How Many captains does it take…?

The first Sunday game of the season is often played on a soggy pitch under grey skies. But yesterday at Prior Park, the sun shone and the pristine strip was more Kolkata than Old Trafford. The hosts here were St John’s church. Which was as well, as if there were ever a day on which to enquire “more tea vicar?” this was it. It’s thirsty work, fielding in the afternoon sunshine. So, Vice-Captain Porridge advised Skipper Painter – on learning he’d won the toss – to bat first. Jim elected to field.

Opening the bowling with newbies “Ish and Bash”, one wondered whether a new kid’s TV series may be on the cards. But facing this duo certainly wasn’t childs play (see what I did there?). Ish set the standard, with pace and accuracy. Bash hooped the ball around and provided the first breakthrough, the ball nicking-through to Porridge, ever-alert behind the stumps. Ish then clattered the wickets for the second (or it may have been the other way round – I’m not Andy bloody Salzmann).

dansette player

Fielding was uncharacteristically tidy, with Ish and Madeye kept busy on the short boundary and ‘the Colonel’ (no – I’ve no idea either) James making many a run-saving stop at long-off. Kestrel took an especially impressive catch to dismiss one of St John’s more threatening batsmen, stretching for an over-pitched delivery by Dansette (just made that one up – Dan from Hampset: you’re welcome*). Kestrel then retired to the deep boundary, where he shepherded the ball over the rope to help the faltering run-rate along.

* It’s Offsiders – not Hampset [Ed] – maybe ‘Danoff’?

Joe-not-Gillings put in an impressive spell and caused St John’s opener to call for a helmet, when he bowled possibly the slowest bouncer in cricketing history. From a good length, at modest pace, the ball took off as though fired in short by an angry Freshmeat on tour (just checking you’re paying attention, Johnny). Nic ‘man-of-letters’, after a few range-finders, produced possibly the sweetest dismissal, finding the outside edge with a rising delivery off a perfect length, which was gratefully pouched by Porridge.

wild celebrations

Kestrel also caused the batsmen difficulty with the ball (and may have taken a wicket, I wasn’t paying attention). So, when Ed sauntered-in off a couple of paces, they would have been forgiven for breathing a sigh of relief. Except they couldn’t. Ed was on the money from ball one. By his own admission, he has no idea what each delivery will do, so the batsmen have no chance. A couple of quicker, straight deliveries fizzed through to the eagerly waiting Porridge. One of which was snatched, at full stretch, as Luke dived acrobatically over his right shoulder. But the wild celebrations were curtailed when the batsman vehemently denied having had anything to do with it.

After 17 overs in the field (this being a 35-over game), all concerned were relieved as drinks were announced. But nothing was forthcoming. Is St John, perhaps, the patron-saint of frugality? No matter, all had come prepared with water bottles (or – in Dansette’s case – bottles of Gem). And there was always tea to look forward to at the end of the innings. But no. Not so much as a cuppa was proffered, let-alone a cucumber sandwich. If only we’d had Jonnty on hand. He could have maybe rustled up some loaves and fishes.

to the slaughter

Was this a ploy to send a depleted batting side out to the slaughter? If it was, it sorely back-fired. With 160 runs required, openners Ish and Kestrel knocked-off well over half of these by themselves, each returning undefeated to the dry pavilion. Kestrel, in particular, expressed himself with abandon, breaking the monotony of fours with the odd six for good measure.

James looked likely to continue the rout but fell to a quick, straight delivery. Then St John deployed their secret weapon: a player so youthful as to make our Joe seem positively venerable. Porridge strode out to face, exclaiming “don’t let me get out to the Kid”. He did. Playing all round a Dalley-Smith-esque bomb drop, the resulting sharp stumping caused Luke to pause and congratulate his fellow wicket keeper before leaving the field.

proper drink?

Which left Madeye and Nic to finish the job. The former narrowly escaped annihilation from the quick right-hand that had removed James. Then the two settled in to squeak the remaining few runs via pads, edges and the occasional, accidental, legitimate shot. Job done. With plenty of overs remaining and without recourse to the masterful batting of Captain Painter.

And now – finally – a proper drink. But no! Somehow, Prior Park’s multi-million-pound facility appears not to include a bar. Or – if it does – it was not made available. Instead we were invited by oppo to join them at the Cider House in town. This is conveniently situated in the centre of Bath, amid a complicated one-way system, where parking is not an option.

Arriving on two wheels, after a not-inconsiderable detour from the route back to Bathampton, this correspondent can report there was not a cricketer in sight. Or – if there was – they must have been part of the under-21 squad. What a sad disappointment after such a glorious afternoon. Roll-on Priston, I say!

Michal Buerk, Third-World Correspondent, Slothful Times

questions remain

As always, following such a well-won contest, questions remain:

• If Porridge takes a catch in the forest and there’s no-one there to hear it – is it out?
• Should Kestrel’s 50-not-out stand if he was helped over the line by a Sloth fielder on loan?
• Do Sloths have enough musicians to put out a famine-relief charity single for St John’s? (“Do They Know It’s Tea Time At All”)?
• Will “Ish & Bash” be commissioned by Cbeebies before the end of the season?

