Probably better start writing this before I forget what happened. I already don’t have any memory of the moment for which I’m writing this, so I can’t forget that as such. It just sort of happened. 

Where can you start? The morning of the match we watched the greatest ever Greys match report. We’re already the greatest ever match reporters and than that? I don’t know how Hatrick felt when he was watching it, but he was very graceful. I would have been cursing Bumbo if it had been me. Did Dom plan it in advance? The visuals would suggest he knew something, but it was the last act of the game…I’m sorry, it’s a scary match reporting masterpiece to follow and I’m procrastinating and can barely type let alone produce something like that 

Upottery. Unknown quantity. Unknown location. Unknown quality. Mystery. Almost all young, but one old, who was holding a secret. Jiggery pokery. Slope like Bolney not Lord’s, scorebox obscured by sightscreen? A field of only black sheep? Strange goings on.  

30 overs, batting first. Opening bowlers young, fast. Running in, letting rip and giving Biff trouble, not helped by square leg chatting to Double. Smashed on the forearm, Biff felt nowt, guiding a couple through backward square until he played on for nine.  

It’ll be fine though surely, because they can’t have any more young quicks, can they? Can they? Del strides forth. Big Del from the day before. The beginnings of self-doubt banished by an amazing all round performance, looking the confident Joe-Root-like-grinning-through-the-grill Aussie of old, Del continued where he left off in the previous match and set about the young bucks.  

Hatrick kept him company until another sharp one saw him caught behind and Adam strode to the crease for the partnership of the day. Hard going with long boundaries, accurate bowling and incredibly athletic fielding, including one moment where the 15 year old actual athlete appeared to throw the ball in before he’d fielded it, the pair steadily put on 74 for the third wicket, Adam falling on 31 and Delboy on 66.  

There was a rain delay at some point, during which the seeds of the evening’s made up game, Krackerpow! were sown.  

All a bit frenetic after that, as things can be where a Burbridge is involved, with two run outs and bits and bobs from Double, Skip and Diamond bringing TMGs to a hard fought 151. 

No Tea. Cheese sandwich status n/a 

Opening with the old man, whose real purpose was yet to be revealed, and another who looked like he knew how to bat, Diamond and Robbie and then QB all bowled quite economically, removing the openers. Did the old man mutter some incantation as he left the field of play, his off stump lying on the ground, courtesy of Diamond? 

The first of the Pullmans and a lad named Smith came next and started to score more freely, but Eo, trousers correctly orientated, and then Double took two apiece, the first of Dave’s a long hop stunningly caught by Del (getting a bit boring now, to be honest) diving one handed to take a screamer at cover point. No one else in the team could have done it and it wasn’t even his best catch of the tour.  

Not satisfied with top scoring and outrageous catching, the genial Aussie was brought on to bowl, but the runs continued to come. However in his fourth over he managed to find the outside edge of batsman Smith, well set on 39. The ball flew towards gully and the next thing I know is I’m sitting on my arse with the ball in my hand surrounded by disbelieving and joyous teammates. It turns out disbelief counts more than skill for PSM, but I already knew that, of course.   

  It is sometimes the case that these youngsters who can bowl like the wind don’t have the power in those spindly whippy arms to hit the ball too far, but these Devon lads have hidden strength (maybe from wrestling sheep into a black dye dip?) and with the addition of some useful runs from Pullman senior, they kept in sight of the target. Wickets continued to fall, though, and the TMGs started to feel the game was at last swinging in their favour As the final over approached, we were scenting the second tour victory. 

The Denouement. 

The Final Over 

The Climax of the Game 

And of the Tour 

The Pressure. 

The Situation. One over to go, Upottery required 11 runs for the win, with one wicket standing. Two youngsters at the crease, looking determined, but still surely the underdogs?  

At last the old Upotterian showed why he was playing and his mind games soon began. Apparently a Devon over 60s wicket keeper, he’d done nothing but block the ball as a batsman and duck away from the ball at slip, but he had another skill about to be revealed.  

Partly based on an excellent spell of bowling the day before, Skip tossed the ball to the behatted one to bowl the last six balls and see the Greys home. Hatrick attempted to run through his bowling action as a practice. 

“You’re not allowed to do that”, snapped the old man, suddenly resembling a septuagenarian Gollum. 

“I’ve never been told that, ha ha”, said Hatrick nervously. 

“Well you can’t”, spat the wizened creature, and our poor bowler retreated to the end of his mark, as best he could approximate it, the evil umpire’s words repeating themselves again and again in his head.   

We held our breath as Hatrick approached the crease uncertainly, even the black sheep momentarily stopped their chewing and looked up in excited expectation. The ball suddenly feeling like something alien in his hand, he delivered it and it flew down the legside for a wide. Unable to gather, the helpless Ben couldn’t prevent an additional run being taken. A no ball followed, and glimmer of a smile beginning to appear on the old man’s face. A dot ball next. Hatrick looked slightly relieved, but his arch nemesis had another trick up his sleeve and with dagger like sarcasm, nastily said, “You do realize you’ve only bowled one ball?” This was the final straw for poor Hatrick, who saw what little confidence he had had disappear in a puff of smoke. Two more wides and couple of shots and the day was done. The young batters and their accomplice had won the day, both bravely and deviously. 

Upottery’s cricketers then mysteriously all disappeared, and we were left to console and reassure Hatrick. It’s a team game after all, and speaking as someone who got hit for 30 in an over on this very tour, I’m not going to criticize. Dark arts were employed that day, and let us hope the spell is a temporary one.  

Otter and goodbyes at the welcoming Sidmouth Arms, then back to the Hayloft for frivolity.