Many of you will have your own reasons why you love Cricket. My passion for the game comes from my Granddad who played in a Broughton Astley side who were the eminent Leicestershire club side in the 1950’s. He even played against the County on three occasions and he swears blind only the rain saved them one year.
These days his body is weak, his health is not all it could be but his mind is as sharp as ever. In his mind there are 1001 anicdotes from his playing days that are still a source of pleasure for him all these years later.
Take a moment to think, what memories will you take into your dotage and relate to future generations when the most you can manage is the prospect of Bath Chair Cricket? Although I hope for many more here are five of my favourites.
Dicky Barkworth gave a send off
A couple of years ago Kibworth were playing Billesdon at Fleckney Road in a Wednesday night game.
The home side had put a decent score on the board but one man, a Premier League Cricketer who shall remain nameless, was single handedly winning the game despite nine men on the boundary trying to thwart him.
Either out of boredom or wanting someone else to have a go this player tried something completely extravagant and got cleaned up. 10 men off the fielding side knew what the script was and clapped him off, all except one.
Rushing off the boundary a certain R Barkworth Esq chimed in with a particularly loud send off to point him back to the pavilion. It was a bit like the bloke from the Mr Muscle advert telling Mike Tyson where to get off.
Regardless of this incident and with due apologies to the player concerned, Dicky was, and remains, a legend.
Suresh goes ballistic at Harborough
Kibworth once had a player called Suresh De Alwis. Suresh was a thoroughly likeable chap and fondly remembered by those who knew him and played with him in his short time with the club. Certainly his definition of time keeping was somewhat unconventional, and his strong accent left you sometimes wondering precisely what he said, but wherever he is now I am sure we all wish him well.
One particular night I pitched up at Market Harborough to watch the evening league bun fight only to be drafted in at the last minute. I spent 14 eight ball overs chasing leather as a strong home side rattled up a score of over 170. With a home attack comprising Matt Trevor, amongst others, the chances of success looked remote. Enter our man Suresh.
Suresh had a simple method of batting, very much six or sticks. If he connected with the ball it went a very long way at a rapid rate of knots, if he didn’t he was showered and changed in no time.
I have seen few innings as destructive as Suresh was that night. To this day I am still not sure how many shredded wheat he had consumed but, aided and abetted by a superb knock from Russ Spiers, Kibworth chased down their target with an entire over to spare. Quite how many balls were lost in the surrounding hedgerow is probably a matter of legend.
Medland the Clairvoyant
Anybody who was there will never forget the day at Lords when Kibworth won the Cockspur Cup. Many of you will have your own story of that incredible day but my favourite comes quite late in the piece.
To any outsider the mathematics of the run chase must have looked favourable, the rate was low and there was plenty of batting in the famous old pavilion if need be. However to the spectators in the ground who were refusing to even dream of the prize there was tension.
Suddenly with victory in sight there was a wobble. A wicket fell and then Tim Mason went first ball, Ockbrook had a sniff again. At this point two things honed into view, Simon Renshaw on the pitch and Ray Medland in the crowd.
As ‘Renno’ strode out to the middle Ray weaved his way towards us, his intake probably measurable only in gallons, his cheeks a rosy red hue and his eyes slightly glazed. Ray, implacable, was asked for his opinion. The answer, before he collapsed into a near by seat was, and I quote,” Renno’s going to hit him to Belgium”.
Despite much thought I have never been able to work out the exact relevance of that particular Benelux nation and although the ball never quite made it across the Channel (to the best of my knowledge) the gist of his words were not far wrong. The partnership with Andy Smith collated the runs to take the side to the brink before the aforementioned ‘Renno’ won the competition by swotting the ball high and handsome into the crowd.
All hail Mystic Medland. Fancy doing my lottery numbers this week?
Taking a wrong turn
I have to admit that I wasn’t there for this one, only one person really knows.
As you might have gathered it is usual for teams usually to comprise of 11 players. One day at Husbands Bosworth the Kibworth contingent measured only 10.
A quick headcount revealed a certain first team player was missing and despite the passing minutes there appeared to be no sign. Facing playing the match with a man short a frantic mobile phone conversation took place when the First Teamer was adamant he was in situ and wanted to know where everyone else was. The answer was in Husbands Bosworth where the match was and not Market Bosworth where the First Teamer was.
Cue a journey across the breadth of Leicestershire and a red faced driver at the end of it.
The day John Bleeby very nearly lost his temper
John Bleeby is one of life’s gentleman and a thoroughly amiable man to share a dressing room with. When many others are spouting their thoughts (OK, that’ll be me then) John almost always keeps his own counsel. Well, I did say almost always.
There was one game, which may have been at Bitteswell although it doesn’t really matter, when John was afforded that rare opportunity of time and game situation to build an innings at his own leisure and on this particular day looked in good nick.
With a very decent knock in the offing John finally succumbed and walked off, obviously disappointed that he hadn’t been able to really cash in and make a big score. Plenty of ‘Hard lucks’ and a good hand later John, still grimacing, tried to enter the pavilion only to have to face the one adversary (apart from the delivery that undid him) to which he had no adequate defence, the persistent enquiry of the scorer.
Every knows that fact, figures and statistics are a big part of the game but chasing a newly out batsman to find out exactly how he was dismissed would not ,on reflection, probably be judged as a shining example of diplomacy. For a split second you would have been forgiven for wondering which particular orifice the scorers pencil was going to be inserted into.
