Damerham cricket club is situated in the Western downland village of Damerham on the Northwest edge of the New Forest. Read more >
June 22 2019 - Over Wallop - Away - 2pm
Damerham 16-10 lost to Over Wallop 118-10 by 102 runs
04 - 0 - 19 - 1
08 - 5 - 06 - 2
07 - 3 - 07 - 4
07 - 0 - 21 - 1
04 - 0 - 18 - 0
04 - 0 - 07 - 1
05 - 0 - 21 - 1
There comes a point when you begin to doubt your general capability at anything you thought you could do.
Things you take it for granted that you’ve been able to do for a long time. Not brilliantly. Perhaps not even well. Just ‘able to do’. To, let’s say, a reasonable level of competence.
Imagine that, for no apparent reason, mid-stride, you could suddenly forget how to walk.
Or read. There you are, happily plodding through your day, reading away, and then without warning: grsgajtt ftu tyfe duiph y ngalk qn staffranquelkqist.
That is what happened to us on Saturday.
I have only one word for it: extraordinary. It was extraordinary.
We were all out for 16. Sixteen. Extraordinary. Ten of those were extras. Four wides, six byes. Six runs off the bat. SIX runs off the bat. All out for SIXTEEN. Extraordinary.
Everyone gets ducks, or out for low scores. Everyone. Batsmen of the highest quality and unearthly talent make the trudge back after less than a minute, one ball, and no runs. Tendulkar, Lara, Bradman, all of them. So it’s obviously bound to happen to a bunch village scuffers like us. Of course it is.
But it doesn’t usually happen to all of you all at once.
We bowled and fielded well and got Over Wallop all out for 118 on a low, slow, sticky wicket. It was not nice to bat on but not unusually bad. Their bowling was decent but nothing exceptional. Normal average everyday run of the mill Saturday league bowling. And we were all out for sixteen. Extraordinary.
On the bright side, we made their opening bowlers’ weeks. Possibly their years. One had figures of 3-3, the other 5-3. You’re welcome guys. It’s nice to do something selfless for our fellow cricketers every now and again.
We used to be able to bat. With at least mild levels of competence. In some cases, actually quite well. There’s no logical reason as to why one Saturday we suddenly all can’t.
It makes you wonder, leaving the ground after a game that shakes your belief in your own ability to adequately function in the real world, if you might get in your car and realise you’ve forgotten how to drive.
But as far as I know, we all made it home. Sixteen. Extraordinary.