The battle with fog and moles

TWC headed to the southernmost tip of England to discover why Mullion CC needed to be adopted. Promotion was one of their problems

There cannot be many cricket clubs in the country who would not have considered themselves deserving winners of our `Adopt A Club' competition. Who could not use a fresh set of Slazenger kit for their first team and their juniors, or some coaching from one of the company's sponsored stars, or some advice on groundkeeping and fundraising, or a trip to the National Cricket Centre in Loughborough? Surrey, possibly, but everyone else must have thought they were in with a shout.

There had to be one winner, though, and after a long and gruelling meeting, fuelled by industrial quantities of chocolate fingers, the judges plumped for Mullion CC, on the southernmost tip of Cornwall. In case geographical bias is suspected - one aggrieved Scotsman has already emailed furiously on the subject - it should be known that during the selection process any hint of where each club may be was carefully concealed. The winner's undoubted potential as a holiday destination emerged only afterwards.

Mullion have been through difficult times recently. (They would have done well to win this otherwise.) Theirs is not the most prosperous corner of the kingdom, nor is it as steeped in cricket as some areas we could mention. Mullion used to be one of several clubs on the Lizard peninsula; now it is the only one. And yet, in 2001, Mullion 1st XI won the Cornwall League Division One and found themselves promoted to the county's Premier Division. As many small clubs have done in similar circumstances, they wondered aloud whether they should accept the promotion. Could they hack it with the big boys? In the end, after much discussion, they decided they had to have a go. As club chairman David Fowles put it, how would you ever know whether you could do it, if you did not try?

Hindsight, of course, tells them this was just the start of their problems. Many top Cornwall sides rely on what might euphemistically be described as imported talent. The resorts are full of young Australians and South Africans working through an English summer and playing a little cricket on the side. The league rules allow one `professional' (who can be paid for playing), and clubs can also recruit overseas players with work permits or working holidaymakers' visas. They can even pay air fares to get them over here in the first place. But there are risks to all this, even if they have the money to pay for it. One is that, when filling your team with short-term talent, you can lose your soul. Another, as Mullion discovered, is that you can lose your best home-grown players, poached by other teams. The rules may not be broken but they are frequently twisted into the shape of a pretzel.

In 2002 Mullion 1sts came third from bottom in the Premier Division, just avoiding relegation. The following March they asked if they could drop down a division, as they had lost players to other sides. The league said no, it was too late; in 2003 Mullion won only two games and came last. Voluntarily they dropped to Division Five, replacing their second team, who may have felt slightly aggrieved to find themselves in Division Eight. All you can do in such circumstances is keep going - and rebuild.

Professionals and overseas players are long gone; it is a genuinely local club now. The village itself is substantial and, compared with some parts of Cornwall, flourishing. There are lots of `holiday homes', that euphemism for houses no one lives in, but most are full through the summer and keep two pubs going and several shops. Two pubs! When we visited one, they seemed to be hosting a line-dancing marathon that recalled the film They Shoot Horses, Don't They? So we went to the other one. These days any British village with two pubs must be doing something right.

The ground, on the village outskirts, is full of character, and lovingly tended by Mark the groundsman, a violin-maker by trade. A first thought was: setting a field would be interesting here. The square is reasonably level, although not quite, and the outfield slopes in a challenging manner from the pavilion down to the sleepy hollow where you would put all your best fielders. On the up-slope you could probably put Stephen Hawking at extra cover and he would cut off a few. The pavilion, comfortable, low-slung, was rebuilt 15 years ago and does what it says on the tin. In the top corner of the pitch, at long leg for the left-arm spinner, sits an impressively solid scorebox, inside which (this was March) one could see all manner of rubble. But the roller is knackered. The sightscreens are just bones of screens, with squeaky wheels. Covers? You cannot be serious. There is a problem with moss on the square. Moles gravitate to the pitch from miles around.

The pitch usually plays well: it is a little slow but many runs are scored. Fog can be a problem. A touring team once travelled down from Yorkshire and then the fog drew in. They had come so far. The game had to be played. A batsman skied the ball to long leg. Not that anyone could see long leg. "Steve. It's coming your way." Silence. Three or four seconds passed. No one breathed. "I've caught it." They had to take his word for it but you could tell by the tone of his voice. The umpire lifted his finger and the batsman walked. Not long afterwards delicious smells began to waft from where they all thought the pavilion was. "Eh up," said the batsman. "Hot pies have arrived."

Like all the best clubs Mullion is inclusive rather than exclusive. They encourage people to join in, to take part. Every Monday throughout the year they hold coaching sessions for their juniors: at the moment 50 or 60 kids are attending regularly. The club has six coaches with a level 1 qualification: some are now pushing for level 2. The players love the club and, like so many of us who play and cannot quite stop, feel part of something bigger than them. Some of them will be introduced in later dispatches. It should be a highly entertaining summer.