The next two deliveries
were slower, although the batsman connected, he could only push the
ball directly at a fielder.
Three balls remained,
Eastly needing six runs to win.
Trevor pulled out his
googly for the next delivery. It surprised the batsman who slashed
at it. He got a thin edge and the ball went toward the
gulley.
“Catch it!” came the cry.
Thommo got a hand to it, but couldn’t hold onto it, the ball
falling to the ground.
The batsmen ran a
single.
“Fuck!” Paul said under
his breath.
Trevor’s penultimate ball
was hit hard toward Paul at deep mid-on. He picked it up and threw
it under-arm at the wicket keeper, who caught it and smashed it
into the wicket. The batsman who was running hell for leather
toward his crease didn’t get there in time, and was run
out.
The small crowd clapped
enthusiastically.
“They still need a six to
win,” Paul said under his breath, preparing himself should the ball
come his way again.
Whilst the new batsman