Sensational Smeed Smites Sorry Shire!

Ok, my last post may have been a little optimistic. The last few days have been a chastening time for any Glos supporters. Yet despite the actual results in the two games we have played, I have had a lot of fun and have enjoyed some very memorable times.

Firstly, let’s roll the clock back to the big local derby game, against Somerset in the Vitality Blast on Friday evening.

A warm evening, a sold out crowd, everything was in place for a classic. We didn’t really get a classic game, but we did see a classic Blast innings.

This game has something of a reputation for having a rather boisterous crowd. So much so, that I’m aware of a few people who decided to give this game a miss. For me though, it was a great chance to meet up with friends from both sides of the rivalry. I was meeting quite a few people there, with an even split between of allegiances between us. I arrived at the ground early, to try to ensure that I could snag enough seats for us all to sit together.

As is usual for Blast games, bags were searched on the way in. The young lad who had a look inside mine, shot me a withering look, before saying. “You’ve got a jumper! Why would you bring a jumper on such a warm evening?”

I mumbled something about it being sensible, to prepare for the slight chill later in the evening. The withering look that he sent my way confirmed, should there have been any doubt, that my days as a rebellious, devil may care person were well behind. Good job he didn’t spot the towel that I have in the bag in case the seat gets wet!

There were plenty of options for those seats as I wandered towards the Mark Alleyne Stand. I picked out a row, and started to place items a few seats apart. Another reason for taking the jumper! To my left, a chap looked at me with a knowing smile. “How many you holding?” Between us we were looking at about 16 seats. Could we pull it off. Short answer, almost.

As I was chatting with this man, two folks came into the end of the row and picked off the end two seats, with the casual nonchalance of a David Gower waft to 2nd slip. Ah well, still plenty of options around me. My seat holding buddy was joined by some of his party, he visibly relaxed. Then thankfully my friends started to arrive and take their seats. We would end up spread over two rows, but that actually works better in my experience.

I turned to “D” a friend from way back, who reconnect with at these games, as he is a Somerset fan.

“What’s Smeed been like this season?” I ask.

“Pretty dreadful” he replies. “Though he has been getting better in recent games.”

Of course he has! And he moved slightly beyond the realm of “better” in this game. In fairness he didn’t hang around for very long. A mere 35 balls in fact. Of those though, almost half went to the boundary, in an even split between 6’s and 4’s. 80 of his total score of 94 came off just 16 balls. It was brutal. He bullied the Glos attack more ferociously than Dominic Raab dealing with a junior Civil Servant. He wasn’t just rough on the bowlers, one of his huge 6’s even took a chunk out of the tarmac in the car park.

Will Smeed will soon be setting up his own demolition company. No need for Jack Hammers or Angle Grinders, Will just needs a willing bowler and a reasonably sized target. Thirty minutes later the wall will be reduced to rubble.

When we did get him out, Tom Banton quickly followed but with Somerset on 122 after only 10 overs, the game was probably already lost. So it proved to be. Although nobody else could match the strike rate of Smeed, (That name does sound like some sort of derivative of Smote, which according to my dictionary, is to “strike with a firm blow”. Sounds pretty accurate to me), they all managed at least a run a ball, with several well over that.

The final total was a daunting 231 with Glos looking pretty ragged in the field. the bowlers were knocked off their length, substitute fielder Ben Wells went one step further and almost knocked poor Zafar Gohar out completely, when they hurtled into each in search of a late catch.

The chat amongst the Glos fans was along the lines of “Oh Christ, we are stuffed”. In fairness to my Somerset pals, there was no gloating. Much like us, they have seen certain victories turned into catastrophic defeats. They were confident, but not cocky.

Rather sensationally Glos did get off to a good start, Hammond and Charlesworth in particular storming along at a pretty decent strike, the ball regularly being dispatched around the ground.

At this stage of the evening, we were also well into the wandering about phase for some of the crowd. Stand up, just as the bowler is about to release the ball. Walk along the crowded row, ideally kicking over someones drink. Getting to the end of the row and remembering that you haven’t got your money. Edge back to your seat. Get your wallet. Back out to the end of the row, then remember that you can’t remember if the round that you and your mate was getting was 3 lagers and 5 ciders or the other way round. Then after a lengthy wait at the bar they return with a fair amount of the drink spilled on the ground. Finish the remaining drink. Time for an Ice Cream, so off they go again. Come back. Watch (I use the term loosely) two or three balls. Then it’s time for the toilet. Come back, sort out another round, then off they go again. It’s like they are on some sort of sponsored walk.

As anticipated, Glos could not sustain the required strike rate, 123-3 was soon 137-9. Finally they were all out for 157. Somerset had spanked us by 80 runs. I’d popped that jumper on for the walk home though, so that I left feeling I’d achieved a small but important tactical victory.