County Championship 2024. Division 1. Somerset v Surrey. 9^th, 10^th, 11^th and 12^th September. Taunton.

This was the last of four Championship matches in 2024 to use the Kookaburra ball.

Brett Randell from New Zealand had just joined Somerset on a three match contract.

Somerset. L.P. Goldsworthy, A.M. Vaughan, T.A. Lammonby, T.B. Abell, T. Banton, J.E.K. Rew (w), K.L. Aldridge, L. Gregory (c), C. Overton, B.G. Randell, M.J. Leach.

Surrey. R.J. Burns (c), D.P. Sibley, R.S. Patel, B.B.A. Geddes, B.T. Foakes (w), Shakib Al Hasan, T.K. Curran, J. Clark, C.T. Steel, K.A.J Roach, D.J. Worrall.

Overnight. Somerset 317 and 194 for 9. Surrey 321. Somerset lead by 190 runs with one first innings wicket standing.

Final day – A match like no other

It was a day of hope. It was a day of despair. It was a day of drift. It was a day of frustration. It was a day of relief. It was a day of resignation. And it was a day of utter exhilaration. And anything else in between that you care to mention, in equal and opposite proportions depending on which side you were supporting and when in the day you were supporting them. It had been a match like no other and this was a day like no other. Essex at Taunton in 2019 had come close but this outmatched it. It lasted seven hours. It might have been seven days. In all its hundred years, the Colin Atkinson Pavilion clock can never have moved so slowly, or so quickly, depending on who consulted it and when. By the end of the day, the Cooper Associates County Ground was awash with emotion drained from players and supporters of Somerset and Surrey alike. If you were a Somerset supporter, there was strength left only to stand and applaud and talk, and what things there were to talk of. If you were a Surrey supporter, there was the prospect only of a long, numbed journey home, and the consolation that Surrey still led the table, just.

“Run, run, run!” demanded Craig Overton of Tom Lammonby as he hurtled up the pitch towards me as I sat in the top of the Trescothick Pavilion. It was the second ball of the day. Lammonby was running for Tom Banton, who at the end of the previous day, with Somerset nine wickets down and only 149 runs ahead, had hobbled excruciatingly out to bat on his badly injured ankle. As Banton hobbled out again, with Somerset now 190 runs ahead, the focus was on the number of runs Somerset could eke out with their final wicket. But before another ball could be bowled, the Surrey fielders made a beeline for the Caddick Pavilion and the two batters and Lammonby reluctantly followed. Rain. Frustration already for Somerset supporters, relief for Surrey ones.

“Eight overs have been lost,” the tidings when it was announced that the players would return. With Somerset nine down, it was not enough to affect the result. But anxious Somerset eyes surveyed the sky, worried there might be more rain, for Somerset had to win this match. And out Banton hobbled again to drive through extra cover off Dan Worrall to the Brian Rose Gates. The stroke brought applause, and cheers when it was announced that the boundary had taken him and Overton to their fifty partnership. It had taken the Somerset lead past 200, a lead undreamt of when Somerset had lost their eighth wicket at 122, only 118 ahead.

Then came the singles, precious singles, one or two an over, inching Somerset forward, Overton and Lammonby running faultlessly, Banton not eschewing the strike, excruciating though it clearly was for him to walk to square leg once Lammonby had completed the run. And then, from the one-legged Banton, a reverse sweep for four off Shakib Al Hasan, fine to the covers store. It took Somerset to a lead of 216. It brought Banton a mixture of cheers, applause and awestruck laughter from Somerset supporters stunned at the painful audacity of the stroke. From Surrey supporters there were signs of anxiety at the growing size of the Somerset lead, Jack Leach and Archie Vaughan perhaps at the forefront of their minds. When, finally, Banton was bowled by Shakib, his leg finally refusing to support an off drive, he walked off for 46, Overton with 49, to people clapping, many standing, all around the ground, and Surrey needed 221 to win in a minimum of 76 overs.

