Newton Poppleford v Erratics Cricket Club Erratics on Sun 19 Aug 2012 at 2.30 pm
Erratics Cricket Club Won by 41 runs
Match Report by Tristram Neal:
Glossary of Latin names used in this report:
Attis & Battakes - The two highest priests of the ancient cult of Cybele, who was worshipped with noisy music, dance and drumming.
(Messrs Kirby & Kirby, the taiko drummers. Ed)
Calculus - As well as the mathematical method of Newton’s devising, calculus means “pebble”, as does the “popple” in Poppleford.
Circus Maximus - The biggest Racetrack. (Matt Raistrick of NP. Circus Major is Alex R, while Luke is Circus Minimus. Ed)
Consul - Marcus Phillipus was consul in 91 BC, as was his son of the same name in 56 BC. (Salve, Mark Phillips. Ed)
Coquus = Cook. (Matt, in this case. Ed)
Eques “Knight”, as in Sir Tristram. Well known for falling victim to a love potion. (The author. Ed)
Faber = Wright. (Martin. Our Dear Leader, for the day, Ed)
Gladiator = ferro = with the sword.
Imperator = Emperor. “Orpen” may be from the French orpin, a plant, Sedum Telephium, known popularly as “Purple Emperor”.
Miller = “Molins” may come from molinus = of a mill.
Neoptolemus = Here goes: “Prosser” is an Anglicized form of the Welsh ap Rhosier, meaning son of Roger. Roger is from the Old Germanic hrothgar, meaning “famous spear”. The most famous spear is that of Achilles, so Prosser is Neoptolemus, Achilles’ son! (Got that, Dominic? Ed)
Philosophus = One full of thought, as GareTH OUGHTon. Also an easy rhyme for Neoptolemus.
(You might also want to know that George HOUSE was an excellent bowler on the Newton Poppleford team and that Kenny CLAY is a NewtonP legend in his own time. Ed)
Of a man’s first victory, and of balls
That hands did safely cup, and those displayed
Not peeping from their boxes, but in calls
Of “Waiting… yes!”, quick singles dared and made,
Openers shut out, tossers pulled away,
Sing, Muse of Cricket, in thy chirping song,
And give my words the fullness to convey
Our deeds with bat and ball through overs long;
Nor let me droop, knowing that on a time
Unto the willow tree was I compared:
Let thou no weeping follow on my rhyme,
Unless it be of joy, and me be spared
The strike of leather ‘pon me for my pains.
How came it then to pass, that on this day
At Newton Pop devoid of summer rains,
We motley band of warriors held sway?
The toss was won, the match begun:
Erratics were to bat.
The field was set, though slightly wet;
The pitch was not quite flat.
The Consul true, and Coquus too,
Strode out into the middle,
Both strong to face the spin or pace
Of any Shane or Siddle.
Four overs gone, the scoreboard on
A slow but steady eight,
Two wickets fell: the muffled knell
Of a familiar fate.
First Matt was out: he’d tried a clout;
At first we thought he’d hooked it.
But when he heaved, the stumps were cleaved:
Alas, he’d overcooked it.
Then one kept low to Phillips: though
A batsman of renown,
He couldn’t flick it from his wicket,
And House had blown it down.
Now to the crease, to bring release,
There came the Gladiator,
Who, through his art, did not depart
Till thirty overs later.
With him at first, Miller, who durst
Attack like a marauder.
Struck on the shoulder, he grew yet bolder,
But kept his House in order.
He rode his luck, but came unstuck,
As through the Marsh he wended.
He launched one high; mid-off was spry;
The Miller’s tale was ended.
And then began the greatest span
Between two batting partners,
As captain Faber joined his labour
To that of Chris in harness.
Between the pair, with scarce a scare,
They put on forty-eight,
Until one raced, tricked Wright for pace,
And bowled him through the gate.
Then Attis came to join the game,
And proved himself on song
Despite a clip put down by slip;
The scoreboard ticked along.
The surge then stalls, and come six balls
With creeping terror laden.
No runs to flout, and three men out:
First Ferro fell, but he’d done well
To reach a score and ten;
Then Battakes, batting to please,
Quite soon walked back again.
Last out did trot, his specs forgot,
He heard a whir, saw but a blur,
And then was back with us.
Amidst this flurry, in panicked hurry,
Eques sought box and glove –
No time! His loins ungirt, he joins
The father of his love.
