Prologue

For the most part, the Woodpeckers season has followed the trajectory of the game globally - less long form, more short form. What was until just five years ago a declaration cricket dominated diary, is now mostly 35 or 40 over games where a result is guaranteed. For good or ill this is our new reality. Yes there are fewer painful draws where some obdurate old swine steals precious drinking time from us. But with the guaranteed result it’s hard not to feel that something has been lost. Well whatever that something is, you can find it at the bottom of the A3, nestled in the Meon Valley.

This was a journey that in this rain affected 2023 season, the Peckers were bringing a two-match unbeaten run. Having not even played at Hogs in three seasons (covid, rain, rain) or won at Hogs in six, we were keen to come back up the road with a win.

fishing country

So it’s always a welcome relief when Hampshire Hogs hoves into view on the calendar. All the way down the A3, past Ripley, don’t stop at Brook, keep going through the Devil's Punchbowl and you emerge into the open fields of declaration cricket, stopping twice for lunch and tea, wondering who’s brought the port and how many overs that sadist Charlie Browne will make us field for (hi Charlie).

For once, the A3 is clear. It always is because we’re on it at 10am when everyone else is still in bed. The usual fishing begins via WhatsApp, trying to coax Patrick into a blind rage with claims of tailbacks at Tolworth and loo stops at Liss.

Most of the Hogs reside in London but despite the distance by 10.30am there were enough of them for a net to be in full flow. Yours truly had one over to check I could remember how to bowl but the rest of the Peckers correctly opted for a swift pint to acclimatise. Theakston’s was on tap at £4 a pint, but not for long. The vendor management team hadn’t been made aware of our fixture and the bar was to run out of beer twice that day.

*Hampshire Hogs CC at Warnford, glorious. Overcast.*

tossers

The two Brownes, Patrick Owen- and Charlie, disappeared off for a while and came back agreed that it would be best if Patrick inserted. I shall leave that to your furtive imaginations to decide whether or not any actual tossing took place.

Pints were downed and being the first run out for many Peckers, whites were hoisted hopefully from the bottom of smelly kit bags. We were dragging our feet and by our umps for the day Malcolm and Graham were starting to understand what sort of day lay ahead for them. By 11.11 ex-drill sergeant Malcolm barked us into shape and a very youthful Peckers XI were ready to go.

Bowling

The wicket was soggy to say the least. And with overhead conditions favourite some schwing it was a joy to be bowling first. An incredibly youthful Peckers XI of eight 20 year olds with one of each from the three decades, chinned pints and took to the field.

I still rather enjoy opening the bowling but, much like an acceptance that one will never play the Dane, the day that I am just too slow or stiff or both will come. Given that I’m still walking like Tin Man on Thursday morning, suggests that it’s not long until a curtain will need to be erected around me at fine leg.

I’m always helped by some hungover youth thundering down the hill and today was Trash’s turn. With the sun bursting through the cloud and a definite dampness to the wicket we both felt like we’d be in the wickets and the Theakstons was only helping the confidence.

But not the run up, as it turned out. Both of us struggled to find our pace early on but so did the Hogs opening pair of Ollie Kelly and Jonny Graham, who showed us way more respect than we deserved to be honest. Graham got a fizzer from me and snicked off in the direction of Cat at first slip. He couldn’t have directed more directly at Cats paws as it disappeared into those feline mitts and stayed there, much to the surprise of the Peckers. There was much rejoicing.

This only brought Greg MacKenzie to the middle, who appeared to have somewhere else to be, smiting his second ball to the mid wicket boundary with a flourish that said “I’m way out of your league fellas”. And he was. Turns out he actually has a serious heart condition though so could only hit boundaries. We know how you feel.

Three or four more lusty blows later and we spread the field a bit. GK went out to cow corner and Cat moved from first to third and back again. Luckily for us Greg picked my slower ball and was halfway through smashing it into the English Channel when it also fizzed off the surface and caught an edge brilliantly bagged by a diving Moleman with the gloves. 34-2 and the Peckers had their Peckers up. Thanks probably to the early snatch from Cat, a median age of about 29 and the fact that the outfield would make the Crucible blush, our ground fielding was as good as it’s ever been. We looked proper, Guv.

You’re right to think that dear reader. Of course it didn’t last. A record breakingly long partnership of 132 runs in 261 balls and 161 minutes followed. Painful in a number of ways, but at least we got to stop for lunch halfway through.

Lunch

Lunch was a convivial affair. Hogs are operating a (hopefully, temporary) BYO lunch system (they still do tea) so we clubbed together and had a lovely time. Cats quail scotch eggs were a highlight, as was Crisp Mountain which we’re still getting through Chez Otto. We held back on the port and cheese board but had several pints of Theakstons, and only stopped because they ran out.

The snorefest continued after lunch. So we found our own fun. Mainly by bowling wides and laughing at Trash getting a succession of warnings from Malcolm for swearing, shit chat and overstepping the mark. Thankfully we had Lav (17-2-60-0) who bowled brilliantly from both ends and was incredibly unlucky not to pick up a wicket with his accurate off breaks. Good spells also from GK Darling and Cat for nought, but kept us tight and crucially in the game. We’ve lost a good number after lunch when their in batters go to town on our out bellies and full bladders.

Things only improved once Kelly got past 50 and proved to everyone (not least himself) that he could have been swinging hard from the off, clipping a few boundaries just like that.

