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The Match That Never Happened: An Investigative Report.

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Cricket has its own folklore – a culture of stories, real and imagined; a belief that one day, when the stars align, it will be your story that’s told. The beauty of cricket, however, is that failure is relentless. All but the very greatest exist in a liminal space between failures, determined to learn from the last and avoid the next. This cycle of stories and failure is as central to the sport as the bat and the ball.

On 31 May 2025, an extraordinary event happened. An event spoken about in hushed tones. An old man sits drunk at a bar and laughs at the youngsters who think they know the story. “You think that happened? You weren’t there. You don’t know,” he says, his eyes glazed over with nostalgia and gin.

Exclusively for VCC’s website, this correspondent tracked down the surviving members of that VCC Zami team, and asked for their recollections. What you’re about to read are fragments of stories, real and false memories ravaged by years of cricketing failure. Many of the survivors refused to even talk about it. The KNCB to this day deny the match even took place. There are inconsistencies, for which this correspondent makes no apologies. In cricket, there is no such thing as ‘truth’. Only stories and failure.

To protect their identities, some names have been changed.

Snick (opening bowler and club historian)

“Graham had told me last time he went to VCC they ordered some takeout chicken for in between the innings.” Snick’s face is friendly, but he recalls this event with dead eyed seriousness. “Where was the chicken this time? Disgrace.”

I ask him about his memories of the match itself, but Snick’s focus is undeterred. “They had a clubhouse, and we got a free drink from the opposition – that’s fair enough, but you can’t be providing chicken for one team one season, then not even mention it the next.” Snick’s head bows. It’s clear that for him, the match only haunts him. I leave him to his books.

Sharold (opening batter and comms expert)

I meet Sharold with a beer in his hand. He looks as comfortable with it as he does holding his bat. I ask him about the game. “Is that the one I scored 100 in?” he asks. I suggest to him this is the reason I’m asking – there are no records of it. “Let’s say I scored 100 then.” He raises his glass to mine, says “Proost!” and heads off in search of a frog in a box.

Another mind scrambled, but at least a scorecard is beginning to take shape.

Skaushal (all-rounder and logistics expert)

I ask Skaushal about Sharold’s 100. “Yeah, it probably happened. Look – nobody can say for certain, and I’m telling you now, there’s nobody going to give you information on the record. The KNCB are everywhere man. If the truth got out…” Skaushal tails off, clearly worried he’s gone too far. I ask him what he means. I ask him what the truth is.

Skaushal stands and walks into the distance. He looks back at me. Once, twice. I see his shoulders drop, though he’s now 50 meters away. He turns and shouts back at me, “You’re in over your head, man. Drop it, alright?” I call after him, asking him if he doesn’t care about the truth. He doesn’t respond.

Starick (journeyman bowler)

Starick is far more direct. “I don’t care about the powers of the KNCB. I’ve been silenced long enough. No more.” I ask him what he means. “Nobody is willing to tell the truth about this. Not a soul. Because they’re scared. Well, I say screw that. You want to know the truth? Sit down and listen.” I get ready to write. “The biggest mystery of the day is…” he stops, waiting for my reply. I tell him it’s the missing scorecard. I tell him about Sharold’s 100. He nods. “The missing scorecard. And you ate that all up, didn’t you? The scorecard was never missing. It was…” Starick pauses, and glances at his phone, on which there’s a notification. His face pales. He looks sick. I ask him if everything is okay.

Silence.

I ask him again.

Silence. Starick stands up, puts his phone in his pocket, and walks away. “I’m sorry. I… I can’t” I hear him mutter.

SDJ (all-rounder and wheeler-dealer)

SDJ limps to me to start our interview. One of the prevailing rumours about this game is that this match caused SDJ’s injury.I ask him about it.

“No comment.”
I’m being stonewalled. I prompt him about the game – ask him about Sharold’s 100.
“No comment.”
I tell him all I want is the truth. What happened in the VVV vs. VCC game?
“No comment.”
I try a new tactic. I tell him that all I’m doing is assembling a scorecard, and that I’m almost there. I’m just missing 5 wickets and 63 runs.
“I’ll take them.”
I ask him about the wickets. “Two caught behind, three bowled,” he says, uneasily, before adding, “wait, no, two caught behind, one bowled, one caught and bowled. Screamer.” I ask him if he’s certain, and he nods.

I know this cannot be true, but I thank him for the information nonetheless.

Sstefan

(bowler and alleged captain)

I’d been wanting to speak to Sstefan for a while. It was believed he was the captain of VCC for the game. He refuses to be interviewed, but released a statement, which is repeated verbatim here:

Had I had the chance, I would have batted first.
It looked like a batting kind of day.

After the statement is read out, relief washes over Sstefan, as though he had been holding this memory within him, letting it mangle his soul. He passes the piece of paper with the statement written on it over to me.

Sbranko and Sger (net bowlers)

Journalistic integrity meant that these two should never have been interviewed, given they were under 18. But what is integrity when the truth is at stake? Both spoke of a pact they made after the day. They promised each other they would never, never become Zami cricketers.

So what happened on 31 May 2025? We know the KNCB are hiding something big, and they’ve intimidated anyone and everyone with knowledge of the event. We know Sharold probably scored 100, and SDJ thinks he scored 63 and took 5 wickets. We know VCC would have batted first, before whatever happened, happened. We know there was no chicken. And we know that everyone is still, even now, one full day later, shaken to their very core.

Over de schrijver

Graham Parker

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