Diary of an urban Grandad
Welcome return of living, breathing crowds cheering from the stands
REGULAR readers of this column will have noticed by now that although the usual subject matter is pretty far ranging, there are some things that get left off the menu.
Sport, for instance. Don’t often talk about it. In fact, never do. Mainly because I reckon there’s enough of that sort of thing to be found elsewhere, which is nice. Enough to keep even the hardiest of game-obsessed fans happy.
So I am content to leave well alone. But this week, for one week only, in honour of the Euros actually going ahead in real life, yippee, it is time to go against the grain. To change tack, to bring it on home, as they say.
The usual tradition in these situations, is to deliver a game of two halves. Which is exactly what I intend to do. Though, in a break with the old normal rules, the first half will involve cricket, whilst the second half will be mainly about football. If you are sitting comfortably, I shall explain. Everything.
One of my grown-up kids is lucky enough to live in a fine place that overlooks the Gloucestershire Cricket Ground. With far reaching views, a well equipped kitchen and a sensible attitude to enjoying life.
He got in touch last week to announce that a game was being played. A select few, including myself, were invited over to his place to watch it, whilst also enjoying his world famous home cooked BBQ ribs and wings. A combo that is worth a column all to itself. Sigh. But I digress.
Point is, the game was a twenty twenty match, a short, sweet blast of top quality cricket. Twenty overs per team, kick off (or similar) in the early evening. He also mentioned that I was welcome to bring along any liquid refreshments that might be appropriate.
All of which is why I turned up at his with an arm full of bottles, a bag full of ice and hope in my heart. Reader, I was not disappointed. There is something truly delicious about meeting up with a small but perfectly formed group of friends to enjoy a relaxing time together. Watching a sport we all appreciate in equal measure. To make things even sweeter, to place a cherry atop an already alarmingly charming cake, this type of match only lasts three or four hours. So it is riddled with delights. Batsmen lashing out, fielders performing acrobatic feats of skill, flame throwers sending plumes into the ether. All delivering thrills and spills galore. With occasional music.
But that’s not all. There were real people in the stands. Lots of them. Real human people. Spectating away like mad. Breathing, laughing, clapping, chanting, happy people. All of them having a complete blast. To my untrained eye, it looked like a perfectly normal cricket crowd. The sort that we used to see back in the old days before the world went Covid crazy. A full house was a rare thing back then. This looked close enough to fool the eye into believing nothing had changed since then.
Of course, in reality, things weren’t exactly like they used to be. Rows were blocked off, folk were discreetly sitting in socially distanced patterns. But still, if you could forget about those small details, the whole thing really did look absolutely fine and dandy. Just the way it should be. Absolutely spot on. Gladdened the heart just to be there.
If you are wondering where football fits into this bundle of joy, allow me to explain. You see, after the cricket had been done and dusted, the younger elements present decided to play video games. Like they do. In particular, a football game. So they fired up the necessary and got to work.
Which is when I got a bit confused. For a start, the TV sets they all seem to have on their walls are enormous. More cinema sized than living room fit. The pictures that sprang to life weren’t that far off life size either. Next thing that threw me was the quality of what we were watching. It was amazing. Looked for all the world like real blokes on a real pitch playing a real game. Phew.
A few days later, back at Cullimore Cottage, enjoying the opening England game against Croatia, a thought occurred. A small detail that dawned as the match ticked on by. The quality of picture that was displayed on my miniscule, living room sized TV set, was far, far worse than the quality of video game footage I had watched.
Sigh. Maybe I should go back to leaving sport well alone, after all.
Hope you and yours are safe, well and happy.
Until next time, all the best,
There were real people in the stands. Lots of them. Real human people. Spectating away like mad. Breathing, laughing, clapping, chanting, happy people. All of them having a complete blast