What followed was a remarkable piece of gymnastics from debutant Fergus ’Goose’ Onslow out in the deep midwicket boundary. Running in to take a very difficult catch, he dived forward bravely to snatch it off the ground, missing it by a fingernail and almost braining himself in the process. The batsmen were just deciding on the second run at the just the wrong moment and time suddenly stopped. Fergus was the first to react, switching from all dead to only mostly dead, in one motion he swung is legs round picked up the ball and slung it at Moleman like some sort of hungover, three-wheeled Trebuchet. Kelly, still agog betwixt-wickets, was aeons out.

Things then started to happen. From 166-2 the Hogs frantically fell to 183-7 thanks to a superb second spell from Trash (who finished with an admirable 3-20 from 13 overs) and a direct hit run out from POB from mid on for the ages.

We’ve all seen one of these by now, he must have done it dozens of times, but it’s still my favourite thing to see on the Peckers cricket field. It was particularly amusing (and no doubt satisfying for POB) given his new round arm throwing technique had earned him the new nickname of the Bombardier. But the years fell away as Charlie Hicks pushed one in his general direction and chanced the odd arm at mid on. The rest was poetry.

The next two wickets were both pouched by Darling from Trash. Even Charlie Browne, the Warnford Sadist, thought making us field for more than 60 overs was a bit much. Hampshire Hogs declared at 183-7.

Batting

Even by Peckers standards, this was a strong batting lineup. When you’ve got Lav at 7 and zero hangovers between Cat at 8, Darling at 9 and the old hands of POB-Otto at 10-11, what could possibly go wrong?

You’re right to think that dear reader. Of course, everything can wrong and quickly. Joey Paul, our second debutant for the day who’d fielded like a man who knew his way around a breezy 70 odd, was the first to fall - bowled by a ball from Will Jay at the bottom end who was making it sing (apparently). Dabbler was in at 3 and also got unlucky from another W Jay snorter. Moleman was next in, surely the POTY curse isn’t a thing right? Sam will get some runs today! Playing on from a wide long hop is exactly what the curse is all about. 27-3 and the inevitable chaos of pads flying everywhere Peckers collapse had begun.

In strode Trash, on his seventh (or eighth) warning from Malcolm, with POB’s “bat sensibly” order ringing in his ears. I was too busy finding my pads (potentially batting in 6 balls’ time) to see the first couple of inevitable and enormous swipes. But he did get his head down, and with Kamikaze up at the other end looking fluid and assured they built a partnership that started to swing things back our way. More ebbs and flows.

So confident we became, that seven of us set off anticlockwise (for runs) with fresh pints. We won’t mention the boules score but as we traversed, Kamikaze and Traash put on runs quickly and fluently.

By the time Kamikaze snicked off for a potentially match-winning 62 off 88 we were 115-4 and just 70 runs from a famous victory. Can you guess what happened next?

*“Give us a smile Kami”. Flappy pads optional.*

This brought Fergus ‘Goose’ Onslow to the crease. After his rather unfortunate bowling experience we were all wishing him some luck with the bat, but it wasn’t to be. He had a Peckers collapse to organise, a ten ball over to avenge, a league cricket monkey on his back to murder, and a hangover to blame for it. He was swamped. His demise, after just four balls (you got a good one, do please come back Goose).

Coming in at 7 was Pob’s sensible insurance play, Lav. He got his head down to put on 20 with Traaash, who poised on 46 and itching to get past 50 and let the handbrake off, clubbed one firmly to Greg McKenzie at mid on. Greg’s serious heart condition means he has to sort of hop instead of run to save him from a critical increase. Seeing this opportunity Trash rather unsportingly set off back for a third as the ball had stopped just up the hill and Greg was still hopping gamely after it. He did however, have a laser for an arm, and a direct hit from 45 yards was all that they both deserved.

calypso collapso, part deux?

This brought a now rather timid Cat to the crease. He also got a good one and 155-7 meant the game was now even money again. More ebbs, more flows. More pints.

Charlie then decided to bring back his leg-spinner, to try and outfox the tail. But this tail was already attached to a fox, and that fox was called Benjamin Darling. A purposeful punch down the ground settled the nerves and between him and Lav (who’ll try and claim that this was all down to his reverse-mockers) another partnership formed of just 30 very crucial runs and we sashayed over the line with many many overs to spare. This made it a fantastic 3 wins from 3 games start for the Peckers…3 nail-biting wins by 3 runs, 3 wickets and 3 wickets again…so 3 is our magic number!

*The Darling-Lav combo bringing us home.*

~

Prologue.

We wouldn’t be here without the generosity of the now mythical beast Christopher Bazalgette, who died aged 84 earlier this year. His obituary and appearance as an unwitting cricket specialist on Borat are worth a look.

Otto met ‘the Gette’ sometime in 2009 or 2010 for a game at the nearby Bat & Ball pub in Hambledon. On hearing about the Peckers and seeing how enthusiastic we were for proper cricket and conviviality, he invited us to play at Hogs the following year.

We’ve been coming back to contest The Gette Cup, which hangs above the bar at Hogs, ever since. Nobody knows the score, and it doesn’t really matter. We’ll keep coming back.

Cheers Gette, rest in peace.

*Otto with the Gette Cup, a cup of tea, and The Gette behind (with B-Ri and John).*

Here you can see the Browne’s running the post-match presentation (once we’ve got it on YouTube).