Carib Beer XI vs Northern Trust - July 28th 2011

Our penultimate game of the season saw us heading off to South London, and for a change, luckily for us, the nice bit, near Blackheath at the foot of Greenwich Park. Given the more pleasant surroundings than we are generally used to in Finsbury Park we fully expected a very enjoyable game, unencumbered by gangs of growling hooded youths on the boundary and angry torch wielding residents anxious to protect their Ford Cortinas from ball damage. Although a bit of a trek to the ground, via the off licence, we were very pleasantly surprised when we arrived at the ground to see that it was in fact a properly cut turf pitch, a lush green outfield, with nice picnic tables and ropes around the square. There were even two sight screens standing sentinel at each end of the ground (although if some of our lesser experienced players were completely flummoxed by the function of these strange apparatus, they kept this to themselves). We were even promised the support of a couple of locally habituated work colleagues who had decided, given the warm sunny weather, to join us for a few beers and offer some useful advice and encouragement from the boundary edge during the course of the game, the value of which correlated, no doubt, with the quantity of beer consumed.

Initially, there was just the one Northern Truster in attendance when we arrived, chugging on a cigarette and downing the contents of a can of strong lager. Following our enquiries about his drinking, and the possible consequences should every member of the team have similar aspirations for the evening, he informed us that yes, in fact, the whole team would most likely be planning on drinking a few beers during the course of the game. This was a turn of events we hadn’t exactly predicted, given that we had played the Northern Trust team before, and had been soundly and professionally thrashed without a can of beer, from what we could recall, in attendance throughout the match. This had caused us to assume the worst, that the game would be categorised as Category 1, which of course prevents you from drinking any beer within 10 feet of our Captain, Chairman and leader, Martin Haigh, who thoroughly disapproves of such activities. We realised at this point, of course, that we had signally failed to bring enough beer with us to last an entire match, should this mean it was now demoted to being Category III, our favourite Category, as it means on field drinking and consequently, much hilarity watching the slide into apoplexy of our Captain, and leader, Martin Haigh.

As the two teams now began to assemble, we were joined by further members of both the Caribs and the Northern Trusters, one, to our delight, clutching what looked like a 24 pack of lager, so large that he appeared to be struggling to carry it all across the park. Inspired, we all began to crack open what beer we’d brought, hoping against hope that some method of obtaining more during the course of the game would present itself. Our Captain, and chairman, Martin Haigh was introduced to the opposition skipper, and some general negotiations began about the rules that would be in operation during the evening. After agreeing on the usual 20 overs, 25 retirement, the opposition skipper suggested the non-retaking of wides / no-balls rule, instead granting two runs to the opposition for such transgressions. Initially not keen, being a stickler for regulation, our Captain protested, but being informed that the reason for the suggestion was that the Northern Trusters in fact intended to let everyone have a bowl, and thinking perhaps that we could therefore be presented with consequent additional scoring opportunities, Martin agreed. The final rule agreed on was one we hadn’t tried before, which was that you couldn’t be out first ball, i.e. it would essentially be a free hit. Surprisingly, Martin agreed to this too, and with both teams now in attendance, Martin suggested a toss. However, agreeing to forgo this, they hit on the idea, suggested by our Captain of course, that we’d field first. Finally reaching agreement in all aspects of the rules, in what must have become some of the lengthiest series of negotiations since Versailles, we began to head out onto the field of play, leaving the Northern Trusters to their beer, hoping that their continued libations on the boundary without us would at least prevent them from battering our generally hapless attack out of the park, as they had done during our previous encounter.

However, there was still to be some beer fuelled confusion amongst the ranks before the game could finally get underway. We’d arrived with only 9 players, and had hoped that we could press-gang one or two of our supporters into playing, particularly the Irish Fashion Disaster, Barry Ross, already by that time onto his fourth bottle, dismissing in turn his objections that his Fashion Disaster clothes weren’t suitable for cricket. After some gentle coaxing, we were able to persuade him to step onto the pitch, although with some trepidation, constantly looking back at his beer quietly warming up on the boundary all the while. However, after some further negotiations by our Captain and Chairman we were able to secure the services of two of the opposition players, who now joined us on the field, and thankfully, for both us and the now half cut Irishman, we had a full team of players, and the game could commence, Barry retreating quietly to the boundary to continue drinking in earnest.

