Returns To Haunt Us

By Ruby (feat. Daria)
August 24 2009

Ruby (with a little help from Daria) reports on a fight to the seemingly inevitable death in Swansea. From a Middlesex cricket point of view, this ain't pretty reading, but it is a wonderfully evocative account of dedicated fans travelling to see our team, even when the performances don't come up to snuff. Many thanks, ladies, we MTWD folk salute you and your kind.

I always get the good ones to describe, don't I?

Oh well. Day three at Swansea, then. First things first: Swansea is a dear little ground, and Daria and I had a nice time there. So I will try and lay off my customary moaning for the duration of this match report, make it short, and try to concentrate on cricket instead of hairstyles, for once.

The third day of our visit could have been better, it's fair to say. It wasn't the most riveting of matches throughout, and it didn't end well for Middlesex. It started with Daria excitedly telling me that Billy is off on loan to Essex, which we were a bit taken aback by given that Owais and Eoin are off for England duty in the very near future. Still, that's a discussion for elsewhere on the site, so I'll wish him all the best in pastures new and move on.

We got to the ground a little late - late enough that we missed the end of our innings. The resistance clearly hadn't lasted very long, and shortly thereafter Murtagh and Finn took the new ball. I have to say, early on in the day, the team looked a little weary in the field. It has been quite a long season, and I can understand them being a bit dispirited by results so far, but the fielding did seem a bit lethargic at points. At this point, Daria and I departed from cricket to discuss whether wine counts as one of your five-a-day and whether as Twin Peaks devotees, we should visit One Eyed Jacks bar which we had just passed on the seafront. Glamorgan played some good shots and actually made fair progress until the unfortunately-named Billy Bragg was out to Finny.

This brought in Gibbs. We cowered briefly in fear (Daria at the destructive potential of Gibbs, and me at a spider on my leg: I don't like outdoors). Middlesex's appealing was very enthusiastic during this period; it was nice to see them perk up a bit. Sadly, as Glamorgan's good progress continued, Murtagh's appealing became as desperate as a maths graduate at closing time in the singles bar. It's not becoming. Kartik eventually took a wicket - the key wicket of Gibbs - thanks to another catch from Sam Robson. Australians are great. We should sign more of them; I hear this lad Michael Clarke is quite good. Powell came in. I hope someday he entitles his autobiography "Bury My Rib At Sophia Gardens". Anyway. There was more enthusiasm in the field now that the wickets were tumbling, and Rees was the next to fall. The game was quite strange in this period; there were long periods of nothingness punctuated by regular wickets. Wickets are good.

Our old friend Jamie Dalrymple came in, bat in trotter, clearly looking to put in yet another thorn-in-the-side performance against us. It was not to be; this was the point in Glamorgan's innings where the batsmen were staying about as long at the wicket as a cage fighter in Jordan's house. Udal brought himself on, and bowled well. Powell, Dalrymple and Allenby all departed before lunch to leave Glamorgan 74 for 6 at the break. At this point, we felt confident that Middlesex could produce a result. Oh, that false hope. Udal dismissed Wallace not long after the break, and Harris duly followed to leave them 82 for 8. Remember that figure - it'll be important later. Shantry came on and Udal and Kartik took an end each. I was confidently predicting a day three finish to Daria at this point and discussing when our train home was.

The prospect of a day off energised Middlesex in the field, but the hundred came up without incident as we once again displayed our difficulty in finishing off the tail. We'd done well to shoot out the middle order for very little, but it took us forever (okay, a long time) to finish off the last two wickets. The game at this point was as thrilling as a date with David Miliband, as we gave Glamorgan plenty of free runs in the form of easy singles. We really should have put more pressure on those singles, because they moved from 82 to 8 to 135 all out. Which, as I noted at the time, was all runs we had to make up on a pitch that was doing a bit and on which both teams had already posted pretty low totals.