Answers, please, on a postcard and deposited in an empty tea urn, outside St John’s Church, Widcombe.

 

It’s been a long time since Sloths have witnessed Gillings holding up one end and carving out a circumspect, measured innings in the 20-over game. Only this time it wasn’t Gillings Senior, rather his dutiful offspring, Fabien. In fairness, the youngster did cream one glorious cover drive, up the hill, to embarrass two of his father’s erstwhile compatriots in the field, neither of whom got anywhere near stopping the ball. Which, at that point, was still red. (web editor footnote: I got my hand to it and stopped the boundary you twat!)

Said Gillings was part of the home side, Bathford: a mixed bag of league, non-league and never-likely-to-trouble-a-league players. And a nice bunch to boot. Well, I’ve not actually tried kicking any of them but imagine it would be enjoyable.

Sloths had opened the batting. With the ever-dependable Jimmy not in attendance, the visitors replaced him, as opener, with Tom’s touch-partner (don’t ask) James. A thoroughly nice bloke and a decent cricketer too. After a cautious start – having not held a bat in several years – James produced some lovely, genuine strokes to get the scoreboard moving.

At the other end, however, Lazarus didn’t seem to be hitting his stride. This may have had something to do with his pre-match warm up. Apparently, this had been a joint effort with Ant. And, it seems, they’d made something of a hash of things. Suffice to say, their doobie-ous efforts may have to be reefered to the committee, next AGM, so we can weed out the culprits. (web editor footnote: you twat!)

In contrast, Stump was remarkably clear-headed, producing some glorious straight drives and picking the down-hill boundary when the opportunity arose. Captain Luc showed characteristic exuberance but never quite managed to find his rhythm. His dismissal came from Bathford’s young pace bowler, who – first ball – produced a full-pitched, testicle-shrinking delivery that swung late and clipped the top of middle and off.

But the most commanding presence at the crease, this innings, was Harding. Realising the umpire was being meagre with his wide decisions, Tom chased everything, stretching to produce boundaries with the merest tip of his bat. He also marshalled his fellow batters, calling them through for singles and twos, regardless of who was running to the danger end.

Honourable mention should also be made of Ben, who valiantly took on the young quick, having the temerity to come down the wicket at him. Mind you, he didn’t actually see the ball.

And, by the end of all this, Sloths had scored some runs. But not many. Somewhere around the 100 mark, I believe.

Sloths’ bowling line-up, however, was strong. And under the Stokes-esque Horcrux regime, positivity was abroad. Luc set his field energetically, with shouts of ‘you go to mid-wicket’ (whilst pointing to square leg), etc. Meanwhile, vice-captain-elect Harding quietly repositioned everyone whilst he wasn’t looking.

With a small total to defend, the bowling needed to be tight. In the case of Lazarus, he was indeed (though his line and length weren’t – for some reason – quite what one would normally expect). Howard, Frith and Horcrux all bowled well, mostly containing the batting. However, the home team know their ground and were able to find the short, downhill boundary with anything that wasn’t quite on the money.

Ben, at long-off, threw himself around like a rag doll, stopping the ball in whatever way he could, making up for what he lacked in grace with sheer enthusiasm. Though this was sometimes rather haphazard, one mis-field elicited a chanced second run and the subsequent runout of Frith senior (on loan to Bathford). He also bowled a tidy two overs, keeping the ball well pitched-up to prevent easy runs.

Returnee James took possibly the catch of the season at slip. This to dismiss the aforementioned, entrenched Gillings. Coming off a thick edge, the ball looped and threatened to fall short of the fielder. However, James flung himself forward and to his right to scoop the ball with his fingertips, somehow managing to cling on as he hit the ground.

As the light faded – faded?… disappeared! – the ball was conveniently lost and replaced with something pink. Which may, at one point in time, have been a cricket ball. Hard to say. This was, in turn, replaced by what looked like an orange dog ball. But at least it was visible. Just.

In the dying overs, Harding bowled with astonishing accuracy to stem the runs, giving away absolutely nothing. Hewes reined-in his usual pace and was similarly disciplined. With only four runs needed for the home win, Luc called on his troops to prevent the single. Which they did.

However, they didn’t prevent the four. Oh well. It was a well-fought and enjoyable game nonetheless.

Over Prava-replacement-service Morettis at the Crown afterwards – joined by ‘Denty’ and the be-pony-tailed Bathford bowler with unnecessarily long run up, who’s probably called something or other – Sloths ruminated over the evening’s events:

• Was bowling 10 overs straight from each end a cunning tactic by the home team – or a genuine attempt to speed up the game?
• If the latter, why did they take such a Sloth-like approach to padding up?
• Is it acceptable to bowl beamers at under-16s?
• Can Luc’s granny knit the whole team sweaters?
• Or Rick’s?
• Should Sloths follow Pony-tail’s lead and try T20 on mushrooms?
• Who ate all the sausages? (Oh – I know that one…)
• If a Madigan takes two wickets and no-one is able to see it, does it happen?