By the second over of the Surrey innings, Leach was bowling from the River End. By the sixth, Vaughan had replaced him, Leach switching to the Trescothick Pavilion End. Somerset had cast their die, the edge of the seat had been pressed into service and Rory Burns and Dom Sibley had added nine runs. A sweep from Sibley off Leach kept pace with the pursuing fielder as it crossed the Colin Atkinson Pavilion boundary, “Go on the ball,” shouted a Surrey supporter from the row in front of me. It was the only boundary in Surrey’s 13 overs before lunch and they walked off with 18 runs and all their wickets intact. They were 203 runs from victory with a minimum of 63 overs remaining.

As I stood up to begin my lunchtime circumnavigation, a Surrey supporter asked if I was going for a stroll. I explained that I was about to circumnavigate the ground and that it was essential to Somerset’s prospects, provided I went in an anticlockwise direction. “What is the logic of that?” he asked. “There isn’t one,” I replied, “but it must be done.” It was a quieter walk than normal. No discussion needed, every Somerset supporter knew that Somerset had to win and that a draw would virtually end any prospects of the Championship. And still I failed to return to my seat in time for the start of the afternoon session, as much a feature of my days at the cricket as the circumnavigations themselves. But, as I said to the man, it has to be done.

By the time I was back in my seat, another six overs had slipped by, the clock beginning to tick a little faster. Only eight runs had been added, but still Somerset had not taken a wicket. Two more overs passed and only one more run. Surrey 27 for 0 after 21 overs. Another 194 runs needed in a minimum of 52 overs, the required rate now approaching four runs an over. It was becoming apparent that Surrey had no intention of trying to win the match, no wish to risk error. A draw would serve them almost as well as a win, but their approach allowed Somerset to place three close fielders despite the paucity of the target they were defending. It created pressure though, and intense looks on the faces of both sets of supporters.

An on drive from Burns off Vaughan to the Priory Bridge Road boundary brought a Surrey cheer and a brief ripple of anxiety to the Somerset mind that perhaps Surrey were going to attempt the target after all. The next ball to Burns, Vaughan turned beautifully. The left-hander reverted to coming forward in defence and edged to Rew. Surrey 31 for 1. Burns 15 in over an hour. Breakthrough at last! It was a close-run thing between whether the crowd or the Somerset team celebrated more and the cheer around me was deafening. It must have been thunderous in the ears of Surrey supporters, for Burns would have been one of their main hopes for saving the game.

Two balls later, the cheers and the applause outdid those for Burns’ wicket when Vaughan flighted a full-length ball into the left-handed Ryan Patel, turned it, beat the edge and bowled him. Surrey 31 for 2. Minimum 51 overs remaining. As Somerset supporters cheered, the Surrey supporters in the top of the Trescothick Pavilion sat unmoved, looking straight ahead, alone with their thoughts, their third Championship in succession suddenly at risk after a season during most of which they had led the table with ease. Sport is a cruel taskmaster and we have all been its victims.

Had there been any thought, by either set of supporters, that Surrey might still try to win, it was soon removed as they became entrenched in a grim battle to preserve their wickets. There was no attempt to unsettle the bowlers or break up the attacking field. Occasionally a single might be pushed, but it was always followed by a succession of balls being resolutely defended. Somerset’s strategy was equally clear. Leach and Vaughan would be pitted against those forward-prodding bats, as they flighted, turned and varied the length and pace of the ball. Perhaps Vaughan tried a little too hard in one over. It cost him three singles and a boundary driven through the off side to the Colin Atkinson Pavilion. It was the only boundary in the 18 overs after the fall of the second wicket, apart from four byes when Leach beat Ben Geddes, the stumps and the keeper. Those 18 overs produced 19 runs. And yet, the eyes of both sets of supporters were glued to every ball.  

