With snow forecast it must be the start of the season

IF there’s anything guaranteed to bring on snow then it’s the start of the cricket season. By this time next week the first class season will be three days old, and sure enough, forecasters reckon temperatures will plummet far enough at the start of the week for some of us to see snow. It probably won’t be me. Even when most of the Westcountry is white it hardly ever snows here in Plymouth.

Even if you love snow like me, that is a considerable a relief as the city does not deal with snow well at all. The one time I remember it snowing properly saw the city descend into absolute chaos as buses, cars, bike and pedestrians tried to slip and slide their way to work or school. It was bedlam, and at the Herald, the newspaper I was on at the time, it led to all sorts of heroics from members of staff who walked for miles to get in to the office to “get the paper out”. A burly ex-forces picture editor teamed up with a less-burly news editor and marched 12 miles to get to the great glass ship at Derriford. While the picture man opted to tackle the journey in full combats and boots, the newsman plumped for jacket and tie, and his leather office shoes. If they’d waited a few hours they could have driven in like the rest of us. Hilarious.

Anyway snow and the start of the cricket season is not uncommon. Back in my boarding school days early season nets were just about bearable as long as you kept bowling, but fielding during matches was like a form of Arctic torture made worse by the fact we had to play in shorts, a T-shirt and a white jumper (Mum had knitted mine). The start of the rugby term in mid-September was even worse, as we – in the same shorts – we hurled ourselves at each other on rock-hard pitches and in blazing sunshine. Fortunately as my cricket got a bit more serious I was able to start my seasons in thermals, long trousers, and all the proper kit. Those early days were the first flirtations of what developed into my lifelong love affair with the game. It is a passion that has taken me all over the world – playing and watching – given me an intimate knowledge of just about every town and village in Devon, and been a constant backdrop to everything else that has happened in my life. There’s something extra special about the first week of the season for cricket lovers. At every level, professional to village, the first game of the season is the start of a long summer journey.

Up until last year, and now this, I would always go to Taunton for the first day of the first game. I would always go alone, it was invariably freezing, and I’d always be there for the first ball. The most important. This season the game I love is at some sort of crossroads with a new professional competition being introduced to broaden the appeal of the game. The Hundred will be played in the school holidays, by eight professional franchises, and no doubt there will be all sorts of razzamatazz, rock music, and fireworks. I desperately don’t want to be a fuddy-duddy about this new competition which is designed to appeal to those who don’t know a Stovold from a Dredge (if you know, you know).

Crucially it’s going to be on freeto-air TV and that has to be a good thing even though I fear it threatens clubs like my beloved Somerset which hasn’t got a franchise, and will see many of its players playing somewhere else. Ah well, it’s change and innovation so let’s hope it’s a soaring success. Next week though it’s all about the start of the season, and this old fuddy duddy, even though I can’t go, will follow every ball.