The last day of a pretty unsuccessful season. At least the sky was blue (and filled with World War II aircraft) and we had the old enemy to face. There was even a surrogate Hitler -- don't know his name, but the guy with the red hair and the Jardine-style cap definitely talked the talk. Could he walk the walk?
Whittlesford batted first, and for most of their innings we bowled and fielded fantastically -- they looked like struggling to get 150. But then one of their number started to take a few risks, we got looser, and so they ended up with 166 on the board.
Fortunately, they had but the one bowler -- an ultra-aggresive opener who gave away only marginally more runs than he took wickets. But essentially we saw him off, and pillaged the rest of the bowling. The star, as he has been of late, was Neal Baker with 72 not out. But it was Arnie Garside who had the last laugh, hitting the winning runs with just a few balls remaining.
If Romsey Town Cricket Club lasts for a thousand years, men will look back and say ``This was their finest hour.''
A top way to end the season. The only thing that could improve it was going back to Phil's club (and then the Granta) for six or seven pints of Guinness. And so we did. Now, whose round is it?