Vs Stellas Select @ Hampset (again), 31st July 2025

Compliments and critique can be wielded like weapons in the hands of some. None more so than the Elder Sloths who can scythe through fields of wheat with their words like a young Theresa May. First, we have The Gas Man who revealed with no subtlety whatsoever that the only reason Porridge was in the team was so a match report would be scribed. Is this a compliment? Is he a fanatical fan of metaphor-lined cricket reports that barely mention the actual action? Thusly, Porridge might feel a praise for his writings but, hang on, does that also mean that he’s shit at cricket?! Swooping in on this confusion lands Jonty Feedback Frith who immediately offers sympathy to Porridge for how hard it is to bowl when the ball is inswinging out of the hand like that. Oh, thanks Jonty, yes I suppose it was swinging a lot (and oh aren’t I so talente…) …yes and if only you could actually bowl straight you’d be able to harness this. Oh and your second over, well, that got a tad worse didn’t it. Oh, do you mean the head high beamers? Yes, well, at least they were straight. Brilliant. Not so much following the well-worn path of delivering feedback in a shit sandwich as just delivering shit really. But both Elders presented these verbal grenades with a disarming geniality that just so proves that cricket brings with it all that is good and, often, all that is equally bad.

This Thursday evening at a post-apocalyptic-thunderstorm Hampset CC was a case study in all that is cricket. Take bowling, for example, from a vantage point at deep square leg, whence I was leaning on the nearest available vertical object, Lazarus’ bowling looked like it was all regular, perfect line and length. Right up until the umpire repeatedly raised both arms after each delivery and Vib behind the stumps was scampering to collect. Sam Frith was back into the action like he’d never been away, stroking through the covers with a cultured blade before Ish greedily called him through for a second run on a mis-field that was never there and he was comprehensively run out. The Gas Man hit a remarkable 28 n/o before receiving a compliment on his batting, to which he replied that yes he actually tried to concentrate on batting this time, oh it’s really that easy everyone, just concentrate ok. Riccay bowled with venom and received no reward but did take an excellent grab at mid-off to give Ish a wicket and nearly dislocate one of his essential keyboard fingers, is this a reward? HRP sprinted full whack to cut off a ball at the boundary, reaching the ball magnificently at full speed and then forgot to actually bend down to stop it. Dan O revelled in turning up just to spend time umpiring, before bowling tidily and then spending the rest of the time in the field praying for the ball to stay away from him, sometimes actively patting the ball away from him hoping someone else would take it. Brent actually went home without taking a wicket so must be as furious as a Kiwi ever gets, maybe he’ll gently kick a bin on his way back to the car to teach it what-for.

Dear reader, this must all sound like a gripe! Picking away at the bones to find the negatives but no, this is a celebration of the spectacular failures, for that is what makes the ups so, up. As Sloths strolled to victory by 40 runs much joy was had in the comradery and shared trauma of the lived experience. Followed with hearty, active discussion of the anti-social Oldfield Park crows, Wiltshire peacocks (do they exist or no?) and the ruminations of why the hell are shuttlecocks called shuttlecocks. All failures were forgiven and added to the pot of stewing goodness that is the cricket season. So after an obscene amount of rain and a hellish sky comes the sunshine on a Thursday night at Hampset in high-summer, as what goes down must come up.

Vs Stella Select, @ Hampset CC, 3rd July 2025

Stella away games hold a special place in some Sloth hearts. Fresh usually books away games in car parks, schools or random fields. So to visit a proper, functioning cricket club with a working bar is a special treat.

The village adage was applied at the toss, “we have less players here than you so we should bat first”. Expert tactics from captain Fresh, knowing that this Sloth line up was a bowling powerhouse.

Sloths inserted, they peppered the preposterously short boundary, pouncing on anything short of a length to mercilessly hit the boundary netting willy-nilly. Laurie expertly swung and missed for an entire over, to lure in a false sense of security for the Stella attack, before then unleashing the hounds of hell in the next over. Matt Can’t-Bat Cox once again demonstrated his lack of batting by losing two balls, one in a hedge over the longest boundary and one over the 30 foot boundary netting into an Odd Down garden or somewhere down the hill at Dunkerton. It was an onslaught. A battering. Multiple Ben Ducketts in disguise. Whispers on the boundary spoke of a possible record. Loose lips muttered “could this be a 200 score?”. HA HA laughed Mother Cricket upon hearing such tomfoolery and, thus, Sloth wickets fell at once. Fresh played on, Jimmer looped to long-off, Stumpchat fluffed a leading edge to mid-off, The Gas Man was run out Johnny-Bairstowing-at-Lords-2023 and it took some late bashing by Ish and nurdling by Porridge to set the imposing target of 175 for a Stella victory on a dustbowl of a wicket.