Answers, please, inserted into a size-3 football with ballbearings and launched into the gloom at Bathford.

Timothy Leary, Narcotics Correspondent, Slothful Times

There was something of an end-of-term feel to Sloths’ final home match of the season at KES Fields last night. Appropriately, many of the old guard were in attendance. But skippering duties were entrusted to newbie Lazenby. Not that George feels like a newcomer. He is one of a raft of recent additions to the Sloth ranks that seem as though they’ve always been there (in a good way).

Though the school has long since finished its privately-funded 3-week summer term, the ground staff had prepared a decent strip amid the lengthening outfield. This made for curious playing conditions. Whereas the ground is water-starved and solid, the grass was patchy and run-sapping. The wicket itself produced variable bounce and grip for the seam, whilst the air was so thick with moisture you could chew on it. So, batting was a challenge.

To say it was getting a little gloomy by the end of play would be like saying our government is a bit incompetent. When visitors Royal Oak, batting second, called for the while ball, the suggestion was made that perhaps they’d like one with a bell inside.

Royal Oak arrived a little short-handed. Their captain persuaded George that, given their paucity of bowlers, they should be allowed three-over spells. However, this agreement was soon rescinded. Oak’s two openers restricted Sloths to a handful of runs, removing the openers in the process. Meanwhile, their missing players arrived, giving the visitors a full compliment.

Among these was one player who, by his own admission, normally plays at league level. And he was quite literally in a different league to everyone else on the pitch. Coming in off a lengthy run-up, his deliveries emerged from a high action, wide of the crease, then curved in at the last, removing both Lodge and (Peanut?) in the process. In fairness to Oak’s captain, he agreed that one over of this devastation was enough.

Sloths’ regular run-scorers, Peanut, Lodge, Stump and Hewes were all dismissed for modest totals. And, it turned out, the Oak team had decent bowling throughout. Who knew? Apparently not their captain. Seeing young Lawrie take the crease, said skipper patronisingly brought in the field and lobbed up a dolly. Which Fresh Junior duly dispatched to the boundary. That’ll learn him.

Harding built a solid innings, aided and abetted by Evetts, improvising creative scoops and sweeps between more orthodox strokes. Captain George didn’t stay around for long. Matt went for glory. And went for not many. Sloths were all out for 88.

But this was a strong home team bowling line-up. In the gathering gloom, Peanut and Matt restricted Oak’s openers to a trickle of runs. Harding confounded with his two-pace quicker-than-you-think deliveries. Hewes and Lazenby both asked searching questions: like ‘can you see the ball?’. They couldn’t. So, the aforementioned white ball was found – much to the relief of those in the outfield, who – hitherto – had had no idea what was going on.

Howard put in a good spell (you’re right – can’t remember… but he’s normally good). Lodge was outstanding and should have had a couple more wickets, where catches didn’t quite stick. Lawrie, once adjusted to the full-length track, bowled some corkers, beating both batsmen and fielders in the process. Evetts kept played-in batsmen pinned to the crease in the final overs. Indeed, the whole team bowled and fielded with focus and dedication.

Stump took time out from his running commentary to miss a certain catch, the ball ascending vertically from a top-edge off the bowling of Howard (or Lodge… it was dark), then falling – unobserved – within inches of his nose. He did, however, make amends with a brace of sharp stumpings. (Or maybe just the one? It’s hard to tell: Stu whipped off the bails so fast and so frequently even the umpires struggled to keep up.) And a glorious run-out, facilitated by a throw from the pavilion boundary by Peanut.

The runs Lazarus saved probably ran into double figures, as he patrolled that boundary like his life depended on it.  One outstanding moment saw Nic sprint round the perimeter, dive full length, gather the ball as he rolled, spring to his feet and throw in accurately over the stumps, in one smooth motion. And then, in the final over, he took an overhead catch, at full stretch, to remove Oak’s league-playing danger man.

Though the visitors now only needed three runs for the win, it briefly seemed that the improbable may happen.

It didn’t. But it might have.

 

In the absence of Enforcer Bond, Sloths gleefully helped themselves to cool-box-warmed beers on the pavilion veranda (don’t worry, Mike: Rick wrote everything down… kinda). As the bats (no, the other ones) made their dusk fly-pasts and the alcohol took effect, questions – as they are apt to do – arose:

• Why – when, aside from a couple of weeks mid-season, the evenings are as dark as a Nick Cave sing-along – don’t we default to the white ball?
• Is it OK that Fresh Junior finds the bowling at his under-13s fixtures significantly more demanding?
• If Ev plays for every pub side in the area, does he have a drinking problem? Or a cricket addiction?
• What is the half-life of a lithium battery?

