Game of Throws.

Most of you will know that I’m a Community Coach, for Cricket Wales. This means, amongst other things, that I go into schools – I typically describe myself as “the daft bugger who throws things around, with kids, in schools”.

It’s sometimes challenging but mostly so magbloodynificent I need to ramp the language over the scoreboard to describe it. Today is one of those flowtastically energising days. Sorry.

I’ve been into a Primary School, on our Chance to Shine mission, which is so multi-faceted (in a good way) I’m going to invent some swift bullet-points, to give the sense of covering it all briefly.

Frankly don’t care if this sounds like a salespitch: what happened today was mercifully and definitively beyond mere capitalism, dear friends. Here’s some edited highlights from the err, manifesto.

We Community Coaches, we Chance to Shiners aim to;

  • offer a load of sporty fun.
  • Build co-ordination around cricket-based games.
  • Build confidence through and confidence in movement.
  • Offer new stuff – skills, ‘drills’, ways in to catching, throwing, striking etc.
  • Stimulate listening skills, teamwork &/or individual application to challenges: build numeracy (yes I do mean that!) and communication skills – oracy.
  • Get familiar, or more familiar with a bat, a ball, or different bats, different balls.
  • Specifically follow, more or less, a curriculum which Chance to Shine has assembled, drawing on masses of expertise and research… and stuff.
  • In the abstract we aim (I certainly aim) to make kids laugh a bit, whilst charging round the place with purpose. Structured bursting and giggling and launching and swiping and mostly achieving something, which may or may not be measurable but may well be actually rather profound.

Hence my sickening upbeat-ness. Cos we did all that this morning. Two brilliant sessions with children from Year 2 then Year 3. Brilliant? Them – them! – not me. They lit up the place.

In my post-euphoric foolishness, I’m wondering if there might be some merit in describing what we did. So here goes.

Last week with these children, we followed the Chance to Shine model for batting games, via Striking Star and Super Skills Circuit – you can find these here and I do recommend them.

https://www.chancetoshine.org/teaching-resources

Having done the ‘get familiar with the bats’ thing, it made sense to do something different, today. So out with hoops and spots and balls, for games again developed from that C2S curriculum.

We were inside, in an average-sized school hall. I drew out a Throwing Line, with red cones, then placed three yellow hoops and a spot, about four or five metres out, parallel to the Throwing Line, spaced evenly apart. Three or four metres beyond, two blue hoops and two blue spots, again making a line, across the hall. Finally, the distant targets – four red hoops.

I welcomed the children in, in English and inadequate Welsh, as per. Then, after asking them again how they turned their ears on and warning them in the nicest possible way that the games would change, briefly described (rather than demonstrated) what we would do. We would throw underarm at the yellow targets.

What would we throw? Cricket ball-sized sponge balls and two or three significantly bigger but still unthreatening, lightweight ‘footballs’, plus a softly-spiky pink plastic ball: all of which I said I’d like to see shared around.

The children had a couple of goes before I tried that “Ok people, imagine if I was an alien and I’d just landed on Planet Har’ford; how would you explain how this underarm throw works(?)” routine. “What’s moving?”

I might now be modelling the throw but not saying anything. Instead I ask the ‘coaches’ (kids) to talk me through “pushing my palm, stepping forward, aiming with my hand-that-isn’t-throwing”. It’s a listening event and describing event, for the children; hopefully more than a demonstration.

We move on, as soon as; we want to be throwing, more, further, harder!

I ask how many points we should give ourselves for hitting the nearest (yellow) hoops ”first bounce – on the full?” Somebody confidently shouts “Ten!” Ten it is.

”So how many for the blue?”

(Somebody else). “Thir-teee!”

”And what about the red?!?”

”FIFF-TEEEE!!!”

Suddenly we have a Proper Game. In which “for a bitta fun” we can keep score if we want.

I offer them more choices; they can now throw under or overarm and they can aim at any hoop or spot. (Incidentally, if it felt necessary, I would offer the discussion about whether a blue hoop is worth more or less points than a blue spot – which is smaller. Feels unnecessary, here. Note too, that we haven’t discussed throwing overarm yet; let them launch a few first).

