Battle of North London

I saw something on a cricket field I had never seen before. And it was so shocking I don't think I will ever see it again.

We were all so slow to react. Fortunately, not to the detriment of our team mate, who found himself on the ground being battered like a Canadian seal with a cricket bat. The suddenness of the attack was what took us by surprise. Mark Naisbitt, a born and bred Sundowner, Finchley through and through, has dished out his fair share of provocative sledges in his time. But today, he had only being trying to help.

Gary Kendrick is a northerner, from Manchester we are led to believe. An obdurate batsman, someone I have tussled with a lot over the years. He's not particularly good at cricket. An average keeper, a grinder at the crease. What he lacks in talent he makes up for with his sheer bloody mindedness. Last season his 22 guided Horizontals to a tense one wicket win, in a game they needed only 56.

OK, so Ringo bowled a full toss in the eighth over that he top edged into his face, cutting his cheek and knocking the right-hand lens of his glasses out. He fumed "FUCKING HELL, not again… Jesus!" Like it was Ringo's fault. So he had some history with his cheek getting fucked up by cricket balls. Not our problem really.

Mark Naisbitt has meanwhile reconstructed the guy's specs from the ground, putting the lens in and making it better. Kendrick snatches them off him. We keep our cool. This guy looks to be losing it. We all assumed he'd be off and when the number three came strolling out towards the middle… Kendrick yelled "Fuck off back there, I'm carrying on!" So he did, and he did all right. My first ball to him, after he wisely put a helmet on, pops up satisfyingly, and he jumps a bit.

The game meandered on, they were chasing 173 to win in 40, and were doing OK. There were some disputed wides, a blatant caught behind, with no walk from Dave Scally, but no needle involving Gary Kendrick. Then in only the 14th over they take a leg bye off Alan Russell, a local guy making his debut for us. Mick McGowan behind the stumps rightly claims that Scally played no shot, and should come back… Kendrick takes exception to Mick's claims: "Go and fucking umpire at the other end then mate."

Mick shrugs his shoulders, as he does when pointing out the obvious to the oppo. Mark Naisbitt moves in to take his position at silly mid off and -- well, the next few moments are a bit of a blur -- Kendrick has stepped towards him with a comment similarly un-gentlemanly, to which Mark replies, in a genuinely disarming way: "Don't have a go at me, I mended your glasses."

We've all seen cricketers in their late 40s wobbling towards each other waving bats in faces. But this time Kendrick kept going. And, almost like I imagine a snuff movie being at the moment you know a fatal blow is coming, the scene takes a twist. Kendrick, gets a little too close, and in a slow-motion flash, hits Mark around the head with the shoulder of the bat.

"Oi! What's your problem?!" yells Mark.

A scuffle, Kendrick strikes Mark's back for four through mid wicket. Mark defends himself, he grabs, Kendrick swipes. They fall to the ground, Mark defends his head, and, in a sustained attack with a deadly weapon, Kendrick beats our man on the ground. As I approach the scene from fine leg with quickening pulse and paces, Barry Cosgrove and Alan Russell from the Specials wade in to help Mark out.

Now Kendrick was the man in danger. Our team is experienced in years of footballing scraps, so we need to drag Barry away ASAP. Mark, now off the floor and having disarmed his assailant throws Kendrick's bat down in disgust and demands a clean fight. I counsel that is not a good idea and attempt to pacify my battered team mate.

Mark begins to inspect his heavily bruised head, right shin, elbow, back… and Kendrick departs to the relative safety of pavilion. The Walthamstow team are more in shock than we are. Mark needs some more calming words. Threats are shouted. Kendrick behaves like it was a legitimate scrap that was justified, which is utterly mystifying.

We all calm down and Kendrick retires to his car. Only to sneak out minutes later to find his specs, out in the middle. We all hang around in front of the pavilion trying to take it all in. It was a great game, abandoned owing to an act of abhorrent violence. An hour later, as we left, Kendrick was still on the scene, with not one ounce of visible contrition on his face or in his actions. That was the amazing thing. The guy must be in his late forties at least, and should know better, especially as he was skipper for the day. And Mark fixed his specs for him…

© Dominic Pilgrim 2005