The Annual Reach Rounders ended on a slightly unsatisfactory note with the beaten finalists departing in a hurry, convinced they had been cheated of the crown they were defending from last year.

The point of contention was whether a 40 something father should be allowed to replace his teenage son who had reluctantly had to leave before the final could be played. It had been an afternoon of fun and rule stretching and several players had appeared for different teams, so the umpire (more palaver for Pearson) decided it was entirely reasonable for the dad (who had not played at all until that point) to play, not least as Reach Casuals were fielding three under 12s in its team. So what happens. Clear favourites, The Wombats, inadvertantly get themselves out by hitting the ball hard but straight up in the air, and despite being awarded a dodgy half rounder for three no-balls by their opponents pitcher, they only mustered a score of 3 and a half rounders. In go the Casuals and as Mr Murphy would predict, their fourth and winning rounder is hit by Tony Jordan, the dad so controversially allowed to play!

Earlier... there had been much mirth and merriment. As teams were being made up (most people arrive teamless) word arrived from the pub that there was a team ‘on the way... they are on their puddings’, and after various introductions we had six teams and a round robin of all playing all followed by a final of the top two.

Play took place on two pitches and there were many remarkable moments with unlikely rounders being scored and catches being taken. One of the more remarkable was when young Chloe ran through for a rapturous rounder after the umpire (not me!) had run off with the ball. The Dung Beetles won the day for sheer spirit and determination to have fun, and their treatment of the umpire’s stool was probably perfectly in character! The pudding team from the pub (made up of newly arrived villagers Andrew and Helen plus friends down from Lincolnshire who thought they were coming for a quiet day out) deserve a mention in despatches for hanging on in until the end even though it was probably a good two hours later than they had planned, and also mention must be made of a rare sighting of Karen Turner participating in an event rather than slaving over a barbeque or some other supporting act. The vicar came to check on progress and was immediately roped in for a game. He displayed a safe pair of hands, but didn’t score. Leslie Bridgeman almost knocked a pitcher out with an exocet to the head that no one saw, and Roland Folkes must have needed a lie-in next morning after completing umteenth rounder-scoring sprints.

Bryan Pearson

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