Answers, please, etched into the blade of a wind turbine and erected on the hill overlooking Lodge’s farm in Wales.

George Monbiot, environment correspondent, Slothful Times.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After many years hosting home matches at Glass House, Bear Flat – these days – are billeted at the Odd Down playing fields. This location has all the charm of a municipal car park but does, at least, provide a flat playing area with good sight lines. The strip itself, last night, was as green as Robin Hood’s cod piece. Which made for some very unpredictable bounce.

This didn’t deter Sloth openers Jimmy and Lazarus. Jimmy hit an extraordinarily fast and fluent 25, declaring – on retirement – he could have carried on for a century, given the opportunity. Nobody was arguing with that. With dry conditions and short boundaries, fours and sixes were in evidence. However, Bear Flat’s bowling ran deep. In particular, Sloth-ringer Chris and the Silver Fox both hit the wickets too many times to allow the visitors to relax into any rhythm.

Hewes decided to take the latter on, charging – Stokes-like – down the track. On first attempt, this elicited runs. On the second, it didn’t. As Rick scoured the horizon to ascertain whether the ball had cleared the long-off boundary, his stumps were reduced to an ungainly pile of wood behind him.

Lazenby took to the middle showing signs he would not be standing for such nonsense. So eager was he that he ran out Sloths’ senior pro, SDS. Only he didn’t. Bear Flat, fortunately, had a player (ringer Chris) who actually knows the laws of cricket. Running to the non-striker’s end, SDS was well short when the stumps were broken. However, for some reason I don’t quite understand, the ball – having already been returned to the keeper – was deemed to be ‘dead’.

In the final over, SDS was trapped at the crease by some canny bowling. Lazenby threw caution to the wind on the last ball and took a suicidal run. The keeper, on this occasion, threw himself headlong in an attempt to throw down the stumps. Missing by a mile, he narrowly avoided having George land with both feet on his head.

Some other batting happened. Newby Tom looked impressive. Fresh probably got a few. Will certainly must have done. I wasn’t really paying attention.

With a relatively modest 120 runs to defend, Sloths needed to bowl accurately and field well. They did. Mostly. With one notable exception, who – fortunately – is writing this report and so will remain anonymous.

Peanut and Will both bowled exceptionally well, though occasionally their pace helped batsmen steer the ball past the eagerly-waiting fielders. George clattered the wickets during his fiery two-over spell. Fresh took a spiralling catch from Will’s bowling to remove one of Bear Flat’s big hitters. Will duly returned the compliment.

Behind the stumps. Jimmy was impressive, coping with the unpredictable bounce and (ahem) varied bowling, with calm diligence. One particularly neat take – down the leg-side from the bowling of Fresh – could have removed key-batsman ‘ringer’ Chris. However, this was adjudged to have brushed the pad only, whereas Jimmy swore there had been bat involved. Who knows?

Hewes – fielding in the deep – used his long limbs to good effect, saving many a run with whichever part of his anatomy came to hand. Or foot. In fact, all the fielding was tidy and only Bear Flat’s predilection for intermittently hitting big boundaries kept them on top of the runs.

Cue SDS, coming on to bowl with just 5 runs needed and 4 wickets remaining. First ball: wicket! (Edged to Lazenby at short square-leg? Can’t remember.) Suddenly, Sloths woke from their collective slumber. Scenting blood, they crowded the bat. Two balls later, Jimmy snaffled the thinnest of edges from Silver Fox, who – despite SDS’s failure to appeal – sportingly walked.

Double-agent Ed ‘we’ve been expecting you’ Evetts then took the crease. Surely he wouldn’t be so foolish as to hit the winning runs against his own teammates? Surely.

It’s been nice playing with you Ed.

 

Over cool-box-fresh cans of weak, Canadian lager, Sloths ruminated on the evening’s proceedings:

• Where, precisely, should a lacrosse ball be inserted, after encroaching on the field of play for the third time?
• Were Bear Flat actually trying to poison us with their pavilion’s swimming-pool flavoured water?
• Is it bad from to provide one’s own refreshment, rather than join oppo, post-match, at their local?
• Is it less bad form, when said invite came from a Sloth ringer who refused to walk?
• Can we trust the judgement of an adrenalised wicket-keeper over said batsman, who – presumably – would know whether he had, indeed, hit the ball?
• Is it unhealthy to fixate on such details when the game was well won in the end?
• And who writes this shit anyway?
• And who reads it??

 

Answers, please, on a lacrosse ball, inserted into an appropriate orifice and delivered – bodily – to Sloth HQ.

Ian Flemming, special surveillance correspondent, Slothful Times

 

 

 

What a glorious vista, yesterday afternoon, at Priston Festival’s beautifully-appointed overflow carpark. With buzzards wheeling majestically overhead, the church spire peering above tumbledown Cotswold-stone cottages and rolling, verdant hills in every direction, all was bathed in glorious Spring sunshine. And this bucolic idyll was soundtracked by a constant, melodic, chirp and babble. Yes: Stumpchat is back!

