After Orsett Vs in Stanford le Hope, it felt like Lord’s.
If ‘organised loafing’ is the best description of this wonderful sport, a cricket tour is gonzo organised loafing.
Any cricketer who’s been there will tell you: there’s never a dull moment at Sully Centurions. This time it was custard doughnuts, buttock tattoos and a probable DinkyPooTwos record or two.
Secretary Hiscocks first retired in 2009, after reaching his fifties, so far as I can recall, and has come back since several times.
Skittles skittled selection for this weekend as a horde of players went off to terrorise Minehead and the irregulars of Dads Army and ne’er do wells were roped in.
Before punk, there was Glamorgan.
County cricket bit me when I was six, sparking what would now be called a fanboy phase of undying, uncritical devotion, setting a lifelong pattern of following the underdog.
This game had a sort of James Bond-ian element to it.
The DinkyPooTwos steamroller trundled on, on an ugly day, too ugly for cricket. It provided a fair bit of ugly batting, in the face of a teething wind and under demonic grey skies – thick cigarette ash clouds relentlessly inching across the landscape.
No DinkyPooTwos game today, so time for a blast from the past and a cut-and-paste job from the last Sunday match of 2009, played in late September.
Top (them) v second (us). Promised to be a clash of the titans, an early tester to see if they might be good enough to topple the champs.
But it wasn’t.
Like a throwback to a different era – a great see-sawing game of cricket played in good spirit and some excellent fielding, bowling and batting to commend it.