Geddes did succumb to the pressure as he tried to survive those 18 overs. He had batted 28 balls for one run when, instead of thrusting bat and pad forward again, he tried to turn Leach to leg. The ball curved perfectly into him, pitched in front of middle and leg, turned, hit him in front of middle and would have hit middle and off. Surrey 46 for 3 in the 31^st over. A minimum of 42 overs remained. When the umpire’s finger was raised to Geddes, the deafening cheer was as good a demonstration of sheer relief as you will hear, for Somerset supporters were beginning to wonder if another wicket would ever come. Ben Foakes replaced Geddes, but two runs in the next six overs were all that came from his and Sibley’s ever-prodding bats, their only ambition to stay at the crease. Somerset’s ambition was equally clear as now four fielders crowded the bat for Foakes.

As over had followed over, Geddes’ wicket apart, the game had stood virtually still as if it were a slowly forming tableau. As the eyes around me tracked every ball, for Somerset supporters, the Colin Atkinson Pavilion clock moved inexorably on. For Surrey supporters, forever hoping for the next prodding bat to connect firmly with the ball, the clock must have stood still. The silence that eventually hangs over a ground as tension bites was not yet upon us. A nervous chatter continued, driven by the tension, occasionally interrupted by a burst of nervous laughter from a group as someone said something to break tension’s grip. Surrey and Somerset supporters sitting in adjacent groups engaged in equally nervous conversation as if they were lifelong friends verbally dancing around a difficult subject, but with a shared understanding of the emotional anguish each was suffering as the prospect of a Championship dangled precariously in front of them. To watch their faces when the chatter stopped and the next ball was being watched was to know the true depth of their emotion and what the Championship meant to them.

When Sibley drove Vaughan through the covers towards the Priory Bridge Road Stand for two, it was the first time in 12 overs that more than a single had been scored off the bat. The two was followed by an announcement to the effect that, “The Surrey fifty comes up in the 38^th over.” The usual applause was replaced by a spontaneous outbreak of laughter at the thought. And then, as if we had all fallen asleep and woken up at a different match, Surrey found the boundary three times in two overs. Foakes came down the wicket and drove Vaughan through midwicket to the Somerset Stand. “Hooray!” the ironic cheer. Sibley drove Leach straight back to the Trescothick Pavilion and then took four more with a sweep, square to the Priory Bridge Road boundary. That Sibley was beaten twice in the same over could not disguise the fact that Surrey had batted nearly a session and a half for the loss of three wickets and, for Somerset supporters, the clock was now ticking its way towards tea. Then someone said with foreboding, “There’s rain.” Before another ball was bowled, the players were off, tea was taken, seven more overs were lost and seven Surrey wickets were still needed, now in just less than a session.

The resumption was like watching a television repeat half an hour after the original had been broadcast. Foakes did pull Vaughan square to the Somerset Stand for four, but the only other boundary in the first 18 overs of the final session came from a thick edge to the Lord Ian Botham Stand from Sibley off Brett Randell as Somerset briefly tried a different approach. In all, those 18 overs produced a mere 29 runs but still no wicket. Somerset were no nearer, the match was drifting, Surrey supporters were beginning to relax, Somerset supporters sinking towards resignation, chatting freely again. Eight of the overs were maidens, the fifty partnership between Sibley and Foakes took 165 balls and Somerset had relaxed their close field to two.

And then, as if a jack had suddenly sprung from its box, Sibley edged Leach. People jerked up in their seats, the ball flew to the right of Gregory at slip, Gregory dived, and hand, ball and ground seemed to come into simultaneous contact. The ball ran loose, and Gregory stayed prone. Had the ball carried? From the top of the Trescothick Pavilion, it was impossible to say. A replay says it had not, a second look says it had, and a third wasn’t sure. So close, oh, so close, and yet so far. Relief and despair in equal measure among the different sets of supporters. As so often happens after such a circumstance there was a release of tension and Sibley drove Leach through the off side towards the Hildreth Stand for three and the moment had passed.

