Reigate CC 133–8 (Faggie 3-15, Ali 2-19, Irfan 2-28) beat Quokkas CC 125 all out (Faggie 14, Seagull 18 not out)
I realise now that I have been wasting my life. Rather than spend my weekends standing in a field, basically watching other people play cricket, I should have been emulating Lord Gravy by hunting out the best roast dinner money can buy. He suggests The George in the Strand is the place to go, but unless they serve Yorkshire’s as the starter, I have my doubts it reaches the required Seagull standard. Due to having the back of an 80-year-old man, I have spent most the of Quokkas season perfecting my own Sunday roast rather than playing. I’m confident I’d win Master Chef, assuming they have a roast dinner category – I wouldn’t know, as I draw the line at watching civilians cook food as a form of entertainment.
Just in case you cared, possibly originating from the 15 th century when Henry VII’s Yeoman of the Guard eat so much beef they became known as the ‘beefeaters’, the meal was formalised in the 19 th century when the industrial revolution made cheap cuts of meat more accessible and families came together after mass. My household comes together for all of about six minutes to polish off what I have spent all afternoon preparing before returning to whatever shit Netflix is serving up this week. It’s a family tradition, innit?
Why am I harping on about roast dinners? Well, my main memory (I am writing this report several months later I should point out) of the game on Sunday was the wonderful but torturous smell of roast beef and tatties wafting across the pitch all afternoon from the neighbouring Red Lion public house. The most important part of the day was thus going to be ensuring we got a return fixture so that we could experience said Sunday roast next season. Easier said than done. With the game at Leigh promising to be a washout due to Skips 50th birthday bash, Reigate, a new fixture on the calendar, looked like it would be the last game of the 2025 season. Despite this, we only had nine willing and relatively able players, so I interrupted my training to become the 2026 surfing world champion (there is no need to be jealous Binman) and made myself available.
With a new opponent and a very green track, bowling first was essential. Sadly, the opposing captain felt similar and on winning the toss put us into bat. Unsurprisingly it didn’t go well. Umair and Locky were out cheaply and were back in the hutch well in time for the prawn cocktail starter. I say cheaply, but what I really mean is for free. Rashid, Faggie and Irfan at least made double figures, just, but Ali, Evil, Radio and Egg didn’t. With the Quokkas 79-9 and a return invite in the balance, we were thankful that our opponents allowed one batsman to get a second crack.
Faggie chose Faggie for the role and it was a wise choice, as he smashed 41 quick runs before playing on to leave Seagull, who was going along very nicely, high and dry, again. 133 all out felt respectable, but maybe a little short.
A short rain interruption meant we didn’t have time to venture into the pub for a late lunch, but the tea provided was decent and allowed us time to discuss handy ways of preventing killer spiders from getting in your shoes, the disappearance of chocolate from Jacobs Club biscuits and the ever increasing spend on HS2. Random, as ever. In terms the bowling, Irfan and Ali opened and enjoyed the green pitch as much as our opponents. Both took bowled great line and length stuff and claimed two wickets each. Line and length were not something Evil Dave seemed to care much about during his spell, which saw our meagre total whittled away. Faggie took up the mantel, and he was pretty much unplayable, claiming three wickets before his entire body failed him. Three wickets to get, but only 20 runs needed. Sadly, we’d runout of seam bowlers, so I had no choice but to turn to spin. I say spin, but it was mostly just very slow bowling, except for that one ball from Seagull. It’s not for me to say ball of the century, but what’s that you say, ball of the century? Sadly, one swallow doesn’t make a summer and with just a few runs needed, the opposing skipper smashed a six to see them comfortably home.
Did we do enough to get a return invite? Hope so. See you in the Red Lion next summer.
Seagull