Strollers Ultor
The Comma lasts only a summer. The chill autumnal winds whisper death. From the day she emerges, blinking from her fragile chrysalis, her lifespan is brief but glorious: a comet in the sky searing the wine-dark velvet night an intense ochre and Pompeiian red.
As you know, gentle reader, the Comma never talks about individual cricket matches. However, she feels inclined to break this habit of a lifetime for something magical has happened, something my humble vocabulary will struggle to convey: a rare thing of beauty and wonder has touched our lives with gossamer beauty.
To begin at the beginning.... September jangled upon us and a young Macedonian warrior was hired by the Strollers to crush the Bombay Ducks opposition as one would an ant. His name? Genius needs no name. (But his parents would have had trouble in calling him down from his bedroom at tea-time so they called him McNeil Morgan). Morgan, related to Strollers' stalwart blues man "Blind Lemon" Sampson, had his pedigree confirmed by some conscientious research from Paul Lees. Lees scoured the web and came up with a scorecard which revealed that Morgan had managed to snaffle the wickets of both Lara and Simmons while playing for the Windward Isles. Mmmm, thought Paul: could be useful. And lo, it came to pass that in the land of Chiswick on September 13 1998 McNeil Morgan donned the baggy green cap of the Strollers and strode out onto the lush Canadian goose droppings of the Civil Service Sports Ground. And God saw that it was good. Skipper Connell decided to open with his best bowlers so Hughes took the new ball and proceeded to soften up the batsmen before Morgan descended on them like the wolf upon the fold. Morgan was fast. Outrageously fast. Despite bowling at half his normal pace the ball seared across the ground and shattering the minds, hands and feet of successive batsmen. His action was as smooth as top of the leaf Blue Mountain marijuana and just as revelatory. We had discovered a new world. Morgan's presence, like Robson's for United at Old Trafford or Achilles' for Greece at Troy, seemed to lift the whole team and our fielding reached a higher astral plane, with superb throws from Lupton, Matthews and Hughes. Disappointingly, only Hughes managed to get the nod from the Umpire with his immaculate 30 yard direct hit. Lest we forget, the other Strollers played their part: Lees' bowling was sublime - four wickets for a mere ten runs. Matthews and Clarke chipped in with one apiece, Lupton two, and Hughes er, none. Connell threw himself about with gay abandon behind the stumps. Reidy paid attention. We humiliated the opposition and dismissed them for a pathetic 88 runs. Opening Strollers' bats Sampson and Bishop (ex-Home Office seeking asylum with the Strollers) went cheaply paving the way for McNeil Morgan to wield his bat in partnership with promising youngster Lee Harbord. Morgan did with the bat what he did with the ball. He hit a rapid 43 which included four sixes. In over 40 years of watching club cricket the Comma has not seen anyone hit the ball quite so ferociously or far. We wrapped the game up early and danced to the pavilion and thence to the bar. Morgan enjoyed a couple of drinks and Chuck Sampson graciously donated a bottle of Scotch. And then he was gone. Never to return.
One day, in the not too distant future, I shall see McNeil Morgan again. He shall be wearing the famous plum cap of his proud nation and shall be strolling to the wicket at Lord's. From the Mound Stand I shall smile briefly and wistfully, remembering that distant late-summer's day when I was privileged enough to see - and play with - sporting excellence.
The Comma