “be sensible”.

After a slightly disconcerting conversation with a man from Kolkata about cheerleaders which repeatedly featured the phrase “white skin” I went to bed.

At 6am, I resolved to eat the blandest, least enticing food until such time as BA let me go home. Then I went downstairs and had puri bhaji, sambar and pork medallions in red wine jus for my breakfast.

Royal Challengers Bangalore v Deccan Chargers match report

Alex writes:

I wanted to watch an IPL match, so I went to India. I made Tronco come with me. Tronco is a massive cricket fan. Asked to name some England players, he managed three in 30 minutes: Ian Botham, Graham Gooch and Adam Gilchrist.

Arriving at Bangalore Airport on my own at 4.30am, I was not welcomed by a driver from my hotel, as planned. I walked the 20 yards to the taxi rank and picked up my first friend en route. He jabbered away about hotels and I ignored him. At one point, I said ‘no thank you’ which he took as meaning that I wanted him to get into the taxi with me and charge me four times the taxi fare for doing fuck all.

In the end, I paid 200 rupees less than the hotel pick-up. Result. All I had to do to ensure this saving was maintain calm when the taxi wouldn’t stop as I requested and participate in a protracted slanging match.

At one point, my new friend phoned someone and mentioned my hotel. Images of being greeted by an angry mob quickly subsided when it became clear he had no idea where my hotel was. Upon arrival, he threatened to steal my bags and take them back to the airport unless I gave him another 100 rupees. After 20 minutes, it became apparent that the hotel staff were unwilling to step in, so I paid him.

Having got to bed at around 7am, the hotel staff considerately left it an hour before phoning my room to ask if I wanted breakfast. I declined it.

By the day of the match I had been joined by Tronco, who had enjoyed an identical experience upon arrival. We went to Chinnaswamy Stadium two hours early to ensure the best seats. Unfortunately, a senior member of the security team had already bagsied them and there he remained for the entire match.

Having travelled halfway round the world, it was exciting to see a couple of England players. Kevin Pietersen hit some catches during the innings break and Eoin Morgan did some good work standing beside the nets before the match started. Neither of them played.

During the match, I was particularly taken with the 15-year-old sat next to me. He was wearing a Mumbai Indians shirt and claimed to be supporting both teams. In reality, he was supporting sixes.

It was fascinating to try and deduce where he drew his excitement from. A six is only 50 per cent more runs than a four and has less impact on a match than a wicket. Wickets were acknowledged. Fours were not. Sixes were greeted with a roar and he would launch from his seat and jump up and down. “Six!” he would cry. “That’s a six!”

After the match, me and Tronco walked back to the hotel. We got back at midnight to find the receptionist bedding down in the lobby. “It’s very late,” he said.

We might have felt worse about it if we didn’t know that from 6am until 9am, there would be constant phone ringing echoing round the hotel as they asked every resident whether they wanted breakfast or not.

When it came to our turn, we accepted the offer. It was what can only be described as a boil in the bag jam toastie.

India v South Africa at Eden Gardens – match report

D Charlton writes:

When myself and the soon-to-be Mrs D Charlton were enjoying a holiday in South-East Asia, I realised that it was the India-South Africa second Test at Eden Gardens. So, I decided to try and find the score.

I’ve had previous trouble finding the score in Italy and Lapland, so this time I came prepared. I brought my iPhone.

I took a second away from finding spiritual enlightenment at Wat Phra Kaew in Bangkok, fired up the iPhone, and waited. It was then I saw the sign.

So I was being ware and I realised that my most valuable possession was my iPhone – and the temple was warning me away from its dangerously ambiguous scorecard. I did the only prudent thing in the face of such ancient, religious advice and ignored the iPhone.

Outside the temple, I still didn’t know the score. I thought I best ask someone. This one chap, in a smart cap, came past and asked if he could help. I told him I was looking for the score of the India-South Africa second Test at Eden Gardens.

He said, in perfect English, that his cousin was at the ground. He’d give him a ring and ask. He picked up the phone and started talking. It all seemed too perfect. And it was then I saw the sign behind him (that’s him on the left).

I made my excuses and left.

Later, bereft of any information, I realised that either South Africa or India or cricket was the winner. So, now in Vientiane in Laos, I decided to go to a victory monument – in honour of this great win. Here it is:

If King Cricket had a victory monument, we all agreed, it would look much like this, and the King would commission a helpful description underneath – much like this:

I also asked this Laotian pig what the score was. He didn’t seem too bothered and continued to look for roots to chew on. I have a feeling we may have chewed on him later.

Finally, back in Thailand, I had run out of ideas as to where to find the score. And then, as if by magic, I saw another sign and I knew which website I had to visit:

Send your match reports to king@kingcricket.co.uk and on no account mention the cricket itself.

South Africa v England, Centurion Test – match report

I hadn’t been feeling terribly well, having been off work for a couple of weeks with an ear infection, but had arranged to meet a couple of friends in London on the afternoon of the first day of the series.

It was very cold. I think it was snowing. I had a green hat on, and a scarf and fingerless mittens. We met under the clock at Waterloo. There were only two of us, so we adjourned to the pub in the station to wait for our third.

It can’t have been long gone 12pm but I decided to have a pint, knowing full well it would lead to a slippery slope.

