Month: July 2022

Brizzle again. With the blokes.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

A truly extraordinary night. Crowd felt huge – those balconies! – and England’s total pretty close to obscene. Malan, Bairstow, Moeen, Hendricks and Stubbs slaughtering bowling of all types. Maybe does beg the question is it all too much? Will need to come back to that, I suspect. Meanwhile, here’s the live blog…

I’ve nicked Ather’s seat. But I know (at 18.04pm) that I’m okay because the fella’s out there conducting the toss. South Africa win it and choose to bowl. Hoping Michael decides to loiter with the TV Posse down the corridor to my left but will keep you posted.

Given all the talk about incoming heatwaves destroying life as we know it (and cheering my mum up, as she lands in Pembrokeshire, Sunday) the evening is medium-coolish. There are clouds. There is greyness and the lights *already* feel like they’re earning their living. So you would bowl.

To my right, the recently-retired-into-a-job-on-telly Eoin Morgan, in a very Eoin Morgan jumper – beige/faun, v-neck, politely inoffensive – is with the A-listers Butcher and Ward. Doing his Mr Clean-but-bright thing. No sound on our monitor so can only imagine the chat is high level; usually is with those gents. Life been busy so banging in the coffees. 18.18.

Completely different vibe to women’s internationals. LOTS OF PEOPLE, first and foremost. Plus double the amount of journo’s in the Media Centre. Areas behind the stands, typically Wasteland Central during women’s games (despite the perennial claim that they’re ‘sold out’), are vivid and busy. We had to break through queues and overlapping gatherings on the way round from Ashley Down. In short there’s a real crowd. There are very substantial temporary stands.

There is fire belching, so we are starting. Roy will face and Buttler watch. Maharaj from Ashley Down. Left arm round. Slow. Miss but bounce. Keeper smothers. Then one to square leg. Poorish shortish ball gifts Buttler time and space to rock back. Fielder should gather but the crowd loves a ‘megs’: four. Last-up, Buttler clatters a perfectly acceptable ball over long-on for six, meaning 13 from the over. Rabada.

Roy mistimes or misjudges the bounce and might be caught, lamely, mid-on. Escapes. Then an air-shot… and a half-hearted lb shout. And another miss. (May need to breathalyse Roy if this goes on). Goodish over but the opener in a mess, so far.

Third bowler in as many overs: Ngidi. Quickish but wide, to Buttler. Then another ordinary/extraordinary six – this time over extra. A push rather than a hit. A shimmy and shake of the shoulders and a wide ball is punished square. But Miller, moving backwards awkwardly under a steepler, takes a great catch and the England skipper is gone. 28 for 1 as Buttler departs, for a Joss-esque 22. Malan joins Roy.

Malan mistimes, facing Rabada. (Something going on at that Ashley Road End? Or could be subtle change of pace did him). No dramas. Whhhoooff. With what looked like minimal backlift, the left-hander picks up Rabada from outside off and creams it for six over midwicket. Sensational and wristy and utterly timed. 39 for 1, off 4. Glance to my left confirms that we are now at the Seat Unique Stadium (and we asked to make that clear in our ‘reports’.

Meanwhile Roy is still shaking off the lunchtime tequila-sesh. Hasn’t timed a single ball. Swishes extravagantly and is mercifully extinguished – caught for an appalling 8, at backward point, off Ngidi. Lusty cheers as Bairstow marches out, on 41 for 2.

Ngodi’s bowling sharply: 86mph beats Bairstow’s flail. Never seen the balconies in the flats opposite SO FULL. Hope they’re all safe! Ground and horizon full-to-bursting. Phelukwayo (what a beautiful name!) bowls right arm seam-up from underneath me. Straight. The once fat-shamed Bairstow (fastest in the side?) offers the blade and races through for the single. Neat look about the powerplay figures. 48 for 2. Honours even?

Maharaj returneth. Slapping it in flat. Malan nurdles for 1. Same batter then misses out, a little on a poor wide one. Single. Bairstows crunches low and hard for six: ball pitched a foot outside off but dispatched to deep midwicket. Shamsi’s loosener gets similar treatment. Malan thwacks over square leg. Next ball turns sharply, mind – left-arm, leg-spin.

Bairstow ain’t bovvered: absolutely smashes another one low and hard at *and just over* deep midwicket. Was a wee sense that the fielder didn’t fancy it: don’t blame him. 73 for 2 after 8. Spin from both ends, with England having raised the Boom Factor just when they needed. Brilliant, experienced players. 19.09 pm. Crowd nicely into this.

Malan guides Shamsi ludicrously over extra for another six. Didn’t swing, merely extended the arms through. Another poor, short ball is slapped for four more, by Bairstow. Mixed, from Shamsi, this. A worse one is middled… and was last seen flying over Taunton. Lots of wrist, from the bowler but he’s *all over*. Wide. Think that’s 34 from his two overs.
Drinks. 98 for 2 off 10, England. Explosive and controlled, now. Impressed with Malan’s cool violence, tonight.

100 up in the 11th. Both batters into their thirties. Weirdly, Bairstow appears to have forgotten how to cut. Two or three times has mistimed playing a nine-year-old’s pull to a ball he could have easily put away past point. Odd… and he’s angry!

Malan in fine nick. Blistering hoist waaay over mid-wicket then classy boom through extra. But ah – Phelukwayo has him, caught behind. Lovely innings of 43, from 23. I was here when Moeen carted a zillion off 22, some years ago – one of the most extraordinary innings I’ve seen (live). He’s in, now but Bairstow will face Rabada, at 112 for 3.

Moeen swings a bouncer fabulously, behind square. But coo – cake!! Rich variations of cake.

Bairstow is ‘using the crease’ again, to Shamsi. Rocks back, seeing a short one, and blams it out of sight. (*Cake update*: generous lump but tad bland, the coffee effort. ‘Bout three hundredweight of alternatives back there, so major restraint in order). But Moeen… and six more, cruelly middled… and another fifty for Bairstow. 148 after 15, England, with 200 now on.

One of The Great Recordings of All Time is Billy Bragg’s Levi Stubbs Tears. (You know that, right?) The Stubbs coming in now, for South Africa, from the Pavilion End has absolutely no connection with Levi. But what the hell. Bairstow dispatches him… and then he must surely have the wicket of Moeen? No.

Eventful over. No-ball and six, drop at mid-wicket. Bairstow (now 60) and Moeen proceed, with fairly evil intent. 168 for 3, with overs remaining. Bairstow yet again hammers Phehlukwayo cross-batted, across the line, for six. Twice – the second sounding deliciously nutty and true. Major conflab… followed by wide. (Lols). Times two. (Loools). A further wide (not called, clattered) heads high downtown and will surely be caught? Nope. Another painful drop.

Another classical ‘push’ from Ali heads over extra for six and you might forgive the visitors if they slink off now. Moeen twists the knife by twisting the ball behind square then drills hard over mid-off – both sixes. The score has rocketed past 200 and we have three overs left. Madness. The crowd delirious and the Stattos masturbating, pretty much. Oh blimey; and another catch dropped. Bairstow again the recipient of the gift.

Ngidi no-balled then wided and the nightmare goes on, for South Africa. Moeen is teasing deep midwicket now. Again clears the rope but the fielder was interested (before seeking out therapy, I imagine). Moeen has blasted a ridiculous 52 from 16. Two balls later the crowd is rising to share the love – he’s out, caught behind. Livingstone.