Though, it has to be said, Stu’s strategic sense was a little off. He went in too hard at the outset, realising too late he’d not paced himself properly. Meanwhile, fresh Junior slipped under the radar, enjoying the spoils of underestimation and launching a second foray when nobody was paying attention. But enough of the teas.

Whereas said refreshments normally ensure a surfeit of glutinous Sloths in attendance, this weekend Bathampton relied on a slew of debutants to fill the ranks. Clearly, the bulk of regular players had taken an early holiday in order to be back in time for Bike to The Future at Bath Fringe (June 1st, Old Theatre Royal – tickets from Bike to The Future – Komedia Bath). But no matter: this provided an opportunity to check out some new talent and a possible glimpse of the future for Sloths.

To wit: Ben ‘the-one-that-works-with-Luke’ injected Indian street-cricket vibes into the proceedings, with a joy and exuberance of Horrocksian magnitude. Bowling with a broad grin and the air of one throwing down a tennis ball in the company carpark, Ben later batted with similar freedom, untroubled by the devastation all around.

Johnny ‘king-of-the-sea’, having declared he’d not played for twenty years (they all say that), looked like a proper cricketer. The first ball of his bowling stint scudded through at fearsome pace and ankle-breaking height, narrowly missing the wickets. And this intensity continued, matched by run-saving work on the boundary and, later, a commanding performance with the bat.

And then there was Dan (of no fixed nickname). Whilst Dan – thrown in at the deep end, opening the Sloth innings with captain Fresh – looked a little tentative with the bat, he’d already bowled a tidy spell and taken a vital catch. Seeing the ball lofted in the vicinity of Madeye, Dan had the presence of mind to loudly shout ‘Dan’s!!’ – and Dan’s it was.

Fresh, Laurie, Harding and Lazarus all worked hard to keep the Priston run-rate down to a manageable level. So, it fell to Madeye – mindful of last tour’s ‘Maidengate’ – to make a game of it. And, three overs later, Priston were back on track for a winning total. Their opener ‘Taiko-Sam’ was largely responsible for this, batting the entire innings for an unbeaten 90 runs.

Whilst Sloths had acquitted themselves well in the field, Priston acquitted themselves weller. Used to the quirks of a pitch that necessitates bowling uphill from either end, whilst also managing to slope sideways, they used the option of orthodox spin – lacking in the Sloth arsenal – to good effect.

Some optimistic appeals for LBW were duly ignored. But nobody can deny the clatter of leather on stump. Or fail to admire a brace of well-held caught-and-bowleds from opener Ken.

Fresh and Jimmy both showed early promise. Johnny ‘King-of-The-Sea’, as mentioned, played some proper shots to good effect. And Ben the-one-that-works-with-Luke hit with gay abandon. But, one by one, Sloths were removed with runs still required.

And so, it fell to the unlikely last-wicket partnership of Madigan and Madigan to save the day. Sometimes history just writes itself. Occasionally the poetry of a moment flies in the face of harsh reality. Now and again, plucky underdogs prevail.

But not on this occasion.

You want specifics? Well, this correspondent will be otherwise engaged for the next week or so but happy to fill you in, in person, at the Old Theatre Royal Bath, on June 1st, from 8pm, tickets from Bike to The Future – Komedia Bath (look, no-one pays for this shit, so I have to find me own way to make it worthwhile).

Meanwhile, you may like to ponder the following conundra (as mulled-over in the fading sunshine over fridge-cooled cans of Prophecy):

• Should a batsman be permitted a runner, if the pre-innings discussion of calling-etiquette lasts longer than the innings itself?
• Is it acceptable to load your plate with both savouries and cakes?
• Having adopted said strategy, is it then OK to go back for more?
• If Stumpchat were to play cricket in a forest, with nobody there to hear him, would he still make a sound?

Answers, please, baked into a Battenberg and deposited at the KES pavilion, during the next home Sunday’s tea interval.

Mary Berry, Cake Correspondent, Slothful Times 

At this time of year, it’s usually a good idea to bat first, whilst the sun is at a reasonable height and the red ball visible. So it proved, last night at KES Fields. The wicket was flat and true and the outfield lightning fast as Sloth openers Fresh and George took to the crease.

Visitors ‘Stella-Max’ (Stella-Super? Stella-Extra?) presented a heady mixture of bowling. This ranged from the nippy and accurate, to the downright bizarre. Thus, it took a few balls for many sloth batsmen to find their rhythm. However, all did so. And I mean ALL.

No wickets fell. I’ll repeat that: NO WICKETS FELL. Many a Sloth returned to the pavilion but none was dismissed. Occasionally, a mistimed shot was lofted but only one found the fielder, who then had the good grace to let it go. Outstanding in this regard was a near-vertical hoist from Danny-O that gained such altitude it had NATO readying air defences. Danno was literally able to run two before the ball finally returned to terra firma.

