Timed game.
Mighty Wanderers
Stuart Ct Allen 0
Maddison Bwld Allen 9
Kelly Run out 8
Smith Ct Akhtar 1
Charlton Bwld Akhtar 0
Sandeepa Bwld Eddlestone 11
Montgomery Ct Allen 0
Tjasink Ct Eddlestone 4
Jones Ct Prasad 51
Winter N/O 24
Mathias Run out 4
TOTAL 126 all out
(37 overs)
Wallington Tudor
Ali Bwld Tjasink 9
Eddleston Bwld Sandeepa 34
Van Moven bwld Tjasink 0
Prasad Ct Charlton Sandeepa 29
O'Gorman Ct Mathias Smith 3
Nind Ct Tjasink Smith 1
Weaver Ct & bwld Smith 1
Taylor Ct Maddison Sandeepa 1
McGoldrick N/O 3
Allen Bwld Smith 1
Akhtar Bwld Jones 13
(? overs)
Wanderers won by 16 runs.
Man of the match: Martin Jones
Jones 10.4 2 28 1
Tjasink 5 2 20 2
Sandeepa 9 3 27 3
Mathias 4 0 27 0
Smith 6 1 5 4
Match Report
by Andy

(Editor's note: Chelsea fans please be warned that the report below contains comments of a 'political' nature).

Just one little penalty and the trophy is yours, just one little penalty. Glory, victory and the humiliation of your rivals are just a breath away. It's all over really, 99 times out of 100 you'll score. You've done it a thousand times in training, you know the routine, you know the score, you know how it works.

But this isn't training. This is the Big One. This is Pressure. This is When It Really Counts. So are you the Mighty Wanderers CC or are you John Terry? Will you defy defeat or are you no better than a bunch of expensively assembled mercenary money grubbing no mark journeymen who have no real association with your club other than the money your agent can screw out of a corrupt Russian billionaire?

I think we know.

And it's not John "Nightclub Fracas" Terry or Nicolas "Le Sulk" Anelka who are going to help you now. It's the 18th May 2008. 3.30p.m. The Wanderers are 45 for 8. Bring on a proper skipper, bring on a leader of men, bring on real talent, grit and determination. Bring on the Celtic Fringe. Get the job done. John Terry? Anelka? Ashley Cole? Don't think so.

Enter Wufferelli and Jones the Bat.

Now you're talking.

Somewhere off the M25 the Skipper loses the toss and Wildman and the Explorer march out to bat. Wildman looks at his first ball and decides that on balance he's going to scoop his second ball into the hands of the only man who can catch in the Wallington XI. He has fatally ignored the successful strategy of Jones the Bat which is to pinpoint the rest of the Wallington team with carefully peppered lobbed catches (three of them) which will tumble harmlessly to ground. As Wildman ruefully notes, his two balls have cost him 4 each in match fees, which is frankly cheap at the price, but El Secretario and the Chairman contain their mirth sufficiently to put on a few before Sotheby calls the Chairman through for an ill advised second run. Oil tankers take 20 minutes and a quarter of a mile to change direction, but the Chairman needs a little more scope to put a fielding team under pressure and so departs, the victim of a series of lobbed misfields which return to the stumps within the required 20 minutes.

So here comes the Slippery Swede, swishing his bat, twirling his blade and generally looking like a man who averaged over 100 last term, (which he did) but he's chipping one now to the only Wallington player who can catch, (see Wildman's dismissal above) and last year's MVP is suddenly looking like this year's LVP, especially after he later drops his second catch of the season in successive games. He later returns 6 overs 1 maiden, 4 for 5, but frankly this is no excuse. The keeper is outraged by a fast swinging yorker (that's just not cricket, first up, oh hang on a minute, yes it is), and is further amused to hear the TMS team blethering about the Primary Club as he returns to the Pavilion 60 seconds after departure. Sandeepa has a go and gets a top edge to square leg, and Chazzy does the same after the Murd has followed Wildman's pisspoor earlier example.

45 for 8. The wheels have come off and are bouncing downhill, comedy fashion alongside the Wanderers vehicle which is screeching down the road to destruction on its axles , fat ladies are practising their scales in the wings and John Terry is about to slot the deciding penalty. Jones the Bat and the Captain decide otherwise, and a score of 126 is achieved with some help from Gaf, Jones the Bat notching a very good 50, and the Skipper a battling 24 not out. It still doesn't look like nearly enough, even if Wufferelli has made the Graham Dilley Headingley '81 role his own. Jones the Bat has reprised the Botham role very well, but who is going to play the mad, rampaging Bob Willis?

Chazzy, as it turns out. But it's difficult to know how to describe his first success. A non bouncing bumper? The long hopper? Whatever it was, very few batsmen have ever been dismissed in such fashion and very funny it was too. Jones the Ball meanwhile bowls a proper line and length with a bit of pace for no reward, whilst Chazzy snaffles another one at the other end in more conventional fashion.

Sandeepa arrives to show everyone how to swing a ball into a left hander and promptly entices the opposition's best batsman into spooning a chance to the Slippery Swede. Eminently catchable, decent height, reasonable pace, both hands to it and down she goes. No one can remember the last time TSS dropped one, no, hang on, he did it last week too, but before that no one can remember such a thing. Sandeepa plugs away though and is eventually rewarded as the same player nicks one behind, nicely pouched and it's game on again.

But TSS is in the unusual, if not unique position of having been out for a single, and dropped a sitter. This clearly can't continue, so he promptly takes 4 wickets at a cost of 5 runs in 6 overs and Reason is restored to his Throne. Sandeepa hoops a few more and batsmen depart regularly, Gaf taking a catch and the Murd taking a fence which snaps and crumples like Eduardo's leg. The Explorer joins the party with an absolute steepler of a catch (snow covered etc.) that has the Wanderers fearing for the results and his mental health should he drop it; previous instances have led to the psychopathic destruction of head gear and such volleys of sweariness that match referees have sorrowfully been obliged to report these frightening outbursts to Lord's. But the catch is mercifully held and Jones the Ball returns to take the last wicket, ensuring his Man of the Match status.

Winning. It's pretty straightforward really, just let your top order make fools of themselves and then bowl like demons. Oh, and don't drink any of that John Terry vodka; the one that's made in London and bottled in Moscow.