And so the game began, ‘Hacker’ at bat, ‘Taverners’ with ball, the field set by the latter ready to receive any mistake from the former with interest. After a creeping start, the ‘Hackers’ run rate momentarily moved up in tandem with the temperature. 4 overs 16 runs, 8 overs 37 runs, 9 overs 52 runs. 12 overs 76 runs. So the pace picked up, heading to 151 runs at 21, 209 at 34, and a final and very respectable 221 runs at the finish of the full 35 overs for 9 wickets lost. Despite a soft slippery field and an artificial playing wicket, runs were hard to come by with 4s and 6s appreciated like a good bottle of cold Crown Lager.
Through the overs the ‘Hackers’ toiled away, with many of the boiler room boys – the mainstay of this team – attempting stunning shots but for little reward. Wicket Keeper and opening batsman Schatsie caught for 7, after attempting a slog to mid-on. 'Chopper', attempting a sweep to deep backward square leg, LBW for 8. 'The Oracle', attempting a mammoth 6, bowled for 10. But these boys were the glue in the sandwich that is the spirit of the ‘Hacker’, with straight backs and straighter hairstyles their contributions added to the run rate, taking the side to a total that would challenge the terrifying ‘Taverners’ in their chase
And what characters’ there were on the field. George 'George' and Andrew 'Sainty', Skipper's constantly tweeking their fields, moving men in, moving men out, switching bowlers, doing everything conceivable to dominate, demoralize and destroy the spirit of their tough social cricket opponents. The wicket keepers Douglas 'Doug' for the ‘Taverners’, and Peter 'Schatsie' for the ‘Hackers’. Men of ages hewn from granite, wise but wiley, marshalling their troops around the field as if nations depended on it, at all times minimizing friction on older joints and muscle conglomerations, constantly seeking that tiny edge that would mean victory for their beloved team
The Nav - while working his magic on the oval monitoring the legality of the bowling, stressing about stumpings, always ready to let the ambulance through the white picket fence to fix a fractured skull - spied the many WAGCs on the boundary line, glasses of cold Sauvignon in hand, chatting about Bali, a thousand children milling around them, slowly but with certitude destroying the infrastructure of the HKCC. This week there had been emails flying around HK and the world, a ‘Call to Arms’ sent to all corners of the globe, pursuing any and all ‘Taverners’ and ‘Hackers’ to sign-up, represent and defend their hallowed clubs’ in this, Match Day 3. Cricketing codes, acronyms, and jargon were used by all in their messages – box, duck, googly, hook, lbw, maiden, odi , pull, seemer, slips, ton, and yorker to name but a few – to drive up the banter, the expectations, and the excitement of playing this one May Day match. Of course several stalwarts, by fate or design, were unable to make the match and play for their beloved brothers. But technology remains a wondrous thing, with some MIA mates quietly SMSing or emailing the actual playing protagonists for scores, updates, and general sledge all during the conflict
One unwise ‘Hackers’ MIA ‘Jonesy’, late of Sai Kung Town, made the error of telephonically telecommunicating with one of the WAGCs, not knowing that this wondrous mother still struggles to delineate the All Blacks from the All Whites from the Black Caps, unsure which team plays at Augusta. Much to the chagrin of the missing mate, the messaging proved messy. Mate “How was the toss?” Mother “Caesar. Delicious” Mate “Whos in bat ?” Mother “What? No caves round here” Mate “Score?” Mother “7” Mate “Over?” Mother “213” “Wickets remaining?” Mother “23” Mate “R u looking at score board?” Mother “Is that the big brown house?” Poor emotional MIA would live through many highs and many lows this long afternoon, confused and unsure of score, not quite certain what sport was being played on the oval this day – in a form of players purgatory – turning to Gordon to share tonic, lemon, and ice to calm the nerves. Triples. Small glass
And so it was the turn at bat of the ‘Taverners’, their secret weapons a 9 year old lad who in the 1st innings had bowled at the ‘Hackers’ like Bradman, and a 16 year old sub-adult who had bowled like Lillee, Thommo, and Garner – and who won the ‘Taverners’ choice of their man of the match. Onto the oval the openers marched, kitted out like Carthaginians, the withering gaze of Hannibal a constant through their metal-caged visors. So innings 2 began, first at a gentleman’s clip, then a trepidating torrent, and finally into a biblical flood.
6 overs 25 runs, 11 overs 67 runs, 16 overs 133 runs, and so it went on, the ‘Hackers’ sliding all over the field in their Adidas and Nikes, seeking to catch, bowl, or bury the ‘Taverners’ batsman but to no avail. 163 runs at 21 overs, 184 at 24, and finally the magic number of 223 reached in 29 overs and 3 balls bowled, with only a handful of wickets lost. And so the ‘Taverners’ were victorious, but there were no vulgar high 5s, no self-congratulations, no offering of autographs, just the combined contentment of a job well done. The ‘Hackers’ had put their hearts into it, marching off the field, their heads held high, staring in unison at the cold green Carlsbergs’ that awaited them
So the match ended, just the post-match proceedings to look forward to. The Nav, seeing that there was still work to be done, headed over and helped clear up the extensive detritus left lying by the WAGCs and their broods, noting upended coffee cups, empty plates previously of hot dog and hamburger, and extensive numbers of empty Carlsberg pint glasses strewn all around the ‘Hackers’ warm up arena; The Nav couldn’t help but wonder if these had had a material affect on the teams ability to leap, leg it, and look at the game as it was in play. Certainly the friendly HKCC ants appeared to be feeding voraciously and having their usual field-day. And so it was on to the the post match proceedings 
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