Stellas lined up to tackle this mountain with a reversed batting order and were faced with the oncoming storm of Fahim and Quayom. Bowling a meaty full length, poles were taken and forward, defensive prods fully tested. HRP, Ish and Matt Can’t Bat continued this oppression, forcing Stellas to play across the line and then hear their stumps explode behind them in a cloud of splinters and sadness. Feeling the relief of some spin, Stella looked to score against Jimmer who then ragged one out of the dust to clatter the stumps. Resplendent in a new mid-week kit, Stellas looked like suped-up tuna marines that kept appearing at the wicket, to then immediately be darting back upstream to the safe pond of the pavilion. Lawrie proved too much, his left arm delivery from straight-out of the setting sun unnerved batters and, with two batters clean bowled in-a-row, he set up a hat-trick chance. 3 slips then lined up and immediately panicked as the delivery was sent down outside off. The wise-head at the crease left alone and regular Sloth service continued. As Sloth skip Fresh delicately described it “Porridge, you’re bowling from this end with the weak, shit and old Sloths” while at the other end, out of the amber setting sun flew the sprightly Sloths to demolish Stella souls.

As the target disappeared into the distance, HRP, returning for his third spell, took the final wicket and thus a comprehensive Sloth victory was secured in the dying embers of a mid-summer evening.

Over pork scratchings and actual non-cool-box-pints Sloths conversed about meaningful current events, such as: is padel better than tennis? Do we need pectoral muscles, really? Should we just continue to pay for remedial sports massages or actually stretch and warm up properly? Naaaaa another Thatchers for me please, I’ll stretch down when I’m dead.

Once in a generation, a talent emerges with skills already so honed that the cricketing world can only stop and admire what might lie ahead.
James “Colonel” Mustard is one such player — brutal with the bat, devastating with the ball, and salmon-like in the field. We may well have witnessed the birth of a cricketer for the ages. But let’s rewind a second…
On a hot and sultry Bathampton night, the Sloths prepared to do battle with the Beavers in a game that promised half-fit, middle-aged men being bowled for a golden duck or sending down four wides an over — but instead delivered an elite display of everything that’s great about West Country amateur cricket played on private school pitches.
The Beavers started strongly, with a procession of excellent batsmen arriving at the crease one after another, smashing fours and sixes before retiring in quick succession. Despite the onslaught, the Sloths’ bowling was typically solid, with good spells (in places) from Bash, Joel, The Racing Snake, Tom, HRP, Ant, Nick, and Brent. The Gasman, in particular, was clearly rattled by an uncharacteristically expensive first over — only to respond with a stunning caught-and-bowled that left the game delicately poised.
With the match in the balance, it was time for an unfit player struggling with heat stroke and dizziness to shine. Jimmy used his vertigo to full effect, bowling a leg spin delivery so high in the sky it caused a minor solar eclipse, distracting the Beaver batsman just long enough for keeper Roy to do the rest. This wicket brought in Mustard — a player so adored by his Beaver teammates, failure simply wasn’t an option.
After a couple of sighters, he unleashed himself on the Sloth attack, picking his shots with a succession of fours. Like Graeme Hick before he played for England, Mustard revealed a previously unknown shot range and intensity to his game — clearly buoyed by the chance to shine in his Beaver colours. As Mustard batted on the total soared past 150, and the Sloths faced a daunting chase.
The men from Bathampton made a strong start with the bat. Nic looked typically graceful at the crease, making an unbeaten 30 over two sessions, while Jimmy timed the ball nicely to reach 13 before being well caught. His dismissal triggered a flurry of quick wickets, with that man the Colonel himself taking a stunning catch for the ages off a skied one from Roy. Showing a yard of pace and agility not seen in his time wearing sloth colours the proud Beaver didn’t disappoint.
After the dismissal of Joe for 6, HRP and Riccay came in to steady a creaking ship, with HRP swiping two monster sixes off his pads — widely described by onlookers (i.e. Jimmy) as the finest shots of HRP’s illustrious career. Rick’s casual approach to running was on display once again with his scoring options limited to either a languidly run single or a 4!
More wickets fell, including an unlucky golden duck run-out from Brent and the after effects of servicing Glastonbury VIPs triggering some overly optimistic strokeplay from Ant, before Bash entered for a stunning 22 at number 10 — a quickfire knock that will surely see him climb at least nine places in the batting order in time for the next game.
Sadly, it wasn’t quite enough to chase down the Beavers’ daunting total. Thirty-two needed off the last over was too much, even for the impressive Nic and Bash and the sloths fell short. As the Beavers rushed to embrace their hero Captain Colonel Mustard it felt like the end of one chapter and the start of another for the man from Bedminster.

