Bizarre repeat of Bell run-out forces captain’s change of heart

I am, after all, primarily an arts writer for the Yorkshire Post, with a particular specialism in theatre and what could have been more theatrical than the Ian Bell run out?

It had everything. A villain (India) the hero (Andy Flower, standing on the balcony, looking like a clean cut Clint Eastwood – with an even steelier look in his eye), there was one of Shakespeare’s greatest devices, the fool (Bell, obviously). Then came the final third act denouement, when the crowd realised the Indian team had withdrawn its appeal and the jeers turned to cheers. MS Dhoni became a Bollywood hero in an instant.

Pure theatre.

I was going to write about all that, then realised my next cricket column would be weeks after the event and everything that could be said, would have been said.

Oh well, I thought, there’s always something going off out there I’ll be able to entertain folk about.

Then last week, it got to about that time when whoever’s going to drop out of the team, drops out and I had to make one of those all-too familiar Saturday morning calls most captains of local cricket teams make on an all-too regular basis.

Have you got a mate who can play? Don’t worry about that, I can lend him my top and he can lend me brother’s spare trousers. No. No, he can find his own jock strap.

Panicked phone calls ended with Airedale Cricket Club welcoming a new man into the fold.

Adam, a mate of my vice skipper, who’s been to a few nets, top lad, looked handy with a bat.

Out in the middle, making his Airedale debut, the fact that he’s not played for a good while was immediately apparent. He played a nervy looking defensive shot to his first delivery, the ball dropped at his feet and trickled back in the direction from whence it came.

Adam then wandered out of his crease. The ball wasn’t dead. I know you think, because of the Ian Bell incident, I’m making this up – I promise you I’m not.

Their first slip noticed Adam wandering, I noticed it too. I saw what was coming. Slip picked up the ball and looked at Adam, incredulous that he appeared to not realise what was about to happen.

To be fair, slip had the decency to look apologetic as he knocked the bails off. The appeal was less reserved. I could see, from the pavilion, that Adam was out, though Adam still insists his foot was behind the crease.

The week before I had been incensed at the lack of sportsmanship when I thought the Bell appeal was going to be upheld by India, and I shouldn’t really admit this, but I don’t blame the Eldwick lads for their appeal at all.

I can’t put my finger on it, but it somehow felt different from the Bell incident.

That seemed to have an element of subterfuge, Eldwick’s first slip was simply showing opportunism.

This wasn’t a view I shared with my team.

The debutant given out, he stormed off the field and our lads had a bit of a reaction.

Trev was on his feet, shouting all sorts, the rest of the lads were vocally unimpressed.

I realise this is an opportune moment to introduce you to some of the team.

You’ve met a couple of Airedale’s members already through Sports Monday – Biff, the ultimate clubman, John P, the eternal pessimist, Trev Cox, the groundsman-cum-opening bat-cum keeper with metal knees who refuses to allow his cricket career to go gentle into that good night.

I think you’ll recognise some of the rest.

There’s Josh, whose name is always followed by the words ‘bless ‘im’. What a trier. He won the Most Improved Player trophy last year. Had he managed to not improve it would have been miraculous, not to say virtually impossible, but by heck does that boy give 100 per cent effort.

There’s Scott, the police officer who has all the energy of a sloth at bedtime on the pitch.

There’s Keith Headband, real name Lee. He’s the lad any team would love to have, a natural athlete who doesn’t need to try. He’s bowled like the wind this summer for precisely knack all reward.

There’s Giles, the 6ft 8ins bowler who was, once, a genuine quick who now bowls much slower with six variations of the stock ball every over. He delights in explaining how every wicket he takes has been set up for the past three overs.

There’s Alan, John P’s partner in pessimism, a spin bowler who’s played at a pretty high level and takes every opportunity possible to remind you of just how good he is. He’s another one who will explain, in great detail, that the bloke he just had caught out in cow corner had fallen for a trap set overs ago.

There’s Simon, who looks like he’s playing French cricket and causes my heart to leap into my mouth every time he faces a ball with his total absence of foot movement. He has a quite spectacular eye which he uses to smash the ball into next week – occasionally.

There are lads who look like they couldn’t catch a cold, lads who field like they are on a hot tin roof.

There’s lads who bat like they’d give you their wife before their wicket and lads who walk to the crease with the clear intention that they are there for a good time, not a long time.

There’s builders, civil servants, students, security guards, office workers – unfortunately for them, there’s also a journalist and occasional cricket columnist in their midst.

I count them all as friends, people I dearly love spending my Saturdays with. The only unifying thing among us is a passion for the game played on beautiful fields around the land.

That and, for most of them, a sense that running a lad out when he’s absent mindedly left his crease, is a bit cheeky.