Why We Play
LBCC have travelled so far since their inception in 1761 and Lord's felt like a significant landmark. But what's the final destination? Why are we playing?
Very often the precise destination of what feels like a journey is undetermined.
In cricket progress is only measurable from the outside by wins and losses, divisions of leagues, banal statistics that reveal nothing more than their numerical form and a list of other clubs deemed worthy opponents.
When Leeds and Broomfield (LBCC/Leeds) were founded in 1761 no one knew what the founders’ intentions were. Did they have a desire to be the strongest club in the county? Perhaps it was simply a way of bringing together some local friends? Not even our current Chairman and historian de jour has a paper trail deep enough to tell us.
What we do know is that many a fine cricketer has donned the green cap and has gazed into the distance from the pavilion end towards Leeds Castle, fielded underneath the shade of the ground’s great tree, retrieved a ball from the prickly hedge that fortifies the gentle slope.
This castle is a meaningful symbol for the club. Something that has, for centuries, witnessed, endured, and survived. Still it stands. An emblem of defence, a protector of values, traditions, things we hold dear and refuse to let die.
Hundreds of years later and upon entering the National Village Cup only four years ago, we know exactly what Leeds’ intentions were. Eavesdrop into the changing room after a Sunday victory and you’ll hear for yourself… “High, Ho, Leeds and Broomfield, and we’re going to Lord’s oh baby!”.
Just over a week ago hundreds of friends and family experienced the completion of this journey. We watched as people we hold so dear to us strode through the Long Room and appeared from the great Pavillion to begin a day they have lived a thousand times in their dreams.
Ponder ever so briefly about what you wanted to see from this match to enjoy it, and what you wanted to see in order to feel pride. What did our siblings, sons, partners and closest friends need to do to sate our requirements?
For general enjoyment and pleasure, we might have sought unforgettable moments, scenes that culminate in limbs thrown everywhere amongst the fans.
Think Stokes’ catch in the World Cup, the ball ricocheting off his bat at this same venue in 2019, Crawley’s four off the first ball of this year’s Ashes.
As for pride, well…all we wanted to see was some fight, a bit of grit and determination, tangible proof this wasn’t all a fluke, these boys deserved to be here.
The players understood this too and this is what has made this competition so valuable to them as cricket players and human beings.
Working hard for people around you in pursuit of a common goal, every victory proof your effort is paying dividends, investing yourself so fully into something that to win or lose is to feel your rawest emotions: pain, regret, suffering, joy, elation - these are the things that make us feel human and worth something.
What were we given on this scaldingly hot Sunday? What did the players and the fans experience as cricket supporters and human beings? I would suggest a Shakespearean drama that sends shivers up my spine as I type.
The first order of the day was settling nerves with the new ball and Neil Dibben, with over 20 years of service to the club, could hardly have deserved an occasion like this more.
The younger Dibben was quicker, fierier, more prone to a snarl. Back in the day you could bet your mortgage on there being some verbal altercation with anyone who dared edge (otherwise known as a straight drive) a delivery of his to the boundary.
But he is an observable testament to the progress of the club. Over the years he’s developed temperament, control and stability. His spell at Lord’s was majestic. The first ball of the day zipped past the outer edge to a cacophony of ‘ooooooooo’s from the crowd. He toiled in the immense heat like many legendary fast bowlers on this great stage.
Young Clarry McCague, kind-natured and with a heart of gold, bowled with a tenacity and aggression unbecoming of the man should it have been witnessed anywhere other than the cricket pitch.
In his first over he tempted Allford with a ball that looked there to drive until it tailed away late, racing off the outer edge, surely for four? Not if Alex Czabaniuk had anything to do with it.
First ‘moment’ of the day coming right up Chef.
Through the air he flew, like an Alaskan Salmon, possessing the paw of its greatest predator. He claimed the ball horizontally as most supporters looked past him towards its destination, the pavilion. Yet the ball wasn’t there. It was already in the hand of the new Alan Shearer, who had charged off on his own, finger to the heavens, lighting the touchpaper to this firecracker of a game
No one is ever forgetting that.
Leeds’ tails, the crowd, the decibels and intensity, all were up. The Richter scale ticking frantically. Blood had been smelt on the field and in the stands. It was absolutely electric.
Wickets tumbled further and a top order shattered, appropriately reminiscent of England c. 2017-22. Milford Hall quickly found themselves 36-5 and air-raid sirens signalling a potential Blitz.
The final had subconsciously sharpened the minds of LBCC’s players, heightened the senses, sped up decision-making. Even the bigger boys had discovered something called agility (the job made somewhat easier by an outfield smoother than Chris Froome’s legs).