I soon needed to visit the lavatory, but found the door shut and a security lock fixed to the outside. I turned to leave and an old man sitting in the corner told me the combination. I felt very privileged.

Our third member arrived and the pub began to fill with loud snotty city types on their lunch break. So we left.

One of my friends was developing an interest in mini golf so we headed to Devonshire Square, a temporary mini golf course near Liverpool Street.

We had partaken of different courses a few times before and I’d never been any good, but on this particular day I played an absolute blinder. Everything I hit went in. It was the second greatest sporting moment of my life. The greatest involved a pub in Essex, a pretty girl and some darts. But that’s another story.

After the golf we had some chips in a pub and decided we fancied some football. So off we went to White Hart Lane for Tottenham v Manchester City.

We were a bit early and we wanted more food. We walked up and down White Hart Lane itself looking for an Indian restaurant, but settled in the end for Turkish and then went to the game.

It was still very cold. I think Spurs won 3-0. It wasn’t the most amazing game I’ve ever seen. But it was ok.

Send your match reports to king@kingcricket.co.uk and on no account mention the cricket itself.

England v Australia, third Test, day four – match report

Lisa writes:

I was sitting upstairs on the bus with TMS on my headphones on my way to meet some friends in the pub when a middle-aged gentleman came up the stairs and started handing out what looked like flyers. Grateful that the headphones meant I didn’t have to say anything more than ‘thank you’, I took one to be polite and noticed that it was in fact a little comic/booklet called ‘The Execution’.

The story of Sonny, his rat and his evil ways was very dramatic.

The way his kindly mother remains committed in her love despite his constant vicious rejection of her (and her cookies) was very moving. I was in tears (although not exactly of grief) when she persuades the authorities to allow her to be hanged in his place, in a strikingly subtle metaphor for the sacrifice of Christ.

The sudden dramatic change in both illustration and prose style to dense evangelical proselytising and airbrushed Messiah poses that followed this revelation was also something to behold, especially the final panel condemning non-believers to eternal damnation.”

Just as I had reached the last page of the booklet and was deciding that I would probably be ticking the ‘no’ box in response to the question, “Did you accept Jesus Christ as your own personal Saviour?” there was a massive bang as the bus hit a taxi. Or rather as a taxi hit the bus. This was obviously a Sign.

Luckily we were nearly at Highbury Corner but I still had much to ponder as I walked up the Holloway Road through crowds of Arsenal and Rangers supporters pouring out of the Emirates. (I couldn’t work out who had won, although the ‘Gers fans looked slightly grimmer [and balder]).

There were no football-types at the Prince Edward so I was able to greet my friends with equanimity, although the looming presence of Holloway Prison meant I could not forget the Message of the booklet.

The conversation flowed and as I am a lady I was able to multi-task: take part in the conversation and listen to Aggers and co. from Edgbaston. No-one noticed that my mind was partially elsewhere until I started when something happened at the cricket. I am loath to mention it except that just at that moment ‘Amusing Pseudonymous Name’ was describing how his mother was finally showing signs of recovery from a devastating nervous breakdown and my split attention did not go down well.

Even when I explained that Katich had fallen, there was little sympathy and it was suggested that I should get my priorities straight. Maybe The Execution had much to teach me after all.

Send your match reports to king@kingcricket.co.uk and on no account mention the cricket itself.

For the full story of The Execution, see here. Our favourite section is when the criminal says to his mother: “I hate you… and your cookies!”

England v Australia 5th Test match report – day four

Dandy Dan writes:

This match report has been written some months after the event so apologies if the details are a little hazy.

Whilst holidaying at my friend Ben’s parent’s house this August, in rural France, about two hours east of La Rochelle, we decided to have a Test of our own whilst listening to the final day of some inconsequential game back in Blighty via a TV sitting in a barn window.

I should probably point out that this was a free holiday for me, as I had taken the place of Ben’s now ex-girlfriend on the trip. A somewhat messy break-up was no doubt lightened by my presence.

The day’s play started well. I won the toss and decided to bat to make good use of the clear overhead conditions that made batting favourable and to try and pile on some big runs in my first innings before the alcohol we had begun to consume took hold and made me make a few rash shot choices.

A patio chair was used as the wicket, a tennis racket used as a bat substitute and the barn walls as the boundaries. Behind me in this photo you can see a bank that was decided to be the slip cordon.

Large stones, a separate patio chair, patio table and selected trees were fielders. In my first innings I scored 122 all out, finding easy runs by pulling into the on-side and making good use of the short boundary. It took Ben a surprisingly long time to realise where I was getting most of my runs, but he did eventually move the patio chair to a short-leg position to cut off this option. However, by this time the damage had been done.

In reply, he made 98 all out, failing to come up with an answer to my yorkers, although he became quite proficient in hitting it back over my head into one of their neighbours’ vegetable patch (see photo below, although that’s him about to bowl).

As I had predicted, I slumped to an inebriated 75 all out in the second innings, finding the edge of the racket too many times to the soil slip cordon.

Ben was all out for a figure less than was needed to beat me. So I won. Not long after this another slightly less important game was won, so more very cheap French booze was drunk in celebration.

Send your match reports to king@kingcricket.co.uk. On no account mention the cricket itself, unless it’s this kind of a match, in which case we want every detail.