The towering beech trees of Pencarrow Park remained rapt in silent judgement as the Mystics and Magicians succumbed to a one wicket Monday evening defeat to boisterously youthful Cornish hosts. The T20 leg of the 2024 tour provided, if not, as is mandatory for this format in the modern cricket marketing parlance, blasts/bashes/MAXIMUMs, at least ample excitement.
The tourists’ preparations came straight from the Bazball playbook: commensality, natty leisurewear, and good vibes. Coach Thomson shuffled his pack. In came the Mystic mercenaries, in to make a quick dynar before the real cricket of the tour started, or the competing Gorran Super League came in with a better offer. The spectators took their positions, requisite on-brand salted snacks to hand, and, as the Rodda’s Tea-Time Toss-Off dictated, the Mystics were in to bat first.
Run out by Kent? See red (4)
Pencarrow began, optimistically even for a scratch Mystics opening pair of Sharland and Kent, with almost 7 slips and the lips to match. The over-exuberance of the lopsided umbrella field, perhaps caught in a stiff northerly coastal gale, was slightly at odds with Pencarrow’s opening bowler - more Big (Yellow) Bird than Joel Garner. As is invariably the case in the aforementioned circumstances, the first runs came through two Kent slices through the assembled catchers to shrieks of excitement. The sliver of the arc behind Kent’s right shoulder was proving to be exceedingly profitable; that familiar wagon wheel open to the interpretation of heralding the imminent arrival of elevenses.
All was going swimmingly for the tourists until the opening pair first encountered that ingraspable skill: running between the wickets. Your correspondent’s memory was (and still is) conveniently hazy about the event but the bare essentials are these:a slice off the bat; the gamut of possible answers to the ultimately unanswered question; Sharland stranded in the middle of the wicket by his upstart partner on debut. Safe to say that it was not the start the assembled Sharland clan had envisaged. Such is the case with these franchise competitions: teammates thrown together with the flutter of a chequebook. At least Sharland could console himself with thoughts of his lucrative upcoming stint with the Rising Truro Supergiants.
Healey begins to dazzle - even Neil is spellbound (5)
In strode Healey, and, wisely avoiding even the shred of a possibility of risking a crossing of the 22 yards, began slashing the ball to the boundary. Healey thumped; Kent, scratched. In a few minutes, Healey had reached his retirement, achieved with a ferociousness matched only by the reaction to a mere mention of Alex Carey and his underarm stumping prowess.
Replacing Healey, on debut, Leitch - two Vipers alone on a foreign Cornish field. Though not for long: en route from Liverpool, Leitch had made the impressive detour to feature for the tourists in two games before venturing back up north. A three-minute stay at the crease, ended with by a scoop to midwicket, was probably not what was envisaged at the start of the trip - perhaps the most unsuccessful expedition south since Captain Scott. At least there were no Norwegians in the vicinity to rub it in.
C Squire came and went, J Thomson making his mark on the game via the reluctant raise of the index finger. At 69-3 from the first 11 overs, the innings was requiring a bit of momentum. Having failed to provide it, Kent dribbled over the retirement mark, and allowed F Chave and Wetherhead to grasp the moment. Chave making his mark with lusty blows over midwicket (although ultimately succumbing to this avenue) and Wetherhead with well-timed smears to all parts. As the familiar late innings clatter of wickets ensued (Joshi-Gale acquainting himself with the genus Anas in the process), M Cook provided some final over razzamatazz, clubbing the innings’ first 6 in the final over. This left the Mystics with a competitive, if not intimidating, final account of 125.
Recalled contribution to make buccaneering 125? (4)
With the shadows lengthening, and the assembled spectatorate’s thoughts inevitably turning to the post-match entertainments, Wetherhead turned at the foot of his mark to begin the innings of the hosts. Whether it was the indignity of the upstart keeper positioning himself at the bed of the stumps or the temptation of a contract in the new Timbuktu T10 Tonk, this was a fiery opening spell. Real whip, arching inswing and rearing bounce.
In this environment, the two Jagos (Isaac and Tristan, that unique melding of Biblical and Cornish traditions) would be forgiven for viewing Wetherhead’s opening partner, D Chave, as more than a bit of light relief. Inevitably, this is where the dangers lurked. Lulled by the comparatively gentler approach, Jago (he of Isolde’s affections) sent the leather sphere into orbit, and thereupon into the ambit of the impregnable hands of Healey. D Chave picked up another as repayment for a couple of gifts to Pencarrow’s number 3 - McPhee responding, generously, via Webb, with a towering catch.
Wetherhead with Mystic’s go-to bamboozler (4)
Wetherhead finally got his reward in his third over, splattering the stumps of Derry, and when the D Chave/Healey combination accounted for Delley, Pencarrow were wilting somewhat at 31-4. However, the remaining Jago, accompanied by the aptly-named Clay (“tenacious and impervious”, apparently), began to deliver what appeared to be the knock-out blow: Sharland and Joshi-Gale bearing the brunt of the onslaught. Even after I Jago’s enforced retirement, Pencarrow’s captain picked up the gauntlet apace, the score rocketing to 81 after just 11 overs. The fielding side called their Ginster’s Strategic Time-Out to try and find a response.
To the rescue span M Cook, googly in tow, as he bamboozled batsman and keeper combined over the course of 3 mesmerising overs. Repeatedly this unsuspecting duo were left in undignified contortions by these fitting tributes to Bernard Bosanquet. A true sorcerer indeed amongst this Mystical band. This legerdemain (or should it be leggie-demain?) removed both captain and Clay - the latter completing a trio of catches for Healey. 6 wickets down, 91 runs on the board, 6 overs remaining. Despite the flurry of wickets, the game was still Pencarrow’s to lose.
This all changed in the 16th over. F Chave pounced on another scrambling of communications between two batsmen (not just a Mystics speciality) to dislodge Williams, Pencarrow’s number 9, before M Cook came out on top against his Cornish culinary namesake - D Cook departing, probably aggrieved that Kent had finally managed to cling on to something behind the stumps. Runs were still not a problem to Pencarrow, the total having progressed serenely to three digits, but the wickets remaining provided scant comfort.
Not content with dominating the batting and fielding stakes, Healey brought victory to within one wicket for the Mystics, squeezing a ball back between T Clay’s scything blade and legs. Unexpectedly, the tourists were now favourites, with 22 still needed for Pencarrow.
And so to the denouement. The 18th over saw more travails for Leitch, who would be forgiven not venturing over the Tamar again after this experience. 10 runs were commandeered by Pencarrow’s 11th bat and their Sharp’s Super Sub, in at 12. Healey returned, hunting for the winning moment. Williams and Wilson, defying the gravity of the accustomed batting order, responded with a boundary each, either side of a single - bookended by Williams slogging to leg side over the boundary and into the long grass. 11 more to Pencarrow, scores level.
As the game began so it ended: confusion between the wickets. Unfortunately for the Mystics, Pencarrow provided a more competent level of incompetence than Kent and Sharland were able to muster 40-odd overs previously. The hope of a thrilling tie was tantalising, but the last pair scrambled home, just. There was to be no run out at the death, or a Source FM Super Over, much to the disappointment of the assembled hordes.
Thus the Mystics retired, defeated, to a welcome late evening chilli prepared graciously by the victors - a fitting conclusion for the glorious surroundings. You don’t get that in the Shanghai Super Slogathon.
AABCCDDEEEEILNNOORSSSUW
Harry Kent