Game 1: Aliens vs Inter Lions
See the replay here
Between the click of the light and the start of the dream the amateur cricketer fills their head with imagined scenarios that even test level players could barely hope to achieve. Opening over hatricks, the middle stump cartwheeling towards the wicketkeeper after each delivery. An embattled century to see his team home or, as the author of this report imagined, his name being sung from from the stands after another vicious outswinger finds the edge (“Oh Jimmy, Jimmy. Jimmy, Jimmy…).
Ekeberg was covered in snow for much of April and the weather was the prime candidate to destroy those run and wicket filled dreams, but on this occasion Norway’s climate was surprisingly temperate with the hats worn for their sun protecting qualities rather than to maintain body temperature. The sun also drew to the crowds albeit for the vintage car exhibition on the neighbouring field.
Whilst the Gulf Stream supported our collective dreams it was classic Alien’s disorganisation that dented our ambitions and it was Bennan who was first to have his dreams trodden on. He had spent the night with a scientist’s nerd boner in anticipation of scoring the game but before he could unlock the iPad, open up the cricket stats and explode all over the screen he was yanked into reality (“get the spare kit on, we don’t have enough players.”). It is not the job of the match report to point fingers of blame and we will preserve the identity of aforementioned late player (although his name does sort of rhyme with the word “rickshaw”).
A late dash by Sudesh meant the Aliens had eleven players on the field (well done us) and although the outfield was comparable to an Agent Orange testing site, the dream was still alive. Crawf stood at the top of his run;
Umpire: “Bowler ready?”
Nod.
Umpire: “Batsman ready?”
Nod.
Fielders: “Come on aliens!”
Umpire: Scorer, ready?
Oh, hang the fuck on. We’re meant to score our own games, aren’t we. Unfortunately no one at Inter had remembered this and a farcical fifteen minutes ensued as they fired up their tablet. This made our President particularly happy after he spent much of the tour telling the Spanish public that scoring our own games was a stupid fucking idea. He was right.
OK, so here we go. “Play,” said the umpire and off set “Crawf”, and with a strong preseason behind him, he was straight into his rhythm. He knocked over four of the top five including two in two balls.
What was Captain Dennis thinking as he stood by his mark for the first time? (“I can’t believe a bunch of adults can’t get to the ground on time. Why do I bother?”) Whatever headaches the logistics of being captain caused, his cricketing dream was still alive - he had a new nut in his hand and his season was a blank canvass. He looked majestic as he galloped to the crease, a crease, as it turned out, that had been painted in the most slippery substance known to man, causing our beloved skipper to fall with the elegance of an Indian wooly mammoth slain by prehistoric man. Despite an accurate and testing bowling spell, his spectacular tumble and collision with the stumps would be the only time he would dislodge the bails all afternoon, although he got a much deserved edge which was snaffled by Si.
Inter were wobbling on 32-5 when Dave entered the fray and continued his tour tactic of bowling dirty full tosses that get hit straight to fielders. Dreams can come true.
No dreaming was required for Shantha who carried on his fine tour-form with the ball and although the realities of an astro pitch rather than turf meant he had to make do with bounce alone, rather than coupled with the angle defying turn he obtained in Spain, he still managed to finished with four scalps to his name.
Shanthakumar and Damon after the match.
The consistent fall of wickets meant the energy was high in the Aliens field throughout the faltering Inter innings, typified by Marcus who, despite teammate expectations, put in a heroic dive to cut off a four. As his chest compressed on hitting the floor, a small plume of smoke could be seen exiting his lungs.
Alien’s set about their target of 85 in typically explosive fashion, knocking off the total with a specular two boundaries in the successful chase. Simon top scored with Alan Border-esque 38 off 54 and only just outstripped the next highest contributor - Mr Extra who added 23.
Dave K and Simon ready for action.
Whilst the Aliens cruised to victory the onlooking Aliens had the wonderful opportunity to explain to the Harry-iest of Norwegian folk that a) you can’t drive your stupid Hummer on the outfield whilst we are playing cricket. b) Parking your vintage 1960’s Cadillac on the boundary rope, which you polish with your ball sack every weekend, in front of a game that involves a small, hard, round ball, might not be the best of ideas.
With the suns on our backs and a crushing victory to our names, cricket in Norway actually felt like a good idea.
Happy chappies