Once a year, my cricket club would play a friendly match against a local team. One year we turned up to discover they were playing an eleven-year-old girl in their side (the captain was coaching her). I came in to bat when we needed to score some quick runs, and found myself having to face her bowling.
I ask you: an eleven-year-old. A girl. She couldn’t even bowl the ball the regulation 22 yards, so had been given a shorter crease to use.
Obviously I would smash her out of the ground.
I would have, too, if she hadn’t clean-bowled me, first ball.
One-nil to her.
Move on two years. We are playing them again, and she (now a thirteen-year-old, county player) is playing for them again. Everyone remembers what happened two years ago; there is plenty of jolly banter, in which I join.
I come out to open the batting. Seeing that, their captain asks her to open the bowling, so I can be humiliated again.
She runs in. I wait, bat poised.
The ball is going to pass outside my off-stump, I judge. I leave it. Fortunately, it does indeed miss my stump.
I have not been bowled first ball! ‘Not out!!’ I say, gleefully.
She comes in to bowl again. The ball is faster this time, and on line (chatting to her afterwards she told me she could see it heading straight for my middle stump; ‘Miss that’, she thought, ‘and I’ve bowled you again.’).
I lean forwards and play a perfect cover-drive for four runs.
One-all, I think.
When they bat, and she comes in, I move up from gully (about ten yards away from the bat) to about one yard away from her. Death or glory.
She hits the ball straight at me. It ends up in my hands. Caught out!
I do not gloat.
Nevertheless: One-two! I have defeated her!!
Huzzah for me!!!
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