Surprise surprise, everybody lashes it out there in the general direction of the distant red hoops. It’s wonderful, stretchy-wild and energetic. They love it.

Before the next round of throws – just to focus the concentration a tad – I bring in A Rule. “You have to name the colour before you throw”. We go on. It’s still fairly chaotic… but great.

Next up we revisit the scoring. “Which are the easiest targets to hit? Why? So if we really were counting our score, what colour do we think might be the one where we are most likely to get some points? Or… if we are enjoying throwing harder, further (at the red, maybe) what can we do, to give ourselves every chance of hitting?”

It’s gotten tactical. They realise that. There’s that lovely sense of liberation – through the physical act of throwing – and also the whirr of cognition and ‘getting the game’.

”I’m going yellow – no, blue!”

”I’m going red. I’m still going red, because…”

It’s gotten to a point where I think there is some real value in me demonstrating an overarm throw – despite my half-decent grasp of ECBCA initiatives towards Core Principles, as opposed to old-school ‘coaching’. So I offer three suggestions; feet wide apart and in line with the target; ‘pointing’ or aiming with the non-throwing hand; throwing hand waaaaay up and back away from the face.

In my defence, as it were, I do offer this model via a story, with questions.

”Who’s got a dog, friends?

Half the class.

”Okaaay. So have I. Picture the scene, on Newgale (beach). Me and one very waggy dog and a ball. Does my dog want me to do this… (throws with hand at his ear, feebly)… or (collects ball and notably draws elbow and hand high and loooong and back, away from the head) does your dog want you to launch one?” (Launches one, to unsolicited whhooooos and whoooorrs from the kids).

”Your dog wants you to zap it. To enjoy throwing hard and far. Powerfully. Come on, let’s get wide feet, pointy hands and get that ball awaaaay from our faces. Let’s ab-so-lute-ly lash it AT THESE TARGETS!!

Typically I shift one red hoop to the furthest, furthest point and up the ante to 500 points for that one. It’s a blast – slightly wild – but my personal mission to teach the mini-universe to be able to throw, to love throwing has bounded forward… and that’s magic.

I’ve missed some details out but this is the gist of a session that I repeated, this morning. Minimal changes for Years 2 then 3. Biggish groups – 30-odd. I guarantee you that nobody felt inadequate, or left out. The level of engagement was stratospheric.

I finished both sessions with my Moving Target challenge, for a thousand points. It offers a kind of individual moment for everyone; one in which everyone Wins Big.

I walk across in front of the children, holding a hoop up at what feels like a comfortable height for their throws. One by one, they all have to throw through the hoop, as I move. Miraculously (possibly with an occasional strategic twitch from yours truly) everybody nails it! It’s crazily, dizzily, wonderfully satisfying – maybe especially for those who weren’t throwing ‘naturally?’

“A thousand points! What a way to finish!”

About fifty minutes-worth of entertaining, challenging, sometimes mind-bending Chance to Shine/CricketWales fun. With balls. And hoops. In January, in a school hall. Some educational boxes ticked but mainly, mainly a deeply pleasurable experience for all concerned; including me.

 

 

Universe Podcast 5. On writing.

Dangerously solo podcast, on writing stuff and the privileges I’ve enjoyed. Hope to god no-one feels *exposed* – not my intention. Hoping folk might be interested in the process and actuality of writing on cricket – on anything.

 

 

Big fan of Ronay and Hayward but also of Ian Herbert. Thank you to them and to George Dobell, Melinda Farrell, Dan Norcross and Adam Collins, in particular. Listen and you will see that this a) takes indulgence to a new, exotic high b) is about accreditation, style, honesty and lots of other cobblers.

Okay. Have listened back. First thing I should say is that I know it breaks all the rules: I’m not big on rules. Absurdly long – not bovvered – a zillion omissions and dubious generalities, naturally, but like it and pleased that encourager-in-chief Richard Huntington has ‘bloody loved it’. When you’re on the edges of embarrassing/‘colourful’/crazy-pretentious it helps to have an occasional, legitimising thumbs up.

