Cricket is, according to most, an exacting mistress. Fickle, flighty and flirty, it nevertheless seems to enjoy nothing quite so much as promising great things before flouncing off in a huff. Especially at what one might call the more idiosyncratic venues.
Fonthill is an odd but attractive ground tucked away behind a massive stone arch a mile from the thundering A30 deep in the heart of Wiltshire. And no, not that stone arch ... The ground itself has a slope on one side that would make Beckton blush, and a savannah on the other that recalls Basil Fawlty’s re-imagining of the West Country – ‘And what, may I ask, did you expect to see out of a Torquay hotel bedroom window? Sydney Opera House, perhaps? The hanging gardens of Babylon? Herds of wildebeest sweeping majestically across the plain?’
The club, like most everyone we play, are friendly, the teas excellent (many recommend the rosé), and, strangely perhaps, the weather always seems good enough. On this day the microclimate had settled on warm and close, pushing hot. Which made it strange that, having won the toss, Fonthill put us into bat.
The actual game, as the statistics show, was not one of the more dramatic examples of a drubbing. Some games turn on a vital chance going begging that allows one bat to accumulate a score that shames all the others. Not today. The fielding was mostly decent (bar a period near the end when, the game all but done and dusted, it tailed off completely), the bowling likewise. But nothing truly troubled the CCL bats. After a decent start Smudger was bowled for a decent 20, and his replacement Taimoor Shar, a promising youngster, was frustrated into giving his wicket away, slamming the ball so high into the atmosphere that when it fell back to earth to be pouched at mid on it had scorchmarks and the remnants of a Chinese flag attached, Tim Chadwick and Alex Brewer never looked in any trouble. The former, indeed, gave just one chance in his excellent 107 not out – another skied ball that was mercifully dropped. I say mercifully as he was on 98 at the time. Alex also played well to finish the innings with an unbeaten 51 to his name. Bar the moment when it appeared as though the Cricketers would finish on a Benaud special – 222 for 2 – that was as exciting as it got.
Still. A creditable score, eminently defendable. Or so we thought.
The Fonthill opening pair Griffin and Edwards then set about out attack, bludgeoning it to all parts of the ground, with Jasper Brewer and Taimoor going at 7.5 an over. A good edge off Whiting’s bat flew past Dan Friend at 2nd slip before he’d even begun to attempt a catch, but then suddenly, a fine edge did for Griffin off Taimoor ... was this the breakthrough? Oh, no. Next to fall was Whiting, caught by James2 (Brightman) off Malick Kudmany. Now we were amongst them, surely? Er, no, not really ... by the time Edwards was c&b James2 (another skier) for 71, Fonthill were 123 for 3. They weren’t in any way struggling but, as Boycott would say, add another two wickets and it won’t look so clever. Sadly, it was not to be, as Aspinal and Smith led Fonthill home with a smidge over three overs to spare.
Not exactly a thriller, just a nice, gentle summer Sunday spent in the best way known to man. Let’s face it, if we had thrillers every time, we’d be worn out by June. Like any proper mistress, cricket knows when to throttle back with a chilled rosé and let the clouds pass it by.