Rabada from Ashley Down. Fine yorker; one scored. Brief reprieve before Bairstow middles again, for six. (He may even get to a ton!) 227 for 4, England: Jonny B on strike, looks for 1(?) and gets it, to leg slip area.

Ngidi has Livingstone, caught QDK. Curran strides in. The left-hander hits hard and square, to leg. Fielder gets a hand but not counting that one as a chance, myself. Bairstow clouts high but not far enough. Out for 90 outstanding runs. Crowd stand and bellow their approval. 234 for 6 the final total, after Jordan keeps out that last ball.

THE REPLY.

Second over. Topley is walking like a man who’s been injured a lot. He may not care. South Africa are 7 for 2 and he’s claimed QDK and Roussow. Now Curran is scuttling in and releasing weirdly *in front*, so that it almost looks like a throw. He won’t care – it’s not. The lights feel bright and things feel urgent in a good way, for England. 19 for 2 after 3.

Topley will bowl the fourth from underneath us. Goes tad full (for him) and Hendricks drills him rather stylishly through mid-off, for four. Klaasen the other bat. Topley at six foot twenty-nine, gets plenty bounce but is already looking a ver-ry disciplined bowler. Lots going straight at/straight over the sticks.

Gleeson is in and beating Klaasen, who edges. Happens twice in the over. Cruel: the first occasion Buttler dropped, after changing direction. Four comes over point, as Hendricks catches hold. 36 for 2 after 5. Now Jordan. Hendricks cracks him downtown for four more. Relief of sorts, for the visitors.

87 mph from Jordan but Hendricks dismisses him again for four. (Has 34 off 19, at this point, so good work). Much slower one is tailing to leg; glanced for four more. Not great from Chris J: powerplay done and South Africa are battling with 50 for 2. A mere 185 required.

Gleeson is clonked to cow, for six and answers with an angry bouncer that chases and hits the batter. (Fair enough). Then a 91 mph screamer is dispatched past Rashid – who did go down in monthly instalments. Tough business this, bowling quick, when guys can hit this freely, this fearlessly. Rashid will bowl the 8th. From under the pavilion. Good ball, first up; tad unlucky not to find a way through. Dusk Proper, at 20.53.

Googly is struck straight to Jordan at long-on. Great hands; safely pouched. Klaasen has to walk. Curran will bowl the 9th, at 72 for 3. Sharp fielding and powerful arm from Bairstow has the batter diving but he’s made it. Hendricks gets through to 50 but good reply from Sam Curran; sharp bounder then hits pad. Rare misfield from Moeen releases the pressure – four more to Hendricks, who moves on to 56. Our first sight of Ali with the ball follows.

Beautiful, bold floater barely dug out. Clean strike from Hendricks but not clean enough. Always has S Curran written all over. Routine catch. 86 for 4 and two new batters in there. Unnecessary drinks. Moeen will finish the over to Stubbs, a fellow left-hander with the wood.

Topley has changed ends, and now has maybe two hundred people on balconies, at his back. It’s extraordinary. Has Ashley Down ever been so bursting? There’s really no scope for South African watchfulness here, but Stubbs and Miller unable to explode, as yet.

Full toss from Moeen offers that possibility. Chance taken, as Stubbs goes downtown, then backs that up with something over mid-wicket. Feels bit extraordinary that South Africa have the same number of runs as England did at the equivalent stage. Stubbs goes to 24 from 8, with more ferocity at Moeen’s expense. As Jordan re-joins, I wonder the unwonderable: could the visitors… nah… surely?

Noticeable that both sides are keeping pace on, a fair bit. (Jordan at 88mph again). Flip side is Stubbs doesn’t need to middle to get over deep midwicket – which he does. Ver-ry true strip: hard, hard, to stem the tide.

Rare dot ball as Rashid gathers the return. But he’s plinked through extra next up. Then Stubbs literally clubs him out of the ground. We’ll be looking at the runs required a little more intently then. Miller drills towards Jordan at long-off and the fielder leans in confidently to grab. Wickets column feeling increasingly important: five down, South Africa.

Rashid bowls another googly at the incoming Phelukwayo. A little unlucky not to draw more than a loose edge. Six overs remain. 98 needed. Topley from Ashley Down. Four. Lights are burning now, in the night. Stubbs gets something on it: feels unjust that it lollops high enough/far enough to beat the leaping fielder in the deep. Six. Moments later it’s fifty up – commendable effort. A satisfying 150 for 5, off 15 overs. 85 needed. Gleeson.

Bit loose – though marginal. Four, glanced. Loose full-toss is high on the bat but clear of mid-off. Four more. Buttler runs the length of the pitch to have a word. Full-toss on leg stick probably not what the skipper asked for. More runs come: Buttler runs down again. Short ball carved cross-batted for six, over the bowler’s head. Gleeson looks for the proverbial hole to climb into.

Curran must settle this thing down, for England. In from Ashley Down. Fabulous yorker brings a dot. And again, but Phelukwayo digs out. Stubbs absolutely creams the follow-up – another attempted yorker that’s strayed to leg. Superb knock, fair play. Curran does nail a further yorker to close out the over. 54 from 18 needed. Repeat: tremendous effort from Stubbs to keep South Africa in this.

Jordan is also searching for the killer toe-crusher. With some success. Critically, he can keep Phelukwayo down there – repeatedly. (It probably wins the match). Topley loves it. 51 from 12.

Gleeson, who has been carted fairly relentlessly, draws a slight mis-club from the heroic Stubbs. Always headed for the long-off, and comfortably taken. 184 for 6. Further relief for the bowler as he castles Rabada for nought. He’s maybe a bit embarrassed to get a third wicket (well, maybe not!) with a big full-toss that Phelukwayo flips to Rashid. (The batter had plainly wondered if it was a no-ball). The game is won, and Gleeson’s blushes saved. Jordan will bowl out.

Quiet last over, except for boozy singing. Jordan again in the high eighties. Ngidi and Maharaj can barely lay a glove. All done, with England winners by 41 runs, which feels about right. Sensational ball-striking from Malan and Moeen in particular: their intensity and power rather shredded the visitors fielding effort. Check out the anoraks’ reports for numbers of drops or misfields but take it from me that South Africa got into a mess – or England’s formidable batting put them there. I’m gathering swiftly and heading to Cardiff tomorrow. Join me there.

The Yorkies went mad.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

The Lionesses’ surge to the final of the Women’s Euro’s may be a genuine phenomenon and a boon to the game across the UK, as opposed to just England. (Let’s hope). Despite The Authorities yet again underestimating and under-valuing these women themselves, and the importance of what they can and now are doing. Plainly, last night’s game could have been based at a venue at least twice the size of Bramall Lane; the players and the profile of the event arguably deserved that. No surprises that the Sports Admin Posse failed to rise to, anticipate or respect the inevitable Good Vibes Boom: that would mean understanding both the game and the population around it.

Having said that, of course England fed off the energy of the crowd in that ‘new’ Northern cauldron. A crowd that again seemed distinctive, with different voices, maybe fresher voices carrying the team home after another mixed start.

Spain absolutely slaughtered England in terms of style points and possession, for more than an hour. They found acres of space in front of Lucy Bronze and toyed with her at least as much as they did with her fellow full-back – yaknow, the one The Pundits called for to be dropped. Sweden could never outplay England in quite the same way that Spain had, but Bronze, increasingly looking like one of those worldies who’s started to believe her own publicity, was awful, defensively, early-doors. Slow to press and slack with her passing. In short, Sweden should have been 3-1 up inside ten minutes.

