The Midnight Cricket Cup is an irregular competition taking place in the City Of London between the Space Hijackers (anarchists) and the workers of the city (Capitalists). Each game begins with the Hijacker team, in full whites entering a pub packed with pinstripe wearing, rolex flashing, platinum car waving city boys. Soon enough our attire and general demenor tends to rouse the attention of the bankers, and before long a chest puffing alpha male will approach us.
“What’s all this then, are you a cricket
team or something?’
This night was no different, the Globe pub is just around the corner from Moorgate tube, bang in the square mile. Alongside the usual crowd of post work drinking bankers, were a group of men in top hats and tails who’d just been to the races at Ascot.
Our numbers growing as the night went on, and our drinking becoming more vocal, it wasn’t long before everyone in the pub knew of the Anarchist cricket team. With a beautiful pitch around the corner we were keen to get a match underway, so as closing time drew closer, we started berating the capitalists on their choice of occupation and their cricketing prowess.
One of the nicest things about the midnight cricket matches is not just the fact that we get to give the capitalists a sound spanking at cricket and send them home with their tails between their legs, but also the conversations that sprout up. In activist circles you often find yourself preaching to the converted, and arguing about ever more insular differences in opinion. The midnight cricket matches are a whole world apart from this. Suddenly you find yourself having to stand up for your beliefs in front of people who thoroughly disagree. Why are you an anarchist? What is anarchism? What DO you believe in? Responding that we believe that people should self organise, that the world should be a fairer place with less hierarchy, that peoples lives should be more important than the search for profit or expanding markets, we soon get into big debates, mass debates?
This match was held outside the giant New Look in Moorgate, home of sweatshop clothing, and throw away fashion, there was no more fitting place for a showdown with the capitalists. The capitalists opted to bat first and the game was underway.
Agents cycled off to get more supplies (drinks) as the night grew darker and our bowlers were all over the capitalist team like a bad suit. Random passers by stopped to observe proceedings and occasionally join the capitalists in their fight for the city. Our sound system blared out the hits and before long the police pulled up to see what all the fuss was. Some bared breasts, a cheer from the crowds and a request for them to join the capitalist team soon had them reversing and speeding off though.
As the night went on we were joined by our friends at CRASH and the Whitechapel Anarchist Group to bolster our numbers. Alas the WAG players taking their role as the anarchists a little more seriously than us refused to shake with the capitalist captain, drunken tempers flared and a fight was narrowly avoided. Oops.
The Hijackers were soon batting and building up a steady bank account balance of runs. However at about 2am three Pakistani bankers happened across the game. Sober and incredibly keen to play, they soon had our team on the back foot with their fast bowling.
Thankfully, our stamina and perseverance paid off, and the bankers eventually threw in the towel and the game was ours (I think they had homes and wives to get back to). Bouyed by our victory we headed east back out of the city and towards the delights of Shoreditch whitechapel and the wonderful castle all night boozer! The ladies of the hijacker set off first as they were on bikes as the boys trudged along on foot.
We had arranged to meet by the tent at Spitalfields market, to possibly have another quick game before the pub. On arrival we came across the Hijacker girls cycling around the tent topless as security were fast approaching. With more boobs than you could shake a stick at, the scene got more surreal as the security attempted to get them to redress and leave the private property, whilst desperately trying to keep eye contact and not look down.
From here the night gradually got more surreal and our memory gets hazy. However I think it’s safe to say that once again, anarchy won!