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Regents v Best Nationals
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| Wednesday 17 July 2013, Victoria Park |
Regents won by 51 runs
Regents won the toss and chose to bat first
Regents: 182 for 3 in 16 overs
Partridge - 55*
Ormsby - 50*
Dinesen -
Best Nationals: 131 for 7 in 14.3 overs
Donnellan - 1.3-2-11 Salmon - 3-1-21 Dinesen - 4-2-29
The overman ... who has organized the chaos of his passions, given style to
his character, and become creative. Aware of life's terrors, he affirms life
without resentment.
Broiling afternoon ... deck-chairs under the spreading ... the muted coo of
pigeons in the immemorial ... cucumber sandwiches ... distant tinkle of ice
in lemonade jug ... satisfying clunk of pad against willow ... warp and woof
of very fabric ... shadow of Olympic park imperceptibly ... white figures
moving like ghosts in ancient ...
Campbell was never dull. His bat was part of his nervous system. His play
was sculptured. His forward defensive stroke was a complete statement. He
was run-out for 6.
Who can exhaust a man? Who knows a man’s resources? Ormsby’s resolute inning
dug deep into this very elixir, defying the onset of fatigue acquired
through acquaintance with many a field, joined to a strange unfamiliarity
with linen sheets and downy pillow. A half century of runs and a couple of
handy overs later, he departed early to reverse this current state of
affairs.
Mortimer's praise demands my song, Mortimer the swift and Mortimer the
strong, fairest flower of Cricket's stem, Regent's shield and England's gem.
Finisher of one innings and opener of the next, where would we be without
him?
A frightened captain makes a frightened crew, and Farmar was resolute and
decisive, no more so than when putting himself on to bowl. And then
immediately removing himself. This following his initially strict adherence
to the Regents maxim - I hit fours. It’s what I do. Dinesen followed in his
wake with aplomb.
Life has no meaning a priori. It is up to you to give it a meaning, and
value is nothing but the meaning that you choose. Donnellan chose it to mean
taking two wickets to finish off the Best Nationals innings, stumped and
then bowled.
One late July afternoon, I said goodbye to a cricket season on a field which
lay silent in the evening sunshine; the match, my last of the year, was over
and the players gone. I stayed for a while in the falling light and saw
birds run over the grass as the mists began to spread. That day we had
watched Partridge in all his glory, batting his way through a half-hundred
felicitous runs ... It was all over and gone now, as I stood on the little
field alone in the glow of the declining day.
As Dinesen remarked to me later that evening “Today I have wearied myself
utterly; I have seen nothing and no one of any interest; I have suffered
discomfort of every sense and in every limb; I have suffered acute pain in
my great toe; I have walked several miles; I have stood about for several
hours; I have drunken several pints of indifferently good beer; I have spent
nearly fifteen pounds ...” But he maintained that it had been a great day.
“Victoria Park cricket,” he said, “was always like that.”
Submitted by Jake of Regents
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