Taunton, 25 September 2019
‘GOING TO the cricket?’ said the woman pushing a trolley of efficiently stacked yet staggeringly overpriced snacks through the 9.02 from Paddington.
The elderly man at the adjacent table grunted affirmatively. We had been on the train for 45 minutes and it was the first indication that he was off to the Championship decider too. Despite my Essex hat on the table, we had sat solo and silent, as if we were at the Hayes Close End at Chelmsford.
Taunton was a new ground for me. It was over £100 for an open return on the train but it was a quick journey with only a handful of stops, plus the distance between the station and ground looked like a ten-minute walk. From the platform at Paddington to my seat in the stand was about two hours. Thanks to London Transport’s inability to cope with rain, the duration from Paddington to my living room on the way back would be almost as long. But then the weather was foul and, unfortunately, would taint this historic game.
Somerset’s defeat at Hampshire meant they were 12 points behind Essex; therefore, they would be preparing ‘a result pitch’ for Jack Leach and their other spinners. With rain likely to restrict playing time to an aggregate of two days from a possible four, it was set to be a minefield for batsmen. So it proved.
Somerset were 75/4 at the end of a soggy day one restricted to less than 28 overs. The game moved on only a little further on day two, with Roelof van der Merwe hitting 60 off 51 balls and sharing a last-wicket partnership with Leach (11) to haul Somerset up to 203 all out. Around 180 was being touted as the minimum required for the hosts to be ‘in the game’ and Harmer’s 5-105 revealed all you need to know about the pitch. Still, Alastair Cook and Nick Browne skilfully navigated the final overs and Essex were 25/0 at the close.
I had chosen to go on day three as the weather forecast suggested it would see the most play. I hoped to stay over for the conclusion too. After a damp start, it was forecast to clear up but it was no surprise to see angled raindrops on the carriage window as we flew through Wiltshire and arrowed deep into the cider county. There was a steady stream of grey men with rucksacks and rain jackets as I got off at Taunton. I followed them to the ground. On the way, I passed an old-fashioned record shop taking up a shard of space in the main street. It was open for business but you could not tell. It was rundown and ramshackle. There was what my parents would have called ‘a gramophone’ in the window, alongside ‘a record player’ that must have started life playing Freddie and the Dreamers or Herman’s Hermits. It might advertise itself as ‘vintage’ and ‘for connoisseurs only’. In fact, it was just old. I wondered how it made any money to stay open. Of course, the irony was not lost on me given I had travelled 200 miles to sit in the rain and see a sport accused of exactly the same problem.
The start was delayed so I went into a café in a supermarket alongside the ground to top up my caffeine. Then, after more rain, I secured my stay with a stodgy meal. It turned out to be the most English of days – full of warm drinks, attending a sporting event in hope more than expectation, rain and talking about rain. In the supermarket, a Somerset supporter engaged me in conversation at one point and Brexit even popped up. He saw I was streaming Question Time as Prime Minister Boris Johnson was returning to MPs’ scrutiny for the first time after his prorogation of Parliament had been ruled illegal.
In the afternoon with weather relenting, I entered the County Ground, Somerset for the first time. As usual, there was a mixture of the old and new, the corporate and the fan-centric. Remembrances were retained in the artwork, murals and landmarks, such as the Joel Garner gates. I especially liked the space retained for traditional benches, each with a plaque portraying a sporting life spent idling at the boundary edge. One read: ‘In memory of Dad, who loved his days here, missed by us all and forever in our hearts.’ Another talked of: ‘A loving family man who spent many happy hours watching and helping Somerset County Cricket Club.’ These people were in their prime when that record player was still relevant but it felt right to preserve their memories. They were the lifeblood of the club, the people who had fallen in love with the game at Taunton.
No Somerset supporter, alive or dead, had seen their side win the County Championship. Undoubtedly, the biggest story was the home side finally landing that elusive first title. In addition, Marcus Trescothick would be leaving the county at the end of the campaign after 27 seasons on the books. Victory would be a fitting farewell for a player who served his county and country so proudly, even breaking boundaries with his honest portrayal of his mental health issues at a time when it was not trendy or easy to do so. A ‘virus’ and then the euphemism of ‘stress-related illness’ were used at the time to describe his absences from the England team on tour. However, you knew that certain people within the game would be suggesting privately it was a weakness to be exploited. Despite all the fine work going on, society often acts as though it is, even though it publicly professes to the contrary.
Barring a late appearance on the field as 12th man on the final day Trescothick did not feature in this game but you could feel his presence throughout, especially in the media. This was entirely understandable, though it did rankle to endlessly discuss Somerset’s and Trescothick’s loss rather than the Essex victory in the immediate aftermath. However, the most irritating aspect of the entire four days was Sky rolling out its Kevin Pietersen documentary in instalments during the rain breaks in the television coverage. We can all handle filler content in these gaps but Trescothick’s humility and respect for all areas of cricket stood in stark contrast to the former’s self-importance. I would have rather watched the 43-year-old Somerset legend in the indoor nets all day than be subjected to any more of KP’s indestructible ego.
