In the beginning there was The Spirit.
Then came Royal.
And, thereafter, cricket and the rest of the grit, grime, and glory.
Every single lad, of the hundreds of thousands, who walked through those red brick corridors of fame through time, will always remember the opening of the testament when the Spirit first to life awoke in 1835.
And, since then, the battle began and was always fought to the death.
One hundred and thirty six games had been played, won, lost and drawn.
The tally was even with thirty four a piece.
The SSC was quiet on the eve of the ninth.
Darkness enveloped the wicket.
And the Spirit was watching over it for the morrow to come.
And then there was morning.
And the men, women, lads and lasses came from all corners of the earth.
There were schoolboys, colts, stallions, and mustangs.
Some came in pairs, others with only their flags.
The atmosphere was electric.
The horns played on.
Out in the open, the two men in black and gold strode on to the field.
The toss was won.
The boys in black were put in to bat on a wicket that was expected to yield to the track record of the seamers in gold.
And the old men in black said, “Lets Play”!
The lads from the school by the sea went in with all the grit and gusto they were famed for and knocked up a mammoth score of three hundred and fifty, that left the spectators bewildered.
The run rate was tops.
The morale was soaring.
The black flags flew high.
The gold ones were dipped.
The sun went down.
Darkness set in.
The first day was done.
Morning came and the sun shone bright.
The lads in Gold set out to fight.
Ninety six for four at lunch did not abode good times ahead.
‘Twas not long before five of the best were back in the hut and the deficit hovered like gloom.
And then The Spirit rose, like the sun, through a freshman who steered the ship back on course and set it sail, on smooth waters, again.
The deficit was just sixty five.
The shadows fell.
The lads in Gold were pretty pleased with themselves.
Day two was complete.
Morning came and a declaration was done with just twenty two runs short inviting the opposition to a positive end to the contest.
The black flag openers went about hoping to repeat what they did on Day One.
But the men in Gold had other plans.
The third over made the break with the big hitting lad from day one being removed with ease with the score on seventeen.
The next went down at twenty six in just four overs.
The sixth over brought the third man down.
The tenth over of the second inning saw number 4 back in the hut, and the lads in black were in trouble.
The ball was nipping through the air as if a magic spell had been woven around it.
By lunch the tally was just fifty seven for five.
The post lunch session saw the seamer on fire removing the sixth with the score on sixty none.
And the skipper finally walks in.
Three wickets for the seamer.
Then the spinner sprang his charm getting the captain caught napping in front with the score at seventy three for seven.
A lead of only 95 with so many overs left in the day.
Then it was eighty eight for eight, a hundred and eight for nine and folded up for 127 leaving the golden boys to get 150 to make history.
The lads in Gold went on their task to get to the finish line.
The score was 145/6 in the 31st over with light fading.
And the fourth ball went for four with just one run more to win.
The crowds went ecstatic.
The commentators were falling off their chairs.
149/6.
The fifth ball was a dot.
The excitement was erotic with bad light waiting to take the game away.
And the sixth ball did the trick.
All over in the thirty first over.
The Spirit of Royal had outplayed the Thomian Grit.
The third day was done.
A six O clock finish.
The shield stayed home.
Floreat!
