‘I am at backward point, you prat.’ And so we begin, with baronial elegance, this match report.

It had all started so well as the Woodpeckers took to Headley with spirits high on the penultimate Sunday of July. The locals had been enjoying a slow sabbath lunch before our boys strutted into the cavernous Cock Inn, and set about lubricating their joints with the house choice. But perhaps there was a sign of mixed messages to come as the Chef ordered a lager only to be delivered an ale by the well-meaning Snax.

The general chat was that we were fortunate to be staging a game at all after Saturday’s rainfall preceded a positive 9.00am pitch inspection. Fortunately, the outfield at Headley drains quickly. What is more, unlike Old Trafford, the sun had come out and the game was on. Bottoms up.

Skipper won the toss, and the oppo was invited to set the Woodpeckers a target. With a batting line up of impeccable pedigree – from darling Runkle and his own blood and heir, to the son of a Sri Lankan Test and one-day great – that seemed a sound plan at the time.

Spinach was tossed the little red cabbage and opened proceedings at pace. Your correspondent was stationed at square leg for the majority and so cannot comment on the line, but can pass on the view of the standing umpire from Spinach’s stumps – ‘impeccable’. And it had to be because of the famously short boundary that ran alongside this lovely little ground.

He and Tiddles kept the opening bats – Mani and Edwards – honest for an over or two before the hosts began to find some joy with the fast outfield they knew so well. Tiddles was coming up the hill somewhat while Spinach kept on spearing his leguminous grenades from his favoured end; he soon rearranged Mani’s timber to great acclaim and, quite frankly, relief as the partnership had been pushing 50. Edwards did not last long without his comfort blanket at the other end, but his dismissal deserves its own chapter.

Picture the scene, if you will. Muttley crouching behind the stumps and squinting into a sweat-hazed horizon. Spinach hurtling down the hill, ready to unfurl a shining nut that was destined to swing from in to out. And swing it did, clipping the edge of Edwards’ hanging bat before searing off somewhere towards the right of dear old Mutters. The best don’t think, they do…and Muttley did, taking off to his right like a Humvee off a landmine, in glorious flight to pluck an absolute beauty at full length, inches off the ground. ‘Oh, waddacatch!’ Richie Benaud fawned from his grave. ‘What. A. Catch.’ Truly, a pearler ‘twas and the dam had been breached. Or so we thought.

Our first-change entered the race with Runkle purring in from the Tiddles End. We all enjoy the Baron’s gentle gate, as did the batsmen who took him for a few over the short boundary, which we thought was not the done thing to something of such beauty. Runkie did not begrudge the result but was unenthused by the style, which he considered to be on the agricultural end of the spectrum. Objectively speaking, he had a point – there were few straight drives nor well-timed clips off the leg, but plenty across the line; hard to blame them, though, as they were making hay.

Patrick brought on Akki, a 19 year-old debutant with the head of a seasoned pro (well tutored by his father Russel Arnold). He mixed up some off-spin with some medium pace while Lav – now, there’s a man who can – sorted out the farmhands with some urbane bowling, much to Runckie’s delight.

Again and again, Snax hurled himself like a rag-doll around the mid-off region without due regard for his own safety while the scoreboard ticked over towards 165 for 5 off 26 overs at a ground where 220 is par in a game of 35 each. The ledger was well-balanced.

Then out walked the great disrupter, batting at 7 and looking like he was ready for a ploughman’s. Sadly, he had an appetite only for Chef’s fayre and this was a shame because our reliable Chef does not serve fast food. But the man they call Mammoth saw only a picnic and put away several maximums, with one clearing the large oak tree in the corner and another disappearing into the woods beyond the pavilion. The big man’s weighty 48 at a strike rate of 230 was proof of his feast and the Woodpeckers felt sick. All of a sudden, the total stood at 222 for 7 with 4 overs remaining.

Some fettle was restored by fine catches in the deep from Lav and the sparkling Akki before Runkie Jnr exerted his knowledge of Newtonian physics on the lower order, spinning the tail several formulae they could not decipher to end with two wickets upon his return to the fold after ten years away.

The total that coulda-shoulda been around 210 to 220 was 247, and a lovely tea was taken as the curtain fell at Old Trafford. Attention was turned to the Royal and Ancient as cheese and pickle, tuna mayo, ham and cheese, and egg mayo sandwiches were all on offer on both white and wholemeal, which was a lovely touch. They were paired with mini sausage rolls, scotch eggs and – would you believe? – caramel shortbread and brownies. A treasure trove.

Muttley swapped his pads to open the batting with Twinkle, who was told to take his time. Take his time he did in contributing 13 runs off the first 10 overs in a 35-over game. After the static start, Lav came and soon went, striking a couple of forceful boundaries before holing out and the Woodpeckers were 42 for 2 in the 12th over. Kudos, however, to the 15 year-old Greayer-Smith, who was swinging the ball at good pace.

Lav’s departure gave the Headley boys the impression that the game was up, but they had not factored in Akki who clipped his first ball off his legs for four. He and Muttley went on to build a 124 run stand, playing some delightful strokes along the way. Akki threaded the ball around the ground with variety, and those on the boundary with a beer in hand enjoyed the young’un calling Muttley through for twos and threes when the required run-rate became acute. That rate hovered around 10, and the boys were doing almost enough, but Akki eventually mis-cued one and was caught for a classy and timely 80 off 52 with 8 overs to go and 80 required.

With his wingman gone, Muttley took his guard heroically once more and looked set to carry his bat as he had done on his way to a hefty century in the romp at Ham and Petersham in late May. In truth, he and the partners that came to join him were up against it with a stiff rate needed; risks had to be taken and Spinach was run out on a kamikaze call. Soon, too, was Muttley who took a well-earned 74 runs with him to the pavilion.

*A great day’s work from Muttley - what about that catch?! ‘He was flying’ said the umpire.*

As wickets fell, the RRR climbed to 14 and although Patrick tried to stoke the embers as his family gathered at this special place, the Woodpeckers’ fire was out of oxygen.

A second loss of the season had arrived by 6.45pm and by 27 runs.

Greasy’s nuptials at the fore of the mind, perhaps, or frustrated that Today at the Test was a non-starter later that evening, the Woodpeckers appeared to have been affected by some form of emotional hangover. With that in mind, they took on a pint or two from the bar in the pavilion, and chatted to the opposition in the evening sun, putting the disappointment to one side for conviviality’s sake.

Runkie, on the other hand, was in such a funk that he departed without his kit, leaving it to his batman, Patrick, to launder and press.

Press on we do.

Scorecard here, kindly: Headley Old Freemens CC (play-cricket.com)

Twinkle x