This left us 190 to chase for victory after the innings break, and we shown some welcome intent by sending out Dawid Malan to open and hopefully get the innings off to a bit of a flyer. He came out with Compton, the theory supposedly being that he scores faster than Robson. There was a dropped semi-chance in the first over, and a big lbw shout. Glamorgan looked pretty fired up to defend their pathetic lead, but I honestly though they had simply collapsed too badly early on. This was our first choice batting line up, England internationals and all: 190 on paper looked totally achievable if everyone applied themselves. Malan played some nice shots early on and the target didn't look that big. It was cold and dark and the weather was lowering, but the rain held off and our thoughts turned to an early dinner before our train home.

The ground was full of small children, all of whom had the sense to not watch the game. I thought some iPod action might liven up the game, and reached for my headphones. However, the iPod had other ideas and engaged in some bitterly ironic soundtracking of its own. Compton stropped off the field after being bowled by Croft to the accompaniment of Don't Leave Me This Way. This brought in Robson. The rain was in the air, and Glamorgan had their tails up. Robson shortly departed for a mere three runs, falling to a surprisingly great catch by Dalrymple. Was it really only two seasons ago he left us? He appears to have spent it eating.

When the iPod welcomed Owais to the wicket with Hit The Road Jack, I hurriedly disposed of it, fearing its curse. It was almost tea and I hoped desperately that we wouldn't lose another wicket. 190 suddenly looked a much better total than it had an hour ago. Fortunately, we made tea without incident. At least we hadn't been at the laugh riot down at Taunton, we comforted ourselves. The nice man on the tannoy tried to convince everyone to visit the Glamorgan club shop and purchase a half-price rainbow abomination - sorry, a replica shirt. We declined the offer and debated whether to go to Eddie Rockets for the early dinner we were still quite confident of getting.

Owais did well to fight back against Croft's attempts to tie us down, hitting one particularly excellent six. Dalrymple brought all this fun to a swift end by bowling him. My notes read "Disaster. Now anything is possible". I should get a job as a clairvoyant. We were 76 for 3, and I was making dark little notes about not asking the tail to do too much work. Eoin was next out for 17; that left us 98 for 4 and Scott came in. In Ben's current form, he's not the man for a crisis and I had barely finished making this dark prediction when Malan was out without adding to the score. I have to be honest; this short passage of play felt even then like the turning point in the game. Scott, Berg and the tail had to make the best part of a hundred runs in the dark on a pitch that was turning. I feared the worst.

We inched our way to 110 for 5. The progress was glacial, but at this stage, it was still progress. The target was still being chipped away at. I thought they needed to be careful not to lose wickets. A three day finish would be nice, but they did have all of Sunday to chase this target. It was better to get it in singles than let Glamorgan get into the tail, or so I thought. I uttered the fatal words to Daria, "If Jamie has us seven down by half five, we'll lose tonight".

I was admiring a very cute border collie puppy when Berg got out. I swore. Six down. We were going to lose, and I wasn't going to get to go to Eddie Rockets. I wish now I had gone. I like onion rings. I do not like watching Middlesex lose. I can describe the remainder of events only briefly; there's not much point lingering over them.

On the very stroke of 5.30, Ben was lbw to Cosker for 18. Just call me Mystic Meg. We were 129 for 7, with no recognised batsmen left. I think I speak for all the Middlesex followers present when I say our hearts sank down into our boots. The tail have performed some fine feats this season, but this looked like just too much to ask. Kartik and Udal are quite good batsmen, though, aren't they? Oh. Kartik's run out was utterly shambolic; there are no other words. Thus departed the final vestiges of hope, and at 149 for 8 with the light dying, we departed also as we had a train to catch. We followed the grim end via Daria's fancy internet phone. Beaten by Glamorgan. Beaten by less than the fifty easy runs we gave their last two wicket stands. Beaten by less than the 26 extras we gave away in the first innings alone.

And after all that, we didn't even have time for Eddie Rockets.