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