In the context of a 4-0 win in the other direction, this may not matter. It may indeed be churlish to be ‘concentrating on this’. But I do so because France and/or Germany will be. Either of these sides seem nailed-on to score against an England defending poorly out wide and so easy to pass through in midfield. Even the brilliant doughtiness of Bright and the wise, calm, cultured nature of Williamson may not be sufficient to hold the proverbial fort should their next opponents be offered space to race or pass into and time to cross or cut back.

There is universal acclaim for Wiegman, the manager; understandably so, for her record and her care. Players are apparently extraordinarily well-prepared and seem to be trusted to a high degree to both ‘stick to the plan’ and adapt. This is the great and generous way – the holistic way. Enable players and let them grow. It is in this context that the team selection should be seen.

Some of us might have dropped Hemp or even Kirby; both were below par in the early rounds. Others might have shed Daly. Many of us are even now wondering what Wiegman might be saying to Bronze, before the final: an old-fashioned bollocking, perhaps? Unlikely. Asked about the period in which England were again somewhere between ‘mixed’ and under the cosh, the England manager shrugged and said simply “again, the team found a way”.

At every level, you’re in Dreamland as a coach if your players show initiative, guts and ‘trust the process’ (that is delivery of their skillset). Mead epitomised this. Her form and use of the ball has been patchy, in my view and, despite the deluge of fawning over her goal-rush – 6, now and out in front for the Golden Boot – she will know that (or should). So what? After having a quiet early period, she neatly gathered a cross, swivelled automatically and struck the shot sweetly across the keeper. One nil. And England were off.

The goals were extraordinary. Good, from Mead, bit odd, from Bronze, as her decent-but-not-more-than-speculative nod bounced through. Russo’s backheel was manifestly an electrifying outrage; so much so that the bewildered Lindhal was woefully ‘megged. Kirby’s chip was nearly an absolute peach… but again the ‘keeper has to save it. Four bloody nil. No wonder the Yorkies went mad.

It’s already been a kind of triumph. It may be the kind that proves irresistible. But it may not. For all England’s brilliance in attack, they have looked nervy, looked bad in the early knockings too often for their support to be unconcerned. The formidable athletes in the French side may have a field day: England might be gone before they’ve started. It could happen.

Serena Wiegman will know this. She will have A Plan. But she will also be gifting her players – the same players – the right and the responsibility to sort it out.

Pinch me.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Note: fear there are cock-ups in here, following failed updates. Blaming bad wifi & over-heating devices. Forgive me if I don’t straighten them all out – busy weekend with family stuff ongoing. Plus anarchy & madness very much the nature of the event.

Go on, pinch me: I’m here again. Edgbaston Media Centre, the incomparable perch thrust out and up towards that extraordinary, vivid cityscape. And again it’s sensational sunshine, that’s just how this gig *seems to be*, even during the previous, deep Autumn slot. Today we are burning or glowing whilst smiling. Or they are, the assembled lifeguards and clowns and troubadours; burning, early in the day.

Twenty-four hours ago the air-con in Bristol was a brutally chilling bastion against the prevailing swelter. Today it’s reassuringly fallible. We are burning, or sweating, or likely to, alongside the monsters and monks and fleshy party-goers in the Hollies. It feels like the least we could do. I am wearing shades, indoors, ‘cos necessary. Kohler-Cadmore is bowled, by Wells, for a stirring 66.

Yes it’s a crypto-Roses Match. Yorkshire’s (almost proper) Vikings v Lancashire Lightning. The Lankies are fielding, in their soft red clobber, with Yorks 143 for 4 at 12.08 p.m. There are best part of a hundred journo’s in this gaff* and most of them have started with puns about wilting, because this really does feel like the start of the Doomsday Desertification of Dudley, or something equivalently mundane and apocalyptic.

(*Wee note. Yesterday, for the Women’s One Day International, there were about six of us).

It may not be only Edgbaston that finds a Flintstone in the crowd and plays the(ir) theme-tune to widespread, if Neanderthal dad-dancing, but the humour (in its broadest sense) here feels if not unique, then right up there. Convivial plus. Beery but generally neighbourly, like some pagan ale-tasting pageant with sport. With the stands fully locked and loaded already – 12.24 – let’s hope the delirium continues with sufficient decorum. (Fat chance).

Meanwhile the ball is being carted all over. Lamb is in on a hat-trick in the final over of the Yorkie Knock. So madness. Fraine (of Yorks) reviews, having being pouched behind after another panto-fantasy-shot: he had looked to flip it fine and behind to leg but it flew off something to the keeper’s right hand. Not out: struck pad only. The innings closes with Vikings at 204 for 7, meaning a run-rate over ten and a rollicking day in store. If I pause it’s to look for the nearest ceiling fan…

Inter-semi-final break. Light roller and Yorkshire bullocking around the joint. Blinding.

Soon enough Salt will face Drakes, bowling sharpish left-arm over: Jennings the other opener. Here’s a phrase I might not have knocked out after six balls of the Roses Match from 1478 to about 1988: eleven off the first over. Bess’s medium-pace off-spin is similarly disrespected. 19 for 0 after 2. Revis succeeds Drakes and Fraine, at Deep Square, could be in the game. Nope; can’t reach Salt’s boomer. But there’s more.

The North Walian (Salt) is sending dispatches to Beaumaris, Llanberis and everywhere in between: that is until he’s caught behind, having plundered 20 from the new bowler. An unseemly 36 scored, for the departing opener, in yaknow, ridicutime – Salt-time? Croft comes in and calmly steers one for four, towards Wrexham.

Jennings is almost playing cricket by comparison. Maybe Croft has a word. His partner rolls on his back and cuffs an 82 mph delivery over the keeper’s head. After four overs, Lightning are 57 for 1. I need some iced water, to pour into my eyeballs. Pre that psycho-medicinal intervention, let me clarify: Salt only middled about half of those shots. The hand-speed and bat quality and I suppose the Modern Cultural Imperative does the rest. Madness.

I should stop: long day. Might go eat. (The food here is almost embarrassingly fabulous. I keep wondering if they’ll throw me out, for failing to stay cool in the face of extravagance, or Impersonating a Person of Taste and Refinement). Lancs 100 for 2 in the 8th. Nom, nom.

Game brewing, at 14 overs. 48 required. Should be ver-ry achievable but pressure/intense rivalry/sweaty palms/cahuna volume may all be pertinent variables. Lancashire Lightning should play with an amount of restraint and still get a run and a half a ball, though, right? Drakes in, to test that hypothesis. Lots of fine adjustments of the field. Impatient fine adjustments, asitappens.

164 for 2 after 15, with 41 needed. Stadium comms pumping up the crowd as Lyth turns his arm from the City End. Bits and pieces from two ‘in’ batsmen – Jennings and Vilas. Criminally Lyth (right arm slow) no-balls but the free hit finds the fielder at Deep Midwicket. Then Vilas goes six/four and that may be it. 24 from 24; Cakewalk Central in the modern game. Vilas changes gloves to settle himself and see this out.

Jennings won’t be with him at the death. A tad unnecessarily, perhaps, he hoists and is easily caught, for 75 admittedly important runs. 181 for 3. Drakes will bowl the 17th.

Vilas goes through to 50. David has joined him: he chests one down but can scuttle for the one. Correction; it’s more chin/grill than chest. Medic on, briefly. Possible run-out but the throw misses. The requirement remains at one per ball as we enter the 18th over, to be bowled by Thompson.

