It rained for most of the day, and even when it wasn't raining it was overcast and windy . . . at least until about 4pm, when suddenly there were blinding flashes of sunlight, the ground began to dry and, come 6pm, we were being treated to a glorious spring evening. Just right for a trip to the Cambridge Beer Festival, or even a game of cricket. And what a game it was.
Prodigal captain Phil Watson (with his beard of many colours) led us onto field and immediately tried to work out if he had five bowlers. We started off with Daniel Mortlock (1/12 bowling with the help of a gale-force wind) and Anton Garrett (1/31 bowling into said wind) but neither wrought much destruction on the Nomads. Then neither Andy Owen (0/16 and dead unlucky not to get a wicket, having beaten the bat countless times) and Faruk Kara (1/26, the wicket being courtesy of ``fortuitous'' work by Geoff Hales behind the stumps) made any serious inroads into the Nomads' line-up, even if they did keep the runs down. Finally, Phil turned to Russell Woolf, who seemed set to produce more of the same when his figures were 0/15 as he began his fourth over:
The Education Nomads' innings ended one over later on what is believed to be 101/8, and both sides clapped Russell from the field and off towards a cash machine to facillitate the later buying of beers for all concerned. (There is no basis to the rumour that this second withdrawl for the month led to a call from the bank asking if Mr Woolf's card had been stolen.)
Our innings seemed destined to be something of an anti-climax, but in the end it was quite an exciting run chase. Paul Henderson (26) batted aggressively from the outset, but the rest of the top order failed, and we were 45/4 at the half-way mark. Then Andy Owen (36*) played another of his undismissable innings and, with support from John Young (15) and Robin Woolley (9* in his first Remnants knock), saw us home with an over to spare. That said, things could have been a lot closer: a few simple chances were grounded, and Andy certainly came closer to being dismissed than he had previously this season, the umpire having raised his finger in response to an LBW appeal, only to have the fielding side graciously agree that he'd hit the ball.
In the end all that mattered was that we headed to the bar in the knowledge that Woolfie would be buying us all a drink. Before this we presented him with an ``engraved'' (well, scribbled on) ball, but sadly not the actual orb with which he'd weaved his magic as it was lost in some undergrowth near the north boundary. And fair enough too -- can't have everything go your way . . .