Not all white on the night

Winning a competition like The Wisden Cricketer's 'Adopt A Club' creates pressures all of its own. Can you justify the hope that has been invested in you? Even more crucially, can you keep your new kit clean?

The first phase of Mullion CC's annus publicus saw a visit by the armed masses of Slazenger to present the players with spotless new kit: trousers of uncommon whiteness, boots aerodynamically designed by vast computers, bats with go-faster stripes. Sky Sports cameras were on hand to record a moving ceremony. Players changed in and out of their new whites so many times they didn't know where they were. TWC's James Milner, a noted wag, asked 1st XI skipper Jim Pearson to change back into his new kit just one more time, and when he emerged from the changing room everybody had gone home, except for one highly amused Wisden Cricketer representative. Fortunately Jim took it in good heart, and James's injuries are healing nicely.

The club's first problem was, who to give the kit to? There were 14 sets of senior kit: some clubs would have just handed them over to the 1st XI. But in Mullion many of the more dedicated club members play for the 2nd XI. Clubs like theirs survive on enthusiasm and commitment before natural talent. (This may be The Problem With English Cricket, but if the reverse were true there wouldn't be much English cricket for there to be a problem with.) So the kit was split between members of both teams. There were rumblings; there always will be. But everybody I spoke to seemed happy with the outcome. (Admittedly, they were the ones with the kit.)

The first opportunity to parade in their finery came on April 23, with the traditional pre-season friendly against local rivals Porthleven. The first league fixtures were scheduled for the following weekend, but Porthleven had been promoted the previous season to Division 4, so the two sides would not be meeting again this summer. So, if not needle, there was certainly healthy competition between the sides. This could not have been more perfectly illustrated by the way Mullion changed into their new kit at least half an hour before kick-off, and frolicked athletically on the outfield, while Porthleven conducted fielding practice in their day clothes and changed only at the very last minute.

The ground itself, bathed in unseasonal April sunshine, looked a picture. The Mullion roller, which in the course of these reports may become as vivid a character as any of the players, had refused to function until the previous afternoon, when someone possessed of mechanical genius had tinkered briefly and awakened the slumbering beast. In the meantime, skipper Jim and young fast bowler Matthew, the doctor's son, had spent several days repairing the slates on the roof of the pavilion. The sightscreens too had been repaired: their clean white sheets now billowed in the crosswind as Porthleven won the toss and elected to field.

The first game of the season always sets certain challenges, none of which we remember from last year. Bowlers have spent weeks loosening up in the nets and are raring to go, while batsmen have become hugely confident batting indoors and struggle to adjust to slow, sludgy April wickets. Although Porthleven's opening quickie was spraying it about like a howitzer, and fine leg temporarily had to become long stop, Mullion were swiftly 17 for 3. Step in skipper Jim, batting with the utmost correctness in a stripy public school cap that would really annoy Australians. Jim is 34 and bears a slight resemblance to Robert Daws in the TV version of Outside Edge, only without the moustache and the nasal twang.

He is a better batsman as well: last year he scored 1,000 runs, which I had to tell him was more than I have scored in my whole life. Someone bought him a special '1000 Run Club' tie, which he wears with that combination of pride and mild shame we must all adopt when we do something genuinely special. Today, though, conditions were tricky, as the ball stopped and occasionally scuttled. "What a strange thing for Mullion," said Simon the treasurer, "the ball kept low." (He would later be bowled by another one.) Skipper Jim and Matthew, the doctor's son, put on 51 for the fourth wicket, but a promising 92 for 4 declined to 130 all out. The late-order biffers did not flourish. One hit the ball with staggering ferocity straight up in the air. Silly mid-off got himself in the perfect position and then dropped it. By this time both batsman were at the same end. The non-striker stomped off, muttering.

Meanwhile, the early season injuries were mounting. Porthleven's mid-off bent down to field the ball and PLOK! the joyous sound of leather on kneecap could be heard right across the ground. Later on, Buddha, Mullion's well-upholstered No. 7, would be felled at short leg by a sweetly timed shot, and could soon exhibit a bruise that looked as though someone had glued half a peach to his shin. And the wind blew ever more fiercely. Those in brand new Slazenger fleeces wondered what the fuss was about, while everyone else huddled for warmth in the pavilion. "April is the cruellest month," wrote TS Eliot, possibly after fielding at third man for two-and-a-half hours.

Mullion had fielded a mix of 1st and 2nd XIs. Porthleven's team looked rather more fearsome. By extraordinary coincidence they too had entered this competition. The visitors lost a couple of wickets but then moved serenely towards the target. Mullion spirits fell. We have all been there. You are playing cricket, but the game is lost and the bar beckons. It has central heating, and scones.

But then Porthleven made a mistake. Both their highest-scoring batsmen retired, as though to say this is too easy. It may have been once you got used to the conditions but everyone had been struggling at first. The tenor of the game changed. New batsmen came and went. Suddenly seven wickets were down, the last pair were at the crease, and everyone was beginning to wonder whether the retired batsmen would be allowed to unretire. Mullion supporters thought not. Porthleven supporters tended to disagree. In the end it didn't matter. The visitors crept home by three notional wickets, more relieved than triumphant.

I can't help wondering whether Mullion will find it hard going this season, in new and unexpected ways. After all, the flash kit, the TV cameras, the coaching, the bottles of Cockspur rum for the men of the match, the sight of me wandering around the field with notebook (or dozing quietly on a bench): it all sets you up as the team to beat. Still, as they say, if you can't stand the heat get out of the kitchen. And the scones were delicious.