Ey up,

These are strange times at Yorkshire and no mistake.

Firstly, the Chief Exec’s announced he’s leaving us to return to his first love – running a financially stable company. He’s in his office now, excitedly firing off emails about how he’ll reinvigorate the Scottish game with the concept of “footytainment” and trying to line up Hamden Park to stage friendlies between Bogota Juniors and Okinawa Wanderers, thus tapping into the spending power of the Scottish based Columbian and Japanese diasporas.

Mark my words; it’ll all end in tears. Or with Lalit Modi in a kilt, which amounts to the same thing.

Meanwhile, young Azeem has made the mistake of behaving like a teenager in public and got himself banned from cricket again. This time it’s his own fault for going AWOL on a school night then throwing a Bresnanesque twitter tantrum when teacher made him do PE in his underpants the following day (as is my understanding of the story).. .

Of course, what he should have done is phone daddy’s legal team and before you can say “didn’t you use to fag for my brother” it’d be “sorry about the mix up, old boy, please be captain again, and here’s a job vacancy at Surrey you might be interested in”. Not that the old school tie seems to exert quite the same gravitational pull when it’s in the colours of a Barnsley comprehensive rather than Millfield…

Talking of cricketers getting a schooling, our young captain, ‘Golden Bails’ himself, has hopefully learnt his lesson after winning the toss and deciding to bat on the kind of overcast Headingley day that would have had dear old Arnie in danger of cracking a smile, back in the 1980’s.

God knows what possessed us to bat first, but by the end of the opening over Lyth had already edged one behind and you could sense a collective, disapproving, “You stupid, boy” gathering up from the pit of hate (Trueman enclosure) towards Gale in the Yorkshire dressing room. Matters weren’t improved twenty minutes later when Mags set a new personal best by running Rudolph out by more than the length of the pitch. Partly Rudolph’s own fault to be fair, as he’d got himself moved down the order at the start of the season but didn’t have the common sense to put at least one sacrificial lamb between himself and ‘indecisive Eric’ in the process.

The remainder of the innings was a bit of a procession, with only Bairstow looking like hanging around long enough to justify taking guard and the rest disappearing faster than Azeem’s chances of being voted sports personality of the year. What makes it worse is that the Notts bowling wasn’t as good as it was made to look – far too many deliveries failed to make the batsmen play – but when they did, and the right line was located, there was just enough movement to find the edge.

So by tea on the first day of the most important game of the season so far, we’d already been dismissed, the Sun was breaking through to ease batting, and it was clear we’d surrendered the best bowling conditions, the initiative and almost certainly the Championship lead to Notts.

Thus, with much to moan about, the Yorkshire faithful tucked into their spam and cress sandwiches – brie and rocket wrap for the Harrogate contingent – with great gusto.

If only the Yorkshire bowlers had been able to dine as contentedly over the next five sessions. Instead they found themselves on the receiving end of the kind of innings by David Hussey that convinces you Marcus North must have some pretty incriminating photographs of the Australian selectors. Supporting him for much of the way was the underrated Samit Patel, a player for whom Anthony McGrath’s presence in the field must have been a constant reminder of a kinder, gentler, England set-up, far less concerned with aerodynamics.

Struggling to resist the relentless Notts batting was a freshly reshuffled Yorkshire attack; one subject to changes not always of the clubs own making. As at the moment, England seem to regard our opening bowlers as a kind of ‘pushmepullyou’ chimera, where the only way one of them can take two steps forward is if the other takes two steps back. This match was a perfect example, with Bresnan being shunted off to replace Shahzad on Test match drinks waiter duty, whist England gave Shahzad permission to replace Bresnan in our championship side. That’s right; England gave permission for us to pick a player still under our contract. All very nice of them; and in the spirit of reciprocation I’m sure most of the Yorkshire membership would gladly give Andy Flower their permission to shove the England team sheet right up his own arse.

Another change, and one that goes some way to explaining our decision at the toss, was the inclusion of Wainwright. Room for the second spinner having been made when we finally resolved the problem of whether to set Tino a field with three slips or three fine legs, by getting him to bowl in the indoor school for the next four days.

The indoor nets were probably the safest place to be, as Notts racked up just short of a four hundred run first innings lead. Although with a weather forecast for the final two days as downbeat as, well, one of our own membership I suppose, it was odd that Notts decided to bat into the third day rather than stick us in the night before and have half a dozen or so overs at tired openers. But then we saw this kind of caution from Chris Read last season when he couldn’t agree on a target to set with a Yorkshire side that in recent years has proved as gullible in such matters as a Scientologist answering an email from Nigeria.

It was caution that may have cost Notts the chance of a final day thrash for victory. Instead, poor weather, a double hundred Mags/Rudolph partnership and another glimpse of grit under pressure with the bat from Rashid, saw us to safety. All be it safety that now has us five points behind Notts in the championship table having played a game extra.

If we’re to win the title from here we need to win three of our last four games, including the away fixture at Trent Bridge. We’ll also need a pitch for the final game at Headingley that doesn’t flatten out like this one did. Perhaps that’s easier said than done, as efforts to change the nature of the square during the winter have still left us with pitches that refuse to liven up. If you had a mule this stubborn you’d shoot it; well, you would if you were Spanish.

But we’re not, we’re Yorkshiremen. Yorkshiremen waiting for a first title in nine long seasons. A title dependant now on the vagaries of England selection, pitches with a pulse and results in other matches going our way, as much as our own efforts.

It’s an outside chance, but then it has been all season…

Si’thee later,

Len

Result: Match Drawn

My Man of the Match: Mags (For not running out Rudolph in the second innings)

[Scorecard]