The first delivery looks swift, and flies through. Then two on the short side, the second flashed up and over Backward Point. Width is punished square and a drop and run gets Lancs very close. Another bouncer is guided nonchalantly behind for four, leaving only four to find.

Borderline no ball (for height, from Revis) is swung out behind square and finds the fielder. Brief review shows the delivery was narrrowly kosher so David must depart, for 10. A short one again gets the treatment; cut and carved hard over cover for six. Job done with a little to spare, for Lancashire Lightning. 208 for 4 on the board as the next protagonists wander out and breathe this all in. The stands momentarily thin.

HAWKS/SOMERSET.

Hawks, then, will bat. The much-loved Vince will watch as McDermott faces Lammonby, the Somerset left-armer. There is swing, which means wide, to leg. The day is splendiferous still. Nice in-swinging yorker has Vince watchful. Decent over, conceding just the four and fired boldly around the feet. Brooks has joined with the spirit of the day by donning a medium-garish headband. He runs in from the City. Energetic; powerful, even. 83 mph. McDermott clears the front leg, sensing width, and clatters behind Point, for six. 13 for 0 after 2.

An immediate change and it’s the Ozzie Icon, Siddle. He is cuff-driven past Mid-off, for four. Blimey. The old fella hits 87mph but this is hardly a consolation as McDermott straight drives hard to the boundary. Fifteen come from the over. Chastening? A little, but *this bowler* has been there.

Encouraging signs for Hampshire as Vince creams Brooks straight: four more. It gets scary as McDermott dances down, the bowler readjusts but the ball is still smashed over Square Leg, for six. 43 for 0, off 4.

Van der Merwe makes the breakthrough as Vince miscues high, to Mid-off. Simple catch. Tom Prest joins McDermott.

Ah. Computer glitch. Could it be the heat? Can write but the updating stalled. Switching to I-pad.

Run rate for Hawks is ten per over. Rifling through the memory bank (have been here several times) this feels like a historic high, when considered alongside the previous semi-final. Finals Day scores have tended to be beneath the 200 mark, I reckon – but ask the anoraks. 100 for 2, Hampshire, as we reach the halfway.

Siddle goes again from underneath us. Rangefinder malfunction: legside full-toss. Now the bowler is practically making love to the umpire and it’s not clear why (from up here). Free hit given and another clunky over passes. 114 for 2, with the not out batters Prest, on 27 and Weatherley on 23. Eleven overs bowled and the sense that the sunshine has dialled down, a little, out there.

Roussow makes good ground to catch Weatherley, striking straight but aerial. Goldsworthy’s second wicket, in fact.

Gregory follows, from beneath the Media Centre: stalwart. Ross Whiteley has joined Prest. He connects sweetly, left-handed, with a pull behind square: a nerve-settling boundary. Brooks will shortly be dispatched in a similar vein, perhaps with more violence, finer. There is a wee break as Prest deflects onto his grill. No dramas but new helmet required.


A wild one from Gregory is smoothed towards Backward Square but the fielder is mercilessly dummied by the bounce: four. That run rate steady at 9.5 now, give or take. Green thinks he’s in business but the fielder, diving forward, can’t gather: chalk that down as a difficult chance. 150 up, for 3 down, in the 16th.

Prest gets to 50 and Whiteley takes the long handle to Green: six. We’ll be close to 200 again, here.
Or maybe not? Whiteley gets a thick outside edge to Green and it flies at catchable height square. Four down, Fuller in and 173 the Hawk’s score, with two overs remaining. Brooks has changed ends to show us Media Peeps his headband more generously. (Still looks shite). A generous lump of low full-tosses been part of The Plan, for Somerset. Brooks now goes for the wide yorker and is unlucky as a bottom edge flies through, behind.

Van der Merwe will bowl out, from the City End. Left arm slow, around. Spears a brutal one in there. Single. Prest responds with a heave for six but then falls, looking to repeat. Solid contribution of 64, off 46. Enter Dawson. Comedy run-out – off he toddles. Ellis will be the new man… and he will likely face a single ball. Or not. After endless verbals and consultations, Ellis does duly pinch a single and we are done, at 190 for 6. Competitive, if marginally below par for the day.

Banton feels like a slightly crumpled god. Fearlessly irresistible eighteen months ago, human, now. He fends Wood to leg for one to get us going. Smeed is unzipped by the left-armer (but escapes) and the bowler is furious to have been called for a wide immediately afterwards. He has less complaint for what follows: an obvious wide and a clattered six. Wheal will bowl from the City End.

Banton smashes for maximum, the universe revolves and we find ourselves at ten an over – 20 off two. (But you knew that). Then Smeed tries to pull but strikes highish on the blade and Mid-off can claim it. Ellis is racing in fluently, shirt a blaze of yellow. He is close to claiming a further scalp as the ball flies hard but just beyond Backward Point’s left hand.

Roussow has joined Banton. The left-hander clubs Wheal straight and true and big: six. 32 for 1 and a paltry 8 an over. (*Demands refund*). Scandalous miscue from Roussow flies high over first slip, infuriatingly for Wood. Direct hit though re-establishes the Cosmic Balance; great throw from Crane does for Banton. Somerset 38 for 2 after 5 – so behind the game, for now.

Talking of things Cosmic, always loved the view here; a crescent of Ents that march away into Brum Central. Hoping one day they tear up the feeble skyscrapers in town.

Roussow is aware of the drift: a mighty six. Dawson’s left arm slow is around, to Abell, then over to his partner. 50 up, in the 6th. The batters still need to raise the level a touch. Enter Fuller from the city. Roussow doesn’t get enough of him; clumps, rather, into the deep. Easy catch at Midwicket. 50 for 3. Fine ball beats Lammonby. The required run rate is 11.7, at this point.

Widescreen look. Energetic game, these days. Fielders backing up at pace, rarely still. Walking in with intent. Zoom back in: seeing about four women amongst the hundred or so in this Press Box. Possible that none of them are journo’s. It’s a tremendous space and the hospitality is peerless, in my (o-kaaaay, limited, internationally) experience.

Abell has moved to 22 and Lammonby is 9, as Fuller comes in again. (11 overs, 78 for 3). Required run rate best part of 13. Lammonby answers the call, hitting powerfully over Long-on. I can see a drone, mozzie-like and bit sinister, somehow, about 100 yards beyond the City End. Cricket-related? Could be – no idea. Abell biffs Fuller behind square: almost six.

A wave of tiredness. Abell sweeps, low, hard, flat but directly at Deep Square. Gone. Brings in Gregory but 97 for 4 and 12-plus an over needed. Steepish? Gregory strikes clean and pure for six, bringing up the 100. Ellis races (and I do mean races) in. Draws the nick. ‘Keeper not sharp enough to respond. Not a gimme but it’s not just the Bowler’s Union wants those pocketed. Cruelly, another fine edge – bottom, weirdly – gets away from the gloves (although this time, no grief applicable).

Personal: the genuinely delightful and genuinely personable Dan (The Man) Norcross seeks me out to say hello. This rare from A Big Gun… and appreciated. Ver-ry wise and engaging gentleman: will not forget that he was the first to say hi and offer a comradely brew some years ago. (Indiscretion: plenty Leading Men are waaaay tooo busy in their cliquey wee world to venture out with a welcome). Not Ar Daniel.

Meanwhile cricket. Wood bowling full and wide. Twice. Singles. Possible run-out. slick throw and backhander from the keeper. Reviewed. Brilliant work beats the dive. 135 for 5, Green gone for 9. Van der Merwe incoming. Suddenly the required rate is 18 per over, with three overs to come. Somerset need something pret-ty special.