Meanwhile, my day was starting to look bleak. The umpires went out to inspect the pitch following a prolonged dry spell after lunch and it promptly started raining down on them. A 3.20pm inspection only led to the announcement of another at 4.30pm. Grumbles and ‘get-on-with-it’ type shouts from the stands greeted the umpires’ every appearance. The crowd was sparse but then the locals had the luxury of looking at the forecast before venturing in. The Essex fans had to sit it out. The only respite from watching the rain came from a group of university students who drank some beer and sang some songs, football-style.
When it was announced that play was called off for the day, the locals formed an orderly queue at the ticket office for refunds and I made my way back to the station. Regretfully, commitments at home and my lack of planning meant I could not stay over for the final day. As it turned out, I would miss the key moment of a Championship-winning season yet again. Bar Headingley, I had been to a day of every away game, including the season-opening friendly at Cambridge University, yet I would miss the special moment. But then, no one really expected the final day to be quite so enthralling.
The opening 38 overs were quiet enough. Essex only lost Browne and, despite turn and uneven bounce from the pitch, the visitors had some measure of comfort. Cook had survived an early lbw appeal when replays suggested he was out. It would become a pivotal moment. A 2011 study by Douglas Miller suggested county captains were less likely to be given out by umpires than other players. He argued it was unconscious bias given the skipper would submit a report on the official at the end of the game. Cook was not a captain but he was the key wicket and had the finger been raised the visitors could not have complained. The moment has drawn scrutiny because Essex would capitulate when he was caught in the slips off Leach with the score on 102. However, replays proved Jack Leach was also lbw when Somerset were 163/9, a decision that would cost Essex 40 crucial runs.
Essex would lose their final nine wickets for 39 runs in less than 19 overs. Somerset had a sniff of a chance. Afterwards, Cook revealed that, following his first dismissal, he was certain he would bat again that day. Time constraints meant Somerset had to forfeit their second innings. Essex needed 63 to win but, realistically, it was about batting out time.
Their first innings had finished at 4.16pm. From 4.30pm, there would be only one hour of cricket left in the season. It was a minimum of 16 overs but with Somerset bowling spinners they might squeeze in 20.
It was a long shot but you only had to look back at the previous hour to realise the importance of momentum. The pitch had started spinning on day one but, in terms of overs bowled, this was only day two. Ten Doeschate asked for the light roller between innings – it seemed to settle down most of those early inconsistencies. Cook and Browne looked as solid as any Essex pair all day. They also punished any loose delivery which, by the virtue of an ultra-attacking field, often produced a boundary.
Trescothick came on as 12th man and crowded around the bat with Essex 38/0 at the start of the 16th over. Two balls later, Browne edged to Murali Vijay, standing next to him. It would unfold like that for Somerset. They were denied a story almost on every page. Comedian John Cleese and author Jeffrey Archer had been present throughout, these long-standing Somerset fans hoping on history. I read later of a journalist who travelled down as he had promised his father on his deathbed that he would be there when Somerset won the title.
Not that it was all romance of course. Had Essex lost 20 wickets on the final day then attention would have turned to the pitch preparation by the home side. Effectively, Somerset had been on a 12-month suspended sentence after being censured over their surface at the end of the previous season.
That period had run out a few weeks before this game so they were at liberty to create something more accommodating to their spin bowlers. In addition their groundsman was leaving for Hampshire at the end of the season.
As ever with cricket, there is so much subtlety here. Somerset would be have been docked points posthumously and so the ECB would have been faced with the prospect of taking away the county’s first-ever title. This issue always bristles at Essex as the club were denied the title in 1989 after being docked 25 points due to a sub-standard pitch at Southchurch Park, Southend. In the end, Worcestershire would finish six points ahead. Having read around the issue, I have found few who defend the surface on its own merits, instead falling on the whataboutism of ‘everyone was doing it’ and ‘we played on worse’.
For what it’s worth, here is ‘my truth’ on the pitch issue:
• Essex would have also produced a favourable pitch had they been in the same predicament;
• in the end, these issues are very hard to judge as they are dependent on the bowlers’/batsmen’s skill on the day. For example, van der Merwe’s late hitting while Cook and Westley lasted over two hours in the first innings;
• but, given they needed to get 20 Essex wickets and the forecast was poor and unpredictable, it was indicative that Somerset chose to avoid batting last; and
• there have been points deductions in the past, but I believe Essex are the only county perceived to have lost a title on the back of one. Maybe we were owed one.
(The above was written in the days after the game at Somerset. They were my thoughts at the time. In fact, Somerset were penalised for the state of their pitch but only on 19 November, almost two months after Essex had lifted the trophy. They received a 24-point deduction which would come into effect in the 2020 season, half of which was suspended. While the rating of the pitch and the quality of its preparation were rightly questioned during the game, the timing of this decision was bizarre. We must assume that the disciplinary process would have been followed in the same manner whatever the result so, had Somerset won, their trophy would have been snatched back and handed to Essex six weeks later.)
There was a little Twitter patter afterwards about the merits of Essex winning the title. A lot of this was understandable heat-of-the-moment bitterness and rarely is a trophy won without someone somewhere wanting to smudge the shine before it is held aloft. In fairness, most independent observers had sympathy for Somerset but more admiration for Essex.
