MIGHTY WANDERERS CC VS GULLIVERS, JUNE 18 2006, HEADSTONE LANE.
40 over match.
GULLIVERS
BATSMAN HOW OUT BOWLER RUNS
D Burley Stmp Andy Murdo 1
P Vaja Lbw Kelly 1
D Curry Ct Sub Smith 84
N Vaja Ct Winter M Page 20
Byrne Ct Smith M Page 6
A Dolby Ct Smith Mathias 3
M Jeffries Stmp Andy Mathias 0
S Lubbe Bwld M Page 0
P Vaja Lbw Tjasink 52
S Lubbe Ct Mathias Tjasink 5
M Jeffries N/O 0
EXTRAS 14
TOTAL 190 All out      
MWcc
BATSMAN HOW OUT BOWLER RUNS
R Winter Ct D Curry 46
Tjasink Bwld P Vaja 10
Maddison Bwld Lubbe 47
L Smith Ct P Vaja 29
Kelly N/O 10
Murdo Ct & Bwld Lubbe 7
R Page N/O 7
M Page DNB
Mathias DNB
Charlton DNB
EXTRAS 35
TOTAL 191 for 5
Mighty Wanderers won by 4 wickets.
Man of the match: Tim
Skipper: Wuff
BOWLER OVERS MAIDENS RUNS W'KTS
Montgomery 4 0 21 1
Kelly 3 1 14 1
M Page 7 0 26 3
Mathias 7 0 26 2
R Page 2 0 18 0
Maddison 2 0 29 0
L Smith 4 0 21 1
Winter 3 0 18 0
Tjasink 1.3 1 0 2
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Match Report
By Andy 'Whip 'em off' Charlton.

Match Report MWCC v. Gullivers 18th June 06

A beautiful day, Hedders looking great, Wanderers all present bar one, but a most unusual if not unique start to the game. The Gulliver-ites having turned up with 6 players and various excuses ranging from the vaguely plausible to the ridiculous, the decision was made that the toss should be conducted by means of mobile telephony, the captain of the Gulliver-ites being apparently in a car in Shepherd's Bush at the time. This constitutes a style of leadership without parallel in modern sport, excepting only Sven Goran Eriksson's heroic and frenzied rallying of his troops during the bloody Battle of Portugal.

However worse was to follow as cricketing tradition was uprooted, reason left his throne, apocalyptic horsemen thundered by and anarchy stalked the land, as the toss was, and there is no other way of putting this, FIXED, in a manner wholly befitting a Juventus President on the phone to a referee. The chiselling, lamentable excuse for which was to enable the desperate Gulliver-ites to bat, on the grounds that they couldn't put a team in the field.

So in the event the Wanderers took the field and Commander W. Ferelli opted to open the bowling with the slow left arm guile of McMurdo McMad of the Western Isles, a decision which to the unitiated in the science of captaincy would have appeared to be akin to arriving at a World Cup with only one fit striker, but of course the Wuffster has plenty of the Lippi about him and none of the Swede. And so within minutes the Scotsman had convinced the opening batsman to charge down the pitch, neglecting to take the ball with him but continuing on past the umpire towards the sightscreen at the far end, giving the stumpsman the time to brew a pot of tea, distribute it amongst the slips, open a packet of custard creams and just flick the last crumbs from his lips before removing the bails and dismissing the hapless Gulliver-ite to the pavilion.

In the light of the agreement that the lowest scoring Gulliver-ites would be invited to bat again to make up the numbers, this may be seen ultimately as a questionable tactic, but the bowler can only despatch what's in front of him. An example followed by the Chairman in the next over as he delivered a corkscrew of a delivery that fizzed and bit the pitch with venom, exploding onto the batsman's pads, undeniably plumb, completely adjacent, missing off, missing leg and obliterating middle stump, a view, to the surprise of some, shared by the umpire. 2 back in the hutch for very little.

Enter the Cat. Dropping straight on a length just outside off stump, she encouraged plenty of lofted airy fairy drives from batsmen 3 and 4, all of which were sportingly spilled by various Wandering fieldsmen, who had all appreciated that the opposition need to post a decent total if a good game is to be had. Certain Wanderers with associations with Sweden (very surprisingly) Wales (less so, but still unexpectedly) and New Zealand (repeatedly) were responsible for this outbreak of fairplay and hospitality. Nevertheless 2 batsmen were beheaded and it was the turn of the Prince of Darkness to come to the party.