First into the attack was the rapidly aging 43 year old run out candidate Carib Rogerson to bowl the first over against the Northern Trust Openers. The first couple of deliveries, slanting down leg, were easily dispatched by Truster Dwight, and the sodden low bouncing nature of the pitch became painfully apparent as the ball barely bounced above the pads. Second over was taken by a stand in Truster, Manish, who suffered the same problems with the bounce, going for 13 runs in his two overs and the Northern Trust innings was up and running.

Replacing the two openers was the Carib Record Holder for possibly the worst spell of bowling ever, Carib Willis, and our newest potential member, the “scored 95 that should have been 97” Ringer Fyfe. Carib Willis began with his usual array of dobblers, twirlers, wides and beamers, while from the other end, Ringer (soon to be new member) Fyfe attempted to nullify the dreadful pitch by avoiding the grass all together, and being soundly tonked in the process. However, deciding that tactic probably wasn’t working, he eventually decided to pitch one on the turf. The batsman leant into it, but given the low bounce, was through the shot far too early. The ball careered up into the air and we all craned our necks in an attempt to discern its likely trajectory, hoping, as usual, that it would land somewhere else.

Unfortunately, however, our Captain and Chairman, Martin Haigh, appeared to be the likely recipient of it as it plummeted towards earth. Perhaps pleased with the opportunity to repair his now dreadful reputation for dropping catches, Martin appeared ready for the challenge and squared up underneath it ready for its eventual descent. Increasing speed all the way, it dropped like a stone, straight into the waiting hands of our great leader …. And straight out again, flopping to the ground and rolling away uselessly. Martin looked heavenwards, perhaps hoping that the first attempt had been merely a rehearsal, and that another ball might be on its way. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be, and Martin, bereft at yet another failure, let out a sigh, clapped his hands to his face, and groaned, lamenting soulfully … “gracious” .. “good heavens” .. “oh my word”. Silence descended on the assembled ranks, unsure what to say we looked at the turf ourselves, embarrassed and confused by the events that had just unfolded. Eventually, however, Ringer Fyfe was forced to turn and return to his mark, cruelly denied his first Carib wicket in his debut match in Carib colours.

Nevertheless, as their overs came to an end Martin brought himself and our heavily built flame haired northern wheelie bin Carib Cordey into the attack. By now, however, although we’d seen a couple of retirements, the Northern Trusters has as yet failed to lose a wicket and were closing in on 80 with barely half their overs used up and we desperately needed the old pie thrower to pull something out of the bag. Carib Cordey’s twirlers, however, again proved difficult to get away and the opener, Truster Ashish, still toiling away at the top of the order was eventually forced to take one risk too many and drove one directly at our newest ringer, Ringer Fyfe, who lept yards to his left to clutch the ball from thin air, giving us our first, and well earned wicket.

Aware, however, that the opposition skipper had promised to let his whole team bowl, our Captain and Chairman, Martin Haigh, now decided to throw the ball to our 4th change pie chuckers for an over each. First up would be our Official Overseas Tour Manager and third best nurdler, Andy Weaver, whose six ice covered twirlers, making the most of the dead pitch to roll as soon as they hit the turf, went for 15. From the other end, however, our Northern Bakery Magnate Phil Cordey continued to scyth a hole in the Northern Trust middle order, snaring another wicket, caught this time by one of the N Trust ringers fielding on our behalf. Having to return to the boundary to face 10 plastered work mates at the end of the game to explain himself was not an experience we would have wished on anyone, but we'd got another wicket, and Mr Cordey continued to work his magic as the Northern Trust middle order capitulated in the face of his barrage of half trackers, no balls, wides and beamers.

