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: March 23rd, 2024 02:16
- 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: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: Accidental Poet
Offline)
Comments5
Good write Gold.
Thanks Orchi.
I felt the action and it was way cool that each stanza developed storylines that gave life to the piece. PUT ME IN COACH
Most kind Bobby, thank you.
Andy
Congratulations Andy, you are victorious. I hope that's not the pub with no beer, you deserve to celebrate. 😁👍
Thank you AP, no the pub had beer. LOL
Andy
I know nothing about cricket, but I was practically on my feet, cheering. What a wonderful memory dear Andy, thank you so much for sharing.
Most kind Bella and very much appreciated.
Andy
I know as how you don't like to boast Andy, but on this occasion I'll allow it!!!
Well bowled - a gripping piece which kept me in suspenders right up to the penultimate stanza and its aftermath.
Thank you Dave.
Another day I remember, as I walked onto the pitch to bat it started raining, I score four runs and was out and as I walked off the pitch it stopped raining.
Andy
Don't brood there, Andy. It was probably warmer in the club house...... Remember Vitai Lampada, plus you didn't have to go over the top.......
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