ACROSS
1. CALVADOS – apple brandy from Normandy, never knowingly tasted; SODA + VAC around L reversed. Not a gentle one to get off the mark with.
6. TWINGE – a well concealed hidden, no Ls no PORTs no TROTs, or OWs and OUCHes, even if I spent plenty of time working around them. One out of the back of the hand.
9. BOOM – a double definition. A straight full toss – probably enough to get an Englishman out in Adelaide later today.
10. BARBERSHOP – true to form I was working around PORTER, IVES, BERLIN but not Samuel BARBER, even though I sang something of his recently; BARBER + HOP. A well disguised slower ball.
11. MEMOIRISTS – better if truth be told than my ‘penoirists’, if for no other reason than it exists; ‘authors’ is the definition, arrived at by taking MS (manuscript > ‘writing’) and filling it with TOME reversed (‘in review of book’) around IRIS. The bouncer aimed at the throat merely fended off to leg slip.
13. GANG – I reckon this is GA[mi]NG with its innards removed. Possibly a googly, maybe a leg break. Might even be a doosra, if I knew what that was.
14. PARENTAL – PA (per annum) + RENTAL gives the genitivised ‘child minder’s’. Fingers across the seam stuff here, for a delivery that didn’t do as much as you thought it would.
16. RETYPE – 9, 9! R[eliabl]E + TYPE (‘sort’); Graham Gooch doing his impression of Bob Willis.
18. ADORER – anagram of ROARED. All together now, ‘My eyes adored you’.
20. MOROCCAN – MORN around OC (‘officer in charge’) + CA (‘about’); club cricketers might be bamboozled by this one, but a mere Dilscoop for the hardened pro.
22. GILL – G[ood] + ILL; short and wide again from Broad and clubbed over cover for 6 by the Bangladeshi tailender to win the game off the last ball.
24. INSTRUMENT – MEN in IN (‘trendy’) + STRUT (‘bar’); nice idea, but if you’re bowling to a 6-3 field, you don’t pitch it on middle and leg and expect to get away with it.
26. INDIGO BLUE – anagram of I (‘one’) + DOUBLE GIN; one in the corridor of uncertainty, which has Sir Geoffrey purring.
28. TEAK – [s]TEAK; a huge appeal, the umpire finger’s goes up, the batsmen confer (another unsuccessful review here would mean no more reviews for bats 3-11 and ructions in the dressing-room afterwards), they go upstairs and the umpire’s original call stands. STEAK is after all ‘any of various cuts of beef of varying quality’.
29. CRIKEY – CRI[b] (‘foreign text translation lacking book’) + KEY (‘glossary’); a brilliant swinging delivery, but all to no avail as the umpire has called the bowler for over-stepping. Only one COR, CRIKEY, LUMME, LORD or LORDY allowed per innings, and this bowler had already slipped one in.
30. DOYENNES – anagram of NEEDY + SON; sometimes the gentle off-break is all you need, as Jim Laker would have told you, especially if you’re playing proper cricket on uncovered pitches. You play down the wrong line with ‘dowagers’ and you are back in the hutch.
After a shortened interval because of a slow over-rate, we’re straight back with the…
DOWNS
2. AFORESAID – FORES[t] in A + AID; meat and drink to McCullum, who clubs this bouncer off the front foot over deep extra.
3. VAMOOSE – V[ide] + A + MOOSE; England brings on their sixth change bowler to try something different, but all to no avail as the batsman reverse sweeps this to the third man boundary.
4. DEBAR – B[read] in DEAR (‘ducks’, as in a Les Dawson sketch accompanied by a hitching up of the artificial rack); you can’t beat line ’n’ lenth, as Fred would say.
5. SIR – first letters of S[hould] I[mpose] R[ules]; the sort of delivery to provoke howls of derision from the drunks on the Hill and the good folk on the Times Crossword Club forum.
6. TREASURER – anagram of RATE + SURER; good variation – my bowling coach (Ray the wicket-keeper) told me that if you were going to bowl a slower ball, make it only marginally slower, not, like, half as slow. Unfortunately, he told me that after they fetched it out of the river.
8. GROAN – take the ROOM (‘space’) from GROOM, replace it with ROAN (why did the Injuns always used to ride these in the B&W movies?) and you get this; the bowler successfully persuaded the umpires to change the ball, but forgot that a harder one goes further.
12. SALAMIS – double definition: Greek island & site of famous victory for Greek fleet over invading Persians in 490BC and the cooked cold meat; another wasted review, as the batsman says une charcuterie is a shop selling cold meats, but the television umpire tells him the word is derived from the meats themselves, so he must walk.
15. TERRITORY – IT[alian] in TERROR + Y[en]; having been hammered for five consecutive boundaries, the bowler tries something different – hoping to make the batsman play down the line of IMP rather than TERROR – but the batsman has been around too long to fall for this trick and it’s 30 off the over.
17. PLAIN-JANE – the literal is ‘unremarkable’, and the wordplay [n]INJA in PLANE; the bowler really bends his back and this one is past the batter before he realises it.
