It's All Gone Wrong!

Have you been hit in the gentleman's vegetables by a cricket ball recently? Have you been shouted at through glass for not opening a box? Have you been ridiculed for being rubbish at a sport you claim to be at least 'average' at? Have you been called a cheat by a group of arrogant, big-headed imbesiles? No?

This weekend had so much promise. So much to offer, yet it turned out to be a damp squib of a couple of days. What with a couple of night shifts and then a couple of cricket matches, my head right now is somewhere between The Land of Nod and death itself. How I managed this for all of last Summer is just beyond me. I can almost taste the tiredness..

We shall start with Saturday where, after a full(ish) nights sleep, we had a friendly match against a poor village team. It was seen by most as a fantastic opportunity to build confidence ahead of the huge game the following day. Some people took that opportunity. Some, did not. I'm afraid to say, I was very much in the 'did not' camp. On a rather warm day, and a pancake of wicket, we chose to bat first and I was confident. Confident of scoring some big, big runs and find my touch in time for the big game. As I walked out to bat, with Andy "Run Machine" Collins, I envisaged 45 overs of untouched strokeplay and a massive partnership. I took my guard, on middle stump, and looked around the field, making a mental note of the placings. I look down at my feet once more, to check I am on my guard, and then I was out. What the hell just happened? I'll tell you what happened. The bowler, more eager than an 18-year old virgin on his first night into the wilderness, had run up and bowled, and as I looked up, the ball was shooting towards my thigh area. Natural human reactions meant I put something in the way. Unfortunately, it was my bat, and as the ball shot up into the bright blue sky, amid cries of 'Catch it!', I was suddenly walking back to the pavilion, after a brief pause to take in the horrificness of the situation, with a diamond quacker next to my name. I was so angry, that I wasn't angry. It was honestly laughable. My chance to find some form had been ruined by an over eager kid, (who I later found out was usually their wicket keeper.. As if the embarrassment wasn't enough..)

Apart from telling a couple of people, I mainly kept quiet on the "not being ready" part. I cannot imagine the abuse I would of got from the umpire for claiming, "I wasn't ready".. It's almost straight from the Year 3 playground. I mainly took it all in good spirit, despite deep, deep down, being rather annoyed, and watched on as my teammates amassed a huge 340, with the 'Run Machine' hitting a new high score of 158 not out. Needless to say, we won by over 200 runs, with Boony getting 5 wickets, and at least I got a catch, so I can say I contributed to the result!

Work that night was long. It was to be my first Saturday night in over 6 months, and I soon learnt that I hadn't missed them one bit. The fact that the store was closed from 1am, meant a lot of drunks trying to speak through a pretty soundproof window, which made me look like I was a deaf pensioner and the drunks getting increasingly annoyed at their requests not being granted. When 6am came, I was pleased to be leaving, looking forward, (sort of), to the huge game that was to commence later, despite having to cycle home. I probably didn't mention this, but some mug bought the Mittenmobile from me for a good amount of money. I am now car-less, which means the MitCycle is now getting a run out, which means more hard work for my thighs. To be fair, I could do with the exercise.

I went to sleep at about 7.30 on Sunday morning, and all too soon, 12:30 had come around and it was time to wake up again. All of a sudden, the memories of the lack of sleep came flooding back, and all of a sudden, I just didn't want to play cricket. It's the first time in a long time that I just wanted to stay in bed ahead of a game of cricket. The old me had returned slightly, with the beckoning prospect of a competitive, high-octane match against the side who were coasting on top of the league, and me, being tired and aching, just didn't feel like it. I went anyway, unlike some people, and found out upon arrival that we were fielding in the epic heat of a British Summer's day, with 9 fielders.. A couple of people just didn't turn up, (including the usual suspect), and at that point, I just thought it was going to be one of those days. These guys had pummelled us first game of the season, (with me getting one of those Diamond quackers.... I haven't had a good season...), so if we had 9 fielders, it may have turned embarrassing. Luckily, we got a couple of late replacements and restricted them to 216, on an OK wicket, which was a good effort considering these guys were the cockiest, most arrogant bastards I've ever come across.

Oh, they were infuriating. One guy especially, thought he was the next best thing, despite playing in Division 5 of the Bedfordshire League, and praised himself after every good shot he played. If God really did exist, then he wouldn't make pricks like that. I'm sorry, but it's true.

Anyway. It was our turn to bat, and despite my disastrous form of late, I was still opening the batting, looking to avoid the dreaded King Pair. For some reason, this team had an overseas Sri Lankan opening bowler playing for them, so naturally, he was pretty nippy. As he ran up to bowl his first ball, I could feel my heart pumping. Luckily, he bowled it quite wide, and I could play the most extravagent 'Leave' you're ever going to see. I relaxed from then on, and played this guy quite well. It was the other opening bowler I was having trouble with. He was one of these medium pacers, who you just can't get away. It doesn't help proceedings however, when one cuts in and hits you square in the family jewels. He wasn't that quick, but it doesn't really matter what pace it's at when it hits you there... It all seemed to happen in slow motion. The initial feeling of 'Oh, that didn't hurt too much', followed by the 'Crikey, Oh Riley, my bollocks are falling off', to the 'I feel very sick' stage, and that severely discomforted me. After I got out, for 7, playing a stupid shot, and after some much expected words of wisdom from the bastards who were sledging left, right and centre, (including a few references to my alleged lack of male genitalia), I was on my way back. Another failure.

We lost fairly comfortably in the end. Only the 'Run Machine' put up any sort of resistance with a solid 75, but this was after my short stint as umpiring. I replaced Sofee, and as he walked off he said, "Don't be intimidated by them", before I reminded him that I am a football referee. I am sort of used to it, on an officiating level. The 2nd ball I umpired, the whole team went up for an LBW shout, that I didn't think was out, so gave it not out. For the bowler and the constantly angry wicket keeper to call me a "cheat", just proves what a bunch of morons this lot were. Unlike football refereeing, where you have a small armoury to use such as cards and a whistle, cricket umpiring is very much a case of tell 'em where to stuff it! I had had enough of their stupid words, and every appeal they had I just waved away. They had already made it clear that they thought I was cheating, so I thought I'd give them something to be genuinely pissed off about. It was never going to matter anyway.

Yesterday's game was the sole reason I don't like Sunday cricket sometimes. We play too many teams who are made up of absolute clowns, and it's not fun. And despite my pre-match thoughts that I was going to be more competitive, I wasn't. I can't do it. I don't do competitiveness, especially against a team who think they're the next England. There's just no point.

Tonight's night shift was even longer than Saturday. Completely dead, and when 6am came around I was out of there quicker than you can say 'Ian Botham'. And now, I should really be going to sleep. I'm a bit disappointed this weekend has turned out the way it has, and I'm not really looking forward to next weekend either. 3 night shifts encapsulating 2 more cricket matches, and I sense a whole lot more tiredness coming my way. Yawn.