Northern Trust Ringer Joe snared another wicket, and Mr Cordey bagged another himself, and with the 3 retirements at the top of the order, we were now down to the tail. Confident that it wouldn't do too much damage, our leader, Martin Haigh, threw the ball to our edge finding nurdler, Carib Moss to complete an over of his own particular brand of lobbed hand grenades. However, within minutes, Martin was rueing his decision as Carib Moss threw his shot putts ever wider; one head high leg side full toss being easily smashed towards the boundary for six. The look of desperation on Martin's face as the ball disappeared to the boundary yet again was palpable, and after watching his over disappear for 16 runs, Andy sheepishly returned to his favoured fielding position down at fine leg, not to trouble the scorers, or unwary joggers, again during the course of the evening.

Nevertheless, in the spirit of the game, and given that we were playing against his work colleagues, Martin now threw the ball to our six foot six, heavily set, bludgeoning middle order duckmonger Carib Goochie, for an over of his own javelin like deliveries, all delivered with the minimun of fuss, each ball being gently caressed towards the batsman, and each one threatening to rip, if not the stumps out of the ground, then at least the great Carib's shoulder out of its socket. We all sensed that this was to be the over of the match, and we perked up visibly, expecting some fireworks from the hapless Carib's over. We weren't to be too disappointed. The first delivery was deadly accurate, the second barely struck off the square. The third, however, left our Captain again distraught. A well flighted wide was tossed up, tempting the batsman to smear it over cow corner, instead, however, the flight and guile completely decieved the Northern Truster and he smacked it straight in the direction of our Captain, Leader and Chairman, Martin Haigh, prowling watchfully at mid on.

As the ball rocketed towards him, our spirits rose at the prospect of Carib Goochie snarling his first Carib Wicket, undoing the shame of being the only Carib to have been bowled out by Barry's wife. Sadly, it was not to be, as although Martin did his best to position his hands in front of him, he sadly forgot to have them within the general vicinity of each other, and the ball flashed between them moments before Martin frantically clasped them shut, over thin air, with the ball already yards behind him and on the way to the boundary. Nevertheless, Goochie wasn't to be deterred, and the next delivery was full and straight, deceiving the batsman for pace and thudding into his pads. In unison, as one, we rose in chorus, appealling desperately to our relentlessly correct official umpire, Michael Lee, to give us the decision our great middle order bludgeoner so desperately deserved. Pondering the decision, and eventually, having exhausted all possible reasons for giving it not out, our Official Umpire, a renowned not outer, was forced to begin slowly raising the dreaded finger of death, sending the shell shocked Northern Truster back to the booze addled team mates on the boundary, and our bludgeoning duckmonger into paroxisms of celebration.

However, by now, the innings was reaching its finale, and our pie chucking northerner Carib Cordey was asked to complete his spell of miserly wheelie bin pies, bowling what would be the final over. The final ball in fact was smashed into the covers by the Northern Trust Rupert, and seemed destined for the boundary. What we weren't counting on, however, was Ringer Fyfe, prowling the boundary, someone who being several decades younger than some of us, can actually catch a cricket ball. As the ball sailed through the air, it seemed like it would fly straight over his head. Nevertheless, our newest Ringer waited until the ball was a mere four feet above his head, and pounced, cat like, grasping the ball in his finger tips, taking a great catch and giving our flame haired northerner a fourth wicket. Although we'd suffered up front, and had been smashed about the park by the top order, Caribs Moss and Weaver notwithstanding, we'd restricted their middle and lower orders and were pleasantly surprised to note that the Northern Trusters had only managed 152, a score that would sorely test our line up of ringers, flat batters, edgers and nurdlers, but which was certainly not as bad as it could have been and we fancied that we could give them at least a reasonable run for their money, if not in runs, then at least in beer.