As the warm June sun beat down on the lush grass of KES, a group of tired men from the village of Bathampton prepared to do battle once again. Could the decade-long Sloth winning streak be maintained, or would the dads, many of whom are now so old their kids don’t even go to school anymore, finally triumph?

Two makeshift squads of Sloths, dads, and famous TV presenters had been hastily assembled in the preceding days, and it was the horizontal half of the village who opted to bat first, despite having just 8 recognised players as the game started. To everyone’s surprise, Phil from Kirsty and Phil fame, clearly on location in Bathampton, played his first cricket match in 40 years, his property business having curtailed what could have been a promising career as an all-rounder.

The KES kestrel Dan O looked in fine form again with an unbeaten 29, supported in places by Ricky and Lawrie. SDS, Ant, and Brent upheld the traditional Sloth batting ethos, whilst Porridge knicked and nurdled his way to an unbeaten 27, with support from Jimmy, who looked in a hurry to take his helmet off due to another dizzy spell, probably caused by being in such close proximity to Phil from Phil and Kirsty.

At the close of the innings, the Sloths had managed an impressive 125 off 18 overs, which was nearly the same amount the Sunday sloth team had scored in 35 overs!

The Sloths made a strong start to the bowling, with The Doc removed cheaply and Ant taking the other opener. It was at this point that the dads showed their class, with runs coming quickly from all areas of the ground despite solid bowling and high-class fielding particularly from Laz at cover. Jimmy misheard the instruction not to throw the ball hard at the stumps and preceded to throw it as hard as he possibly could for 4 costly overthrows.

With the game in balance, it was time for Phil to shine, with the veteran picking his location, location, location with each shot. With former Sloth stalwart Dan Darwin moonlighting for the dads at number 7, it was clear the game was up, and a well-deserved victory for the dads was achieved in the final over with a stunning four back past the bowler.

Over beers the sloths pondered the big questions. Does it matter if you don’t play cricket for 40 years? What’s the line between a Bathampton Dad and a Bathampton Sloth? Was that Kirsty in the car park with the shades on? Who knows…

Don’t think us unkind
Words were hard to find
as Bathampton Cricketers unsigned
Battled with sloths of twisted mind

And as their bowling escaped me
And the batsman to the boundary made me

We beat de school, de dads ya ya
Is all we want to say to you
We beat the school, de dads ya ya
Their innocence will pull them through
We beat the school, de dads ha ha
Is all we want to say to you
We beat de school, de dads ya ya
Its meaningless and all that’s true

Poets, priests and architects
Cricket thanks them as rejects
Balls that scream for your submission
And no one’s batting their transmission

‘Cause when the Kestrel adds fuel
Or SDS in fact bowls you…

We beat de school, de dads ya ya
Is all we want to say to you
We beat the school, de dads ya ya
Their innocence will pull them through
We beat the school, de dads ha ha
Is all we want to say to you
We beat de school, de dads ya ya
Its meaningless and all that’s true

(Dey did do Do! Hey didn’t do da!
Tom, HRP, James and that Dan
Made a sloth look better than nathing!
Being both Sloth and dad made them pucker
but at least they qualified as sloth mother f.*&)@*

Having vowed not to play April games, due to being a proper sloth of old and acknowledgment of the “laws of hibernation” – I had missed the first three games of our season. In fact had missed nets altogether out of shear laziness, again see being an elder sloth.

Looking at Hampset / Stella as an opening fixture seemed perfect. I remembered them well as a bunch of unfit, aging, semi-alcoholic, half talented cricketers much like ourselves, if not more so. Arriving I suddenly realised that I had in all actuality, missed two seasons, three games and nets. Before me stood the “sons of Stella”, far fitter, less aged, probably tee total and talented.  Fek!

Batting, Brent and Painter opened magnificently and Captain Harding had decided to bat me 3 as a punishment (not sure who’s). I had kitted up and noted, not for the first time may I say, the club funds hadn’t purchased the long handled bat (requested at AGM’s 2019 through to 2024, pre AGM meetings and any other chance I could). Typical. Having donated my long handle bat to the club years back, it’s a sore point. The difference being that extra inch, which I have come to find makes the difference.

I batted badly mainly looking giving strike to the better batsman (everyone). And being a poor workman (cricketer) I will blame the tools. Failing to find a boundary on a pitch set for 11-year-olds, I scored a measly 6 runs off more overs and was eventually run out by umpire Frank. Who was kind enough to point out I had in fact had bat over the crease – just not grounded it. It had been about an inch above.

This ironic cruelty saved us the match as we had a depth of talent in the wings waiting for me to get out. Had we used it sooner – we may have one.

Sloths bowled well on a hard and unpredictable ground – Jimmi taking young fresh’s delivery 10 yards back and above his head. Brent and Ed bowling superbly and taking the final overs – as we were short a player. I should have gone to the nets and went for 19 no wickets.

