Prior to the game, Mystic children enjoyed a spot of kaleidoscopic kite-flying, on the back of a brisk breeze that was both helping to dry the wicket, and to push some pretty frightening looking clouds on past. With rain having fallen most of the morning, we came to an unusual arrangement regarding the format with our ever-accommodating hosts. The game would be a 24-over match—that's an utterly gross 144 balls per innings for the multiples of mathematically-minded Mystics, which would be preceded by another rarity; a pre-match tea. While the urn was heated, the Ern, however, appeared cool as the kukes peeking from the sarnies. He was smiling in, I don't know what sort of way—mischievous, perhaps, as he hovered with his loaded paper plate and looked to the square. Here was a man enjoying the chaos that is Captaincy. The eyes twinkled. What novel sort of approach might this number of overs warrant? With a hard batting track freshly uncovered from its dewy wrapper, captain Ern seemed to be taking inspiration from Bazball-era England, in that whether by toss or agreement, he was depending on a chase.
Further evidence of Ern's playful mood came when he threw the ball to me for the very first over. Pencarrow openers Isaac Jago and Ben Sleeman are both serious cricketers, (Ben having represented Cornwall in age-group cricket, Isaac a Pencarrow 1st XI stalwart) who from their practice shots, I could tell were hoping for some conventional away swing or a bit of pace, but were instead baffled by an over of six increasingly curious variations out of my hand. Wow I thought to myself, if I never bowl another over again, at least I'll have that one.
As if the immortals had heard my thoughts, the very next over a ball flew over my head at mid-on, and I chased down this pointless cause like an eager puppy. I felt my hammy tweak in the grasp of the chillsome air, and the next thing I knew I was back at the pavilion with an ice pack on it, wondering if I'd play again that week.
From the sidelines, the teams appeared evenly matched, on the one side you had the Arrows' youthful pomp shaken up with the experience of Phil Williams, Danny Cock and Stuart Ellis, and for the Mystics, you had Harry Everett.
I'd met Harry for the first time that week and felt his joy. He had been gun-keen to help me and Laura with a gentle forage along the verge, and if you've seen Harry pick blackberries, you've seen nothing but full buckets. Harry's commitment to playing, watching and reporting on cricket is fervid, and so his expectations for each match are higher than most. Still no great exasperation from him during this F12, which testifies to the game's quality.
Accustomed to Captain Ernie's impish tinkering, Jago and Sleeman really began to thwack the ball about. And it wasn't just the opposition who had been dizzied by Ernie's quickfire bowling changes. I mean, it's not unheard of in village cricket for a fast bowler like Big Pete to return in three separate spells, but when you only bowl four overs in total it does feel like a bit of a wind-up, especially when you're in full flow as Pete was that day (claiming the prize wicket of Isaac Jago in his second 1-over spell). Then again I can't help thinking, given the Mystics innings that was to follow, whether stinging mild-mannered Mr. Pete into life wasn't Ernie's plan all along.
The varying age and ability of Pencarrow's upper order gave their innings a hot-and-cold feel (something apportionable to the pushmi-pullyu that is 24 overs, quite probably). A staccato that resulted in an assortment of retirements, the cause of some of which was unclear, possibly even to the batsman asked by his teammates to make way. After contributions from Bertrand, Cock and Williams came the sleeper at number nine, Oli Sleeman, who had definitely played before. His 8-ball 21 included more than one ball thundering one bounce, into the clubhouse. Pencarrow finished on 126 with the Mystics managing to bowl ten bowlers, sharing a mere four wickets between them. One of these bowlers was Gareth Williams of the Arrows, who had generously agreed to make up the Mystics numbers. I wonder if he felt any regret at that decision after the game, given that his sole over went for 19, to uproar from the pavilion, and Tom Clarke would later have him for a six-ball duck, to even greater whoops and cheers. After Pete, the pick of the Mystics bowling was Mark Hailwood, who only went 3 overs for 11, and look like he could comfortably have bowled another 30.
After a swift turnabout, Harry Everett and Matthew Borley emerged from the dressing room with Tigger-like bounce. I was jealous. They both really did look the part; gear well-provisioned and smartly equipped, and they batted back their throwdowns with reposeful pendularity. The urgency of their early running between the wickets was a staggering spectacle to the Mystic support.
A touch of well-timed rain at the interval had slickened the wicket and field, and it led to some lively and skiddy deliveries in the early moments of the innings, and it wasn't long before Matthew Borley unleashed one of the shots of the match over the long square boundary for six. While I am certain Matthew will soon be the real deal, demonstrating great leaps in his levels with every passing tour, here he managed to slam the ball towards the very capable Tom Clarke at gulley a short time after, in whose hands his brief but eye-catching innings closed. D. Chave went the same way, the bowler this time the wily Phil Williams, bringing stop-start Pete to the crease.
Pete seem to relish the challenge of the bowling as much as Harry, and was very focused on defence for a time, while Harry pushed the ball in the traditional way, through gaps in Pencarrow's field, purloining the odd driven four to bring himself to a score in very short order. He and Pete formed a lengthy and impressive partnership, particularly notable for the many well-run singles and twos it included.
At some point a decision was made that Harry—who had scored at precisely a run-a-ball—should retire out, just as opposition stars had done, although the Arrows kindly allowed retirement to be set at 50, rather than 25, for the Mystics innings (read into that what you will). Still, by now Peter had also found his feet (they had been at the end of his legs), channelling a bit of the venom we had seen from the opposition, especially in the targeting of the pavilion with several towering sixes and fours, darkly spotting the ominous grey backdrop of sky. So it was that, not all that long after Harry, Pete reached his obligatory retirement, and that between them they had left the target now within comfortable reach.
It was then that the balance of the game shifted bizarrely. The aforementioned G Williams, Ogley, F Chave, and Webb came and went, scoring just 3 runs between them from 20 balls. Marky-Mark Hailwood put fears of the most abject sort of collapse to bed with a bit of retaliatory aggression, racking up two twos and a four. So came the Mystics within 18 runs of victory on a chilly North Cornwall evening.
Matt Cook