19. ROLLICK – I’LL (sort of ‘I shall’) reversed in ROCK (‘stagger’); the umpires have a quick glance at each other to check this was below head height and therefore legitimate – the batsmen and David Lloyd are unhappy, but was the batsman standing upright at the popping crease? This one could go viral…
21. COMPTON – …until this one comes along. Is this cricket? Okay, yes, Denis Compton was a fantastic player for Middlesex and England (not to mention, Arsenal and England), yes, he was the original Brylcreem Boy, yes, he wrote for the Sunday Express, but should non-British solvers or non-cricket fans be expected to know all this? So, it’s the first letter in M[iddlesex] (the fact that he went in at number 4 is irrelevant in this brilliant &lit) in COP TON (get a century). Will this turn out to be the moment that is still debated 35 years after this World Cup, immortalised like Trevor Chappell’s underarm delivery?
23. INNER – phew! a chance for everyone to get their breath back with this gentle floater: [w]INNER.
25. REEDY – I’m afraid this has beaten me all ends up, unless – as I fear it isn’t – it is merely a weak sort of &lit with the plant material doing double duty before the final letter of [sa]Y. Over to the TfTT DRS team for this one. And it’s thanks to my predecessor in the Monday slot, Koro, for extending the scope of finality to compass three words, viz. [th]E [ground]D [sa[Y], all to follow RE (‘on’).
27. LAD – L + AD; a half-decker to end proceedings in the 13th over.
Also … anyone care to comment on 21d – which turns out to be the name of a cricketing chappie.
For one who lives very far from the UK, and has no interest in cricket, this clue and its answer was a complete and insoluble mystery. Or am I not trying hard enough?
I had vaguely heard of compton and it couldn’t be anything else once i had the checkers
Not confident of either GROAN or GANG
Another excellent puzzle, didn’t feel like a Monday. Thought the hidden TWINGE was hard to spot, and wasted a lot of time trying to cram various four-letter words into 11ac to describe Murdoch. Sorry Iris.
Loved the CWC-themed blog Ulaca, but I’m going for the DRS on 29ac, where I think the definition might be “My foreign” as “Crikey” is more Australian than British. Not that many people use it, despite Steve Irwin’s best attempts.
Also Brendon McCullum might not be a latter-day Denis Compton (COD), but you should still spell his name correctly at 2dn.
Edited at 2015-03-09 05:58 am (UTC)
I think the television umpire would leave 29a with the in-field umpire, as ‘foreign’ may not be unnecessary with ‘translation’, since a crib is traditionally of a foreign text rather than say Shakespeare, or legalese (or this blog for some people, I guess). Not only that, but Collins has ‘a translation of a foreign text’.
Edited at 2015-03-09 06:16 am (UTC)
I can recommend Calvados, it tastes nice but can lead to a nasty hangover if taken to excess; better kept for pouring on pancakes.
Edited at 2015-03-09 09:11 am (UTC)
GROAN was never going in without the additional checker either; replacing 4/5 of a word with another four letters is a nasty little daisycutter when you’re expecting a long hop with (say) replacing EM or EN with G or H. Stellar themed blog, by the way! This one could run and run. And without that, GANG stays blank (too many options).
COMPTON is a brilliant &lit, though on a pitch specially prepared for the English players (if they have any special skills left) it might be termed not – um – cricket.
MEMOIRISTS invented from the wordplay once Rupert was dismissed (hit wicket).
MEMOIRISTS took a while: I identified the right Murdoch but then thought she would go on the end to give some obscure book or term for lit crit ending IRIS.
I also got held up in the SE where the cricketer was only vaguely familiar.
I had 13ac as GA
ddiNG. Whatever works I suppose. GAllivantiNG, GAllopiNG, GAlravagiNG, GAmbadoiNG, GAmbitiNG, GAmbliNG, GAmbolliNG, GAudiNG…Last in REEDY, where I never figured out the wordplay, so thanks to koro for that one.
Edited at 2015-03-09 10:57 am (UTC)
MEMOIRISTS is a pretty stunning piece of orthographic engineering. Bravo.
The rest of the puzzle was not that difficult once you saw it. I understood the cryptics for ‘reedy’, knew ‘Salamis’, and put in ‘memoirists’ and ‘indigo blue’ as the obvious answers without troubling much.
Edited at 2015-03-09 01:05 pm (UTC)
At one point I was close to declaring in a losing position (can you do that?) but soldiered on finishing with reedy which went in with a shrug so thanks for the parsing.
Maybe I’m like Sotira and the puzzle came on the wrong day.
Chris M-W
1/ Pedants’ corner: salami is already plural; the singular is salame (thank you, Elizabeth David).
2/ I’m old enough to remember Compton (and the Bedsers, Cowdrey, Evans, Graveney…) but I thought this was OTT. Or are we now in the age when everyone who doesn’t know something will Google the answers anyway? If so, where’s the limit? Are we going to get clues about, say, Gordon Pirie? And despite being thoroughly English, I think cricket is vastly overrated (ok,boring) and that you can have too much of it in crosswords.
Edited at 2015-03-11 11:03 am (UTC)