by Tim Andrew

During the recent convention of The Wodehouse Society (i.e. the American society) in Houston, Texas, the locals were treated to a strange sight. For on the Friday, in a local park, about 28 players and a greater number of spectators gathered to enjoy a game of cricket.

The weather was glorious and the setting idyllic, in a beautiful park with refreshment pagoda close by. The playing surface would have aroused comment even in village cricket. The grass was about 4 inches long and consisted of tough spiky stuff with leaves more than 1/4 inch across, making fielding or hitting fours interesting, since the ball simply stopped dead when hit along the ground. The playing area was full of pine trees (worth four runs if hit) and the boundary varied from being ridiculously close to out of sight with binoculars. No identifiable wicket was cut, the stumps being simply stuck in the ground about 22 yards apart. As for a roller ... don't be ridiculous!

The sides were not evenly matched, in spite of using a method of picking sides which has stood the test of time in English school playgrounds for decades. After the appointment of the captains - Shamin 'Pongo' Mohamed and Alek 'Gussie' Burke, chosen because they ill-advisedly showed signs of having previously played cricket according to Lord's laws - and their alternately choosing players, it transpired that one side had 11 batsmen (sorry, batspersons, this being a distinctly mixed gender affair) and the other 17. (On second thoughts, that should perhaps read 10½ and 16½, since Charles Bishop managed to play like a demon for both sides.)

There were other interesting technical variations from the game as usually played on this side of the pond. For example, no batsperson could be out until s/he had actually hit the ball, making the achievement of a hat-trick a distinct challenge for the bowlers; six-and-out applied to English players the first time they hit the ball over the boundary, but US citizens were allowed a couple before the umpire's finger went up; and it seemed to be compulsory that all bowlers were chuckers and would have excited the professional interest of Sid Buller.

Each side was allowed one innings, lunch being taken in between. In this context, it has to be said that those who opted to spectate knew something. Lunch started at about 11 am and went on to 3.30. The supply of food and drink on the buffet seemed endless, so the onlookers were able to browse and sluice all day, while the players chased around in temperatures well into the 80s.

The side with 17 players scored more than 70 runs, that with 11, 20-odd, so there was not much doubt who won. There were a number of eccentric batting styles, but given the nature of the outfield, a good baseball-type swipe at the ball, on the occasions when it arrived at the batting crease still moving and at hittable height, was an effective policy. Running between the wickets was an adventurous affair, especially when fielders decided to take aim at the running batsperson, more so when there was a runner. (It rather put me in mind of Jim Laker's famous story about two batsmen each with a runner in a situation so exciting that after some dodgy calling for a quick single, all four batsmen ended up in one crease. It took some time to decide who was out.) Finding a gap in a ring of 16 fielders was a challenge in itself, but enough were busy smoking or drinking a beer - and in one case doing both simultaneously - to give the batsmen a chance.

There were two umpires. Tony Ring stood at the bowler's end. He openly touted for bribes, but asserted himself as a man of principle by declaring he would only take them before or after the game, not during play. Ken Rolston, the other umpire, generously provided all the kit. Since he showed all the signs of being really good at cricket, he was relegated to the role of Square Leg umpire all day.

On the following evening, that of the conference banquet, prizes were awarded to the participants who had best fulfilled the spirit of  TWSCC: Anne Cotton, Charles Bishop and a lurid cap belonging to a member of the Great Missenden Pelicans Cricket Club. Generously provided by Murray Hedgcock, the awards were inscribed copies of his lovely book Wodehouse at the Wicket, a trophy so valuable as to render the amateur status of the winners null and void at a stroke.

Sounds like chaos? Not at all, and funny thing was, I enjoyed it quite as much as any game I've ever played in.

Tim Andrew