40 over game, retire at 100 n/o
Badlesmere XI win by 99 runs; 253 for 3
SCC 154 all out

SPECIAL REPORT FROM COMRADE COMMISSAR COBRAMOVICH!
Comrade Commissar Ileyva Lunchourov looked disconsolately from the rain-splattered window of his Zil limousine as it passed Belmont House. These sickening capitalists and their decadent displays of faded, historic, exploitative wealth! This accurse-sed exile!! How he longed once again for the honest grit of the Donbass coalfield and the long-lost, brotherly self-respect afforded him by the heroic miners of the glorious cause.

In the following convoy of black cars, Altmananov’s eyes also narrowed with politico-philosophical distrust as he passed the fascists’ mansion, then Brandonovski’s, and so on, until all 11 of the Soviet cavalcade had traversed the centre of the former great rural estate, on the last lap to the battlefield. Only Jontin, himself rescued by the Red forces from his defiantly aristocratic parents, as a mere toddler during the Great Uprising, seemed to betray a furtive glimpse of distant longing in his dark eyes, as he fleetingly surveyed the stone monolith. His balding, burly State driver surely noticed, but as always remained silent…

An hour later, Supreme Leader ‘Tzar’ (not in the pre-1917 sense you understand, but perhaps we remain essentially a peasant people, at once ever seeking, loving and fearing a Supreme Leader?) Yuri Pedeez, having inserted the Kentish opposition, the Collective were staring into a cricketing abyss: An unreconstructed Badlesmere Occasionals opening batsman – De Moubray, surely an unapologetic exploiter of the masses – was nearing his half-century, clubbing the hissing Cobramovich to the leg-side boundary at will. Hirstheryankov, Samovar, Sewellski and new convert Mullertov Cocktail also all battled hard with their crimson balls to remove this Western ogre; but none could – and the vile Enemy Of The People only retreated once he had passed his debut 100.

In fact, despite some excellent fielding on the big stately home pitch, including Ileyva and Altmananov both bravely taking nasty knocks for the team, we were nevertheless only able to dispatch 3 other capitalists to the Gulag. The highlight for this humble Pravda propagandist being Cosmonaut Sewellski’s wicket: The Blakes 7 oligarch’s rangy bowling quickly eliciting a fine catch at short extra cover from (the clearly surprised) Yuri.

At least we remained cosy in the drizzle-threatening gloom, thanks – courtesy Quartermaster Brandonovski – to our freshly delivered new club sweaters, emanating pungent wafts of Ural Mountain sheep wool. The aroma drifted dreamily over the North Downs and soulfully compounded our deep desire for a return to the Motherland. Meanwhile, by tea a brutal target of 253 had been set us Russians by the Imperialists.

Orthodox blessings then upon the strawberry meringues served, such a guilty bourgeois pleasure for this simple son of the black Ukrainian soil. I justified my corrupted treachery by observing that at least they were partly Red in colour.

With a run-rate in excess of 6 an over required for victory, could perhaps our openers, the in-form Arctic Monster of frozen Arkangel, Jontin – fresh from his Collective record-topping individual score of 77 at Penn Street – and big-hitting ‘keeper Robski, build a platform quickly enough to topple the decadents? Nyet! Robski, then Sewellski, both fell to the ghastly Shirley. Russians, felled for year zeros by a man with a woman’s name. Readers, reflect for a moment on the shame in zat zentence…

Mullertov entered, rather curiously swishing his hips while holding his bat parallel with both hands, possibly in a deranged effort to attract ‘Shirley’ with a courtship dance. Or was it a warm up? Western corruption after all is insidious, and we must always be on our guard against it.

Spaseba though, our number 4 soon got down to honest work, over a full 97 minutes crafting a Caspian Sea-size 3^rd wicket partnership of 105 with Jontin, before finally falling on his sickle in the 24^th over for a fine 41. Jontin lasted another half-hour, ratcheting up the score to a near respectable 128-5, at which point he was roostered by Cockerel. (Party-approved word play at an idiotic enemy’s expense, meerkats.) 9 fours, on a tricky wicket and sticky outfield, went towards Jontin’s heroic 72: Another consecutive huge score for the Walrus of the Tundra! Surely the Order of Lenin awaits him at the Union Club in November.

From the remaining batsmen only Samovar, his yogic mysticism tolerated by our gloriously godless regime, could reach double figures; but, facing tidy Badlesmere bowling throughout, it was still encouraging for the future to see The Collective fall just one ball short of batting out the entire allocated 40 overs, the ever-improving Lunchourov cruelly being given LBW on the 5^th ball of the final over.

So, 154 all out – a defeat by 99 runs, and surely we had the last grim laugh: The depraved Westerners could not manage to beat us by a hundred. A moral victory for Communist Cricket, Comrades!

Many thanks to all of you comrades and all at Badlesmere. Thank you cmr cms Cobramovich for a startling, incisive, accurate and spine tingling match report, too! – Yuri

 

THEIR iPAD PDFSCORECARD IS HERE….hmmmm!!!