Who Wants to Be a Batsman? by Simon Hughes

Author:Simon Hughes [Hughes, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781471135620
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK

CHAPTER 7

Relax, and Do It

To Walk or Not to Walk

Aged 29 I did eventually get to raise my bat to the assembled masses, having compiled a first-class fifty. Wisden even commented on it: ‘Either side of tea, Hughes flayed a tiring attack.’ You won’t have heard of many of the bowlers. There was N.C.W. Fenton and A.M.G. Scott and R.A. ‘Pumper’ Pyman – hardly household names – though you might know the (occasional) leg-spinner M.A. Atherton. The ‘assembled masses’ was a handful of students skiving off lectures and the odd whiskery professor lamenting the days when counties took their trips to Fenner’s seriously. It was a fifty against Cambridge University. Not one to be jumping up ecstatically punching the air about. The next time I went to the wicket I was clanged twice on the head in successive balls by Imran Khan as a sober reminder of what being a batsman was really all about.

An incident in a one-day match at Lord’s put my (lack of) batting prowess into better perspective. It was Middlesex against Hampshire. There are two overs to go and we need ten to win. I have just come in and am on strike. Malcolm Marshall is brought on for the penultimate over. ‘Finish this off, Macco!’ they call from behind the wicket. ‘Two balls will do it!’ He probably can’t hear as he’s at least 70 yards away at the end of his curving run.

The field is set – two slips and a gully, third man, long leg and four saving one in the ring. He comes galloping in to bowl, this small but athletic figure, arms pumping, eyes fixed on the target. I am thinking watch the ball, back and across, low backlift, look to glide a single to third man. Paul Downton, a decent batsman, despite what Kevin Pietersen believes from Googling him, is at the other end.

The ball is shortish and around off stump. I am in a perfect position to glide it wide of the slips. But it flies off the surface rib high, past the edge and soars into the keeper’s gloves head high. Smack. ‘Bowled Macco, get him next ball!’ they call out. I’m thinking it’s OK, still 11 balls to go, ten to win, two wickets in hand. ‘Keep going, Yoz!’ Downton calls out supportively. (Back in the day we didn’t meet in the middle every ball for glove punches.)

‘Cappy, Cappy gimme Dougal finer, Judgey behind square.’ Marshall moves his offside fielders a fraction. I know it is going to be another short one and it is. Again I try and deflect it to third man. Again it flashes past the edge and through to the keeper 20 yards back. ‘Ahhhhhhhhh!!!’ Marshall shrieks with a mixture of disappointment and annoyance. ‘It’s coming, lads,’ Dougal in the gully says. ‘They’re bottling it!’

Ten to win, ten balls to go. I really need to get a single this time. I’m confident that I can. I’ve got the measure of him now. It’s just the Lord’s slope that’s making me play and miss.

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