Should maybe mention that I do understand that there is a significant difference between a column and a report. Even my live posts aren’t reports, eh? *Also*, I work full-time for Cricket Wales as a coach and media geezer, so when I talk about being unemployable in the mediasphere, I have the luxury of referring to possible occasional freelancing. Love my job – genuinely.

May add to this…

 

Crazy, I know.

Lunchtime in Wales. The twittersphere tells me Rashid Khan can’t play tonight for Sussex – a plus.

But given the Sharks (I kinda resent calling them that but let’s go with the faux I mean flow, eh?) have maybe the most fangtastic attack in the tournament in any case, the chances for a Middlesex win at Hove prolonging Glammy’s season remain slim, yes? Sussex still have Archer, Jordan and Mills and are therefore odds-on to endstop Eoin Morgan’s campaign with another emphatic disappointment.

Or are they?

T20 does have scope for that turn-on-a-tanneresque, wtf-acious, well I ne-ver in a-all my born days jolt. It’s arguably predicated on thrills and dramatic holy cows; lurid ones, inflatable ones – ones with a microphone or megaphone. Meaning it’s a rush. 

Me, I’m in a flush. Because if you didn’t know it, my lot – our lot – Glamorgan are scrambling. They must win tonight and hope Sussex lose.

Sussex are at home to the worst team in the division. Glam have Surrey at Sophia Gardens. There may even be a weather issue, possibly, in Cardiff, which could scupper that 2 points imperative. It’s feeling cruel and ecstatic and BIG, all this. We love it and it’s almost unbearable.

If you’re like me you start wondering fatally aloud and quite probably pontificating to people in bars, or caffs or kitchens. Trying to un-mist those memories around How, Exactly It Came To This.

We blame shot selection, rank amateurism, villageism, inexperience and the coach. We know we are right even when at our most nailed-on preposterous but our love of An Opinion drives us on. Our hunches become Mona Lisas; unshiftable and mighty and true; stars in the firmament of revelation.

This is the essence of supporting stuff: knowing that our professionals haven’t got a clue.

It’s ingloriously bastardly. It’s hilarious – it drives the coaches, players and opposition mad. The utter cobblers we come out with.

Ah but it’s rejuvenating and self-validating and joyfully daft, too. It’s the essential matrix – and you bloody coaches and CEOs and players better remember this! – without which public sport itself is dead. Fans mithering or bawling or making extraordinarily, brilliantly astute contributions. It’s the game.

Hey before I get into that pre-pre-game period – where it’s too early to get hyper and too late for calm – let me leave you with the wildest daftest contribution my own allegedly-plainly free-wheelingly absurdist cerebellum came up with the other day. During that massacre at Hove.

Staggering-but-true there was a moment in that Sussex v Glam game where the visitors were if not cruising then on that most delicious cusp. Chasing a reasonable lump, Donald and Meschede had gone in and made a magnificent start. Donald (I think) got out, bringing Ingram in. But Glam had been going at something close to 12 an over. And Ingram is almost god.

In my infinite but delusional, inexperienced, unreliable wisdom I was certain that the spectacular South African could play within himself for ten overs and still score at more than the required rate, thus guiding Glam to an uncomplicated but tremendously significant win. Instead, he crashed one to the fielder.

I tweeted something to the effect that Ingram – Glam’s rock and leader and inspiration – had arguably thrown away the campaign; right there. In a flashy, unnecessary moment. (To be fair I was careful not to accuse the man of anything but you get the drift).

I kinda love Colin Ingram but I still (secretly until now) believe he was wrong… and that my own intuit-o-cobblers was right. He’s so good he could have picked and cut and nurdled or watchfully-downwardly boomed his way to the win. He could: I believe that.

And that, my friends, is both a confession of sorts and a statement of my vain, inviolable prerogative – and yours. Over a season where eight zillion more obvious errors or misjudgements patently out-rank this embarrassing hunch of mine, we reach the last, fatal knockings with me wondering on this. Crazy, I know.

 

Come ON Glam!

 

 

The Universe Podcast 2: with Matt Thompson, Talent Programme Manager for Cricket Wales

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In the second of my amiable meanderings through what-might-turn-out-to-be the Definitive List of Movers & Shakers in Welsh Cricket, I chat to Matt Thompson, Talent Programme Manager for Cricket Wales.

