In order to obtain the full match day experience from the Kings House Sports Ground, please play the following video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fM9eFLImpEY in the background at Spinal Tap levels whilst reading the match report. A per usual internet etiquette, words in capital letters represent SHOUTING, which should help you to hear my writing above the noise of the Heathrow air traffic.
I don’t care what Albert Einstein, Hermann Minkowski or Dr Emmett L. Brown might have to say about the theory of relativity or the space time continuum, as you get older time seems to go faster and disappears at an ever increasing rate, unless of course you are watching yet another dour FA cup final involving Man United.
Apparently it’s all down to the fact that timekeeping in the brain is decentralised, with different neural circuits having their own timing mechanisms for specific activities, causing our sense of time to change in different conditions – such as when we are having fun or being bored out of our brain watching Michael Carrick play yet another square pass.
That leaves you with somewhat of a dilemma. DO YOU ACTIVELY SEEK TO BE BORED, THEREBY SLOWING TIME AND PERCEIVABLY LENGTHENING YOUR LIFE, OR DO YOU FILL WHAT LITTLE TIME YOU HAVE WITH AS MUCH FUN AS POSSIBLE, but at the cost of speeding up the sands of time? For those yet to commit to one of those two options, yesterday’s game against the Whalers offered a rare mix of both philosophies.
For those tempted by the former, the first few overs of the match will have been most welcome, disappearing in a relative blur, with no incident or excitement to report on whatsoever. In fact absolutely nothing of note happened in the first 10 overs, other than some very solid regulation line and length bowling from Evil and Skip, who toiled away gamely against some solid, but very unexciting batting. Now, that’s all fine and dandy if you are a scorer looking for an easy life or an aging cricketer looking to extend your days through the art of time distortion, but if you are assigned to write a Quokkas match report, it’s a bloody nightmare.
Just as I was thinking I might have to resort to unearthing actual facts and figures from the score book, Skip brought The Future on to bowl, who promptly took his first Quokka wicket with his opening delivery. OF COURSE THERE IS NOTHING REGULATION ABOUT A QUOKKA CATCH, BUT WITH CONAN BEHIND THE STUMPS IT WAS NEVER IN DOUBT, WHICH MEANT AT LONG LAST WE HAVE A GAME on our hands. Garlic bread didn’t stop there either and rather than wait to discover which Quokka had borrowed the other catching gene this week, he clean bowled the new bat. For those of us taking the boredom route to slowing down time, at this point we started to get a little nervous!
As is so often the case, a decent start by the Quokkas is undone by an opponent that knows which way up the bat is held and it appeared they had a couple of batsman that fit that description. A leg glance followed by a cut shot are not seen all that often at our level of cricket. Neither is calling or decent running between the wickets. This combination of actual batting ability and our allergy to fielding is one that starts to cause us problems and no matter how accurate the bowling, runs flow freely. Chuck into the mix some dropped catches, fielders that have the mobility of the afore mentioned centre midfielder and pair of batters growing in confidence and you start to see a solid total emerging in front of your eyes.
WITH FRUITI, VRESH AND THE YAK ALL BOWLING WELL, BUT HAVING LITTLE LUCK, IT WAS TIME TO GIVE THE BALL A LITTLE MORE AIR, with Skip bringing on both Mat and myself to try and tempt them into something they shouldn’t. He’s not as daft as he looks is that lad from Dronfield and Mat almost immediately grabbing himself a wicket with a ball out of Egg’s back catalogue. At this point we don’t exactly have them on the ropes, but having created some sort of time paradox, great scott Marty, and the status quo altered I join the quest for 1.21 gigawatts and grab two wickets in two balls.
Time starts to stand still at this point as I have visions of trapping the next man in leg before with something special from the back of my hand. The hat-trick ball is a shocker though and we’re thankful of a tall fence that stops it making its way into the Thames. Short of breath and one day closer to death (Pink Floyd anyone?) my spell is over, but the damage is done and we can see the tail. Sadly that tail wagged in fine style, even when Skip went back to The Future (now tell me that’s not brilliantly done) to try and skittle them out he was hit for a few.
SOME GOOD TIMING, THE ODD LONG HOP AND SOME QUITE TERRIBLE FIELDING HELPED ALLOW THE WHALERS TO SCORE 215 IN THE END, WHICH, WITH A SIZEABLE BOUNDARY, presented a considerable chase. Undeterred the Quokkas ensure Hillel the Elder and John Montagu’s legacy proudly continues and do everything in their powers to ensure nothing is added to the UK’s food waste mountain.
I instantly regret those two extra Cheese and Ham numbers as the first of our wickets falls before I even had chance to find my thigh pad. That regret is compounded as the first delivery I face flies through my limited defence straight on to said thigh. Speaking of regrets, I nicked the next ball only for their keeper to drop a dolly. Could that prove costly? With wickets falling at the other end I try to put my good fortune to work by blunting a confident attack.
With some defensive prods, favourable umpiring and numerous miss-come-leaves I prevent a domino rally type situation. For those suffering from the boundary, we have no doubt entered into another of those` time slowing down’ phases, but with Conan now with me at the crease that is never going to last long. Conan-Smash-Four-Nice-shot-Bow-Tie-Killer has a familiar ring to it and ensured the scoreboard ticked over.
WITH HEAVY RAIN FORECAST AND THE FIRST SIGNS OF IT CAUSING BOTH CONAN AND I TO FALL FLAT ON OUR FACES A FEW TIMES, TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE FOR BOTH SIDES if there is to be a winner. UNFORTUNATELY In his efforts to lift the run rate, Conan is caught in the covers to a very fine catch. Just the ten an over needed at this point, but “well within our grasp” I am informed by Skip as he gets to the middle. His confidence in me is immediately dashed as I see out a maiden.
After several `practices’ I eventually I do find the boundary with a nice pull shot and Skip thunders a few across the rope too. Can we win this? I can almost hear Han Solo saying “don’t get cocky kid” as a cut a ball straight into a relieved keepers hands.
But my downfall just allowed Evil to enter the fray and he took no time at all to get his eye in, finding the gaps with consecutive blows. Game on. Satan did eventually fell on his sword, but with Skip carving the ball through midwicket and The Yak getting bat on ball it looked like we still had a shout. The opposing skipper felt the same, so decided to bring himself back on to bowl. WHICH WAS WISE AS HIS TIGHT, FULL LENGTH BOWLING COMBINED WITH THE 15 RUNS AN OVER WE WERE NOW REQUIRED proved to be just too much to overcome. But it was certainly a gallant chase. Scoring just a couple short of 200 we simply ran out of time, well, overs to be more precise, but that doesn’t fit terribly well with my well-crafted `time’ theme.
So, a second defeat of the season for the Quokkas, but I am informed it’s the closest we have come to beating the Whalers in our history, which really isn’t saying something. With a two week break before the next encounter, we have a chance to slow things down and get away from all this bloody excitement, which should help to extend our lives a fraction. You never know it might be elongated enough to see the Quokkas actually win a game.