With the moment when hands could be shaken for a draw upon us, and the tension in the faces of both sets of supporters gone, someone said, “Surrey could have won this.” With the match given up in people’s minds, Foakes came forward to defend against Leach and, breaths held all around the ground, edged the ball to Gregory at slip. This time there was no doubt that it had carried, and Gregory took, as far as slip catches go, a simple catch. Surrey 95 for 4. Foakes 20 from 100 balls. There were cheers, including from someone near me. The person next to him said, “You’re an optimist, aren’t you?” Perhaps, but a frisson of excitement rippled around the crowd. The wicket had roused Somerset hopes and Surrey faces looked a little more tense. The clock would now move a little more slowly for them, but was still moving far too quickly for Somerset.

Shakib replaced Foakes and was almost immediately beaten by Vaughan, the close field strengthened again to three. “Bowled Archie!” someone shouted as applause broke out. Then Sibley edged Leach straight, if low to Gregory. Again Gregory took the catch, now as if doing it for a pastime, before calmly throwing the ball up a foot or two. The ground erupted into cheers which dissolved into a cacophony of chatter. Surrey 96 for 5. Sibley 56 from 183 balls and nearly three and a half hours. Tom Curran came in and was saved off his second ball only by the thickness of the edge of his bat steering the ball to safety. More cheering. More applause. Somerset supporters were on the edge of their seats. Surrey ones unexpectedly bathed in worry. Off Leach’s last ball, there was a monumental leg before wicket appeal, but Curran survived. “What an over!” someone exclaimed.

Now Vaughan to Shakib. Shakib defended. Vaughan again. Shakib angled the bat. The ball again flew straight to Gregory at slip. Shakib out without scoring. A colossal roar. The balance of the match was shifting by the ball. Some people were on their feet. Every Somerset supporter in the ground was applauding, some shouting, all smiling and every Surrey supporter looked stunned. Surrey had gone from 95 for 3 to 96 for 6 in less than three overs. “Hooray!” someone shouted out of the hubbub which followed the cheers, unable to contain himself. Someone else shouted, “Come on Somerset!”. No time to think now, as in the middle, the match sped on. Before the over was out, new batter Jordan Clark, the close field now four, had been subjected to two leg before wicket appeals and been beaten too. Leach and Vaughan and the circling Somerset field were rampant, the Somerset crowd was bubbling, and Surrey supporters were frozen with anxiety. The Championship, within their grasp for so long, was vulnerable.

Tom Curran, after his barnstorming, match-changing first innings, announced himself in the second with a drive off Leach, square to the Caddick Pavilion boundary. Four. Curran was not intending to give way in the face of the Somerset onslaught. There were twinges of anxiety among Somerset supporters at the prospect of a repetition of that first innings, and perhaps of hope among Surrey supporters. But then, in the next over, Curran tried the back foot version of the square drive against Vaughan’s off spin and was bowled. The ground was in tumult. The roar was ear-splitting and as the cheers died down, as if on cue, a police siren struck up while someone shouted, “Come on Archie!” Surrey 101 for 7. Curran 5.

The Somerset chatter now sounded like a tide on the full, flooding up and rolling back down a shingle beach. Surrey supporters, their side collapsing in front of them, were motionless, silent, staring at the middle, despair in some of their faces. The loss of Curran must have been a crushing blow. As Cameron Steel walked to the wicket, the ground buzzed. Somerset supporters could barely credit what they were seeing, barely dared hope that it might continue. Somerset were threatening to pull off an incredible victory and Surrey were in disarray. In Vaughan’s next over, without a run being added, bowling around the wicket from wide of the stumps he flighted a ball across the left-handed Steel. It pitched on off and turned enough to hit the pads in front of middle and off. Surrey 101 for 8 with over half an hour to play. The ground was in uproar, Somerset supporters didn’t know whether to stand or sit, where to look or who to speak to. Surrey, having batted 29 overs without losing a wicket, had just lost five for six runs in seven overs. Their supporters stared dead ahead, stunned, eyes glazed, trying to concentrate on the middle. It must have felt like the cruellest turn of events.