Matt is a brilliant 26 year-old cricketer/lecturer/coach, with a ridiculous c.v.

Despite this, I kinda liked him. We talked the new job through – criminally unedited – plus all kinds of coach-feely other stuff.

Have a listen.

 

A bloggist’s indulgence.

Some of you will know that I work full-time for the mighty Cricket Wales – and that I love that. I coach, I write/faff about with Soshul Meedya stuff: I love the crazy diversity of it and dizzily-happily pour myself in there.

I also do this blogging thing, absolutely as an indulgence; absolutely because it’s a cathartic soul-shifting and lifting release; absolutely because I want to make some contribution to the fabulous sporty din that all of us bawl and wallow and giggle through. It’s showing off, of course but (as a great mate and soul-brother said recently, when I wondered aloud about stopping) it’s ‘a creative outlet I need’.

I know it’s hideously arty to talk about this so I’m not going any further with any cod-therapeutic explanations. I’m sticking mainly to practical issues – the weighing and balancing, the justifying – in the hope that some folks might identify with something and (ideally) feel supported.

Maybe I should add that I am myself supported by a) the mere existence of a rich blogosphere where far nobler, more talented and more legitimate Cricket People offer up their stories b) my superiors at Cricket Wales who respect and encourage my writing and ver-ry rarely try to direct it and c) by established folks already ensconced or essential to the contemporary cricket media. These factoids are important.

However – did you guess? – things aren’t straightforward. Because I have a wonderful family, who are sporty but not especially crickety. Because my time is not my own. Because Pembrokeshire fab-you-luss Pembrokeshire is waaay out west and therefore often a hike away from the action. Because nobody is paying me to write.

In short, I really do have to justify any trip away to cover cricket.

This week I had hoped to (firstly, as always, without any bitterness or complaint) see out all my Cricket Wales responsibilities and maybe go to Edgbaston today and Bristol tomorrow, to do a cricketmanwales.com number on the men’s then womens’ internationals.

In fact I didn’t get accreditation for Eng v Aus (men) at Edgbaston, unsurprisingly; that fixture will be heavily attended by journo’s/writers with way more clout than myself; I have no gripes on that front. I did, however, get clearance to attend the womens’ tri-international in Bristol.

The truth of it is that significantly less frontline journo’s will attend the latter. From experience, I guess Adam Collins, Melinda Farrell, Alison Mitchell, Ebony Rainford-Brent, Isa Guha will be there but most of them will be involved in commentary and/or punditry rather than ‘simply writing’.

Don’t please abuse me if I miss somebody out, here – this is not supposed to be an exhaustive list, much less a Who’s Who. Raf Nicholson and Syd Egan will probably be there and Jamie Ramage, I reckon. But there will be less demand for seats – in the Media Centre as well as in the stands. That’s the reality.

In fact I can’t now go to Brizzle due to Cricket Wales commitments – which always come first and which I utterly respect. However, because fewer people read my posts about Eng Women than about Other Cricket Stuff, I was looking pret-ty hard at whether I could *justify* another trip, anyway, despite the fact that I really enjoy these games and actively want to support womens’ cricket – believe it or not.

There are financial implications. There are family issues around me disappearing ‘for nothing’. I was having to juggle that stuff.

As so often, I may have been unwise, in sharing this. Clearly I would be delighted if somebody – some media institution – would bung me a coupla quid to cover games that I can get to, working around my Cricket Wales schedule. (Could be this is somewhere between unlikely and im-bloody-possible. In which case there is thinking to be done). One is philosophical.

Look set aside any opinion around or even intelligent judgement of my blogs; I naturally accept that is entirely feasible that they are mindlessly anarchic piles of crap. That being said it strikes me as unfortunate that my own – admittedly crass, admittedly limited – market research delivers (arguably) a fairly stark return re- the value of Womens’ International Cricket.

I do have to think on this but my strong inclination is to continue to #showup, as much as I can… and let the therapy flow.

 

Match two; Eng v NZ.

Note: this is the second of two live posts from today’s (Saturday’s) tri-international thingamejig at Taunton.

