Third XI Round 11
Willy v Spotty

With a forecast top of 40°C landing right in the middle of play, we were absolutely convinced by Friday night that common sense would prevail and the game would be cancelled—just like most other associations wisely chose to do. Preparing accordingly, several players (almost exclusively Cranny) activated the Extreme Heat Protocol and began pre-hydrating via the pale ale intravenous method.
Sadly, the Subbies woke up and chose violence.
Instead of a relaxing weekend, we were informed at 9am Match day that all 3rd and 4th XI games would be converted to a T20. Delightful. Now, given we hadn’t won a T20 in the 3rds since the dawn of time—and were coming off a deeply disappointing loss to the bottom side just before Christmas—this was not one we could afford to butcher. Pride was on the line. So was my credibility.
On arrival, a quick inspection of the wicket confirmed the curator had clearly joined Cranny on the cans about three days earlier. The pitch looked like it had last been touched during the West Gate Tunnel sod-turning ceremony, so I was absolutely thrilled to lose the toss and bowl first.
The bowlers were on from ball one. A magical spell from Haydn Shaw had us sniffing a hat-trick in the third over, but sadly the cricket gods refused us that content. Undeterred, Dizzy stepped in, cleaned up the next two, and was involved in what the official records will describe as a run-out and what the opposition will describe as a war crime. At 5/33 after 8 overs, Willy were wobbling harder than Cranny after End of season trip drinks.
Fielding pressure stayed sky-high. Jason Butterfield, our specialist outfielder and long-range weapons expert, attempted to recreate last week’s 150-metre direct hit. Unfortunately, he missed the stumps by four metres and instead cleaned up the umpire. With the umpire down, a stretcher and curtain being called for, Jason immediately grabbed his arm and claimed a dislocated bicep or something equally medical-sounding.
In a miracle that will be spoken about in pubs for years, the umpire recovered. Jason, now “injured,” moved himself to mid-wicket and—despite having a dead right arm, alleged dislocation, and zero shame—took one of the greatest one-handed catches ever seen. A full dive to his right, arm outstretched to the horizon. Doctors baffled. Surgeons furious. No surgery required. Jason was miraculously cured.
A few wickets later and Willy were rolled for 78, a massive response after last week’s disappointment and a score that looked very chaseable… which somehow made it terrifying.
Chasing small totals when you’ve never won a T20 is cricket’s version of a horror movie, so we sent out the big guns: Hydrated Cranny and father-son sensation Rohan Modi. Cranny lasted three balls, citing heat stroke and claiming he “couldn’t punch his way out of a wet paper bag.” Fair assessment.
Big Gun 2 Liam MacGibbon followed and was back in the sheds two overs later. At 2/19, confidence somehow still remained thanks to the extensive cattle reserves in the holding yard.
Big Gun 3 Rohit Panjwani played a few nice shots, made 13, then left.�Big Gun 4 Haydn Shaw looked dangerous, swung violently, and then swung one too many. When he skied one to first slip, I loudly instructed him to get back in his crease—only to be told it was taken cleanly. Apologies again, Haydn. Leadership moment.
With big guns falling like baby teeth and the score 4/52, it was over to our main man Vish Modi, joined by son Rohan. The pair batted beautifully, calming things down until Rohan fell to an absolute peach.
With just a few runs left, Vish and Rhys did the sensible thing and guided us home in the 13th over, finishing 5 wickets down.
A huge win. Six points secured. Game done by 2:45pm, beers earned responsibly. We now sit one game clear in third, setting up a spicy retribution clash with Coburg (4th) next round.