We ended up in a tie – which although exciting, means you then go away knowing that, one run more batting, one run less bowling would have made the difference. One extra inch…

I went home and bought a sodding long handled bat.

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.

Vs The Offsiders, 22nd April 2025

“It’s all presentation over substance, that’s what’s wrong with the world nowadays” was one Sloth’s honest review of the new seating arrangement at KES pavilion, where a well-placed bench has been removed to be replaced with horrible, life-affirming flowers and planters. Luckily, Bathampton Sloths care little for their presentation and instead focus solely on substance (some much more than others).

Presently, Sloths gathered for the first game of the 2025 season and, quite potentially, about to engage in their first substantial piece of exercise in 6 months. Creaking bodies appeared from cars and all eyes gazed wistfully at the serenity of KES playing fields, oh such potential a new season promises! HRP even did some lunges.

Sloths batted first under strict instructions to ‘get on with it, we’re only playing 16 overs each because it’ll get dark quickly’. So who better to open at this break-neck speed than pre-Baz-Ball advocate and all-round Dom Sibley fan Porridge and Jimmer likes-to-take-a-look-so-stick-me-at-4-please-Skip. The Gas Man predicted a sticky pitch ‘whatwith that rain that fell earlier’ and wouldn’t you know it, he was right! At least that’s this writer’s excuse for a slow scoring 8 over batting stint. Jimmer found his timing to sweetly clear the in-field multiple times before getting under one and finding a fielder who could catch. Not like the dolly that was dropped in the covers an over previously. In came Laurie Veal who also fell to the sticky pitch, sending a leading edge high into the sky when clipping to leg and being caught. All eyes were on The Colonel as he strode to the wicket with, basically, Babar Azam’s bat and boy did it sound good as he sent one straight down mid-wicket’s throat. He glumly returned saying “oh boy I hate cricket”, but don’t worry readers, by the end of the game his boyish enthusiasm was back declaring “all that I was thinking when fielding was, I could do this for days”. Meanwhile, Dan DD Darwin Deez and The Gas Man upped the ante with scuttling running in the muggy conditions as fielders struggled with their barrage. After a dozen attempts, the big heave connected and The Gas Man gloriously struck the first six of the season into the canal fence and duly retired with a score of 30. Brent Boult struck a few to complete the innings and, off of their 16 overs, Sloth’s set The Offsiders 104 to win.

It’s hard to be objective about the following scenario because it was almost one of the best things I have ever been a part of and would have definitely resulted in me leaping topless into the canal. Ish kicked off Sloth’s bowling season with a ripper that caught the edge and was nearly snaffled one-handed by a diving Porridge. Ish continued with pace and accuracy to repeatedly beat the edge amid “ahh’s” and “ooo’s” from the Sloth fielders. A fair few worried “eek’s” from DD at point also, who’s analysis was “it’s lucky he’s in control of his length, because there’s a distinct possibility this batter could come a cropper”. The pitch providing plenty of carry and bounce, Ish changed tactic and honed in on the stumps to remove the opening batter. Fresh bowled tidily, being taught how to keep the seam upright by Veal just as he began his first run up. The familiar high release point of HRP was back for 2025, giving up the first four of the innings but also clean bowling a batter with a swinging beauty. How better to balance the quality of Ish’s opening spell with some village-leg spin? Jimmy Jimmy’s mystery dippers brought plenty of stumping attempts and a peak-village run out opportunity missed at both ends by despairing, chuckling Sloths. The two set batters steadily accumulated singles to very well placed Sloth fielders as the light began to dramatically fade. Enter the Sloth Spin Attack! Veal brought out his bag of tricks and bamboozled a batter with the in-swinging-arm-ball-left-handed-from-around-the-wicket classic, tasty. Brent Boult continued his streak of always bagging a wicket first game of the season as a batter skied one to the newly-bearded DD at point, who caught with authoritative aplomb. In near darkness, it was a James’ double act as Painter and The Colonel twirled away, allowing few opportunities to score and Jimmer, obviously, going to ground attempting a sharp caught & bowled chance.

Restricted to 78, Sloths took the victory but a fixture with The Offsiders in the height of summer would have been a trickier task.

Over giddy pints in The George, the joys of spring cricket were shared amidst the informal formation of The Bathampton Sloths Sports-Related-Good-Ghost-Writers-Only Book Club. DD shared his thumb-width book buying parameter and the club revealed its first recommendations:

• Open by Andre Aggasi (shorter than a book about 600 Years of The Saxons)
• Penguins Stopped Play by Harry Thompson
• One Long & Beautiful Summer by Duncan Hamilton

And yes, like all book clubs, it’ll be just another excuse to drink and go to the pub.