Memoirs of a Village Cricketer

From Andy, our Special Foreign (Wales) Correspondent

As a regular SCCTV YouTube viewer and comment maker, Dan invited me to make a contribution to the SandersteadCCTV newsletter. Some cricketing anecdotes from my career, perhaps, ones not necessarily focused around the consumption of beer.

As the wind howled on the walls of my cottage here in deepest, darkest mid Wales and I looked out over thick white blankets of snow on the fields, the first thing that struck me was just how uneventful and inconspicuous my career has been. I had just merrily and contentedly drifted through a mostly “village” level cricket career, not 'troubling the scorers' too much despite presenting myself to the world as being a specialist “village” opening batsman – if there can be such a thing, surely an oxymoron?

This, my first endeavour, is intended to give an idea of how I approach and feel about the “village”. In subsequent missives I will hopefully be able to share some of my, not so, ripping yarns.

In my early teens it was generally thought that I made a better scorer than actually being on the field of play itself – well I did go on to found and run my own accountancy practice.....

I was privileged to score for Fleetwood firsts in the 70s when they were one of the best sides in the north. They swept all before them including arch rivals Blackpool with their 5000 capacity county standard stadium and expensive high profile overseas professionals etc. We made it to the Lancashire cup final at Old Trafford, so I was actually going to score in a real test ground. It rained. The rearranged fixture was played at Blackpool's ground . “Bugger”, as we say in Lancashire. You will find as we go along that the words “bugger” and irony play a large role in my reminiscences.

The Fleetwood pro during this 'golden period' was opening batsman Bob Entwistle, I learnt the art of grafting from watching him build an innings. He would start cautiously, scoring as few as 20 runs in first 20 overs then plunder up to another 80 in the next 25, mostly off the back foot with his ferocious pull shot. Don't forget this was in the days before run inflation. When batting myself I mostly found the first part of this plan easy enough to implement but I just could not ever get the hang of the second part, 80 runs in the remaining 25 overs! “Bugger”, still, I was half right.

My career spanned mid 1970s to 2014 but I really retired at just 30 in 1989, family commitments. I played first (junior league not senior), second and third team in equal amounts but only one 4th team game. My batting average is probably early/mid teens. I like to think that my defence was sound enough that I could only get myself out by playing an attacking shot – so I decided not to play any of those unless I really had to.

I have managed to score a few 50s but no 100s and I could never bowl. The reasons will be shared in forth coming stories. I was a reliable 'catcher' and competent fielder, this often being the sole reason for selection.

I have never had that much interest in watching senior cricket. But I love “village” cricket, seeing it as my spiritual home. “Village“ defined in this context are weekend matches played by club second and third teams with “Hamlet” reserved for 4th teams and scratch sides. 'Village' and 'Hamlet' teams can be found in both urban and rural settings. I like nothing better than to immerse myself in a match by trying to get inside the minds of the players – so I need to watch the sort of cricket I have actually experienced first hand.

I make no apologies for the sheer ordinariness of the following tales, after all they reflect an unremarkable career. These are the delights of trivia and irony and not stories of great matches,
winning knocks and inspired bowling performances. In fact, I am sure that many readers, should anyone have the patience and fortitude to read my reminiscences, will find the themes familiar, the sorts of things they may have encountered along the way.

Watching Mike Atherton recently I was astonished at his recall of an innings played 25 years ago. I can barely remember what I had for supper last night never mind the details of that enterprising 23 not out against Vernon's Surgical Dressings 2nd XI in 1983 (yes, there was such a team). After I sold the accountancy practice and retired I worked as a care assistant for a while and was amazed at how much residents remember from long ago. Give it a couple of years (or less) and maybe I will remember enough to write a whole volume of stories! Patience dear reader......

I will limit mentioning actual names of players and clubs, using them only where necessary, if important to the narrative. This is to protect the innocent or, indeed, me, I don't wish to cause offence, or worse a liable suit! Facts as set down may be open to interpretation and dispute and in this eventuality I plead 'Codger' rights. In my advanced years I recall the events and present them accordingly with maybe just a hint of elaboration and commission here and there as well as judicious omission, just for the sake of the flow and shape of the story. And in my defence, time does have a nasty habit of genuinely compromising recall, and stories are always best reflecting reality with the more boring bits (who remembers those anyway) edited out.

So, as they say, watch this space.....

Be amazed at the tale of being out 'handled the ball'. Be aghast at 'who burnt the bedroom carpet'. Be amused at the Sparticus Incident. Be dumbfounded at the mystery of the second trophy.....

A drover awaits to take my packet of papers for onward transmission at the Wi-Fi in the hamlet over the hill.