Fast Fiction: Secret Weapon
Richard Mallinson's short story confirms that some things are best left alone.
One Saturday I parked outside a pub in a village that had probably hardly changed in a hundred years. After a pint I strolled to the tree-lined cricket field where a match was in progress.
At first I didn't pay much attention. Then a cheer went up because a wicket had fallen. The umpire replaced the bails.
The wicket-taker, a youngster, bowled at the new batsman. Everything about his action was bizarre.
As he ran up he was bent double. His right arm was held straight down at his leg, as if to bowl underarm. Then at the last moment the arm whipped over and the fingers flicked.
The result was a fast legbreak, which hit the stumps. The next delivery, an equally fast off-break, just missed.
The youngster went on to take a total of six wickets.
'Who is he?' I asked one of the old buffers by the pavilion.
'His name's Colin Baines,' came the reply, 'he's our secret weapon.'
'He's brilliant,' I said. I’ll mention him to the county coach.'
'Don't you bloody dare,' somebody said.
*
Twenty years later I was in those parts again. I stopped at the same pub in the same village. The name over the door surprised me.
I went in. The man behind the bar looked to be in his mid-thirties.
'Are you Colin Baines?' I asked.
'Yeah, that's me.'
'What happened to your cricketing career? You were surely good enough to play for the county ... In fact, I gave them your name.'
'Oh, that were years ago,' he said. 'I went fer a trial but they said mi action was all wrong, It just wouldn't do, they said. So they helped me change it an’ I were ever so grateful to 'em ... I still play a bit fer the village.'