 

In the second fixture, England opt to bat again. Gunn is replaced by Tarrant. Still a lovely day; by my hugely scientific estimation about four degrees light of balmy-hood. That courtesy of a welcome but persistent breeze.

Instant near-trauma, for England. Peterson’s first delivery and a yes-no run-out. Except that Wyatt scrambles back and, battler that she is, stills the heart, one hopes. Because this is T20, England finish up on 9 for 0 after that palpitating start. The crowd shift in their seats.

Devine is in for the second but bowls two legside wides then a sharpish lifter. Followed by a rather poorly judged bouncer that is miles out of the batter’s reach. Satterthwaite, fielding at long-on underneath the Media Centre appears strikingly – and I mean strikingly – tall. After four overs, England are 36 for 0.

Wyatt miscues a slow, slow one from Kasperek and is easily caught at mid-off. The opener departs swishing and cursing, having had a doubly infuriating day with the willow.

Ditto Taylor, who joins her in the pavilion following a cruel palm-on from the bowler. A reminder that there’s a) no god b) very little to out-gun/out-gurn that particular mode of dismissal in the whole fest-of-furies that is the sporting pantheon. Beaumont is next to grimace, as she tries to lap-something a straight one and is frankly absurdly bowled.

Knight prefers to come in and gettaholdathis, ahead of Brunt. It’s 66 for 3 come the end of the 9th.

A digression but another disconcerting error – Sciver spared via another regulation catching opportunity spurned – means we have to talk about fielding, generally. Today it’s been poor, I’m afraid. Poor enough to encourage misogynist grumbles *around about*.

I’ve seen more than enough womens’ cricket in the last two years to be absolutely clear that standards across all three disciplines have zoomed forward and up… but today (fielding-wise) has been an unhelpful blip in this respect. Weird how infectious things are, at every level of sport – particularly panic. Onward.

Hahaaaa! At this moment (I promise you) Green takes a really challenging steepler from Knight! Onward with a smile.

Brunt comes in, to join Sciver, who has been okaaaay , so far, rather than stunning in making an important 39. The sense that she was a nailed-on worldie is drifting a tad, for me. We still have sun, we still have a breeze – though reduced, I think – and we still have a goodish crowd.

I’ve enjoyed watching Devine run in. She’s hurried everybody without creating the mayhem that will surely, often, be hers. Sciver gets to fifty with a firmly-struck extra-cover drive and after 16, England are 132 for 4. Feels like a competitive as opposed to intimidating score is in the offing. Then Devine, switching ends, has Brunt, playing on, for 14.

Wow. A classic straight yorker unravels Amy Jones next delivery: Shrubsole is in earlier than I guess she imagined. After 17, England are 139 for 6, needing a boomtastic finish.

Ah. Sciver finds backward square-leg to further stall any potential grandstand finale.

There are two new batters at the crease; Shrubsole and Ecclestone. Both apply themselves with some aggressive intent but (strangely, maybe, given recent performances) England have mustered a grand total of zero sixes in both innings so far, today.

We enter the final over a-and Shrubsole promptly despatches one straight, straight for a maximum, before pushing directly to cover.

Hazell is in with two balls to face. She part-slices the first one to deep extra, who should gather it but let’s it pass through for four. Innings closed at 172 for 8: first guess, 15 short.

 

Shrubsole opens as New Zealand gather for their response. Her first ball is another inswinging beauty; the second goes for six.

Devine repeats the feat against Tarrant in the second over, taking her ahead of *All of Ingerland* on sixes, as (‘tis true) England managed just the one (all day), in the final over some half an hour ago.

No room for smugness here, mind, as the New Zealand opener is promptly caught in the deep off the skiddy left-armer Tarrant. The White Ferns are 37 for 1 after a probing, appeal-heavy, confidence-building fifth over from Ecclestone. Intriguingly, Ecclestone is not to bowl the next over from that Botham Stand End.

Evening is landing gently.

Brunt is just a wee bit pleased to have the Mighty Bates, in front, next over. She fist-pumps, passionately, on her knees, lifting the crowd, roaring.

