By Ben Dirs

Jamie Theakston peers around Chelmsford's County Ground, takes guard and anxiously taps his bat on the pitch.

Gough is a steely competitor - at any level

From my position 20 yards behind the stumps, I think about a bit of sledging, but remembering the batsman's form with the ladies, decide he deserves my respect.

I give my box one last tap for reassurance before the crowd, at least 35 strong, falls into a reverential hush and Darren Gough bustles in to bowl from the Hayes Close End.

And then it hits me: Gough is a current England international and I haven't kept wicket since an ill-tempered inter-house clash at school back in 1990.

Even then, I was only thrown the gloves after Rob Walker was kept back after lunch for setting fire to Phil Maidwell's hair.

Good bowler Maidwell - and boy did he make us pay that day.

Gough, smaller than expected up close but broader than I remember Maidwell ever being, uncoils and rifles the ball down at a respectable and, frankly, disquieting pace.

Theakston, probably wishing he was safely tucked up in bed with whichever celeb he is currently courting, swishes outside off-stump and the ball thuds safely into my gloves.

Goughy savages some over-pitched stuff from a used car salesman from Grays, two balls disappearing into the River Can

"Oi! Theakston - it's red, it's round and it weighs about five and a half ounces," I almost shout, before deciding against it.

And it's Goughy I blame for my somewhat agitated state.

Although it's billed as a six-a-side tournament as part of Paul Grayson's benefit year, in Goughy's head it's the final day of an Ashes decider at Lord's.

It is an intriguing insight into the mind of a world-class cricketer, to whom every ball matters, whether he's bowling to Ricky Ponting or an easy-listening DJ.

In one game, Goughy rips the heart out of the opposing side's middle order, veins popping out of his neck as he appeals, successfully, for lbw on a hat-trick ball.

Opening the batting in another match, he savages some over-pitched stuff from a used car salesman from Grays, two balls disappearing into the River Can.

And in what seems like no time at all, S Walsh and Sons - six blokes who have barely picked up a bat since school and some chap from Yorkshire - are in the final.

Theakston is good with the ladies but vulnerable outside his off-stump

Along the way, Goughy's opening partner Andy Robinson has square-driven Essex skipper Ronnie Irani for four while Richard Walsh, built for rolling rather than bowling, has dismissed Essex wicket-keeper James Foster for two.

In the minus column, Nick Walsh has dropped Theakston twice off Pete Tosland while Kev Dalby admitted he was "too scared to bat" against Irani - but I promised I wouldn't mention that.

Unsurprisingly, Goughy is pumped for the final, even more so when he finds out we're up against his best pal and Essex stalwart Grayson.

When a thick outside edge passes my outstretched glove, both hands go behind his head in familiar fashion and I feel slightly ashamed as he stares down the pitch in my direction.

But he is delighted to catch Grayson out on the boundary, gleefully rebuffing claims from the crowd that one of his feet was over the rope.

Given the strength of our batting line-up, chasing 57 should be a doddle and as we assemble on the balcony, the confidence fairly oozes from us.

But then disaster strikes. Goughy, chasing a wide one from a schoolboy from Colchester, drags the ball onto his stumps first ball.

He looks like he's been bowled by Glenn McGrath, the Ashes gone for another two years, the weight of a nation on his shoulders.

He trudges up to the balcony, slumps in a chair next to mine and mutters repeatedly: "It was miles wide and I go and drag it on."

I don't really know what to say. So I say: "Theakston - how do you reckon he does it?"

But Goughy doesn't respond. He's back at Lord's, chuntering to himself as S Walsh and Sons capitulate before his eyes, like so many England sides before us.