Turning the ball square the Welsh Wizard befuddled, confused and amazed the batsmen using all his variations; the slider, the doosra, the quicker one, the stock leg break and of course, the wide ball. Two batters accounted for, one of whom departed to the catch of the century performed by the Slippery Swede, one handed, at full stretch, horizontal to the ground, a beaming smile in place for the photographers. Simply stunning.

The Auctioneer twirled and looped without reward, TSS sent down some thoughtful off breaks, and Professor Pat Pending, aka BYU, delivered some military medium, but the main event arrived in the shape of Wufferelli, finally bringing himself on, and Chazzy, who for some unaccountable reason developed an overbearing obsession with the batsman's off stump, wrapping up the tail with ease. This metronomic off stump thing with Chazzy was however a serious blow to the enjoyment of those behind the stumps who were forced into complete and total inactivity, whereas ordinarily there is of course much fun and games to be had leaping around, grubbing about, diving and generally recovering missiles fired with an accuracy ordinarily associated with the North Koreans.

Tea. Splendid. Kate. Spread. Excellent. Professional assistance from the Scot. All good, nothing bad.

190 to get, Wuff and Chazzy to open. Batsmen 3-11 naturally get the Sunday papers out and relax for the afternoon. The skipper proceeded to chisel, chip and occasionally larrup his way to a splendid 46. The Blennerhasset Express has a simple approach to batting; a reasonably pitched and well directed ball is met with an economical prod forward and a smother and it says, with a quizzical eyebrow raised "Well that was a half decent delivery, not fantastic, generally acceptable, but can you do it again? I rather think not." And so it goes, the nudging and nurdling confounds the bowler, and when he drops short as he surely will do, he is despatched with contempt from the field.

Chazzy started brightly, whipping the ball confidently through the covers, but then regrettably remembered his obsession with the off stump today and decided to play through the very same line, while the ball, having been bowled at middle and leg, and in accordance with the laws of physics, continued on its trajectory to strike, well, middle and leg.

Sotheby at the crease. The quicks seen off, a patient innings builds and flourishes into one of the greatest performances in Wanderers' history. "Viv Richards in his pomp" was the murmur from the spectators, "Botham surely", demurred one as the attack was put to the sword. "Is Kevin Pietersen playing?" piped up a young lad on the boundary.

Tragically falling short of their half centuries, El Secretario and Wufferelli departed, the foundations of a Mighty victory well laid. TSS plundered a rapid 29, aided by some questionable fielding from substitute fielders, which could be less charitably described as Tufnellesque, but if you're in the way of a super charged rocket belting towards you, better to live and fight another day, rather than die for a cause you don't believe in.

A strange thing happens when McMurdo dons his sacred batting helmet; it has powers beyond the understanding of mortals. For reason and temperate behaviour are banished, righteous indignation and fury reign within. The honour and pride of Scotland is in question and nothing short of the blood of his enemies will suffice. It's as though the Materazzi switch is flicked on; "You're the son of a terrorist gypsy whore" is heard within the helmet and the result is much the same. Brave close observers (and you mustn't get too close on these occasions) report a jumbled outburst of splenetic fury, but only a few words have been reliably reported; "wee cludgie, bampot, Wallace". The effect is to terrify the opposition and it occurred again here.

A flash of smiting, a bout of vicious cursing and some blood curdling blows later and the total was swiftly diminished. And yet, defeated at last, the Murd exited, a stream of curses raining down on his tormentors, a cloud of fury following him from the crease, a bubble of dark Celtic threats spewing from beneath his visor, like Muttley cursing Dick Dastardly, the warrior returned to the pavilion. However once the sacred helmet was off again, serenity returned, peace descended and all was good with the world again in this best of all possible worlds.

In the meantime the Chairman and Professor Pat Pending stylishly delivered the coup de grace to an enfeebled and well beaten team of Gulliver-ites.

The air was black with hats, bunting was distributed liberally around the ground and excited villagers chaired the victorious captain to the pavilion. The Man of the Match award was split between the Auctioneer, El Secretario, Sotheby, Sothers and Tim Maddison.

A satisfying victory for the Wanderers. At last.

EDITOR'S NOTE: It should also be pointed out that Andy 'Whip 'em off' Charlton kept wicket with tremendous aplomb and skill on a distinctly lively wicket, taking two excellent stumpings to boot.
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