It is Christmas, and here is a nice little cricket story for the
hearth. The funny thing about it is that it is true. And the other
funny thing about it is that it was told to me by a huge Rugger
Blue called Eric. (I understand people can change their names at
Confirmation. Why don't they?)
It was in a College match--not, I gather, a particularly serious one.
Eric and his friend Charles were playing for Balbus College against
Caramel College. Caramel had an "A" team out, and Balbus, I should
think, must have had about a "K" team ... anyhow, Eric and Charles
were both playing. Eric, as he modestly said, doesn't bat much, and
Charles doesn't bowl much. Eric said to Charles, "I bet you a fiver
you won't get six wickets." Charles said to Eric, "All right; and I
bet you a fiver you won't get a hundred runs."
Then began a hideous series of intrigues. Caramel were to bat first,
and Eric went to the Balbus captain and said, "There's a sovereign[1]
for you if Charles doesn't go on to bowl _at all_."
[Footnote 1: This is a pre-war story.]
"Very well," said the captain, with a glance of sinister
understanding. "Wouldn't have anyhow," he added as he pocketed the
stake.
Then Charles arrived.
"Two pounds," said the captain.
"What for?" said Charles.
"For ten overs--four bob an over."
"It's too much," said Charles; "but there's a sovereign for you if
Eric goes in ninth wicket down."
"Very well," said the captain, with a glance of devilish cunning.
"It's only one lower than usual. Thank you."
Acting on intuition and their knowledge of the captain, Eric and
Charles then hotly accused each other of bribery. Both confessed,
and it was agreed to start fair. Charles was to bowl first change and
Eric was to bat first wicket. The captain said he would want a lot of
bribing to go back on the original arrangement, especially if it meant
Charles bowling, but he would do it for the original price; and, as he
already held the money, Eric and Charles had to concede the point.
By the way, I am afraid the captain doesn't come very well out of
this, and I'm afraid it is rather an immoral story; but my object is
to show up the evils of commercialism, so it is all right.
Pallas Athene came down and stood by the bowler's umpire while Charles
was bowling, and he got five wickets quite easily. It was incredible.
The Caramel batsmen seemed to be paralysed. Then the last man came in,
and the first thing he did was to send up a nice little dolly catch to
Eric at cover-point. Eric missed it. When I say he missed it I mean he
practically flung it on the ground. Indeed he rather over-did it, and
the batsman, who was a sportsman and knew Charles, appealed to the
umpire to say he was really out. Pallas Athene grabbed the umpire by
the throat, and he said firmly that no catch had been made.
Then the batsmen made a muddle about a run and found themselves in the
common but embarrassing position of being both at the wicket-keeper's
end. The ball had gone to Eric and he had only to throw it in to
Charles, who was bowling, for Charles to put the wicket down. But
in one of those flashes of inspiration which betray true genius he
realised that in the circumstances that was just what Charles would
_not_ do. Direct action was the only thing. So, ball in hand, he
started at high velocity towards the wicket himself.
He was a Rugger Blue (I told you) and a three-quarter at that, so he
went fairly fast. However, the batsman saw that he had a faint hope
after all, and he ran too. It was an heroic race, but the batsman
had less distance to go. Eric saw that he was losing, and from a few
yards' range he madly flung the ball at the wicket. He missed the
wicket, but he hit Charles very hard on the shin, which was something.
I fancy he must have hit Pallas Athene as well, for with the very next
ball she gave Charles his sixth wicket.
By this time the game had resolved itself into an Homeric combat
between the two protagonists, of which the main bodies of the Balbus
and Caramel armies were merely neutral spectators--neutral, that is,
so far as they had not been hired out for some dastard service by one
or other of the duellists.
When Eric went in it was clear that Juno had come down to help him,
for he made three runs in eight balls without being bowled once. Then
Charles came in. His first ball he hit slowly between mid-off and
cover, and he called for a run. All unsuspecting, Eric cantered down
the pitch. When he was half-way Charles seemed to be seized with the
sort of panic which sometimes possesses a batsman. "No, no!" he cried.
"Go back! go back!" And he scuttled back himself. Juno fortunately
intervened and Eric just got home in time. But he realised now what he
was up against. His next ball he hit towards mid-wicket, and shouting
"Come on!" he galloped up the pitch. Charles came on gingerly,
expecting to be sent back, but Eric duly passed him; he then turned
round and just raced Charles back to the wicket-keeper's end. Charles
was only a Soccer Blue (and a goal-keeper at that), and Eric won.
"After that," said Eric with his usual modesty, "it was easy."
Eyewitnesses, however, have told me more. Juno dealt with the Caramel
bowlers, but Eric had to compete with Charles. And Charles resorted to
every kind of devilish expedient. Nearly all the Balbus batsmen were
bribed to run Eric out, and whenever he hit a boundary Eric had to
stop and reason with them in the middle of the pitch. Sometimes he
tried to outbid Charles, but he usually found that he couldn't afford
it. So he collared the bowling as much as possible and tried not to
hit anything but boundaries. Juno helped him a good bit in that way.
When he had made seventy he got a ball on the knee. Charles ran out
and offered to run for him, but Eric said he could manage, thank you.
Then Charles went and walked rapidly up and down in front of the
screen; but Eric wasn't the sort of batsman who minded that.
At about ninety, Eric's knee was pretty bad, so he called out for
somebody to run for him--_not_ Charles. Five of Charles's hirelings
rushed out of the pavilion, but the captain said he would go himself,
as that wasn't fair. Besides, he had money on Eric himself.
At this point I gather that Pallas Athene must have deserted Charles
altogether, for he seems to have entertained for a moment or two the
ignoble notion of tampering with the scorer. I am glad to be able to
say that even the members of the Balbus College "K." Team, eaten up
as they were by this time with commercialism, declined to be parties
to that particular wickedness. With every circumstance of popular
excitement Eric's hundredth run--a mis-cue through the slips--was
finally made, scored and added up. In fact, he carried his bat.
"So you were all square," I said, not without admiration.
"By no means," said Eric. "It cost me forty shillings."
"And Charles?"
"It cost him seven pounds."