So many unforgettable snapshots exist in the mind from that first innings. Fred Roberts’ over-the-shoulder juggle, crowd uniformly gasping as it was in, it was out, it was in again and it had survived the tumble; Fred treating it like his “last orders” drink which shouldn't be spilt.
Monte McCague, the greatest slip fielder the club has ever seen at only 24 years of age, sticking out a hand off Scriv’s bowling, a hand that has so often been filled with a pint of Foster’s (before Rishi lowered the alcohol percentage), and like a magician, revealing the red ball in all its glory.
Throughout all this was the sight of every last one of them, to a man, with smiles as wide as the gap in most of the club’s forward defences, enjoying their time together, as we all desperately hoped they would.
I’ve had many conversations with people who have long since hung up their boots at Leeds. There is something discernible that fails to remain dormant behind the gentle smile that adorns their faces as they reminisce about their playing days. It’s an absolute and undeniable sense of enjoyment and pride they had playing for their club.
To play for Leeds is not to operate in an environment that demands success, but to operate in an atmosphere, first and foremost, that allows you to enjoy playing the game, form deep bonds with the people alongside you, and from here flourish into the best possible cricketer you can be.
Playing cricket, like any other sport, is not without its trials and tribulations, however.
There are highs and lows, from joy to unbearable pain. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose.
That is what sport is in many ways. A reflection of life itself. It forces you to embrace hope and belief and makes you confront trepidation and pessimism - often tossing you from one to the next amidst its choppy sea.
Adulation soon became concern at Lord’s on Sunday, disbelief as our top order went the same way as Milford Hall’s. Our yearning for victory became more desperate and like the whim of a child as it seemed to drift further away. 47-6, final almost over.
James Mitchinson, the Durham Dravid, came together with Al Czabaniuk. Get the ‘All or Nothing’ cameras rolling because this was it.
A message came through to the travelling fans that noise was required, “get behind ‘em”.
Goodness me, didn’t we just.
Backs to the wall everyone became united. Mitch and Al, the squad on the balcony, the crowd, everyone pulling in the same direction, every run a refusal to roll over. That period of the afternoon alone will never die in this club’s collective memory.
We seemed to come afloat after 16 overs underwater, collectively taking a huge gasp of air before bellowing every song and chant we had at our disposal.
Hundreds of supporters were on their feet, standing up, showing those in the ground that we loved this club and knowing it loved us back.
This is the essence of cricket. This is why it’s a mirror to our human experience.
You are always in the fight and you are never far away from changing the momentum. Never accept defeat and bow to the hardship of a situation.
Give something for people to believe in and they’ll follow you through thick and thin, through every high and low. Sat in the stands we saw you fighting and we fought with you.
We came agonisingly close to snatching victory deep from within the belly of defeat. But it matters not. We saw what we wanted and needed to see. We felt everything that is vital to feel as people, to remind us that life is extraordinary.
At the end of the game there was inevitable disappointment in the faces of men I know had dreamed of a little more. Perhaps, even, there was regret.
But your contribution to our joy was never measured through the lifting of a cup before that day.
The contributions all of you made throughout the remarkable journey this year must not be forgotten.
When I think of my own most cherished days on the cricket pitch with you I do not see days where a medal dangles around our necks nor are prizes lifted aloft
.
The worth of you as cricketers and people lies far deeper than the results you can point to on paper.
We could not have been prouder of you had you won. A few more bottles of Prosecco might have gone to waste, but I can assure you, that’s all. You made us immeasurably proud. You made your county proud.
You did the Kent Village Sunday League proud, the same league that ejected you as a consequence of your magnificent journey this year.
The history of the club stretches far back. Many people have contributed to make the club what it is now. You did all those years of history proud.
Maybe the founders of LBCC discussed what it would be like to play at Lord’s? Well, you did it boys, you played there. No one will ever take that away from you.
So back in 1761 the journey began. All those years that have passed, the overs bowled, runs scored and the kit thrown in frustration. An Industrial Revolution and two World Wars survived dear boys! The club legends that have come and gone. Songs forever sung not far from where our small church bell has long rung.
Overlooking Leeds Castle this cricket club has stood and played and become. On Sunday we watched and witnessed the fruits of every last drop of that labour, the immense culmination of every drop of blood, sweat, tears, beers, all of it…all of it poured out into the emotion that echoed around the stands and was fought for on the pitch.
But it wasn’t the final hour nor the crowning moment of our journey. It was merely the end of the beginning.
Our history does not stop in 2023. The trajectory of this club has determined that there is much history still to write.
We go again.
Thanks for reading,
Dom x
Such a brilliant write Dom, very proud of you young nephew xx