Like Ellis’s energy. Can’t help but feel that all this fizz deserves something – and yet we know pace on the ball can often penalise the fielding side. But the sprint and gather from Ellis is quite a sight. Eleven from the over flatters the batsmen, if anything. An unlikely 43 needed, from two.

Wood is swung out to leg but the chase for two looks tight. Another heavy, flat throw lasers in and Lammonby is a yard short: gone for 34. It’s gonna be Hawks v Lancs.

Wood persists with the wide angles, with some skill. Goldsworthy steps across and is castled, comprehensively. 152 for 8. 39 needed from 7 balls, then 38 from 6.

Ellis beats Brooks then bowls him with a well-disguised slower one. Impressive. 9 down. Siddle may be a legend but he ain’t gonna defy the maths. He ain’t, in fact, gonna do anything: bowled, first-up. Fabulous finish from Ellis backed-up by sustained intensity in the field. Hampshire Hawks puff out their chests and march off. And we all get a break.

THE FINAL.

Hampshire Hawks have won the toss and elected to bat. Lancs run through the pyroclastic ‘tunnel’ and the daft dinky-car brings out the ball. And then we’re off. Vince gets two, off Hartley, as Mid-off can only parry. There’s Proper Singing, in the crowd, unprompted by high-decibel twattery from Those Smiley People. And the smoke has cleared. McDermott sweeps, with intent for four. 9 for 0.

Sharp ball from Gleeson leaves Vince *just enough* and thrashes down the stumps. Early if not premature drama, relieving us all of a potential talisman and star – so rather shocking. Vince made 5. A tight scurry to beat the throw but a fine over draws no further significant theatre. Over to Wood.

Again, the pace bowlers are in this. Outside edge beaten. Prest and McDermott a tad unconvincing: the former is tucked-up and hurried by a fiery one and has no control: caught to leg as three fielders converge. 15 for 2, off 3 overs, with Lightning crackling. Gleeson blasts through a wildish hack from McDermott then beats the attempted spooning behind. Then some response: the same batter presents the blade and firms up his wrists, pushing downtown for four. Bounce and carry to finish – no contact. 23 for 2, off 4, so early rate well below previous totals.

Wood is pinpoint accurate and full, then beating the swing outside off. Whoooaaa – one takes off, beats the keeper’s leap and screams down to the boundary. Lively stuff from Lancs.

McDermott finally collects Wood, over Long-on. Again we had that hockey-ball sound, as though it was an 80% hit, rather than the full, sweet, nutty connection. That comes with a booming on-drive to Lamb, for six more. Nerves settle a little, in the Hawks camp. 48 for 2 at powerplay completion. Run rate improved – now at a mathematically satisfying and nicely-poised 8. Hartley, from beneath us.

The heat is leaving and the Lightning’s insipid red softening yet further. Spirits are high in the Northern camp, mind – especially as Parkinson claims Weatherley, caught Croft. The leggie’s not getting any discernible grip out there, but the flight and dip are plainly a challenge. As is the pressure, which is on. 64 for 3 after 9, Hawks.

McDermott is still battling but Dawson is impatient for the counter. He can only lift Parkinson to Vilas for another regulation catch. 67 for 4 and Hampshire in some strife. Wells will follow but he is unceremoniously clouted into the Hollies: six. McDermott backs that up with a clean off-drive for four more, bringing up his half-century. Now he’s feasting: six over Long-off. A very valuable 21 from the over. Run rate back up above 8.

Parkinson does inflammatory laps of the square, pretty much, having bowled McDermott with one that kinda snuck through. The opener gone for a hard-fought 62. Hawks have two new batters at the wicket – Whiteley and Fuller – and yes, they have a job to do. 100 up as Parkinson closes out his third over: he has figures of 3 for 24 and is an early shout for MOTM. Now Lamb.

He nearly bowls Fuller but that agricultural swipe merely precedes his demise – caught off a thick outside edge, driving. 105 for 6 may be terminal. Ellis has joined Whiteley.

Wood is rushing in from the City End. Whiteley gets a lively one high on the bat but it falls short of the legside field. But unconvincing. You can see, now, as well as feel, that the heat has throttled back. And we have shadows under the lights. Hard to tell what’s likely, now, given the wickets column. Hampshire must stay close to 8 an over, you suspect(?)

Ellis has to hit and he does get most of Parkinson. *Most*. David at Long-on has all day to see it and coolly gathers. A four-fer for Parkinson and that blood-in-the-water feeling. Five overs remaining and Hawks need fifty runs – probably – but have only three wickets in hand. Can Gleeson cash in? Not entirely, but he remains economical, which may be the same thing.

That bloody drone is up there again. Has it been there all day, I wonder? Hartley is deftly cut away for four but it’s the one blow of significance. Hants on 7-plus an over: Wood charging in. The expectation can only be around 150, maximum, now.

It may be less, because Whiteley is miscuing and the fielder can retreat to make the catch. 133 for 8. Penultimate over upcoming, from Gleeson. Full bore, at Crane and Wood. Wood booms over Deep Midwicket. Fair play – six.

Lamb will see this out, from the City End. But prolonged discussion which I can shed no light on. (No sound on the screens in the Media Centre). 144 for 8 on the board – so 150 plus likely. Hasn’t been enough earlier in the day but conditions are different, as is level of intensity.

Fielders diving to the last – as per the requirement. Quiet over and we finish on 152 for 8. 88 of the 100 journo’s present are teasing out variations of ‘well it’s something to aim at’. Me, I’m saying it’s been a long day. But Hawks have something to aim at.

THE REPLY.

Salt starts like a demon – like Salt. Looks a worldie for four balls. Gone for 10, flipping one off his ankles, aerial. Croft joins Jennings. The City has marched closer, as it does, this time of night. 13 for 1 off that first over from Wood.

Wheal, those skyscrapers shuffling in behind. Ground wonderfully still 68% full. Was it Jennings who did the ‘roll over and flippit thing, earlier? (Honestly can’t remember). Well he either does it again or follows the trend. Ridiculous and six, over Fine Leg. Wood will bowl the third.

Light ver-ry different, at half-eight. But we know the pitch is true, so one argument is that Lancs have only to play in a measured way, and be mindful of that scoring rate. They know acceleration is possible because it is possible to hit through the line – guys have been doing it since brunch. Wheal comes in and Croft plays what might be shot of the day, then refines it, to penetrate the offside for successive boundaries. Appreciative applause, for rare, almost classical quality. 46 for 1, off 4. Lightning surge ahead.

Very much enjoyed Ellis’s work earlier; getting a good, close look at him now. Against Somerset he was a City End fella; now he’s underneath us. Croft reaches a little, to drive, flirting with Mid-off, but has enough of it. Four. 50 up in this fifth over. Good comeback as the batsman is beaten all ends up, driving outside the off-stick.

A smidge of cut off the pitch, for Wood. Jennings reads it. Jee-sus. The roll and flip comes out again: contact is from a horizontal body-position with the bat just presenting for a subtle glide behind. Four runs seems inadequate: (12 and out, I say). A round 60 for 1, after 6 overs. Do the math, Einstein.

