(The Original)

Amateur Scribe

Marshall, Tim (RH Bat; RA Fast Medium)

A curious tale, this. The second eldest of the Marshall dynasty, Tim shunned Money Programme life until well into his early twenties. A calm, level-headed individual, he was more concerned with the finer things in life: university, travel and a career in the city were what floated his boat. He maintained an interest in the team’s fortunes, however (with that family, how could one not?), But you got the impression that his siblings’ breathless tales of centuries and five wicket hauls barely registered on his radar – a quick nod or a raised eyebrow, then it was back to the share prices in the FT.

Matches: 101

Runs: 1682
Wkts: 90
Ct: 53

Occasionally he deigned to put in a guest appearance in between jetting around the world and sitting in wine bars, but he hardly ever set the world alight with his play – he had the batting average of a blind rabbit, and his bowling was embarrassingly pedestrian in comparison to his younger brothers.

Then something happened. He went out to bat against The Lee and scored some runs. A lot of runs. In the second innings he scored more runs. It was not just the volume, more the manner in which he scored them – big, clean, straight hits that went for miles. I missed a game at Wendons Ambo soon afterwards. “How d’you get on?” I asked. “Caught on the boundary for 90 going for my tenth six,” was the airy reply. And that was that – the lightning quick scoring persisted and the bowing speed sharpened considerably. This rare breed of Marshall, this cultured, enigmatic gentleman had gone and conformed to all the others. It’s the mother I feel sorry for…

Friend, David (RH Bat; RA Medium Fast)

Introduced to the squad in the middle of the 2002 season, Dave’s initial impact was to further increase the insecurities of those of us under 6 foot 4. A commanding figure who cut his teeth in the big leagues of Sussex and Devon, he was billed as a firebrand capable of destroying even the most potent of batting forces. Eager anticipation greeted his debut and a hush descended as he confidently and expertly marked out his run. Whispers of admiration swept the slips cordon – I felt a tingle of pride in being responsible for unearthing such a find. Four overs and several dozen runs later, David was limping off to the boundary, tail firmly between legs. The whispers turned to mutters of derision – I stared hard at my boot-laces. Turns out Dave had not played cricket (or indeed exercised at all) for about four years.


Matches: 37

Runs: 420
Wkts: 27
Ct: 11

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