The Carib innings would be opened by our Overseas Tour Manager Andy Weaver, and holder of the record for the worst bowling figures in Carib History, Carib Willis, two of our most accomplished nurdlers. Sitting back to drink our beer, we watched as the game got underway. After a few overs, and chasing a required rate exceeding seven an over, we very quickly got behind the rate as the singles and dot balls mounted. However, we at least failed to lose wickets as the two nurdlers nudged the ball around the square, and after a while, even began to push on and hit a couple of boundaries. Eventually, however, with our opening stand at an astronomical 41, our tour manager, Andy Weaver, missed a straight one and was bowled for a very useful 18. Andy was, at least, able to do the team an even greater service, cycling off to the off license to purchase a further supply of beer, returning none too soon to replenish the now parched throats of the assembled Caribs.

Replaced at the crease by our desperately out of form Captain, Martin Haigh, resplendent in his new batting helmet, we hoped for some of his customery fireworks against the now 4th change Northern Trust bowlers. Sadly, however, our leader's desperate run drought was to continue, skying a catch and departing for five, bringing our newest Ringer, Ringer Fyfe, who only the week before, had scored 95 that should have been 97, for his local village team. He too had brought his own batting helmet, and proudly walked out to bat with it perched incongrously on his head, although quite what he thought he was protecting himself from, given the completely dead nature of the pitch, can only be guessed at. Given that the previous week, he had scored 95, which by rights, should have been 97, we hoped he could replicate his obvious talents for us and get us over, or at least close to, the Northern Trust scoreline. Sadly, however, we weren't to see a repitition of his 95, which should have been 97, this week, as perhaps blinded by the ridiculous contraption perched on his head, he danced down the wicket to his fifth delivery and completely lost sight of it. The ball thudded into the wicket keeper's gloves and the stumps were quickly disturbed, sending the half blind Ringer back to the boundary edge, and the increasingly intoxicated Caribs, now close to having consumed almost all their allocation of alcohol.

Next man in was our now comical run out candidate, Vice Skipper and aging medium pacer, Carib Rogerson. He quickly raced to six, but standing on his bat at the end of the over, he was surprised to see his Carib partner, Carib Willis, careering down the wicket towards him, screaming at the top of his lungs to run like hell for the other end. Not sure what the reason for running might be, our old Vice Captain rocked back onto his feet, lifted his bat and began scrambling frantically for the other end. Sadly, as it turned out, Carib Willis was attempting a suicidal run, and he made it barely half way before the ball was back in the bowler's hands and the stumps had been disturbed, sending, once again, Carib Rogerson trudging back to the boundary, run out for the third time this year, and in danger of getting something of a reputation for comical run outs.

Next man in was our heavily set village blacksmith Carib Cordey for some of his uncultered smears down to cow corner, if that is he can avoid getting bowled first ball. On this occassion, however, he was to benefit from the new rule about first ball dismissals, as he was indeed bowled first ball and began trudging back to the boundary until reminded of the rule. However, chastened by his near dismissal, he played a distinctly un Cordey-like innings, taking a full 10 balls to reach 7 runs before being bowled again, this time for good. By now, we were five down, and still 50 runs adrift of the target, as one of our Northern Trust ringers headed out to take Carib Cordey's place. In the event, Ringer Minchin was decidely handy with the bat, and quickly raced to 19 before being caught and we found ourselves closing in on the target. However, it wasn't to last as Ringer Modjir fell for 2, and Carib Goochie, failing to replicate the excitement of his bowling, fell for another nought, bringing his tally of ducks to 3 for the season, in only three attempts.

However, by now, the score had slipped just out of our reach, and our innings came to a close as our last two nurdlers, Carib Bowen, our butter fingered, but keen, wicketkeeper, and grenade tossing fine leg fielder, edge finding nurdler Carib Moss saw out the last couple of overs. However, we had got close, closer than we had thought we could, and had managed to avoid one of the catastrophic collapses that usually characterise our run chases. Our final score, as we trudged back to finish our beer, and argue over the bag carrying, we realised, was a very healthy 123, only 30 short of the Northern Trust score. It had been a very enjoyable evening on both sides, and we trudged off to a local Greenwich pub for much lively banter and cricket related ribaldry.

Carib Beer XI lose by 29 Runs

Scorecard