FONTHILL’S DIRTY DOZEN INSPIRED BY COMYN CHAMELEON

Sam Peters reports. (Sometime captain and former cricket correspondent, The Sunday Sport - honestly)

"COMYN, Comyn, Comyn, Comyn, Comyn Chameleon, he hits big shots, he’s got great gloves," sung the Culture Club during their now legendary Fonthill Park gig, played out in front of 35,000 adoring fans sprawled across the parched outfield during that endless summer of 1990.

This never happened, of course. Only in the cider- addled imagination of this correspondent, as he reflected on a colourful evening of almost 50 shades for the master-blaster gloveman, Henry Comyn. Fonthill’s answer to the great Sri Lankan keeper and one-day hitman, Romesh Kaluwitharana.

Indeed, such was the crispness of Comyn’s early stroke-play, which got Fonthill’s XII – and I do mean 12 – up and running, one could have been mistaken for thinking we were watching the player who put ‘pinch’ into pinch-hitting at the 1999 World Cup.

Opening the batting, Comyn, full of hunger for a sport he never leaves work early for (honest, boss), combined to magnificent effect with the laconic Harry Walker (18), smashing 41 from not very many balls before chipping a rare one up in the air which did not go for six. More of Walker later.

A typically power-packed knock of 56 not out from Ed ‘Jack’ Hobbs, including a late six which threatened to fell the ancient oak tree on the boundary adjacent to Fonthill lake, saw the home side to a whopping 146 for five off 20 overs.

When Freddie Power, bowling with excellent pace and control but very little dignity, reduced Horningsham to 26 for two inside five overs, Fonthill’s dirty dozen were well and truly on top.

The eternally dishevelled Power, a lovable cross between Harry Styles and Stig of the Dump, has bowled with skill and excellent control this season, despite repeatedly almost sacrificing his drawstring-less trousers to gravity, while chuntering endlessly about his undersized boots.

It is hard to imagine the heights this young man could hit, if he recalled the old military adage "admin is not a city in China".

With Power firing on all cylinders, the game looked as good as over when that one-man Chameleon, or should we say Comyn, snapped a quite brilliant one-handed catch off the bowling of the regimented Jonny Silver which would have made Jack Russell blush.

"We’ll do well to lose it from here," uttered a decidedly smug Fonthill skipper Peters as Horningsham’s required run rate pushed 10 an over with nine overs and seven wickets to spare.

"Shut up you fool," his team-mates should and probably did counter under their breath, as the visitors proceeded to smash boundary after boundary in the fading light, leaving Peters to contemplate his options for a swift exit from the ground at the close.

Mercifully, with his daughter Ella being looked after by the saintlike Bexi Harris on the boundary, this eventuality did not come to pass as the late introduction of Ewen Moore (two for seven from two) into the attack saw the home side close out a deserved 17 run victory.

Even a late ‘spat’, when the visiting umpire called a ‘no-ball’ from a full toss which hit the dangerous Horningsham No5 flush on the box, could not mar a lovely evening’s cricket played in excellent spirit.

Even when Walker, a high-class act in most senses, uttered the immortal line "the last time I checked my balls they were below my waist"’, the umpire could not be swayed.

And quite right too. The umpire’s word must, after all, remain final.

Undeterred, the two teams of 12 shook hands and all was quickly forgotten as drink was predictably taken in a clubhouse kept meticulously clean by Fonthill’s very own Fanny Craddock, aka John Grinstead, who once again displayed true Park spirit by taking time out his day to cheese our baps and keep order behind the bar.

With spirits high and the sun swinging low, the heroic Comyn strode away from the ground clutching the unofficial man of the match award and holding on to the acclaim of his adoring team-mates.

"He’ll come and go," we uttered as one as our hero left the ground. "He’ll come and go."

Sam Peters: Sorry for delay and any errors. Written in haste on packed train to Woking tonight! ❤️ 🏏