On Saturday we were due to play at Parliament Hill. We got through about 3 overs before the heavens opened. We waited the best part of an hour before the opposition took their leave. Of course by about 3.30 this was the scene:
So we headed to the nets for the day:
To Sunday: I forgot to get any photos of the ground again. The ground was owned by a university, but it was closed last year. A conglomerate of local sports clubs took over the lease, which is largely great news, but it would appear that they haven't the resources to fund a good groundsman. The pitch had been a belter. Now it's council standard - the sort of green top where you hope there's been a good rain storm the night before to take the sting out of it.
I didn't play well. Obviously, what with it being my second team, my bowling was expensive and I didn't get any wickets. My first three balls went for four, the next four overs were ok but in terms of the spell I was always playing catch up, and the opener cruised to one of the easiest hundreds he will ever make.
Batting was tough. The pitch was a bit of a nightmare in the second innings having got firmer. They had four men round the bat which on an uneven wicket is surprisingly hard to deal with, even if the bowling is crap (which it largely was). I also had a hangover, and they really wanted to win. Still, I have no qualms about the way I got out - I clipped the ball off my legs, it flew straight out of the middle, short leg stuck his hand out, and the ball stuck in it. Afterward he claimed to just be very good in that position, but I still don't think he'd have taken it seven or eight times out of ten. One of the best catches I've ever gone to.
Back on the sidelines the chatter was marvellous. I love my second team, because they are 20 years older than me, for the most part, and even more aware of the ludicrousness of their pastime, indeed, of the ludicrousness of life. One of them had a tantrum and stropped off because he'd been moved from five to six. One of them was getting married in France, and was interrogated by the others about whether he'd have to pledge allegiance to the Euro.
We capitulated and lost by over 100 runs. So a miserable weekend, then? Not really. The two things I love about the game as I play it now - the fact I get to do it with people I consider my friends, the socialising (and what a miserably inadequate word that is) - were in abundance. In an email to the organiser of my second team this week I described them as 'one of the most successful teams I know'. I stand by that, and they've won two games all year.
As I type this tens of thousands of English cricket followers are willing an opposition batsman to get a hundred. Fuck all the controversy. Cricket does have a spirit.
So we headed to the nets for the day:
To Sunday: I forgot to get any photos of the ground again. The ground was owned by a university, but it was closed last year. A conglomerate of local sports clubs took over the lease, which is largely great news, but it would appear that they haven't the resources to fund a good groundsman. The pitch had been a belter. Now it's council standard - the sort of green top where you hope there's been a good rain storm the night before to take the sting out of it.
I didn't play well. Obviously, what with it being my second team, my bowling was expensive and I didn't get any wickets. My first three balls went for four, the next four overs were ok but in terms of the spell I was always playing catch up, and the opener cruised to one of the easiest hundreds he will ever make.
Batting was tough. The pitch was a bit of a nightmare in the second innings having got firmer. They had four men round the bat which on an uneven wicket is surprisingly hard to deal with, even if the bowling is crap (which it largely was). I also had a hangover, and they really wanted to win. Still, I have no qualms about the way I got out - I clipped the ball off my legs, it flew straight out of the middle, short leg stuck his hand out, and the ball stuck in it. Afterward he claimed to just be very good in that position, but I still don't think he'd have taken it seven or eight times out of ten. One of the best catches I've ever gone to.
Back on the sidelines the chatter was marvellous. I love my second team, because they are 20 years older than me, for the most part, and even more aware of the ludicrousness of their pastime, indeed, of the ludicrousness of life. One of them had a tantrum and stropped off because he'd been moved from five to six. One of them was getting married in France, and was interrogated by the others about whether he'd have to pledge allegiance to the Euro.
We capitulated and lost by over 100 runs. So a miserable weekend, then? Not really. The two things I love about the game as I play it now - the fact I get to do it with people I consider my friends, the socialising (and what a miserably inadequate word that is) - were in abundance. In an email to the organiser of my second team this week I described them as 'one of the most successful teams I know'. I stand by that, and they've won two games all year.
As I type this tens of thousands of English cricket followers are willing an opposition batsman to get a hundred. Fuck all the controversy. Cricket does have a spirit.
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