Trouble Brews in the Heat It was a sunny evening in the wild plains of the cricketing frontier. The Law Men, leather-hatted and squinting into the glare, took the field first. The opposition Outlaws came out all guns blazing, holstering sixes and firing boundaries. The scoreboard galloped like a runaway stallion, and for a moment, it looked like the Outlaws were in for a long night. But just when the storm looked set to roll in, the sheriffs started laying down the law. Lines were tightened, traps were laid, and the bullets stopped flying. Then came the first duel. The opposition opener, once bold and brash, found himself hog-tied by dot balls. In a moment of panic, he made a break for it. He didn't make it far. A direct hit from Chris Sonczak—clean as a gunslinger's draw—sent him packing. Next ball, Davo drew fast and snared another. Two gone, momentum slowed. Enter young Maltby, the fresh-red-faced deputy on debut. He bowled like he'd ridden these parts before—tight, composed, and full of promise. But the enemy wasn’t done. A moustachioed South African miscreant, fierce and flamboyant, stood defiant in the dust, cracking shots with grit and guile (if only his banter behind the stumps was a cracking). Still, wickets fell like tumbleweeds. Phil Rhodes spun his web, subtle and deadly, and Chris Sonczak—sharpshooter supreme—fired off another direct hit. Across the rolling North Road plane, the ball, it seemed, had made a pact with Matt Sonczak—four catches flew to him like iron to a magnet. The Marshalls had done their job. The opposition Outlaws limped to 118 for 9 from 20 overs—a respectable tally, but short of high noon destruction. A Duel Under the Dying Light As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in oranges and fire, the Law Men’s top guns holstered their bats and stepped into the street. Chris Coll and Chris Sonczak: calm, composed, and short. Coll opened with lusty blows, knocking the dust off the scoreboard with every strike. Sonczak, his partner in justice, rotated strike like clockwork. The scoreboard ticked above the required rate, and the tension in the fielding gang grew. All they could manage were a few bitter mutterings behind the stumps—not funny, not clever. Coll, his work done, retired with a nod, handing over the reins. Sonczak stayed, finally finding his range with a few well-timed shots before tipping his hat and retiring too. Then came a stumble. The Chambers boys—Rob and Tom—rode in but didn't last long. Quick exits, no time for duels. But where there’s grit, there’s always a way. Gino, all flair and footwork, and Phil Rhodes, bringing balance and poise, stepped up. They brought a dash of style, keeping the wagon rolling. Just when it looked like they’d take it home, a twist: Gino retired, and Rhodes fell for 19. The saloon doors creaked open again—Will R and Davo entered the fray. Will, wielding a new weapon, looked the part—but it wasn’t his day. First ball, out cold. Silence fell. But Maltby returned, the debutant with the solution to the Mexican stand-off, and joined Davo. Calm, steady, unshaken—they saw it through. No drama. The Outlaws fought the Law; but, the Law won! Swinging Saloon Doors With the job done and the dust settled, the Sheriff’s holstered their bats, tipped their hats, and headed off for drinks and Italian food. Stories were shared, laughter echoed, and eyes turned to the man of the hour. Maltby, the new deputy, took home the match award—not for wickets, not for runs, but for an enthusiastic throw, which he muscled to absolutely nowhere. Wild. Unpredictable. Glorious. In these parts, they don’t remember the score. They remember the show.