And then, events turned again. Kemar Roach joined Clark and the ball began to behave as it had after spurts of wickets throughout the game. Leach beat Clark and there was a leg before wicket appeal, but the batters began to regain mastery of the ball and the threat from the bowlers seemed to melt away. Then the lights came on, anxiety piling on anxiety with thoughts of September evenings flooding the Somerset mind. Now, each time Leach or Vaughan approached the wicket, the ground fell silent. With that ever-faster ticking clock, every ball was crucial. Every ball brought hope to Somerset, and every dead bat hope to Surrey. As the final overs ticked by, all maidens, although two irrelevant leg byes slipped the net, someone said, “Another good over,” after the ball beat the bat for the first time in several overs.

As the tension rose, so did the frustration among Somerset supporters. Surrey had for some time been engaged in the delaying tactics deployed by sides trying desperately to avoid defeat. Repeatedly tapping the pitch (what do they tap with such assiduousness?), midwicket consultations (what do they find to talk about when there is nothing left to talk about?), drinks repeatedly brought out from the Pavilion (how much can batters drink in one session?), towels brought out by two blazered players walking as if they were processing up the aisle in church (what do batters use towels for when they haven’t broken sweat since they left the Pavilion?), and so on. Now, with the end fast approaching, there were perhaps another seven overs left in the day, Surrey began to delay with a theatrical flourish. A player bringing drinks trying to match the towel bearers with the genteel elegance of his walk, gardening became a full-time occupation, the batters’ guards needed regular adjustment. The umpires had little option but to watch. Surrey were well ahead of the required over rate, and in truth, any side in the Championship in their situation might have done the same. “Get on with it!” the periodic advice from one Somerset supporter or another. Finally, when the two blazered twelfth men with towels began another walk up the aisle, the umpires abruptly waved them off.

And all the while, the overs ticked by, the tension rising a notch as each passed. Ten passed after the departure of Steel without a run off the bat. As Somerset supporters watched, the clock raced on towards half past five, there would be no overs beyond that, so many overs of spin had been bowled. No doubt, to Surrey supporters, the clock stood still. In the middle, Roach and Clark defended for all they were worth, Roach relying almost entirely on a front leg thrust down the pitch while the bat smothered any threat in the ball. He gave the impression that he could bat until Christmas if needed. As each ball was bowled, silence descended. Only three times did the ball pass the bat. “Another good over,” someone said as Leach completed one set of six balls, but the over looked no better or worse than those bowled before or after it. “Come on Archie,” someone pleaded. Archie continued to run in as he had all innings, foot kicking back, testing, teasing, questioning, walking back, foot kicking again, running in again. And Roach’s bat and the front leg just kept coming down the pitch to meet him.

With runs not being scored, the batters kept their ends, Roach facing Vaughan, Clark absorbing Leach’s swirling, nagging pressure. “Two overs,” someone said, everyone repeatedly flicking their eyes towards the clock, or rather towards the digital clock on the scoreboard, for the Colin Atkinson Pavilion clock was four minutes slow. With Somerset still needing those two wickets, hope seemed as forlorn as it had an hour before when Somerset needed seven. Roach, with the rock-like temperament of an experienced Test player, kept Vaughan out, and Leach needed two wickets from his final over if Vaughan was not to have to remove the immovable Roach in his final over.

