It was the second game of my local cricket team’s season, and I felt we had a good chance in this one. Unfortunately, it was Cup weekend, so not many players turned up, but thankfully, enough. They decided to bat, and as usual, I bowled around the 20th over.
The same thing happened, except better. It came down to my last ball of my last over. I bowled toward off-stump and clock, the bails flew and the stump rose from the ground. A fist-pumped the air and all my teammates came up to me. Then it was time to bat. We lost three wickets pretty quickly, in about 10 overs. I was getting padded up, batting sixth, and I would bat after the next wicket. Well, so I thought. As the final fifteen overs went on, the 4th wicket partnership grew and grew, until we had made 125 or so, and the batsman pulled together a 100-run partnership, 63 n.o and 41 n.o.
They both decided to retire and I would bat next week, the second half of our inning. I didn’t mind though, as I got a wicket and my team had done well.
The next week came, and I we were batting first, me facing. All I planned for was not to go out for a duck. Which came pretty easily. I blocked the first two balls, still getting my eye in, then plucked one off the pads for a single. I was off the mark and that was all that mattered for me. I faced next over and hit one down the ground, again just for a single. The next over, I blocked a few, then went to hit it over the bowlers head, but I was caught. I wasn’t too annoyed with myself though, I thought I had played some good cricket shots.
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