Jimmy C was particularly impressive, compact and busy at the crease, with terrific hand speed. Harding, too, displayed a good range of shots. Hewes was imperious and unruffled as ever. Fresh and George saw off some tricky opening bowling to get the score board ticking. In fact, it didn’t so much tick as whir, reaching something in the region of 180 runs by the end of the allotted 20 overs.

Facing such a mammoth total, Stella appeared defeated before they’d even begun to bat. None seemed particularly eager to pad up. A couple did show potential to let loose but this never really transpired.

There were no weaknesses in the Sloth bowling line-up. In days of old, one might have expected some respite for the embattled visitors, provided by the inclusion of three or four non-bowlers. However, this team had no such element.

George ‘Lazereye’, fed-up with striking the pads, resorted to hitting the wickets. Jimmy C took a terrific, diving catch at short mid-off. SDS, fielding at point, took a similar – if somewhat more sedate – catch, pitching forward in apparent slow motion to snaffle the ball just above the turf.

Luke ‘Horcrux’ provided the now-familiar running commentary, now-familiar running commentary – repeating everything for the benefit of hearing-impaired, older Sloths. He also took a terrific catch, head-height, from an edged, rising delivery by Howard. And, with Hewes (?) on a hat-trick, near to the close, he dived forward, past the stumps, to scoop the ball from the dust, only to find the batsman had not made contact.

In the dying overs, the earlier-proffered white ball was finally accepted. Given that the game was now being conducted by moonlight, this was possibly a little overdue. Having said that, Stella’s batsmen had appeared to be seeing the ball OK. Only, they’d generally seen it hit the wickets or be caught by waiting fielders.

Talking of which, having spent much of the innings, inexplicably, with nobody behind the wicket – bar Horcrux and the occasional deep fine-leg – Sloths ended the game with 5 slips and two gullies. Knowing full-well none of these was likely to catch anything, Hewes elected to bowl in a manner that forced the batsman to pitch the ball to the one remaining offside fielder.

I’ve literally no idea how many runs Stella scored. But it wasn’t many. And it certainly wasn’t anywhere near Sloth’s record-breaking total (which I don’t actually know either – what am I, Bill Frindall?). Suffice to say, the visitors took it in good heart and characteristic humour. None more so than their wild-card batsman, who alternated – with successive balls – between batting right-handed and left. Class!

 

Over lukewarm tins of premium lager on the pavilion veranda, the usual post-match analysis was conducted and questions raised. To-wit:

• what idiot decided cricket balls should be dark red?
• does one cricket match and three days’ drinking constitute a ‘tour’? (that one from Stella)
• speaking of red – whatever happened to unions?
• why can’t cricket bats be made of bamboo?

Answers, please, on a red ball, in red marker pen, launched into the darkness of a dark, cloudy May evening.

Karl Marx, red correspondent, Slothful Times

It was a beautiful evening, yesterday, at Sloths’ KES HQ. Hard to imagine that, only four nights previously, we had been struggling to see the pink ball in gathering gloom, down in Devon. The skies were clear but there was moisture about, meaning the bowlers could enjoy plenty of movement through the air. This, coupled with somewhat uneven bounce, made for some surprisingly tricky batting.

The visitors may have also been surprised at the youthful pace of the not-entirely-youthful home team’s line-up. Pick of the crop, for me, was Fresh. Back from tour, he was able – after a little on-field coaching from Ric – to re-establish recent form. Twice, he beat batsmen that were shaping to drive to leg, only to find the ball careering onto middle and off.

Frith H also asked some searching questions. As did Hewes – though, largely of the inexperienced Bond Jnr, behind the stumps. Cam looked the part and dealt with the usual breadth and variety of Sloth bowling with calm assurance. Until the ball was nicked. But nobody can really blame him. Madeye, too, put down a chance at short mid-off but, frankly, nobody expected him to reach, let alone catch, the ball.

The visitors never really looked like getting away and only managed a total of 98 from their allotted 20 overs. So, everyone was looking forward to an early finish and extra time at the al-fresco bar. But this was not to be.

Frith and Fresh both looked assured at the crease but didn’t quite time the ball well enough to spread the field. Both did reach 25, though not as quickly as they may have liked. However, Sloths’ number 3 specialist – ‘Leftie’ Hewes – then came in to take charge of the situation.

The word ‘phlegmatic’ was used, on the boundary, to describe this individual. I’ve looked it up and, apparently, it means: ‘Having or suggesting a calm, sluggish temperament; unemotional or apathetic’. Can’t argue with that, really. Except the ‘sluggish’ bit. And the ‘apathetic’ bit. Not quite sure about ‘unemotional’, really. But it’s a nice word all the same.

In any case, Rick was soon back at the pavilion, having knocked-off a speedy 25 and ensuring the requisite 99 runs would be reached in time for a couple of cold beers. Lazarus and Flash Harry delivered the final blows, looking for the big-hit at every opportunity and occasionally finding it.