Three balls to Clark, one past the edge, but Clark’s prodding bat kept coming down the pitch. Another fielder closed in, now six around the bat. Leach bowled his fourth ball. The roar which resulted might have shaken the foundations of the Trescothick Pavilion. It was truly deafening. Clark had edged and Rew had taken the catch. After 11 torturous overs without a wicket and two balls remaining, Surrey were 109 for 9. All eight runs since the fall of Steel had been extras. People looked at each other, looked at the scoreboard, was it really only one more wicket? Surrey supporters were silent, grim-faced, not able to talk to each other, not talking to anyone, lost in thought at the prospect that Somerset might yet overhaul them. No Somerset supporter spoke to them. After four days of chatting to one another, there was nothing anyone could say that would help, we had all been there at some time or another. Best to say nothing seemed to be the thought.

Now Worrall. All eyes on the Caddick Pavilion. Would Somerset have one or two more overs after this one? Where was he? No one emerged. The seconds ticked by. Worrall had two minutes from the fall of Clark to reach the wicket. Still no sign. “Come on,” someone shouted. People looked at each other, wondering. And then he appeared, walking deliberately, painstakingly, towards the middle, seconds turning into hours. Then his guard. His spikes marked the spot. He ran his foot up and down his mark, up and down, up and down, more seconds ticking by. How many times can a batter run his boot through the crease to mark a guard? Worrall might have been measuring out how many steps to eternity. More seconds. Then a look around the field. There wasn’t far to look. All nine were now around the bat, a fly slip waiting for anything that flew over the three slips. Somerset supporters were shouting in frustration. “Get a move on!” came from behind me. “Leave him,” I said. “It won’t hurry him, and all the time his concentration is on wasting time he isn’t concentrating on facing the bowling. Just leave him.” Finally, he was ready, in his stance, waiting. A look at the clock on the scoreboard. There would only be one more over after this. Vaughan to Roach. Leach bowled, the bat came forward, prodded, the ball looped a yard up the pitch, two feet short of the silly mid-off fielder’s dive.

One ball left to Leach. One ball. Make it count. In Leach came, forward came Worrall’s bat. “Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesss!” the shout from all around. “Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesss!” the shout from my seat. The ball had pitched full, eased past the inside edge, struck the pad and the players had erupted as the umpire’s finger was raised. Leach set off towards the Ondaatje boundary as if pursued by a swarm of bees. The Somerset team set off en masse in hot pursuit and engulfed him. Somerset supporters were on their feet, arms thrust aloft in applause, throats cheering beyond the safe capacity of their larynxes. One, in front of me, ran to the other end of the row he was sitting in and flung his arms around another supporter. Whether they knew each other wasn’t clear and it didn’t seem to matter. Every Somerset supporter in the ground who could stand was on their feet. People barely knew where to look, what to say or who to say it to.

Somerset had reduced Surrey’s Championship lead to eight points with two matches remaining and that gave them a chance. The heart’s calculation of their prospects was more optimistic than the head’s, but there was a chance. As the players gathered in the middle, still celebrating, the crowd were still on their feet applauding and cheering. Tom Banton, the second part of his astonishing innings, played only that morning, now seeming an aeon ago, emerged from the Caddick Pavilion, protective boot in place. He sped to the middle, swinging himself on crutches like some fairground ride run wild, to join the celebrations. Kemar Roach and Dan Worrall held out a hand and waited for him to extricate one of his from a crutch before they could shake it. The umpires made a point of acknowledging the ground staff and one of them ran over to shake hands. It had, after all, been a pitch on which the best Championship match in the memory of anyone present, perhaps the best in the history of the ground. had been played. It had been a day that truly would live forever in the memory.

Result. Somerset 317 (T. Banton 132, T. B. Abell 49, A.M. Vaughan 44, Shakib Al Hasan 4-97, D.J. Worrall 3-41) and 224 (C. Overton 49*, T. Banton 46, Shakib Al Hasan 5-95). Surrey 321 (T.K. Curran 86, R.S. Patel 70, B.B.A. Geddes 50, A.M. Vaughan 6-102, M.J. Leach 4-105) and 109 (D.P. Sibley 56, M.J. Leach 5-37, A.M. Vaughan 5-38. Somerset won by 111 runs. Somerset 21 points. Surrey 5 points.