In life, sometimes you have a good day, sometimes your stars are aligned, but sometimes, people are bloody awesome.

Fourth team skipper Phil Berry arrived at Toft on the back of a fine first day victory in the snow at Northwich. But he cut a nervous figure turning up at Toft for an assignment against a strong Didsbury side, with the host bereft of their front line spinner, Chris Bongard.

Berry, with the sun on his back, won the toss, and decided to bowl on a balmy Sunday afternoon with a lockdown lift, allowing any spectators the opportunity to sip the amber nectar, whilst Berry mused over his depleted bowling attack.

Didsbury’s side bristled with quality. Second and third team players aplenty filling their top order. Toft toiled in the heat, and despite an early breakthrough from the accurate Phil Raffo, found life hard out in the middle, as the front-line batsmen made hay in the April sun.

Disaster struck soon after. A wayward Walker delivery caught keeper Andrew Jackson on the finger, leaving his ring finger pointing toward the square leg umpire. The opposition, eager to assist, had a doctor in their ranks, however. The physician specialised in liver disease, which a consultation with Jackson would have suited, but it was left to the professional to yank a finger back into place. The captain took the gloves, leaving Jackson to field away from any further afflictions.

Didsbury continued to pile on the runs, with cows cowering in the nearby field as red shaped spheres headed their way with reckless abandon. Raffo, however, along with Walker and Pete Gibbon, picked up wickets. Although the runs ticked along as quickly as the bar receipts from an expectant crowd, wickets also tumbled. James McKenna also picked up his first wicket of the season. A first haircut of the season is long overdue, however.

One Didsbury debutant made 50, and another 49 undefeated, and the visitors made a healthy 235/9 from their 40 overs. Raffo was the pick of the home side’s bowlers with 4 wickets.

The Toft fourth team are a hardy bunch, but prone to a batting catastrophe. An optimistic Berry named his batting line up with a nervous grin, and switched his Lucozade for a Spanish lager.

Jackson felt fine enough to open the innings along with Walker, who had to rush off early for undiagnosed reasons. Walker perished early playing an irresponsible swipe across the line. His partner fared better, seeing off the new ball but was trapped LBW for 10 when well set.

The away dressing room fell silent when the inevitable collapse began. Fraser Prest, who was chipper about his prospects with the willow, was run out without facing a ball after a mix up with the burly figure of James McNamara. A dismissal which turned Berry’s face chalk white as he looked on.

Philip Raffo wears the care-free expression of a successful batsman at this level. Fit as a flea and with bags of natural ability, it was time for him to avenge previous disappointment with the bat. He joined McNamara in the middle and put on a handy partnership. McNamara made a handy 26 before perishing, bringing Tom Carter to the crease, who made an enterprising 16.

McKenna then joining Raffo in the middle and they put on an outstanding partnership. McKenna was staunch in his defence allowing the free-flowing Raffo to reach his 50, to the delight of a packed pavilion.

McKenna’s knock was ended which then alerted the standard collapse. Skipper Berry came and went and Donald departed without troubling the scorers.

Raffo, with sweat gleaming off his olive-skinned brow, was joined in the middle by spinner Pete Gibbon, whose muscular frame contributed 26 undefeated runs to support the ravenous Raffo, who’s hunger for runs was unquenchable.

The host’s number 11, the ever-enthusiastic Peter Taylor, sat nervously watching Raffo bat, hoping his services would not be required. Raffo had it all in his stride.

Club veteran Paul Raffo joined the Toft support on the boundaries’ edge to see his boy see Toft over the line, ending with some thrilling strokes with 3 balls to spare to send the home support into raptures. Raffo finished his knock agonisingly short on 97 not out as his team mates raced onto the field to embrace the hero of the hour.

Sometimes stars are aligned, but other times, you say well done Raff. You nailed it mate.