Howzat! Came the cry.
Another wicket in this twice yearly match;
Sixth man out.
Now it’s my turn, and we need quite a few runs
To win this battle, against this well known foe.
I walk confidently, purposefully, onto the field
Pull on my gloves, adjust my cap.
I reach the crease.
“Middle and leg, please Mr Umpire”
Stand up and look around the field
To see where the fielders are hidden.
The bowler approaches,
Mike, the younger of the Southwell brothers
He bowls outside my off stump,
Let it go, don’t go reaching
And get an edge to the waiting slips.
Accumulate some runs,
Nothing flashy, just play safe.
Howzat! Another wicket,
Seven down, but I am still there,
Playing safe, experienced.
More runs are added until yet again,
The crash of ball into stumps is heard,
And our eighth wicket, falls,
And our ninth, the next ball.
But I am still here
Here he comes, our finest bowler!
Taken so many wickets with
His phenomenal speed.
Batsman – huh!
Barely knows which way to hold the bat.
Still he has two balls to face,
Hope the cricket God is smiling on us.
The first ball, he plays an elegant
Forward defensive, to the bouncer
That went over his head!
The next ball he leaves alone,
Not realising that it came back
And barely missed his wicket.
Still he survived.
Now it’s my turn; the final over.
Eight runs to get against Alan,
The other Southwell, their best bowler.
Only six balls from this excellent man
For me to face, can I get the runs.
The first ball straight but a half volley
I stroke it past Alan for four glorious runs.
Now only four to get,
Five balls to come.
The next ball on my off stump
But it cuts away
From both bat and stumps
Excellent delivery, I am lucky
Not to have touched it.
The third delivery bowled short;
I sway back as I avoid the ball
As it passes my chest;
Alan smiles, I smile back,
And full of bravado,
Nod my acknowledgement,
To a ball well bowled.
The fourth ball, a half volley
On the leg stump.
I hit this ball as hard as I can
Up, up it goes flying like a bullet
Over the boundary,
Over the pavilion.
We have won the match!
MY six, won the match!
The finest shot I have ever played!
My team cheer, cheer me!
Thirty seven not out.
We all meet at the pub
Both teams.
As I walk in Alan stands up and comes at me,
With a snarl on his face!
The snarl changes to a grin,
“Can I buy you a pint Andy? Well played”
-
Author:
Goldfinch60 (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 27th, 2022 01:05
- Comment from author about the poem: This memory has stayed with me since the early nineteen eighties when I was playing cricket for Viking CC.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 22
Offline)
Comments6
A fine write Gold.
Thank you Orchi.
Owzat .. there are some things one never forgets .. I bet you were bowled over Andy ...... this is epic 🙂
There certainly are Neville, it is a story I relate to many people with the addenda that as far as I am concerned that ball is still going round the earth. 🤔
Andy
Never having been a cricket fan, this surprised me for its pace and intrigue. Nice one - owzat?
Not Out!
Thank you d a. I enjoy watching cricket, the real game, test matches, not this so called cricket that is often on the tv nowadays.
Andy
I know very little of cricket but this poem brought back memories of Casey at the bat by Ernest Thayer.An old favorite poem of mine.
Glad it brought back memories soren.
Andy
Vitaï Lampada and you are the go:
Play up and play the game - and you did.
This cricket feels like your forte you know;
Was your talent for croquet deeply hid?
I’d use ‘epic‘ but have been beaten to the draw; I’ll settle for 'a great piece of narrative'. Well writ, Sir!
I used to play cricket but my game was table tennis which I played for more than thirty years. Croquet is certainly my game now.
Thank you for your kind words Dave.
Andy
A great tribute to love of the game. The excitement, the thrill of victory, sportsmen all around. What a wonderful memory. Great write!
Thank you Bella, much appreciated.
Andy
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.