Cricket

“a game which the English, not being a spiritual people, have invented in order to give themselves some conception of eternity” – Lord Mancroft

Amy and I went for a walk this afternoon. Originally I had planned to wander up to the primary school where she will be going next year. But on the way we saw a cricket match going on at the village pitch and Amy wanted to stop and watch.

There is nothing that makes you feel more English than loafing around on a Saturday afternoon letting a cricket match wash over you. The dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves of oak trees, the gentle sound of leather striking willow, and the polite smattering of applause accompanying each run, catch, or bowl. It doesn’t get much more relaxing than that.

Of course the whole thing is spoiled if you actually care who wins. Fortunately I had absolutely no idea who were the home team and who were the visitors so I was spared the temptation to take sides. And while I enjoy absorbing the odd game, I have only a vague impression of the more complex rules and subtleties of tactics.

We played cricket whilst I was at school of course, but I spent the entire time concentrating on trying not to be hit by the ball rather than learning anything. Every now and again my friends Craig and Dave try to persuade me to join them in a friendly game in the park. But that ball is still is as rock hard as it ever was and I’m even less likely to be able to leap out of it’s way these days, so I politely decline.

We spent about an hour down at the cricket pitch, and Amy was even reluctant to leave when I decided it was time to go. She asked if we could go back again tomorrow, and if it’s not raining, and if I don’t have to stay home and clear up the various detritus that is currently littering our kitchen, I must admit I’ll be very tempted indeed.

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