Liam Dawson does get some turn, with his left arm finger-thing. Might be interesting. Likewise Crane, the leg-spinner, who gives it quite a tweak. A cluster of wickets may be called for, to get Hawks back into this. Comedy of errors won’t help, as Crane’s revs bewilder not the batter but half his fielders. A further freak but this time it’s a pro-Hants panto. Croft is in a muddle and the ball squirts behind. The keeper juggles his knees, plays the forks for twenty minutes then claims the catch. And blow me, he’s out! Bizarre one but possibly critical. Croft had 36 and if he doubled that…

We have dusk, at 8.55, or the sense of it. Dawson is again bowling slow left-arm around. Jennings clears the front pad and pushes out the drive, erroneously. Not great; the fella’s offering catching practice to Long-off. Gift accepted. After 9 overs Lancs are 79 for 3, with two new batters at the crease, the light disappearing and the Hawks (plus fans) back in the game. Runs required at a rate of 6.9 per over, give or take. In short the environment now feels like a different place, not a ten an over place. Par has changed.

Vilas is claiming four, albeit fortuitously, mis-sweeping. Then Fuller is beating him for pace. Twice. And in between Vilas edges narrowly past the keeper – a slip would’ve eaten it. Finally Vilas connects, bringing up the hundred with a six. And now Dawson is bowling out.

Vilas push-drives again but a leaping Vince at Mid-off can make the grab. Tim David must join Wells. 105 for 4 with 7 overs remaining. 49 from 42 balls. Lancashire Lightning ahead… but those Cup Final Factors manifestly in play.

Now it’s all kicking off. Wells sweeps Crane for four but is then adjudged lb. (Looked out, live). Review. Ball-tracking says ‘missing’ but it may be one of those that raises questions. Irrelevant – on we go. 112 for 4 after 14. 41 needed off 36. Daft American Anthems (for some reason).

Ellis strays – wide given. Then great running. And then awful running but safety. Heart-rates lifting with the lights. A hoist lands harmlessly, 35 needed from 30. We’re going deep.

Fuller is good and straight. Precious dot. And another. David immediately reviews an lb decision. Smacks of confidence but is it bluff? No bat. He’s gone! Still 35 required from 27 balls. One taken, to Deep Square.

Ellis again, from our end. Slower ball nurdled off the hip. One. Middle and leg yorker squeezed out square – one more. Attempted scoop fails. Another cute slower one. Lamb beaten, by a bowler too good for him. Fine over. Can Fuller back that up? ‘Sweet Caroline’ may be deflecting the tension…

Fireworks as Lamb toe-ends up and up. Caught Vince once more. Margins suddenly ver-ry tight, as Wood guides his first ball through slip. Hawks are in it, though, no question. More than that, with 23 required from two overs they have to be favourites. How did that/does that happen? 130 for 6, Lancs. Dot ball. Boundaries or bust.

Wells swings out behind square for six. MASSIVE. But not yet enough. The four next ball might help. As will the misjudgement that follows: the fielder gets nothing on a steepling (but surely straightforward?) catch. It may not matter. Vince has shattered the stumps with another brilliant throw, to run out Wells. In a blur, Ellis is in for the last over, with 11 needed. Breathless don’t cover it. Then 7 needed off 3.

A back-of-the-hander deceives Hartley and Wood is run out by the keeper, shedding his glove.

The scoreboards are having a particularly ill-timed dispute over what’s required, which tells you something about the punch-drunk nature of the contest. Lancashire – well ahead for much of the contest – *may need 5* off the last ball. Hawks seem both determined and somehow disbelieving. Whoever wins, now, will win against the grain.

Last ball. Ellis, for me, something of a Star Man today, finishes this emphatically and unequivocally by bowling… but OH NO HE DOESN’T. IT’S A NO FUCKING BALL!!
Re-call the fireworks and do that again. (And yes, throw in a free hit, too). But do it all again.

We all shake our heads and gather and wait for the fog to clear – hilariously the fireworks have smoked us all out. It’s crazy and embarrassing and may tip us into farce. The premature ejaculation of pyrotechnics melts away unhurried. The bowler must wait at his mark.

Finally, Ellis beats the batter all over again… and the keeper stumps somebody… but the other batter thinks he’s in and races for the two that *may* bring scores level and the dugout is bawling about wickets ‘not broken’. And maths don’t matter and rules don’t matter and certainty never existed – just ask those scoreboards. It’s a non-decisive denouement.

This seems more of a philosophical intrigue than a win. The umps and the players look weirdly crestfallen, as if awaiting some Further Judgement. Hawks may want to crack the shampers and get lost in man-hugs but it takes an age. And even then it seems like something potentially reversible and un-free – like a nightmare VAR review. I’m just not gonna believe that Hampshire won this thing ’til I re-read the last sentence of this blog, at 3.42am tonight, when I wake up screaming.

That sentence will need to be clarity personified so I’m going with this baby:

I think I’m a wombat but Hawks did it.

Phew. Now find me a taxi.

Plus sides…

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

England beat South Africa by 114 runs, at Bristol, with Sophia Dunkley’s 107 being the standout performance. But this is sounding like the BBC so best get back to the original live blog, brought to you as usual in Reckless Kaleidocolor. 😎

Major plus side. As I sit down and the Friendly Supportive Earthling plugs me into t’internet (don’t ask), Ismail is bowling. It’s unheard of for me to be late but the reality of Shabnim I racing in, 78 yards directly in front of me, obliterates the 437 hassles experienced to actually get here* a mere three mins en retard. So breeeeeathe; in any language.

(*Friends, if you fear that at some stage I’m gonna recount those wee adventures… then bear with. Am not sure how time/events/energy is going to tilt that particular indulgence. If I do go there it’s because there may be some amusement in the contrast I’m picturing between my experience and that of the Sky Team).

But cricket. Beaumont and Lamb take England to 25 for 0 after 4. Beaumont, in particular is showing what the TV Peeps tend to call ‘intent’: this continues, as she biffs Kapp square to the boundary for four more. She is 17 off 16, at this point.

I take a bad picture for the website, knowing it’s temporary. The air-con in the Media Centre is spectacular, cooling my audaciously bare feet and ab-so-luuut-ely settling the system (after *those distractions) in much the same way that the England openers are easing into their work. Beaumont got one high on the bat but no dramas; Lamb is now extending through the ball. 50 up after 9 overs. When Kapp offers Lamb a little width, the batter clatters her fearlessly past the diving fielder at cover. Ominous for the visitors.

I like Bristol but it’s one of those grounds that rather defies appreciation. Not grand, no real whiff of glorious/epic romance, a la Taunton or Worcester, but open and full of sky. As the sun floods more convincingly through, the heart does lift; gently. Despite the Big Guns – Kapp, Ismail and the other returnee Khaka- getting into their spells, England are coasting at 71 for 0 after 12 overs. Pitch looking placid but true: big score feasible.

O-kaay it’s a half-volley but Lamb crunches Ismail through extra for a genuinely stunning four. We’re nearly into alarm bells territory for South Africa: it’s notable and clearly unhelpful that their fielding has already proved a little slack. This is plainly a day for maxxing-out on any little opportunity but there have been three or four mistimed dives or barriers out there. The skipper, Luus, may have work to do to maintain intensity and discipline, which will be disproportionately important today, you sense.

At this point I note to the universe (and to Advisory Brainy-Bastard Rich Hudson, to whom I send genuine, comradely greetings) that I have only inserted one non-mischievous hyphen into this fantasmoboog, so far. And yes, Rich, that has taken a degree of application I can only describe as exceptionally against-the-grain. You are not alone in questioning my wildness. But cricket.

Drinks, at 16 overs. No wickets down. Both batters beyond 40. The feeling that South Africa are going to need a break, or the dip in focus from the batters that so often follows a pause, to get any purchase on the game. 93 on the board: perfect batting conditions; strong, streetwise operators at the crease. Knight and Sciver and Dunkley and Jones to come. Carnage possible. Mlaba has a review, almost immediately. Poor. Missing by miles.

