Welcome to the Hampshire Desert
The Third XI entertained Hungerford II on a day that was only marginally cooler than the recent heatwave that tried to twin Hampshire with the UAE.
The Oaks won the toss and, under the wise and only slightly sun-damaged leadership of stand-in skipper Kris “Tuckers” Tucknott, decided to bat first.
A Steady Start and an Early Goodbye
Ben Robinson and Steve Savage got things moving with a reasonably steady start before Ben had to tell his story walking, trapped LBW for 10. Four of those came from a lovely cut shot that fizzed to the boundary, which made it all the more annoying when he departed just as he looked in decent touch.
Debutants, Hope and Immediate Chaos
Dan Weller-Evans then came in for his club debut at number three and immediately gave the impression that everything needed to be hit back to Oakley Park. After riding his luck a little with what appeared to be the faintest feather of an edge, Dan cracked a muscular four and looked ready to make his mark.
Someone muttered, “Dan is not going to die wondering,” which proved slightly unfortunate, as a couple of balls later he did indeed die, then presumably wondered why he had played a shot that looped back over his head and into the hands of a slightly bemused slip fielder.
The Search for Sachin
Another new boy, Vishwas Iyer, was next in. Vish had turned up looking neat, tidy and in possession of a cricket bag so large it needed its own postcode. Naturally, we decided this meant we had unearthed amateur cricket’s answer to Sachin Tendulkar.
This may, with hindsight, have been a little excitable. Still, Vish did crack three tidy fours before going early on a shot and being caught. With both wild cards back in the hutch, it was left to maverick batsman Bob Lethaby to join the stoical Steve Savage.
Bob Goes Full Boycott
With not many on the board, Bob decided to dig in and bat in a manner that made Steve look like Harry Brook. For those seeking a visual comparison, imagine Geoff Boycott hosting a paint-drying conference.
The tedious approach did at least make Hungerford work hard and use up some of their better bowlers, possibly creating the chance to open up later. Steve then introduced his masterplan. Bob was to start swinging hard and taking risks, while Steve would anchor the innings for the incoming batsmen.
We will never know the true merits of this genius, because Steve was out two balls later.
The Destitute Man’s Joe Root
Kris then came in, creating the sort of chairman and ex-chairman batting combination that strikes fear into absolutely no one. He told Bob to stick with the flawed but cunning plan. In fairness, Bob did. Suddenly, and without warning, he turned himself into a destitute man’s Joe Root, slapping three fours in an over that were so out of character that players at our other games were refreshing their scoring apps, wondering whether they had been corrupted by Russian bots.
Was this the precursor to a maiden fifty that many fellow players had been dreading for years?
No. Obviously not.
Bob, having developed a hand blister he described as the worst he had seen since an early 1980s discovery of his elder brother’s gentleman’s magazines, decided not to properly bandage it. Instead, he tried to see out the next over and meekly played over one that stayed a little low but should still have been dealt with.
Bob normally walks off having been bowled by one of the millions of people who are better than him at cricket. This time, he had thrown it away. It was infuriating, but fortunately he was in pain and sweating like a roundabout painter in a spelling test, so he didn’t have the energy to create the sort of ugly scene that leads to a restless night of remorse.
Tuckers and the Plumbline World Championships
Kris then took up the challenge, determined to put a run of poor form behind him. He moved nicely through the gears before playing and missing at one that looked plumber than a plumbline at the Plumbline World Championships.
Would Kris be entering the traditional amateur cricketer’s LBW denial phase?
No. To his credit, he confirmed it was impossible to be anything but out. Middle of shin, in front of middle stump. A shame, because he was going well.
The Tail Wags and Deano Nearly Explodes
The tail had a little wag, with Tom McCarthy in particular adding useful runs, and there was still time for some comedy. Deano, who had been defending his wicket with the authority of a man using a knitting needle as a bat, played a shot, nearly ran, then saw a fumble and did run. Tom stayed exactly where he was and looked at Deano as if to say, “What are you doing here?”
To add to the calamity, Deano, stoical to the last, attempted to run back despite the wicketkeeper having roughly three years to remove the bails. I still cannot work out whose fault it was, but Deano was fizzing with enough angry energy to plug into the power network and light up the whole of Basingstoke.
A Score to Bowl At
The Oaks finished on 137.
It looked a bit light, but on a pitch where one ball could knock your teeth out and the next could break your ankle, it did not feel impossible to defend.
The Lobster From the Tree
Oakley started well in the field, with Alex Holman bowling some excellent stuff. George Bird was not quite finding his radar, so he was replaced by Vish Iyer who, despite having an action like a lobster falling out of a tree, caused the Hungerford batters plenty of problems.
When Vish and Alex picked up a couple of wickets each, Hungerford were wobbling at 67-4 and, briefly, Oakley smelt blood.
Enter Joe Root Junior
That fleeting moment came to an abrupt halt when it became clear that one of Hungerford’s young batters was a class act. Looking like someone who spends eight hours a day studying the quirks and habits of Joe Root, he guided Hungerford towards the target with impressive calm and skill.
We later found out he was 13, just 62 years younger than the wicketkeeper stood behind him.
Prash also had a busy afternoon, picking up a wicket to go with two catches, two dropped catches and a split finger. A full shift, in other words.
A Defeat, But Not a Disaster
So, a five-wicket defeat for the Oaks.
However, it was a victory for low-level cricket. The game was played in a tremendous spirit by both sides, with every exchange friendly, jovial and usually funny. Nobody was pretending it was the Ashes, nobody was taking themselves too seriously, and everyone seemed to understand the basic truth of village cricket: if you are paying a tenner to play, you might as well enjoy it.
On we travel.
