The Day We Lost Vernon

Following a rasping curry – attended by eight – at the superb Charterhouse pub on the eve of this season's opener, the general consensus was that the 2s changing room at Staines was guaranteed to be the windiest place on the planet on Saturday.

How mistaken they all were. The game started in the scene of an apocalyptic Lowry painting, famed for depictions of dark and dirty hues of drab greys.

The strip was what one might call a “green top”. Word on the street, is that Secretts Garden Centre is planning a regional expansion for its ‘pick-your-own’ range of seasonal berries. They would do well to consider this prime plot in TW18. Three quarters down was a wet patch the size and sogginess of which had not been seen since the description in Chapter 69 of Katie Price’s third autobiography.

True to club form, new skipper Dogger Wrighty lost the toss but amazingly, Staines opted to bowl. What did they know? Perhaps a professional meteorologist in their midst?

Oli Horne bowled from the Uber Grey End with aplomb, quickly finding a lovely line. Haino ran into the gale from the Heathrow End, evoking images of Linford training for the Olympics dragging a tractor tyre behind him. After 17 overs, Staines were a turgid 34, having lost only bat No.2 to a snick, snaffled by the returning head master Abbo, bowled Horne. How great to have them back, supported also by Scooby debutants Francis ‘Frojo’ Johnson and Sean “Richard” Burton.

It was sufficiently gusty for the sight-screens to blow right over on five occasions. The Staines umpire trudged off to find the Gulliver-sized mahogany bails injected with heavy lead. A dog flew past at one point.

Jamie ‘Kimmi’ Mackenzie came on next and dutifully obliged with a wicket, No.3 friendly bat kindly dragging on. Jamie dropped his magic torch, sank to his knees and fist-pumped to show that competitive desire that we want to instill in the Doctors this season. He loped up next ball only to deliver an absolute Del Monté, the dangerous bat No.4, bowled straight through the gate for a nugget. Super momentum now.

The athletic Frojo steamed in from the other end but unfortunately had been swotting for the game with a copy of the long lost Bricks Book of Bowling. Five wides in his first over but that was simply shaking off the dust from South African schooldays. He quickly calibrated and picked up three in his ten. Kimmi picked up another, as did George off of Rainbow, now the eminent cricket player in the Dukes’ dynasty.

Blogger came back for three overs, quickly accounting for the last two. Staines were 114 a.o; a perfectly attainable target if we batted straight. The 2s had bowled well with discipline and guided with purpose from the attentive Dogger. However, an upgrade to Adobe “CatchTheBall” would have kept the oppo to under a ton. Incredibly, there had been only one short rain break.

After a nice tea, twins Dom Coakley and Richie Burton took to the crease. The landlord was finding the rope with relative ease but was suddenly triggered, before the ball had hit the floor. Only one man appealed. Gone. Sean blitzed the game’s only six as revenge but was out next ball. Oli Horne and the imposing Abbo took up the chase, taking us into the 20s, against adjusted targets of 100, then 84, after a short shower break. Around 60 required off 26 overs.

The lads came off around 6pm when the Staines captain removed the bails and instructed his minions to put the covers on. No need for umpires then.

The statisticians, busy with Duckworth-Lewis, calculated that 6.48pm was the cut-off point for 20 overs being playable, thus constituting a game. But what happened next was unprecedented.

In the six hundredth phase of the game, all the springs of the great deep burst forth, and the floodgates of the heavens were opened. And rain fell on the earth for at least…seven minutes.

The floods kept coming on the earth, and as the waters rose, all the surrounding buildings and airports were covered to a depth of 15 cubits.

While Godalming kept an eye on proceedings, Staines disappeared into the clubhouse, seemingly uninterested in the rising deluge. Presumably they were seeing to the quick-release knots for the fenders on The Ark.
At 6.49 they reappeared, but it was all too late. Every living thing that moved on land and that had breath of life in its nostrils had perished along with a small vole called Vernon carrying a vial containing the spirit of cricket.

The Mingers had sensibly retreated to the roof awaiting the emergency response crews of the Environment Agency. They would live to see another day.

In the distance, they glimpsed The Ark. And waving from the stern balcony, pairs of birds, two cows, a brace of dugongs and, aptly, a couple of jellyfish. Included on the roster – The Chuckle Brothers and beside them, the umpire twins, holding hands, while getting tips. In the now bright sunshine, they called out meekly to Noah to change direction. For they were already late for the next evening Elf & Safety Workshop being held by the EU on the life-threatening hazards of raindrops on grown men.

(Photo: George off of Rainbow, managing a smile moments before being hit by a tsunami of rain)