Another significant and indeed faith-restoring moment, as Knight takes a sharpish return catch, off Satterthwaite, reducing the visitors to 47 for 3, in 7.2. The squeeze is on.

New Zealand need a charge but are again knocked back as Ecclestone bowls Martin for 16. The tall, left-arm finger-spinner is enjoying this, wheeling and reaching high for purposeful, arrowing flight. Hazell – in at the other end – winkles out Green, who is caught rather tamely lofting to extra cover. That squeeze feels taughter – terminally so, at 80 for 5.

Again after a brilliant over, Ecclestone is replaced, this time by Sciver. Again it works, the wunderkind Kerr edging loopily to gully. When the young leftie returns, however, she claims two further victims – bowled then stumped, bamboozled. Importantly, you sense, in terms of her recently tested confidence, Ecclestone has been the star turn (‘scuse the pun) in this commanding performance.

With the light markedly different now, New Zealand have fallen away – or been shunted – to firstly 106 for 8, then 9. Knight’s played a blinder, instinctively chopping at any momentum in the New Zealand innings, leading and arguably designing the win.

Knight offers Tarrant the 19th, with no pressure on the bowler and every chance of a wicket (you would think). Thoughtful. Tarrant duly obliges, skittling Jensen with a scooty little number. All out 118. Good job, England.

So an enjoyable day with an encouraging denouement for an England side that might have slipped into tiredness or distraction. Instead they were on it – satisfyingly so. Folks wander off to trains and buses and cars, feeling good, I reckon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

First up… plus.

Trains don’t always ease inviolably, powerfully, unarguably through the countryside. This one does. Temple Meads to Newquay – though I’ll only enjoy that first, woody, sunkissed, quietly triumphant forty minutes -before the cricket.

The lustrous green and baking haylage turns to… Taunton. Shockingly, my first Taunton. For a much-anticipated festival to which I am kinda proud and excited to #showup for. EngvSAvNZ, in what promises to be spectacular conditions. Grab a coffee and let’s get into this.

Somerset do support – there is a culture for that here, for simply getting cricket. When I arrive, 11.20-ish, the word is that a complete sell-out is possible. How fabulous would that be? I quickly establish that the lovely Raf Nicholson is, indeed, a Raff, as opposed to a Rav, as she might be in Wales. I’m settled, almost behind the bowler’s arm.

Enjoy, as always, the warm-ups. Especially the potential frisson frenzy as England bats undergo a medium-stressed net *immediately next to* the charging South African pace bowlers. Then the daft but visibly enjoyable footie keepy-uppies. Then some really challenging boundary catches: England showing good hands, good agility and real commitment.

Ntozakhe opens. Shocker of an early dismissal for Wyatt. Truly awful mis-club of a tame, wide ball. She’ll be rightly furious. Taylor is in for the last ball of the first over.

Enter Kapp, off a reduced run, bowling medium-quick. Taylor is gifted a legside boundary then follows that up with another, confidently despatched. England have started now.

Or maybe not. Two chances follow in quick succession; Beaumont drilling one hard at mid-off’s feet, then dancing down and missing. She gets away with both. After 4, Taylor having majestically drilled then cut Kapp for further, successive fours, England are a decent 29 for 1.

Beaumont follows that with a classic, lofted straight drive which long-on can’t get to. The see-sawing of fortunes and confidences continues, though, as Beaumont miscues Ntozakhe just over the bowler’s head. Things feel strangely mixed: confirmed as Taylor doinks Ismail’s very first delivery to point, via the top of the bat-face. Gone for 20.

Skipper van Niekerk is in for the 9th. I’m really hoping now, to see a fluent, full-blooded, next-level innings from Sciver. Feels like she needs that – and we know she’s got it in her. Beaumont, meanwhile, is scurrying and placing competently.

Mali offers something different. Not quick but maybe a little swing – or certainly something leg-cutterish which challenges the swinging across-the-line tendency.

In the 12th, she has Sciver caught in the deep, swatting big, swatting across. Just me, or does the England allrounder really need to make a very strong contribution, soonish? Not that her place is under threat… but she keeps under-achieving, given all that talent. Brunt is in, and she’ll need to substantially raise the energy and momentum.