But the real drama was on the boundary. Tension filled the air as Cunliffe’s dad menacingly asked the vicar to talk him through his son’s run out. And an unusual new phenomenon was observed, in the gentle – yet persistent – sledging of scorer Harding by a certain chap named Bez.

So:

• Is it acceptable to storm-off, if persistently placed number 11 in the batting?
• Is it acceptable for the visitors to polish-off the entire stock of Thatchers Haze?
• Is it acceptable to harangue a vicar over his on-field conduct?
• Do we need to install Bez as substitute Northerner, in Stump and Big Mac’s absence?

Answers, please, on a Rizler and placed in Stumpchat’s kit bag.

Clare Fallon, North of England correspondent, Slothful Times

Lying on Exmouth beach, Sunday morning, with fellow Sloths-on-tour, I was reminded of a scene from ‘Withnail & I’, in which Withnail tells a local farmer “We’ve gone on holiday by mistake”. It was easy to forget that, in only a short time, Sloths would be facing their stiffest challenge of the weekend. But much water had already flowed under the proverbial bridge by this juncture.

As we all know, what goes on tour stays on tour. In this instance, Nick ‘Van-Man’ Cunliffe almost took that aphorism way too literally. I suppose The Prattshayes Cunliffe Memorial Campsite would have had a certain ring to it. Luckily, though, local sign writers can rest easy for the time being.

Beginning with a gentle warm-up on Friday afternoon, Sloths eased themselves into a well-oiled tour rhythm. And some cricket happened too. To be honest, the details are now something of a hazy memory. Suffice to say the after-match celebrations were extensive and well-executed by all.

Whether or not Lodge’s investment in a shiny new bat was a good one remains to be seen. Once he uses the thing, I’ll get back to you. Painter will probably be shortly in line for a full body replacement. In the meantime, he’s getting full value from the remnants of this one. His century at Somewhere-or-Other, largely executed on one leg, was met with joyful glee and unidentifiable songs by his teammates on the boundary.

Cunliffe bowled an astonishing spell at the same ground. This was, frankly, too good for the batsmen and key to a famous Sloth victory. The final nail was delivered by Fresh. After a rather uncertain start, he also found his line and length. Following an over of what was deemed, by the opener, to be unplayable, said batsman vented his frustration at Big Mac. A poor choice.

Mac politely suggested the disgruntled player might consider early retirement. At which point the latter offered to demonstrate why this was a bad idea, with the aid of his bat. At which point, Mini Mac suggested perhaps he shouldn’t take on so and could he, please, leave his brother alone.

All very convivial and witty. But it did rather spoil the mood. No matter, we won – so fuck ‘em.

What else? Cam took some ridiculous catches on the first evening, garnering him the Man of the Match award, which he downed in one. Far be it from me to reveal who won Dick of the Day but, suffice to say, there were contenders a-plenty.

In truth, every single Sloth contributed, both on and off the field of play. This was a tour to remember (if  only we could). It will, undoubtedly, have injected a whole new level of esprit-de-corps, bonhomie, joie-de-vivre and – er- croissants(?) into the Bathampton ranks.

We all owe a huge debt of thanks to Jim Painter for organising this escapade. And in the middle of a global pandemic too. With rumours of Big Mac’s relocation to East Asia, coupled with Jim’s connections in that region, we’re looking forward to more sun, sea and singing next year!

So, well done boys, one and all. And long live the Sloths. Especially Nick.

 

P.S. Throughout Saturday – and into Sunday, a somewhat herbally-enhanced Stumpchat exhorted me to write a tour song. So here, to the tune of ‘I Will Survive’, it is:

 

Sloths Will Survive

At first I was afraid, I was petrified

Kept thinking Sloths could never win without Nick on our side

He spent the night in A&E but then Lazarus was free

And he grew strong and he fielded at mid on

–

And took a catch from outer space

Even while he eyed the umpire with that look upon his face

He should have had the minted lamb

He should have shunned his veganry

If he’d have known for just one second there were nuts in the chick pea

–

REFRAIN:

Go on Jim go, walk out and score

Turn it around now, though you’re not running any more

Weren’t you the one who tried to break Ant with your cries

Before your ton-ball? Did you hang Luke out to dry?

 

Oh no, Stump’s high! But we’ll survive

He’ll teach Porridge how to use the gloves and keep Cunliffe alive

He’s got so much life to live, we’ve got so much lip to give

And we’ll survive, Sloths will survive, hey hey…

–

It took all the strength we had not to fall apart

Trying hard to mend the pieces of a torrid start

Their opener spent so many balls feeling sorry for himself

We thought he’d cry – then Big Mac looked him in the eye

–

You mess with me and I’ll floor you

I’m not that trained but I can set my little bruv on you

So you feel like dropping out, well go ahead, fuck off, feel free

Now I’m saving all my bowling for someone who’s hitting me

 

REFRAIN

Go on now go, if you can’t score

Leave the ground now, cos you’re not welcome any more

Weren’t you the one who tried to win it with leg byes?

