Middlesex take the slow train to success

As Roald Dahl suggested, tales of the unexpected come in many forms. Behind the mundane, lurk both the remarkable and the macabre. One of the domestic game's oddities is that Middlesex, a well-resourced club, have not won the County Championship since 1993; another is that Somerset did not win the title when they boasted some of the best cricketers in the world.

At lunchtime in this game, when Middlesex had been bowled out for 327, it seemed that Somerset's chances were improving with every run they scored in Leeds. Barely an hour later, though, James Franklin's men were jubilant as they reduced Lancashire to 32 for 5 before some stubborn resistance from the home side left them on 102 without further loss at the close.

Yet this was still a fine afternoon for Middlesex and they have two days to confirm their superiority and collect the 22 points that might leave them the length of a seaxe from glory. Somerset end a day of wonderful fluctuation needing to seal their win over Yorkshire and pray that Lancashire are stirred to break their habit of being relegated every other year.

Some supporters at Old Trafford are reconciled to such biennial disappointment. So it was difficult to know whether Lancashire supporters travelling to Old Trafford from Wigan or Westhoughton for a 10.30 start on the second day of this game were more surprised to get a seat on the early train or to see their bowlers take seven wickets in a session. Probably the former.

After all, it seemed unlikely that Steven Croft's bowlers would be as ineffective or their fielding as fatigued as it had been on the first day. For them to those wickets for 65 runs in 27 overs during a slightly extended morning session was within possibility's bounds; especially so once Tom Bailey and Kyle Jarvis had removed three recognised batsmen wickets in the first ten overs with a ball that was still quite new.

On the other hand, some of the morning trains from the west are so crowded and their progress so pedestrian that any suggestion of comfort is greeted with astonishment. Indeed, the locomotive has been christened "the Parbold Flyer" by commuters whose capacity for irony seems only to have been sharpened by the sensory delights of close proximity to their fellow passengers. Other despondent travellers are more choleric: Gathurst, Wigan Wallgate, Westhoughton, Bolton: the stations of the bloody cross.

Yet once they had recovered feeling in their limbs, travellers on what seems slowest loco in the land may have raised their arms in triumph as Bailey and Jarvis bowled both Dawid Malan and Stevie Eskinazi off the inside edge in the opening quarter-hour of play. Those dismissals changed the temperature of the game and revealed this Manchester pitch as one responsive to accurate bowling, not least because the bounce is increasingly variable.

Early success emboldened Lancashire and James Franklin's men found the spinners no easier to play than the seamers. Only the Middlesex captain, who took 112 minutes over his careful 31 not out, survived for long as Simon Kerrigan took three wickets from the Pavilion End and Croft removed Tim Murtagh, courtesy of Rob Jones' sharp diving catch at short leg. So instead of knowing they needed to bat for the rest of the game to save it, Lancashire's batsmen were faced with a total they had a hope of reaching in one dig.

For 13 overs or so, it seemed to make not a brass farthing of difference to them. Unlike the train journey to Deansgate, Lancastrian delight didn't last for ever. More significantly, the marvellous potency of this Middlesex attack was revealed as they dismantled Croft's top order, reducing the home team to 6 for 4 in the eighth over.

They needed a drop of luck, mind, although one could argue that bowlers of the quality of Toby Roland-Jones deserve all the good fortune going. Certainly there was no great twist of fate about the dismissal of Haseeb Hameed, who pushed pretty blamelessly forward at the ninth ball he received but only edged it to Ollie Rayner at second slip.

Middlesex's bowlers were encouraged by this early success and they soon had more wickets to celebrate. Luke Procter's careless fence to Tim Murtagh only gave a catch to Stevie Eskinazi in the gully and Roland-Jones then took two wickets in three balls. Alviro Petersen was caught down the leg side off a ball which seemed to touch only his thigh and Croft lost his off stump when failing to cover late movement.

Suddenly the cricket acquired a new tension. Both Lancashire's future in the First Division and Middlesex's hopes of the title hinged on what might happen in the next hour. Meanwhile Somerset were building a big lead at Headingley and you did not need to be born in Glastonbury to wonder wistfully if this was going to be their year at last.

Jos Buttler, as if batting for both Lancashire and the county of his birth, hit three pedigree fours off a Murtagh over but then fell for 16 when his leg side nick off Roland-Jones was brilliantly caught one-handed by John Simpson diving to his left. It was a catch to help win a title. Gloom in Weston-super-Mare. Talk in Taunton of another meek Lancastrian capitulation. Remember 2010? They do.

The hopes of the home side now rested on Rob Jones, who was playing his fourth first-class innings and Liam Livingstone, whose style is more suited to the cavalry charge than the cautious advance under enemy fire.

Only 45 minutes earlier Jones had opened the batting with Hameed; he had already enjoyed the company of more flighty partners than a botoxed Floridian billionaire; Livingstone, for his part found batting at No7 was getting him to the wicket more quickly than going in first drop. In Lancashire's previous home match against Somerset he had tramped out at No3 in the 31st over; now here he was, facing a new ball with the score on 32 for 5. "Do you fancy dropping down the order and going in earlier?" must be a strange question for a young cricketer to answer.

The atmosphere grew heavy and close as if to intensify the importance of the cricket. Each run was greeted with a relieved rattle of applause before spectators contemplated its significance. Jones played with a maturity far beyond his years and his 42 not out was the sort of innings that is worth a month's cricket to a young player; Livingstone, having batted poorly in the previous match, showed that he is learning what this professional game is all about and was unbeaten on 31.

Either side of break for bad light and hints of rain, the pair added an unbroken 70 in 25 overs before bad light arrived as a prelude to some serious weather. "Storms From Stoke" said a colleague and it could have been the title of an Arnold Bennett novel.

No matter. When play was called off, Lancashire's hopes were still alive and Middlesex's optimism had been dampened a touch by more than a thunderstorm. It had been a great day's cricket. Spectators donned their helmets and crash pads and made for the rush hour chuff-chuff home.