She fails. Instead she plays and misses off Mali and is comprehensively stumped. South Africa almost certainly ahead, with England on 93 for 4, as Knight marches in. Not exactly panic stations, for England; more ‘concentrate then build powerfully’ mode.

At 122 for 4 after 17, with Beaumont and Knight bustling, typically, rather than booming, the likely score of 150 feels undercooked by twenty-plus. Meaning good job done by South Africa – meaning we have a real game ahead of us.

Another error in the field both costs South Africa a key wicket and gifts a precious boundary. (The visitors might have pocketed four additional wickets and saved twenty runs but for some troublingly poor fielding). Even if they go on to win – and I personally think they will – the coach will be *having words*, alright.

The Beaumont knock (solidly skilful rather than flawless and truly dynamic) is snuffed out by Ismail, who bowls her off the pads. In comes Jones and she and Knight cart and race through to 160 for 5 down at the close. This I like, in terms of a contest.

Fabulous moment, early in the reply, as Shrubsole cleans out Wolvaardt with *the most gorgeous* inswinger. Absolute class.

However – rightly and predictably – South Africans Lee and Luus set about the target with some purpose; violence, even. Knight responds by mixing up the bowling. We’re at 50 for 1 after 6.

Gunn is in. Last time I saw this it was a clear signal for the opposition to attack. Surprisingly, Lee plops one straight back at the bowler, who is maybe a tad sluggish, clawing but not catching. Can hear Sky commentary suggesting Gunn may be a decent option on this pitch; hope she is but fear she may again prove too hittable.

Talking of which, Ecclestone is heaved contemptuously over the square-leg rope before dragging one shockingly down to offer an easy four.

After Hazell serves up the tenth, South Africa are easing away at 84 for 1. Significantly, England’s fielding has been almost as disappointing as their opponents. Shrubsole, I’m afraid, is having a mare.

Ecclestone concedes another six to Lee – who has blazed to 67, including six sixes – come the end of the 12th, which costs 13 runs. England facing a pasting, here.

Shrubsole offers a glimmer, by removing the seemingly immovable Lee – caught deep-midwicket. England need an avalanche of wickets, mind, to haul this back. 120 for 2, off 14. Gunn returns.

*Thinks*… if, as seems likely, England lose, will the gaffer (Mr Robinson) politely ask his side if they may have been a little complacent, going in to this? Wyatt’s early horror-show plus other unconvincing or ill thought-out contributions will demand enquiry.

In fact the coast home for the visitors doesn’t quite materialise; or as Brunt sees out a goodish 16th over the momentum has maybe twitched. Gunn has the following over, which is quietish and includes a painfully cruel leading edge which loops back over the exasperated bowler.

But Gunn follows that with a wide full toss – despatched. Just 20 need from the last three overs.

Oof. Ecclestone bowls van Niekerk first ball of the over. Then dot ball… and the crowd are really back into this. Especially when Ecclestone also bowls Tryon – with one that looked a bit shortish, ‘live’. A game: what a bonus!

Shrubsole will bowl the penultimate over and (firstly) Brunt can’t stop a drilled drive for four then (secondly) Sciver spills a regulation catch at mid-on. If I’m the fielding coach I’m ab-so-lutely fuming.

Time has stopped; or warped; or coughed up All The Drama Ever. It’s mad and it’s magic and it leaves us, remarkably, with South on 152 for 4, needing 160, with six delivers remaining. Bloo-dee Hell.

Luus swings Brunt out backward square-legwards first up. Towards the fielder. It’s wide enough; it’s four. Next ball is cut through cover: South Africa have levelled.

Nope, they’ve won. In style, Luus hauling yet another six to square leg. England have a) done well to render this remotely close b) played relatively poorly, all-round. Tough ask to pick themselves up after that and go again.

 

Longish break – really nice to luxuriate in that. Then lovely to see England gals out and back into a visibly gigglacious footie circle-keepy-uppie effort. The disappointment gone, apparently. Hope it really is – genuinely hope they can enjoy all this. It’s both serious and a game, eh? As Vaughanie would say – ‘on, on!’