Even though it has been going for fewer than 10 years, the match against Heber is undoubtedly one of the highlights of the Mandarins’ fixture list. It is always a hugely enjoyable game against a convivial opposition, albeit one that we have failed to beat since 2019. We reckoned that 8 of the Heber XI had turned out for the Mandarins at some stage, and previous incarnations of this fixture had seen several of the collective XXII play for the other side. It’s just all so nice.
And this got me pondering. One of the things about the Mandarins is that we really take pride in being nice. Over the course of the year we will often get comments from oppositions that we are their favourite fixture – not necessarily for the obvious reason – because we are nice. So we play Heber, who vie us for niceness, and we dial up our own niceness a notch. But they really do this well. Alex Frankpitt, occasional Mandarin and often a heavy run-scorer in this game, hits the most apologetic sixes I have ever seen. Heber as a team give off this vibe of being a bunch of dads that are just thrilled to be out on a Sunday playing cricket – and they genuinely are. But then they beat us. Year after year.
Rob Eastaway – the original Heberin (not my term, coined in a previous match report) – texts me a few weeks before the game to suggest that he doesn’t skipper the Mandarins this year. John Hawkins repeatedly refers to “The Great Eastaway Let Off Of 2022” versus Heber (or it might have been 2023, we’re not quite sure as match reports suggest that this isn’t quite such an egregious snatching-defeat-from-the-jaws-of-victory as John would have us believe, though I am fully signed up to the why-let-the-truth-get-in-the-way-of-a-good-story school of thought so am happy to keep this one going); nonetheless, this has clearly played on Rob’s mind, with him declaring that he lacks the objectivity to be an effective captain for this fixture. As Chairman it falls to me to take on the mantle and I decide that that we need to take different tack if we are going to give Heber a decent run for their money this year. So if we can’t out-nice Heber then we need to go the other way. Enter the nasty Mandarins.
The first act of nastiness is winning the toss and asking Heber to take the field. And reader, it is a hot, hot day in Dulwich. We’re talking 30oC plus. We then do what Heber don’t want – or at the very least what they don’t expect. Cue opening with a pair of Eastaways – after the success of the Formen against North Enfield the previous week, this feels inspired. It doesn’t work out quite as well but nonetheless we are treated to some classical Eastaway Snr technique and get a glimpse of what Eastaway Jnr is capable of with a glorious four clipped off his legs.
However, Wickets fall regularly and Tunbridge Jnr joins Wilmot in the middle with the Mandarins at a rocky (and not very nasty) 53-4. “No rush, it’s a time game”, I tell my son and sure enough he takes me at my word, dropping anchor, with Wilmot similarly slowing up as the Heber attack takes what little pace there is off the bowling. Whether by design or due to the heat (of course it’s the latter, this is Heber, no gamesmanship here), it succeeds in slowing things further. We reach 70 after 25 overs and talk on the boundary turns to what a defendable total is. I think the unthinkable and then say the unsayable to the Mandarins waiting to bat: “Don’t worry, we’ll carry on after tea”.
Such shock and awe tactics have the desired effect on those waiting to come in. Wilmot and Tunbridge Jnr succeeded in grinding down the bowlers, allowing Ramani and Rangarajan to plunder runs against a tiring attack. I throw in a few lusty blows for good measure and Forman carries on his form from the previous week. We add 114 in the last 15 overs and reach a solid total of 184 but not before I had administered a true act of duplicity – insisting on coming on as a substitute fielder for the aforementioned Frankpitt I sabotage the Heber efforts directly, conceding an overthrow almost immediately. “If we lose by one run, I’ll….I’ll….I’ll….be a little bit less chirpy” says Dan Taylor, another Heberin, to me. Considering that one of my Mandarin highlights is taking four catches whilst playing for the opposition against the Mandarins (and for those that may not be aware, it is the reason why it has become something of a tradition that I am an early sacrifice in any games of Werewolf), this is as nasty as it gets for me.
And then we go again, seeking to take 10 wickets. I tell the team to make the atmosphere hostile in the middle: “Don’t laugh at their jokes, they really hate that”. And what don’t the opposition want? The Mandarins very own version Branderson kicking things off. Hurstaway or Eastawurst, you take your pick (I know which one I prefer), but with over 1000 wickets for the Mandarins between them, this is as nasty an opening pair as I can conjure up. They take a little bit of time to find their range but settle into their groove and account for the dangerous opening pair of Elias and Phillips.
And then Heber do their thing, getting to 80-odd for three with little fuss and batting to come. And the Mandarins do their thing, giving batsman chances with some tricky, but gettable, catches going down. Baxter lets one through his fingers on the boundary and takes a glancing blow to the forehead; Tunbridge lets one through his fingers on the boundary and takes a glancing blow to the testicles. Both induce equal parts embarrassment and rage, but added to the new nasty Mandarins, it makes for quite the combination and the atmosphere on the field darkens. But lo, wickets start to fall – Forman with two and then Baxter with two (both catches juggling efforts taken by Ramani and Wilmot) leaving Heber with 50 runs to get in the final 10 overs with three wickets in hand.
Rangarajan has been one of our most dangerous bowlers this year though a hamstring tweak the previous week had meant that he had avoided my eye during the innings, unsure of how it would hold up. “Get a grip” I snarl, “next over from the far end”. Wilmot expresses concern “He’s injured, are you sure this is a good idea?”, quick as a flash I snap back “The soft power diplomacy of the Hawkins era has failed, you’d better strap in for this ride under your new Chairman”. Chastened, Wilmot takes his place behind the stumps, but I definitely detect a newfound note of respect.
At the other end I introduce Tunbridge Jnr who, like Forman, carries on his good form from the previous week and bowls a tight, tidy spell. And it’s clear that, whilst both he and Rangarajan are in their first season for the Mandarins, they have quickly worked out what it takes to be a successful Mandarin bowler – take the fielders out of the equation. Three clean bowled wickets later and it’s victory for the Mandarins and vindication for my new approach to this game.
And then, as Baker packs away his scorebook, we shed our snarls and swap it for beers instead. Two teams, one pitch, plenty of shared laughs. Heber shake hands, proclaim they’ve been properly schooled in Mandarin “nastiness” and wander off muttering about revenge plans for 2026. I raise my pint. “Do be gentle on us next year” I say with a grin. They just smile back, plotting their own devilish kindness. And truly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Graeme Tunbridge
No comments:
Post a Comment