Three is a magic number.
Numerologists assign great importance to it, my Triumph Sprint ST 1050 is designed around it (three cylinder engine, three-dial dash and triple-port underseat exhaust and three bastard points on my licence every other week) and the Holy Trinity carries some weight with the God botherers.

Three played an impressive part of my 2008 debut for the mighty Headliners on Sunday at home to Southern Cross.

Three: The number of balls my innings lasted.
Three: The number of overs I bowled before Southern Cross passed their target.
Three: The number of runs I scored (if you add three).
Three: The number of sixes which soared over my head at deep mid-wicket.
Three: The number of Fingers' excellent sausage rolls I scoffed at tea.

But no amount of mysticism could disguise the fact we were well and truly turned over in the match. At 40-5 it was fair to say we were struggling. We limped on to 119 all out thanks to a generous change in the bowling attack and Beefy's timely 50.

My sad effort came to an end third ball when my text-book forward defensive prodded the ball over an anti-gravity field which suddenly materialised on the track, so a ball which was heading safely to the dirt instead carried slowly to a grateful bowler for a flukey c&b.

I'm not sure, but I believe these anti-gravity anomalies can occur when nearby space freighters are about to engage their hyper-freem drive (HFD) before making the light-speed jump through an event horizon. I'm not saying that's what happened, it's entirely possible I did just dolly it straight back to the bowler. But I'll check Monday's Argus for any reports of unexpected rips in the space/time continuum over Cuckfield.

One of the highlights of the day was the extraordinary wicket caused by one of Jackson's unexpectedly inaccurate lobs. The batsman tried to hook a ball which arrived at over shoulder height - only to doink it 50ft straight up. KJ and wicket-keeper Chris Francis conferred telepathically - he obviously picked up on my silent scream of "YOURS!!!" and lumbered forward as yours truly gamely charged down the wicket just in case it was actually mine.

The upshot was CF missed the catch, but in the excitement nobody had noticed the square-leg umpire had called a no ball. The batsman was still half-way up the pitch when he realised he would have been safe had the ball been pouched - then everyone realised at the same time he was now vulnerable a run out - to which he succumbed. It's not a KJ wicket in the scorebook, but I believe I have the moral authority to claim the scalp as it was my no ball which tempted him into the ill-advised hook and I'd have dropped it just as effectively as CF had I got under it first!

The last over of the day went to Parky's brown-slacked mate Brian. Fair play for turning up, not having played for 30 years, but I think even he would agree he looked a tad, um, rusty. And for that to be noticed in a Headliners XI takes some doing! For a start, having played left-handed in the nets, moments later he played right handed at the crease and admitted later he hadn't realised the change. And his bowling action was suspect at best. Smooth run up, then just bung it! Not just a slight bend in the arm - a proper chuck!

All in all, another ordinary HCC afternoon!