Yet again, for what it’s worth, here’s my ‘truth’ on the merits of the 2019 title winners.
• Essex lost only one game. It was the first, very badly, at Hampshire. After that, they showed a champion’s grit. Somerset lost at all their main title rivals through the season – Yorkshire, Hampshire and Essex.
• The main Essex batsmen averaged considerably more than the main Somerset batsmen.
• The Essex key spinner was better than the Somerset key spinners.
• Essex won all their home games. Yes, they were on pitches favourable to their key weapon, Simon Harmer. But not so favourable as the Taunton pitch for the final game.
• The composition of the Essex team was largely eight or nine youth products plus Harmer, ten Doeschate and sometimes Siddle.
• Essex were hit by a key call-up, Peter Siddle, but England do not seem to fancy their other star performers.
• Essex played without an overseas player for the final three games and went with youngsters. They came off. Somerset signed Murali Vijay to boost their top-order batting in the final few games. He failed.
• Somerset were blown away at Hampshire in the penultimate game. Had they won, the Taunton wicket would have been very different in character.
Ultimately, all this does not matter. The table is the only arbiter. The romance of the Somerset story will only grow until they finally win the title and 2019 will be another chapter that only serves to build towards an emotional crescendo. When they win it, they will deserve it.
Ever since ten Doeschate was dismissed in the Essex first innings on the final day, I had been pacing my living room, occasionally shouting at the TV but mostly beating myself up for not being there. For someone who prizes sporting stories over everything else, I had denied myself the ultimate tale today. I’d gone into this season to write. Then it turned into therapy. There was almost a masochistic element in being prepared to slog it around the motorway to Edgbaston or the Ageas Bowl only to miss out on the trophy lift when it mattered. It was touching to see Alastair Cook, a highly decorated England captain, break off from a live TV interview by saying ‘Sorry, I don’t want to miss this’ and then joining his champagne-soaked team-mates as they bobbed up and down for the pictures. The entire squad was there, even a cardboard cut-out of Peter Siddle, who had gone back to Australia.
We all thought the team had needed to be restrained in their celebrations after the Vitality Blast victory. On camera, ten Doeschate smiled: ‘I don’t think the team got the memo about that.’ In interviews afterwards, the players said they celebrated for a couple of hours at Taunton then, from their social media posts, appeared to enjoy a raucous coach ride home. In an interview with Cricinfo, ten Doeschate said he woke up on Friday morning, still in his whites and nestled between Alastair Cook and Tom Westley in the coaches’ room. Had this been Premier League football, the story of the celebrations would have overtaken that of the success. There would have been cameras at the ground the next day to chew over the events even though nothing had changed, headlines would be huge and phone-in callers would throw angry words towards presenters whose very aim was to elicit them. I loved the fact that county cricket allowed a team to be a team. They played together, won together and celebrated together.
Alastair Cook’s interviews were illuminating. He talked about how his motivation on continuing his post-international career at Essex was ‘Winning trophies with his mates’ and he would stay on at least one more season as ‘he promised Tendo’. Those words and the trophy lift were the last moments I caught before shooting out the door to a networking event for sports marketers in London. This had not been the sole reason for missing the denouement of the season but I had made a promise to attend. Quite why I felt any need to honour it, I just do not know.
I got there, talked meaningless tosh for a while and then slipped out at a time that could be considered to be rudely early. I was angry with myself and my mind was elsewhere. Taunton, to be precise. Essex had won the title. I should have been there. Idiot.
The next day, I sat down and summed up my moments of the season. That piece ends this chapter. On the Saturday, Essex pitched a tent on the outfield and invited members to come along to get pictures taken with the trophy. It was pleasing to see how many people turned up. I queued, had a shot with the trophies and took a last look around the ground. It was already bunkering down for winter; there was a large black tarpaulin across the square guarded by a signing saying ‘Keep off the Outfield’. Two weeks earlier in bright sunshine, ten Doeschate had walked off to a standing ovation after that century against Surrey. Just last Saturday, Essex had come back from the brink to win their first ever Twenty20 then they had added the jewel in the crown, the County Championship. It was the eighth in their history and exactly 40 years after their first.
While the 1979 season will always be etched in Essex CCC history as their greatest year, you could make a strong case for 2019 tucking in just behind. The county also collected two trophies in 1984, 1985 and 2008 while the 2017 fairy tale felt like a breakthrough of a new era. However, in 2019, Essex had been 50 points behind Somerset in the title race midway through the summer and looked adrift in their Twenty20 group after ten games. Fans love any sort of silverware but a comeback serves to multiply the drama. My club had provided two in a year.
But now it was all over. The finale had been wonderful then the curtain has crashed down in brutal, unforgiving fashion. The rather sombre scene across the outfield at Chelmsford matched my mood as I surveyed it for the last time in 2019.
This season had provided so much joy. Essex fans would do well to cherish it for years to come. Now we had to bunker down for winter and begin preparing for the following summer when domestic cricket may start to look very different.