De Klerk is in from under the flats at Ashley Down. A shortish one is cuffed rather unconvincingly over midwicket, almost offering the chance. Mis-stroke but 100 up in the over. Ripple, from the relatively small crowd then a touch more animation, as Lamb gets through to fifty. Beautiful summer day now, with a light breeze making playing conditions pret-ty close to dreamy. Lamb in particular is into that groove where the bowling is being picked off, more than faced. Impressive.

De Klerk is thrashed hard at Ismail. Neither a chance nor a strike you want to get in the way of. The fast bowler bravely puts something (anything) in the way, to keep it to the single. Lamb goes to 61 and Beaumont has 47.

Have been open, previously, about the fact that England are simply better, currently, than South Africa. Despite being a non-neutral, I’m thinking it may not be great if Knight’s Posse win this by the proverbial country mile. Resources are unequal, with only England and Australia being legitimate powerhouses: even India are a notch down on the squad depth/support/funding level of the two lead nations. So no issues around the visitors here being gently schooled. In time, of course, we want that Aus-England dominance to be authentically challenged.

Accreditation Business means I miss the wicket of Lamb, who had looked bombproof. Shortly afterwards Beaumont swings loosely at Kapp and the ball flies at catchable height to mid-on. Dropped. Not an outright clanger but the bowler will be justifiably angry. The fielder (Mlaba) simply didn’t move athletically or sharply enough. England might suddenly have been 130-odd for 2, with a little counter registered. Instead the traditionally dynamic Dunkley and the consistently steady Beaumont can build higher and further. The day may have brightened more: suspect this is further evidence that god is an Englishwoman – or Welsh?

Almost hilariously, Beaumont has cramp in the fingers. The ‘keeper is applying medical science of an agricultural sort, by bullying her glove off, then ironing out the hand, brutally, albeit with the batter’s consent. Eventually, somebody with O Levels in Hands is sent for.

I go for coffee and return to see Beaumont marching off. (WTF?!?) Now England are 147 for 2. Which is almost great for South Africa except for the inevitable consequence: Natalie Sciver. Still, plus sides.

150 is up, in the 29th over. So arguably steady, now, rather than intimidating, from the hosts. But such is the power of Sciver that this may just be another ‘platform’ from which she can leap. Ismail is back, to keep the new batters honest (if possible) and Tryon follows, from Ashley Down. Fascinating and probably key part of the match. Six bowlers now used: figures, given playing conditions and personnel selected. Change and flow-prevention an essential part of the visiting captain’s armoury. Drinks (2) at 30 overs and England are 158 for 2.

On the return Sciver hooks an Ismail bouncer but miscues. The ball loops harmlessly into space. Two statements made, I suppose but the batter’s positivity was of the loose variety and will therefore offer a little hope for South Africa. England’s reflections at the recent break will have surely have pointed towards both aggression and longevity for the current occupants of the crease. (As so often remarked) Sciver is a worldie and Dunkley may be the faster accumulator in the group. No -brainer to keep them in there for a heavy lump of overs.

Mlaba is teasing Dunkley and the batter is dancing down… then thinking better of it. Proportionate Restraint in operation, for now. Finally seeing the Beaumont dismissal: slightly casual miscue, to mid-off. Made 58, including 6 boundaries. Will be thinking she’s missed out, on this deck, against this opposition, for sure.

Weirdly ungainly thick edge, from Sciver, against Khaka. Fortunate to evade the offside ring. Had gone forward but badly misjudged.

Luus has a longish chat with Mlaba, presumably to press for tight focus. The visitors have done reasonably well in the last ten overs: somehow they must find a way to tie down England’s two most fluent stroke-makers. Ah. Full-toss smacked away through extra by Dunkley, who has moved to 37 not out without engaging her more expansive mode, as yet. (It’s surely not far away). 200 up in the 36th. 300 a realistic target, for England?

De Klerk has changed ends but is a tad short; Sciver can dismiss her behind square. Dunkley is in that characteristic baseball crouch, slapping away to off. The energy from England is up. Tryon, from Ashley Down, must contain it. Sciver hoists, with care rather than violence, straight: just the one. Run rate remains under 6: feels an underachievement. Think the batters will view it that way and look to launch a sustained attack. Kapp returns, to counter any move.

A brave stop at mid-off, to deny four – South Africa need plenty of that. Everything being crunched, now. A wildish swing at Kapp, from Dunkley, is about 48 hours early. (Bit village). Both batters into their 40s.

Khaka starts with a leg-cutter from the Ashley Down End. No ‘cut’, as such. Dunkley clubs a wide one straight at long-off. Sciver does the same, to long-on. 10 overs remain. Run rate at 5.8. May be enough – may be plenty – but as Dunkley gets her 50 she might well be thinking a boomathon is in order, now. Kapp is deftly cut away behind point, for four.

Batters confer: re-calibrating, surely? 242 for 2 after 41. Well over 300 achievable. My guess is they’ll be looking for 9 or 10 an over, from hereon in – meaning 330(?) Sciver clumps Khaka majestically and straight, for the first six of the innings. She too, now, has 50 and more. Quite possible that both batters may prove unstoppable as we go towards the death, here. (Meaning there will be no ‘death’). Dunkley clouts Ismail – Ismail of all people! – for six. Then follows with a four. Red rag territory.

Ismail predictably bounces. Dunkley has to reach high but cuffs it for 6 more. The ball protests by *disappearing entirely*… and is replaced. 43 overs done and 272 for 2 the score. 340 possible? More?

De Klerk returns to Ashley Down. Dunkley strikes hard again, straight through the bowler. Four – and a sore hand. Ismail gets similar treatment; a punchy offering of the bat, straight. Four more, aerial but entirely safe: Dunkley, suddenly on 83, may yet to a hundred.

Sciver meanwhile, is inventing stuff. She has two goes at flipping Ismail behind. On the second occasion she is bowled, offering the stumps. It’s a measure of Dunkley’s brilliance that Natalie Sciver (who made 63), has been consistently in her shadow, today, playing an entirely unfamiliar supporting role. Enter the captain, Knight. De Klerk nearly bowls her.

296 for 3 after 45 overs. The day remains immaculate. Dunkley can still swing through at Ismail. Knight can and will nurdle to offer the in batter the strike. (Except no. The 300 comes up via an unattractive swipe, from Ar Trevor, who edges through the vacant first slip area. ‘Clatty’ as we say Up North).

Another heavy heave from Dunkley is superbly stopped at Cow Corner, by Tryon. Looked four. Then Knight is diving successfully as de Klerk gathers the throw. Dunkley goes to 99 with four past square leg and eases to the ton with a forward push. It’s been thrilling. Incongruously, Knight clips to leg gully moments after and is gone. Enter Wyatt, at 319 for 4.

Kapp has the thankless task of bowling out from beneath us. She mixes it up, at Wyatt before Dunkley flip-scoops a slower ball absurdly over about third slip. It’s imperfectly executed… but again on the safe side of insolence.

Cruelly for the visitors, Wyatt misses one at her ankles and it races through for four byes. 340 becomes possible as Dunkley continues to shred the manual. Not quite. Dunkley connects solidly with the final delivery but can only find the fielder in the deep. She is gone for a buccaneering 107 and England close on 337 for 4. It’s likely to be significantly more than South Africa can raise… but let’s see.

