A fiery Innings

No one had seen a batsman do that before!

What’s he doing? Ray had looked up from his newspaper and was watching Conrad walk purposely back towards the Pavilion.

“He’s done it again, every time. He’s forgotten his box! See, he’s pointing at his trousers”, Marcus smiled as they watched their star number three batsmen approaching them.

“I’ll sort it”, in a flash Scott was on his feet and disappeared into the cricket Pavilion and was back in time to see Conrad marching up the wooden steps of the building.

“Here you go Conrad”, Scott handed a white plastic ‘body protector’ to Conrad, the one with the leather padding around the edge of the protective plastic cup.

“No, no, I need to go and put it on properly in the changing room”, Conrad headed towards the changing room door.

‘No time for that, just stuff it down your trousers and get out there. Look, they’re all waiting for you”, Marcus pointed to the cricketers on the pitch, all looking for the next batsmen to appear from where Conrad stood.

“Alright; fuck’s sake, this isn’t going to be very comfortable”, Conrad stuffed the protective device down the front of his trousers and picked up his bat and once more strode out to the wicket.

Marcus and several others, sat in the Pavilion, all looked enquiringly at Scott, who smiled back at them.

“What did you do?” Giles stopped putting his pads on and looked at Scott.

“You’ll see! Anyone fancy a beer?” Scott ambled off towards the bar.

Ray folded his newspaper and along with the remainder of the team watched Conrad take guard at the wicket.

In hindsight it probably wouldn’t have been as entertaining if Conrad had not been such an accomplished batsman. But he had been captain of the school 1^st XI and had trials for Surrey, before a career in finance took him in another direction. He, therefore knew how to bat against this mishmash of local ‘country bumkins’, as he had haughtily referred to them on the way over to the game.

He played a couple of classic defence strokes as he got his eye in against a young ginger haired firebrand bowler. Then a wonderful flick down the legside that flew to the square leg boundary. A ripple of applause from the spectators.

Everything seemed to be normal. The next over and Geoffrey Piper, at the other end played some of his own skilful strokes, one to the boundary, the rest defended expertly. All this kept Conrad off strike and he looked at ease, smiling as he watched Geoffrey play some difficult balls with nonchalant dexterity. Giles noticed Conrad even had a chance to chat with the umpire between deliveries.

Back on strike and Conrad played another glorious cover drive, mis fielded by the chap at Mid-on and he called for Geoffrey to run. An easy two and ready for the next ball. Now a late cut and a Geoffrey called him for a quick single. As Conrad got to the non-strikers end he began to feel a slight discomfort. In the warmth of the summer afternoon, the exertion had caused Conrad to begin to sweat a little…and that’s when the pain started. He began to rub at the area around the ill-fitting box, but that only seemed to make it worse.

“That’s over”, the umpire called the end of the over and the wicket keeper walked towards Conrad, who was by now experiencing real pain to his ‘privates’.

“You alright mate”, the wicket keeper enquired as he watched Conrad hoping about, scratching and trying to lessen the stinging pain.

“Fine, fine, just a bit hot”, Conrad did his best to conceal the very real agony he was in.

“Play”, the umpire indicted they were ready to continue, after the change of ends.

Conrad somehow fended off the first delivery, top edging it over the keeper’s head for four, while dancing about the wicket, more concerned about the fire inside his box, than the cricket ball whistling towards him. Next ball and Conrad suddenly bolted to the left of his stumps, totally exposing them to the bowler, whose speedy delivery missed them by a whisker.

“You sure you’re alright”, the chap at first slip asked, watching incredulously, as Conrad removed a glove and thrust his hand inside his trousers and began rubbing furiously in an effort to stop the raging, stinging pain. It only seemed to make the sting worse and Conrad resigned himself to it and replaced his glove and took guard. The trouble was the agonising pain was coming in waves that caused him to have to keep shifting his weight to lessen his distress.

“Why is Conrad dancing about like he’s been stung by a bee”, Marcus said to no one in particular, watching from the Pavilion. He hoped they might put together a decent score for once. Geoffrey looked well set and Conrad could always be relied upon to get the scoreboard moving. Now he was watching their best player attempt some of the most original strokes ever seen on a cricket pitch.

One, never to be forgotten moment, was sadly never filmed for posterity, but most of the spectators agreed that somehow Conrad played a baseball like swot to the leg side boundary for six, while writhing on the ground, screaming in agony. The fortitude of the player to be able to despatch what was a good length delivery out of the park, while curled up, almost in the foetal position is likely never to make it into Wisden, but the applause from the now fixated spectators was genuine and supportive.

Conrad managed to get back to his feet. The next delivery he had to play one handed, as his other hand was rammed down his trousers, still trying to alleviate the never-ending sting, that was getting hotter and hotter. Geoffrey called him for a run, but Conrad held up his bat “Fuck off Geoff, I can hardly walk”, even the umpire was smiling as he watched the stricken batsman take guard once more.

A change of bowler and the opposition decided to try a bit of spin. It was in the perfect arc for Conrad to crash the ball into the village and he started to play just such a shot. Then a paroxysm of pain got him and he fell to the ground, trapping the ball under him.

“Howzat?” the young spin bowler thought it might be worth a shout.

‘Young man, I have absolutely no idea which part of the batsman’s body might have stopped the ball from hitting the stumps. No such thing as ‘Collapsed before wicket’”, the bemused umpire concluded his decision “Not Out”.

Three balls later Conrad was actually crying with the pain and shuffled across his crease to ease the pain and was bowled leg side.

Three of the opposition were needed to help him back to the Pavilion.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Marcus, usually the most sympathetic and convivial soul was angry that his best player had made such an arse of himself.

“I’m in agony here, my nads are on fire”, he pulled the box from his trousers and the entire balcony of the Pavilion immediately smelt the familiar deep, astringent aroma of strong muscle rub embrocation.

Scott was back, sipping from a pint of beer. He casually placed a small can of muscle rub spray on the table in front of them all.

“Anyone need any muscle rub?” he looked at Conrad, who looked at Marcus and the rest of the team. There was a pause, then the laughter started.

Conrad was fined £25 by the Fines committee that evening for playing a cricket shot, while one hand was thrust down the front of his trousers, frightening children on the boundary and causing the opposition Captain’s wife to faint and for then having the audacity to hit a six while lying on the floor screaming, presumably in an effort to put the bowler off!