On 4th May 2002, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration launched a little-known satellite into orbit. It’s name was Aqua. Amongst the many pieces of sophisticated technical equipment and instrumentation aboard was a piece of imaging apparatus, part of a wider system – the Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectrometer - known as MODIS. Ever since, in conjunction with its sister Terra, Aqua has orbited the earth each day, using MODIS for measuring what is known as thermal radiance. In short, MODIS is responsible for knowing how warm the surface of the earth is. It has since managed to identify the Lut Desert in Iran as the world’s hottest environment. But unless any of you reading this work for NASA, I defy anyone to tell me there was anywhere hotter on this planet than the airless gulley at the bottom of the Barnes Common ground on Sunday 9th August 2020.

The beautifully on brand Woodpeckers gazebo in this spot was mere decoration. The overwhelming heat of the place was like mid-afternoon on Mercury. This spot was chosen as the area least likely to create a major incident, as we discovered our portable BBQ was positioned on top of a gas main. The Peckers would choose this of all days to bring a fire, beautifully manned by new Pecker Chef in Residence Peri Peri.

A pitch inspection confirmed the status of the square and surrounding pitch to have the same groundsman as the Lut Desert, with patchy grass and a rock-strewn deck, with “SUN” emblazoned in white paint at one end. We didn’t have the energy to investigate whether the other pitch said “SAT” or “RAIN”, but we busied ourselves in encouraging Skip to negotiate an early bat so we could retire to the shade. A long-term resident of the Gobi, POB was coping well in the heat: he was in ebullient form, the air of a man confident in the rich talents of a well-rounded side.

Prate Garrrr, Badger and Peppa assist me with pitch inspection

Dog-Shit-Heap and Badger opened up in fine style, caressing the ball around for six or seven overs before DSH would sky a long hop to mid-wicket, for a galvanising 20. A fidgety pair, they had clearly put the locals off their rhythm with a selection of wild flails, followed by cultured strokes to the boundary. Throughout our innings, the ball seemed to the fielding side like a flaming cannonball as they dodged, ducked and dived over it in the outfield. Their fielding in the end would be a significant contributor to the score.

Joining Badger in the middle was a very sad-looking Botty, sleep-deprived by the newborn and virtually comatose until his turn to bat. He had the look of a man surprised to be upright and thrashed his first two strokes to the boundary in a daze, before seemingly waking up. He batted marvellously with an array of crisp strikes around the wicket, ably supported by the furtive Badger, who took a back-seat role as Botty unleashed the kind of aerial display usually reserved for Dunsfold. This was not a day to be hustling singles and twos, and of his 82 runs, only 14 involved any running. He would eventually be stumped with what appeared a half-hearted attempt to regain his ground. As Umpire Cannon incurred the wrath of the keeper by trying to enforce a little-known rule, last used in 1845, Botty raced back to the gazebo to resume the horizontal.

A heat-exhaustion collapse would ensue: Pirate, Henners, Horse, Skip, Motty and Cannon all falling cheaply bar the odd thrash to the boundary, all returning dripping in sweat. Henners girlfriend Sam was making her debut and he’d remarked before the game that it may be a curse. As Henners was just starting his innings, I was sitting with his Parents and Sam appeared and as she was walking across to us Henners struck a great pull shot to the boundary where the fielder took a remarkable juggling catch 1 yard inside the boundary….Oh Dear! Where then did the runs come from?

Henners relaxes happy in the knowlege that a- his average is still massive b- Sam still loves him. Tiddles feeling the heat…

Badger’s innings was a thing of mastery. He arrived late, eyes blood shot, the attire and mild look of panic of a man who failed to negotiate Mott’s Law - å = (Empty Stomach) / n (Rosé) - in the logic test that is weekend drinking. Eyebrows were raised as he headed to the middle, only pausing for a dry heave in the arid outfield. But from there? Exemplary shot-making: the drive, the thrash, the edge through the slips, the tickle, the weave, the flounder – all were on display in a glorious masterclass. A clatter to mid-on would bring up a first Peckers century for this fine chap, no-one deserving more the rich chorus of applause from the heavy-set Peckers. 124 was the final tally, a flurry from Tiddles bringing the innings to close with a very competitive total of 296.

We had a fabulous support team -Plenty of Otties, LP, Walpoles. The Shit-Heaps and Spinach brought an entourage including the Burnley Badgerina who witness his Badger’s first ton since Prep School.

Piri-Piri had fired up a marvellous BBQ, when not draining the cooler of lagers, with his famous BBQ sauce and jerk carrots as toppings. It was highly delicious and was a suitable tea, taken in the woods to try and keep out of the relentless baking sun.

Which brings us to our opponents, the Barnes Common CC, led by fearless Aussie bowler Graham Freedman. This charming side plays host to a number of ex-pats - Aussies, Kiwis, Indian and Sri Lankans – all united by a love of the great game and they were marvellous hosts.

Their bowling and fielding had perhaps lacked the cooling effect that they would have hoped, and clearly had strong hopes from a competent set of batsman at the top of the order, who had polished off 300 the previous day. The first shot cracked from the middle of Zef’s bat nearly cracked POB’s rib at mid-on, and the cover fieldsman immediately dropped an additional 10 yards in respectful deference.

Tiddles and Spinach started gamely; Tiddles in particular barely bowled a bad ball and was right on the money from the very start, taking the opener Nikhail in his first over. On this unpredictable deck, he was unlucky to only finish with a single wicket, but certainly played a key role in pinning the home side down. Spinach wasn’t his usual speedgun-breaking self, but bowled tidily, impressing his adoring entourage.

There were however ominous signs for the fielders, who had no interest in enduring a two-hour stint in the field, as Zef and Keshav began to punish the loose ball, though the Peckers fielding performance was highly polished for once (Horse a notable exception). Zef in particular (a Richmond 2s man) looked a high-quality player and struck the ball with authority and panache.

It was the first change pair that swung the match. Motty for Tiddles, trialling a whizzy new action, bowled neatly and straight and on this unpredictable deck was a handful. Bowling with artistry, he built pressure for Henners to exploit at the other end, with his vicious pitch-burning twirlers. He made the breakthrough, trapping Zef the danger man in front for 28.

From Top L-R Horse, Butternut, Cannon, Badger, Otto, Pirate, Shit Heap, Spinach, Tiddles, Henners, POB/Peppa, Botty

Motty would not be outdone and snaffled Keshav for 38 and then Hassan next ball to set up an ultimately disappointing hat-trick ball. Henners struck back, with a hat trick opportunity of his own, Tiddles taking a cat-like worldie at slip, a svelte Rakheem Cornwall. From there, it was really all over, bar a brief wag of the Barnes tail when Pirate came on, claiming his first wicket for the Peckers, the only ball of his two over spell that wasn’t dispatched to the boundary.

The hosts would succumb for 125, and both teams gratefully retired to the Waterman Arms for cooling ales by the breeze-giving river, and we chatted with our amiable hosts into the evening under the setting West London sun.

“We didn’t think you were going to get 300” said one miffed Barnes Commonian. “Once we saw your waistlines, we didn’t think we had a game” said another.
A quote to remember the Peckers by, if ever there was one.