Clarkewatch Special Report, 9 July 2005
The entire Rikki Clarke Appreciation Society, comprising the whole of the CricketWeb Ginger (Penniless Students) Group and CricketWeb Corpulent made their way to sunny Brizzle for the first Annual Clarkewatch, Pasty and Beer festival.
The Derby faction had an abortive start with LE starting the engine prior to immediately climbing into the back of the car, claiming that "It is an automatic and it's got GPS so that doesn't leave me a lot to do", but a good slapping helped him to reconsider. Meanwhile, back in Exeter, Pickup was spending his last 27 pence on the recently-introduced First Class Young Student Sleepover With Breakfast ticket, sponsored by Michael Jackson.
Upon arrival at said Brizzle, Chairduck Devil Ducky made polite conversation with a local as to the whereabouts of the ground. "Oo aarr. Crickey, moi lovelies. Aarr, Glaarcester they be called, yet they be a-playin' at Brizzle. Who'd a thought?" said the duck in near-fluent Wurzel.
Stapling his beak back into place, DD led the way to Broadmead where, on this occasion, he left the talking to Yours Truly. "Oo aarr. Crickey, moi lovelies. Aarr, Glaarcester they be called, yet they be a-playin' at Brizzle. Who'd a thought?" said the beturbanned bus driver, indicating that we climb aboard.
A fifteen minute bus journey saw us engaged in conversation with a wonderfully helpful member of Gloucestershire CCC. "Oo aarr. Crickey, moi lovelies." he began, before we made our excuses and left, luckily in the right direction. So to the ground. Honest Pickup found another 27 pence whilst I followed the duck through a hole in the fence behind the tennis courts, vowing to spend the normal visitors admission price of a hundred pounds (non-students) on beer.
This being the second day of four and Rikki Clarke having been unable to oblige his fans by making more than a token gesture with the bat the previous day, we were confident that we would be in for a marvellous day's entertainment when it came for England's latest in the long line of 'New Liam Bothams' to turn his arm over, no doubt.
There was the small matter of Azhar Mahmood's century to see first (not out 88 overnight). The play got off to an impressively comical start when Martin Bicknell, seeing the easy single, proved that he is still the master of timing by waiting until Mahmood was three quarters of the way to the next county before freezing him in his tracks with a booming cry of "when's lunch"? Mahmood, run out, 89. This was quickly followed by Chris 'Clumsy' Taylor failing to notice that some wag had tied his shoelaces together. The resultant fall and dislocated shoulder allowed him a free hospital lunch, so I suppose that's something.
This brought Killer Harbhajan, Dentist of Praal, to the wicket and for the next two hours Gloucestershire's potent attack of Kirby, Averis and co. were despatched to all parts. Just as we were preparing to celebrate Killer's maiden (and likely to be only) career century, he started playing each ball on its merits instead of his earlier, panic-stricken wild swipes and he got out for a lifetime-best 84 (83 more than I predicted - close, but understandable under the circumstances).
Eventually, Surrey's glorious first innings came to an end on 603 (Clarke 17, Azhar Mahmood 89, Killer 84 and some other bits) - then it was time for the real event - Lunch
which consisted of a pasty and a pint for LE, a bag of Michael Jackson's special alcoholic jelly babies for Pickup and a bucket of worm-flavoured chips (Squirmy Fries) for the duck
Back to the cricket. Incidentally, checking the records to find the last time an innings in England had totalled in excess of 600 without a century of any description, not just without one from Rikki Clarke, came up with - never. Now if Clarke had scored just 83 more, he would never have taken part in such a feat. Who says he doesn't know what he's doing?
Back to the cricket again.
Someone got rid of Phil Weston and some other things quite rubbish happened before Pickup's helpful cries of "Give Rikki a bowl!" and "Ormond is a fat pig who cannot run and cannot bowl either - are you blind or just stupid, Thorpe?" had the desired effect.
This time, we wore disguises on entry back into the ground - The duck wore a ginger wig and Pickup sported a fine, grey ponytail.It would have been a perfect switcheroo if LE had been able to fly or even if he hadn't been sick after eating the worms, but I guess you can't have your cake and eat it.
Graeme Thorpe threw the ball to Rikki Clarke. This was it - something was about to happen. It did. Wide - four byes too. And again - we were surely in for an afternoon to remember. And then it happened. Spearman, done for sheer pace by the tall spotty one with better hair and now a better line than Jason Gillespie (although even the wides had him ahead on that count) edged to Ally Brown who clung on.
Matt Windows was simply blown away by the sheer pace and hostility of Clarke who was warming to his task, to the delight of his entire fan club. Adshead was unable to get on top of another rip-snorter and Martin Bicknell, rivalled only by James Ormond (laughably described by Cricinfo as 'test player') in the 'pedestrian fielder' stakes, was able to arthritically cling on to the stinging catch.
Clarke's work done and the Gloucestershire upper order in tatters, he took a well-earned rest. LE's suggestion that aliens had kidnapped Rikki Clarke and had substituted one of their own number in his place, someone who could actually play cricket, fell on deaf ears. A pity that he only muttered it under his breath really - it might have got a laugh if there were in fact any other supporters within earshot.
When we were finally ******ed from the ground again, Gloucestershire had been reduced to the rabble they are and our hero was carried shoulder-high from the arena by his adoring public - at least, he would have been if there is any justice in the world. In years to come, old men will converse in hushed tones over cloudy glasses of even cloudier zoider. "Oo aarr. Rikki, moi lovelies. Aarr, Zurrey they be called, yet they be a-thrashin Glaarcester at Brizzle. Who'd a thought? Aarr. Rikki, is name. Tha's roight. At Brizzle. Who'd a thought?"
Clarkewatch an obvious success.