D’you think we’d crumble? D’you think we’d lay down and die?

 

And Stump’s still high. But we’ll survive

Cos he’s taught Porridge how to use the gloves and keep Cunliffe alive

We’ve got overs left to live; we’ve got so much lip to give

And we’ll survive, Sloths will survive, hey hey…

 

Aretha Franklin, funk & soul correspondent, Slothful Times

 

Bathampton Sloths vs Bathampton Parents; KES; 06-06-21

It’s always good to see Sloths in good form with bat and ball. Yesterday afternoon, at KES, we were treated to the silky-smooth bowling action and decisive hitting of Harding (and her husband was quite good, too). Fresh was timing the ball sweetly, as ever, and accurate in his bowling. The only trouble being, they were playing for the opposition.

Fortunately for Sloths, the visitors’ keeper was unable to contain the pacier and/or wayward deliveries. So, byes were something of a feature on the scorecard. In fairness, this was a scratch Parents side, many of whom wouldn’t have played for many a moon and some not at all. So, Sloths’ newbie Ides put in another good showing, together with a surprising tally from N Balls.

Batting first, the visitors got off to a flying start, once the rather tentative returning Sloth Evetts was dismissed. His replacement took apart the bowling, comfortably finding the boundary in all areas, before a swift retirement. At the half-way mark, Parents had scored an alarming 90 runs and looked like running away with the game completely.

However, Sloths rallied later in the innings as less experienced Parents took to the crease. Harding, now umpiring, prevented the loss of one such wicket, when Wilf accidentally dislodged the bails at the non-striker’s end during his delivery. This was unfortunate for Wilf but – happily for Sloths – delayed the return of the Parents’ retirees.

Ant was on fine form, getting just enough movement from the seem to cause batsmen problems. Laurie asked some serious questions of daddy-Fresh, in an absorbing vignette of Oedipal cat and mouse. Wilf bowled good line and length, suffering only from the aforementioned no-ball and a probable caught-and-bowled, had he been paying attention (a true Sloth in the making).

And then there was Cox. Clearly a serious player in his youth, it took just one over for Stu’s neo-natal buddy to find his rhythm. His second over (or third?) was prematurely called ‘over’, before he steamed in for a glorious wicket with the last ball. But it wasn’t his bowling that stood out.

Cox was singled-out on the pavilion boundary for special treatment by the Parents’ batsmen. Here he arguably dropped two chances in succession. But, in truth, most Sloths would have contrived to: a) run in the opposite direction, b) fall-over, c) claim they were unsighted, or d) all three. Cox, however, prevented boundaries on each occasion. Then he pulled off an improbable, left-handed, diving save, before returning the ball neatly to the gloves of keeper Bond (who may or may not have caught the thing).

Chasing 145, from 25 overs, Sloths knew they needed a good start with the bat. And this was duly delivered by Messrs Painter and Howard. Painter, part of Sloths new inclusivity drive, has – of course – Special Knees. But this doesn’t prevent him from expansive stroke play and boundless positivity. The latter, sadly, got the better of him when he reached to swipe at a wide ball that was held in a remarkable, diving catch at slip.

Ant, on the other hand, is an untrained wind-up merchant, who somehow manages to be good at just about everything. His watchful yet urgent innings provided the perfect partnership to Painter’s commanding knock. Lodge, similarly, was up to the challenge. With characteristic grit and determination, he put important runs on the board, retiring on 30+ with his wicket intact.

Bond appeared to explode into action when his wife appeared on the boundary. If only she’d come sooner(!). Whilst these runs were vital, they were – unfortunately – too late. The intervening overs had seen the run-rate slow to a trickle. Which left an uphill struggle for the late-order batting.

Cox, on debut, was sadly dismissed for a duck. Yerbury tried his level best to get after the bowling but, too, was sent back to the pavilion. SDS’s eyes lit up when offered a dolly that asked to be despatched into the canal. Sadly, his attempt so to do had already ended before the ball arrived on the scene, going on to gently remove the bails. Mike and Madeye were possibly not the dynamic duo needed to complete the mission and Lodge’s return to the crease was an over too late to save the day.

So, Sloths both won and lost. Those with offspring at the school across the canal were, on this occasion, victors. And rightly so. They played with spirit, good humour, skill and – for those new to the game – a willingness to have a go. And maybe we’ll have picked up a couple of new Sloths in the process.

Over bargain-priced tinnies on the pavilion steps, answers were sought for the important issues of the day:

• If the umpire no-balls a bowler for failure to declare his action, is the bowler allowed to thump him?

• If the player who originally raised this abhorrent issue is watching from the balcony, are we all allowed to thump him?

• If Stumpchat and Bez both end up playing in the same game, will they cancel one another out?

• Should excitable, middle-aged Welshmen be allowed to drive cars with suggestively curvaceous bodywork?

Answers, please, written on a used box and left to moulder at the bottom of the Sloths kit bag.

Socrates, education correspondent, Slothful Times