Warm yoghurts and no sausage rolls! Why that's just not cricket
ention cricket and sepia-tinged summer images of warm yoghurt, shipping containers and a trip to A&E naturally spring to mind. No?
Well, maybe to you, cricket throws up the comforting clack of leather on wood across a sun dappled glade with only the gentle ripple of polite applause temporarily drowning out the buzzing of bees in the meadow and the popping of another champagne cork.
Not so for us village cricketers who ply their trade on a Saturday afternoon – weather permitting. And, of late, the weather has been about as permitting as a badtempered doorman confronted with a stag do of worse for wear accountants, dressed as cricketers… In other words, not very permitting at all.
When the rain did relent, we managed to get our first game of the season played. The opponent’s ground was unplayable so there was a late change of venue to one of the best grounds in our vicinity. That was a bonus. Except, it wasn’t the premier league venue. ‘It’s the field next door to that one,’ their skipper pointed out.
Ah. That one. While you don’t always expect Lords-style luxury when playing cricket, is light too much to ask? We got changed in a metal shipping container.
MThere is no light, no electricity, no windows and a distinct shortage of chairs. For a team of 11 players they had two.
Still, for all the lack of comfort you endure, at least you have a quality tea to look forward to at the break. There were clearly catering issues for our opposition.
In a career first, we encountered a tea in which there wasn’t a single sausage roll. The sausage roll is the staple of the village cricketer’s diet. There was a point last season where I had to put a limit on the number of sausage rolls permitted on the tea table. It’s the go-to snack of cricket tea supplies.
But here there were none.
In another cricketing first, they were replaced by yoghurts. Granted they were the fancy ‘corner’ variety, but I would argue they are best served chilled. Luke warm just doesn’t cut it.
We weren’t stuffed at tea, but we were stuffed on the pitch.
And to add insult to the injury of defeat, my bravery stopping a speeding ball with my thumb landed me in A&E with a suspected broken digit.
No win, no tea, and a trip to A&E.
That may well be the title of my cricket memoirs…