Sciver opens the bowling for England, from the Ashley Down End. Clutching a coffee, and (I kid you not) looking to warm up a little, I abscond outside to enjoy some action in warm but shady luxury. Back very soon.

Steyn and Wolvaardt are out there, for South Africa. Facing Bell. The bowler – known mainly for her striking in-swinger – nearly defeats Wolvaardt with what looked like a back-of-the-hand slower-ball. (Not sure I’ve seen that from her before). The batters are busy, as per the requirement and when Scivers bangs one in Wolvaardt clatters her with utter control to the midwicket boundary. A good start, at 31 for 0 after 5.

It’s a true pitch. The visiting openers, like England’s, are looking in some level of control but Lauren Bell is warmly applauded for a maiden over, in the 8th. She is followed by Issy Wong but the young quick is cut, offering just a little width, to the point boundary. A further four comes, courtesy of an on-drive: 58 for 0 after 9.

Wong is a talent and a point of difference. She brings a particular, unusual and arguably a precious threat, via her variety and power but her first two overs, without being loose, do leak runs. She’s a chancer – very different in nature and a person, you suspect – to the other Young Hopeful, Bell. There will be times where Wong is absolutely The Answer… and times where she may be a liability. Meanwhile, South Africa have scuttled on to 71 for 0, after 11 overs: competitive.

Knight turns to Ecclestone who goes ver-ry full and has a shout against Wolvaardt. Nothing. Good over, though and just the right change. Spin from both ends, now, as Charlie Dean will bring her finger-spin from Ashley Down. A double misfield gets Wolvaardt to her 50 in even time – well 49 balls – and reinforces the sense that we have a Proper Game on, here. (Long may that continue). England are not, in truth, forcing errors nor chances.

Ah. Until *that*. Rather inexplicably Wolvaardt cloths Dean straight to mid-on. Real shame for the visitors – particularly as her partner Steyn has been understated to say the least, by comparison. (Has 27 to Wolvaaardt’s 55). Can Goodall and The Quiet One burst ahead? 87 for 1, in the 15th: Dean to continue.

Dean looks to be rising to this. Nice flow about her. (I’m temporarily out at Third Man to her bowling, so difficult to see degrees of spin, but she has applied meaningful pressure. Ecclestone needs to do the same. She is too straight and Goodall can nudge behind, fine, for four.

When Dean returns, Steyn miscues lumpenly straight back at her – is fortunate. But then a review, for lb. Given out and goes to ‘umpire’s call’. A stalled innings is over, for 28. 92 for 2 as Luus comes in.

Dean comes around, to Goodall. Gets the angle marginally wrong and another clip to leg is executed. Heather Knight charges with commitment but can’t haul it in. Following over a nd a sudden thought. Are folks beginning to work Ecclestone out? Just doesn’t feel like she’s the ‘monster’ she was. Familiarity breeding… something less challenging? Dunno.

Now Wong from the Bristol Pavilion End. Wow. Looks like she’s been instructed to blast away. First ball a bouncer, arguably wrongly called a wide, for height. Next delivery fended by a visibly intimidated Luus. Then an unplayable ball flies off the edge. A wicket seems suddenly inevitable and it comes. It’s *all about* Wong’s irresistible energy. The book will say Goodall out caught Bell bowled Wong: it could well say out (pretty scared, actually).

Dean has contributed to The Change but also benefitted from Wong’s next-level kaboomery. Luus falls, chipping distractedly to mid-off. Signs of trouble (or signs that quality is beginning to tell?) Still, with Kapp and Tryon suddenly flung together we shouldn’t go writing South Africa off, eh? these two can play. And the run rate is certainly up there with England’s at the equivalent stage. 120-something from 22. Decent. (But there feel like there are buts, yes?)

Wong is walking back to her mark with every fibre relishing this. She knows she can bring the fire. She knows she can matter. She already has. Credit Knight, the coach and Wong herself, for the sheer exuberance we’re seeing. Tryon is the next to be blown away, half-ducking, half-pulling at a sharp one that catches the edge en route to Jones’s gloves.

132 for 5. Inflammatory guess? South Africa will be all out 180. (*Fatal!*)

De Klerk has joined Kapp. Wong is still at them. The former batter becomes a former batter and (again) she is intimidated out – a short one bringing an instinctive swish and pat in self-defence. Sciver has to reach high to catch but she is well-equipped to do that. 138 for 6.

Lamb is having a bowl. Klapp is defying – as she does. Clatters for four to go to a prompt 26. Chetty is her new partner: what’s she got?

Ecclestone from beneath us. Chetty goes back. The sunshine now muted and the lights on. Some relief in the Walton Camp that earlier accreditation issues resolved. Am now confident a) they ain’t gonna sling me outta here and b) tomorrow night’s post Finals Day air b’n’b thing is a goer. I’m officially official again. 150 up, in the 29th.

Dean is back. To her credit – and I suspect, following encouragement or even instruction from Kapp – Chetty is going at her. Strikes well and powerfully towards deep midwicket. England won’t mind that; plenty of runs in the bank so shot-making suits, at this stage. Ecclestone will likewise be arcing and teasing to draw out those attacking instincts.

Good hands in the field from Bell and Knight and a strong chase from Lamb reinforce the notion that England remain well-focused. Wong is all eyes as Chetty tamely hoists Dean: easy catch, at mid-on. 169 for 7, Chetty made 17.

Kapp may get used to running out of partners but it can’t be much fun, for a player of her quality. She is joined by Ismail, a tremendous athlete and competitor but less-than-tremendous bat. Bell is back, to try to finish this.

England’s tallest player is wicketless, so far, and will be hoping to change that. But Kapp can cope – she cuts for four, then farms the strike. Not even a brief look at Ismail, for Bell. Dean does get that opportunity: has Knight at slip (Ismail bats left-handed). Late in the over, the fast bowler clumps the slow left-armer, just evading mid-off. Fortunate.

South Africa go past the 180 (lols) but Bell does get her wicket – that of Ismail – who over-estimates her ability to clear the field. Easy catch at mid-off; 186 for 8. Kapp is still digging out Dean and Knight is still diving to stop but plainly the Endgame is here. (No offence to Khaka). Kapp gets yet another 50 from 46 balls: *player*.

Despite an occasional clubbing from the visitor’s all-rounder, Charlie Dean now has 4 for 53. Bell will again follow her. She pulls out an extravagant slower ball, which Kapp almost mistimes. Knight is changing things – rightly. Ecclestone from Ashley Down. Kapp thrashes downtown and gets an 80% connection. Good enough for four. She follows that with a cleaner hit, which flies over deep midwicket for a sweet six. (Repeat: *player*).

220 and more – so fair play to South Africa. Kapp looks like she may never get out (as per) but Khaka is hanging on in there…

Whoaaa! Ecclestone forces an error from the visiting goddess. Kapp has dinked one straight back to the bowler. Gone. In this team, in this situation, her contribution of 71 is outstanding… but it’s also just what she does. Mlaba marches out… and duly marches back again; caught mis-clonking, at mid-off, by Dean.

223 all out, then, South Africa. It’s been an entertaining day with some fine work from Dunkley and Kapp and a notably fizztastic burst of bowling and energy-injection from Wong. Dean also showed. The prosaic amongst us may dwell on the obvious gap between the two sides; admittedly that mitigates against genuine, prolonged competition. England will feel they’ve ticked most of the boxes and dismissed a less strong outfit convincingly. The visitors will (I hope) take some encouragement from some aspects of their performance: there were times when they were in it… but they will surely be realistic about the work that lies ahead.