I know you come here for a Quokkas cricket report, but some things are more important than cricket, and retelling this story is one of those things. A passenger on a recent Delta Airlines flight stunned fellow travellers and cabin crew alike when she was observed breastfeeding her pet cat. The woman had her hairless Canadian Sphynx swaddled up in a blanket so that it looked like a baby. When confronted by a flight attendant, her shirt was up and she was trying to get the cat to latch, which was screaming for its life. The woman refused to stop and wouldn’t put the cat back in the carrier. Delta airlines confirmed that it fully supports a woman’s right to breastfeed onboard its flights. You’re welcome.
I have had feline issues of my own, but finally cracked the problem of them using my garden as a litter tray when I discovered `Silent Roar’. Basically lion-dung-smelling balls of joy that have turned the cocky little bastards into tight rope walkers round my backyard fence. I tell you this because it was perhaps the only win I had all winter. While Fergal Sharkey was informing me of how many billions of litres of raw sewage were being dumped into my local water ways, Saints were stinking up the Premiership with some of the most abject displays since the last set of abject displays, my holiday to Sri Lanka turned to shit when the country went into financial meltdown, and as for the winter tests, Jesus, can I have a `severance’ medical procedure to separate my England cricket watching memories from the rest please? Boy, I’m glad I have my disappointment. It’s better than nothing.
Liverpool or Madrid to win the Champions League final? You are asking me to rate my favourite flavour of dog turd there, but as the famous philosopher Paul Merson recently said, the richest people in the world are those that live in the moment, so I celebrated the Scousers failure and now I feel like a pig shat in my head. Mrs Seagull: What’s that smell?
Bourbon and despair my dear. I’d like a bloody Mary. But it’s nine o’clock in the morning.
Yep, hence not requesting whiskey. Thank god the cricket season is under way.
First up, the Whalers and this match will be long remembered for the first ever Quokkas hattrick. Yeah, I know. What a turn up for the books. You may recall that Radio John almost achieved the feat twice last season, but this time he actually got the trio and in style too, clean-bowling his third victim. Unbelievable Jeff. The first two wickets weren’t bad either, Radio beating the batsman all ends up, allowing Todd plenty of time to claim a brace of stumpings. And he wasn’t finished there either, claiming another two wickets in two balls and just missing out on a second hattrick! A sixth victim did follow, leaving him with figures of three overs, six wickets for six runs…let me give you a moment to let that sink in…Malcolm Marshall eat your heart out. Seagull took him off. Obviously.
Other than the magnificent Radio, our bowling looked rusty. Smruti went for more runs than all of last season. Faggie went for six an over and those that followed him wished they had. Jatin and Tugboat’s mix of unplayable and unreachable deliveries kept the scoreboard ticking over. Seagull didn’t help proceedings, placing fielders within the boundary, thereby failing to combat batsman hitting juicy leg side full tosses thirty yards beyond the rope. Viran, on loan from the Whalers, arrived about half way through the innings and the extra fielder made absolutely no difference to the run rate, but we at least had one more pair of hands to retrieve balls from the neighbouring pitches.
We needed a wicket badly. Seagull turned to Driver and he immediately delivered with a truly horrible first ball that saw the opener, already fifty runs to the good, miscue straight to midwicket. Finally, we had our breakthrough and one brought two, with the Yak joining the party, drawing another false shot and Seagull taking an easy catch. Driver then got a second wicket, with Todd taking a good catch behind the stumps, paving the way for the Radio show. The final wicket was claimed by Viran and by then our opponents were 232 to the good. We’ve lost from better positions.
With cricket teas becoming optional, it was nice to tuck into an array of sandwiches, cakes and English tapas, although the accompanying UK garage soundtrack left a lot to be desired. MC Toes seemed in his element as did the 500 screaming kids enjoying another bouncy castle. Over tea we discussed the need for an option that’s more than sleeping, but not as much as being dead and discovered that only humans can cry tears and in football, space and time are the same. Fascinating stuff, but 21 seconds is about as much of So Solid Crew I can handle, so let’s knock those runs off. Well, some of them.
It wasn’t that we batted badly, we didn’t, we just didn’t bat terribly well. Although, with a little bit of luck we could have made it…(Ed: Oh no. I can see where this is going). To be fair, the bowling was decent and as a result, Todd and Driver were forced to bat sensibly knowing you just gotta get through this. And they did a great job until Driver was out. Faggie sadly didn’t trouble scorers and when Todd fell to peer pressure (bloody Kiwi wicketkeepers insisting they have heard an edge when the ball has missed by about a foot), we were in a little trouble. Tugboat smashed several fours and for a while looked dy-na-mi-tee, but just as drinks approached he let one through the gate, which he would like to have re-rewind…(Ed: in the spirit of things, `fill me in’ Seagull).
On Sunday we chilled, especially when Jatin continued the attack, hitting one or two huge boundaries, but he also fell on his sword as things started to look interesting. Viran hit a four that was as sweet as chocolate, before injuring himself and having to re-retire hurt. (Ed: Yeah that doesn’t work and I’ve got no idea how you are going to shoehorn flowers in the pouring rain).
Toes also looked very comfortable, but runs were proving hard to come by. The Yak and Smruti tried to move things along, but were both out playing the wrong shot, which left Seagull and Radio with just a little too much to do. Radio did however smash several lose deliveries for four and played one or two nice strokes too, forcing their skipper to bring back the opening bowler. With 85 needed from the last over you just never know. Sigh.
So, an opening game defeat for the Quokkas by the triumphant Whalers, but to be honest no one cared about the result as the day belonged entirely to Radio John. Well done sir, if I had them I would have presented you with flowers, as you made my day (Ed: nicely done).
See you all in Coldharbour. I am hearing there might be a return of the attack (pump up the world).