Then pressures two propelled him through:
And, lest be void his suit, avoid
His tackle’s clean removal.
And in the sun, just past a ton
They edged without much fuss
To one-one-two, whilst getting through
The Circus Maximus.
And so to tea the twenty-two
Now came, and though ‘twas very nice,
We could but feel a little blue
And think we still had much to do –
Would what we’d scored suffice?
(His battle fought, our captain fair
Had taken up a certain stance:
One hand tucked up, he had the air
Of one who whites did also wear:
An emperor of France.)
But look! We do not need it told
That stomachs armies march upon,
For this is truth we know of old:
One minute it’s a cake we hold,
The next minute it’s scone.
Replete with sugar, cream and dough,
We hauled ourselves towards the field
To whither skipper bid us go,
All strong in will to run, to throw,
To catch, and not to yield.
The first to let their missiles fly
Were crafty Neoptolemus,
And Gareth, in whose pensive eye,
Blood-red from fags, we did descry
A real Philosophus.
Two overs gone for nine runs, when
Succeeded one of many plans:
First Faber swapped his square-leg men,
Oughton released the ball, and then
‘Twas in the Consul’s hands.
The batsmen, though, reached thirty-four,
When there had but eight overs been,
And we did fear what lay in store
For Newton’s Calculus was more
Than what we’d made: fourteen.
Then Cook and Ferro had a spell
That slowed the run-rate down a bit,
And under which three batsmen fell,
Faint hope did flicker, hearts did swell,
And each man showed his grit.
First Eques plucked from out the air
The ball from young Clay’s half-baked drive
Off Cook, who’d set his field with care –
(“A bit deeper. A bit straighter. There!”)
The game was still alive!
Then Wright the skipper pounced just like
A cat; a Coombs shot came his way.
Then, as an angler reels in pike,
Cook trapped Kenny, who, on his bike,
Bemoaned his feet of Clay.
And just before we drank our fill,
With them on forty-eight for four,
Philosophus used his great skill
To make the orange sweeter still:
He skittled out two more.
Fast, full and straight the first one flew,
For which the highest price House paid.
Already much warm praise was due
To Faber, & Faber brought to two
The catches he had made.
(Perhaps Cook’s “oar-ball” – patent pending –
Came then to mind as he did seize
The ball which through the air came wending,
For, legs all of a sudden bending,
He sank upon his knees.)
The tide, if it had not yet turned,
Appeared at least to think of it;
Young Eques grinned, who’d never earned
A victory for which he yearned
Clad in Erratic kit.
It was in over twenty-three
When first in runs they trailed to us,
And Imperator quailed to see
A brute of an adversary:
The Circus Maximus.
But hail the Emperor! Soon the latter
Was tempted by a looping one,
And though a strong and able batter,
He really should have hit it flatter:
Caught Cook, despite the sun.
His reign went on, but Paul’s fist pumps
Showed what? Had bat been stumped, caught, yorked?
All that was clear was broken stumps;
“Did you hit the ball?” asked umps;
Bat answered “Yes”, and walked.
O Thomases, now it was tough
To lead your team out of the wood!
No engines were you, full of puff,
And as to if you’d do enough,
You doubted if you could.
Indeed, soon Oughton drew the error,
As one of them tried hard to blast it.
In charged Eques, keen as ever;
His team-mates all looked on in terror
That he’d just run straight past it.
He holds on, though; change of attack:
And Prosser once more gets the shout.
His first two get a thunderous whack;
His third sends stump and batsman back
For seventy-one all out!
It would not take a crazed fanatic
To wish such drama ne’er would stop.
On every side a proud Erratic
Was beaming with a smile ecstatic;
Newton had lost their pop.
So came the end, the battle pitched and won;
And all too soon the warriors in white
Departed with the falling of the sun,
But each kept dear the memory of the fight,
The glorious day, and all that he had done,
And on his lips the words, “We did it, Wright!”
I felt that to be counted ‘mongst these bands
And share in but a page of history
Showed that, however flowery, each player stanza
Chance, if not averse, and picked and free.
I went to shake the opposition’s hands,
But touched instead the palm of Victory.
Erratics Cricket Club Erratics Batting
2nb 9w 12b
for 7 wickets
Newton Poppleford Bowling
No records to display.
Newton Poppleford Batting
for 10 wickets
71 (27.3 overs)
Erratics Cricket Club Erratics Bowling
Payments to Erratics
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