“Tough times don’t last, tough people do!”
A wellwisher.
Our overseas player Luke arrived last week all the way from Adelaide in the midst of the traditional British April heatwave, celebrated with a torrent of hailstones and a force seven gale.
We’d sent Rick to meet him as he’s just got a new car and so we thought we might dupe Luke into thinking we were all stinking rich.
I’d spent the morning with my feather duster and faithful Dyson, out for it’s Spring run about the house; no rising damp here.
Rick arrived and out from the car stepped Luke, dressed in shorts, t-shirt and a sideways cap, suggesting we’d got one of the Back Street Boys rather than the Australian Cricket Board’s finest youth product.
No matter, soon I would have him to Raymond Towns; a fine pair of natty corduroys and loafers would do the trick!
With no game at the weekend, its all been about acclimatisation and I’m pleased to say that Luke has adapted well to the varied British conditions of abundant real ale, fish & chips and the inmates at The Scruffy.
On a highly positive note he can cook so my house may not resemble cardboard city with discarded Don Carlo King Size Meat Feast boxes this summer.
I awoke to find him throwing all kinds of ingredients into the big pan; with a nervous look outside I saw the neighbour’s cat had survived for now.
We’ve been to Kents to sample the wonderful array of classes.
I took him to Pensioners’ Pilates with the lovely Lisa. It was Hettie’s 110th birthday and so we had a box of Quality Street to tuck into if we survived the class. All the oldies in the know had brought their best teeth.
We laid there to the usual classic 80’s soundtrack – Lionel Richie, Neil Diamond et al – music Luke’s parents would doubtless have smooched away to many moons ago.
It was proving a tough morning as I’d already treated him to Sinatra on the way to the gym.
Midway through the class, one-on-one tuition was called for and as our teacher bent over to assist, all flowing red locks and womanly curves, the young man quivered to her touch as I started humming “…here’s to you Mrs Robinson…”
He is keen on the odd energy drink too – other than Saltaire Blonde – and I asked him what a curious looking potion was.
“This is good for your libido mate!” he winked in conspiratorial style “it might be good for an old guy like you to slurp a drop or two?”
After a week at least he’s got used to the European habit of taking a siesta; even though I am from the Brexit camp we should at least keep this bit.
So at last the cricket begins and here’s hoping for a fun summer and a great experience all round.
Confessions Of A Trundler.
As Molly and I shivered in the changing rooms, gazing hopefully at the cricket club driveway, awaiting the procession of cars signalling the start of junior practice, he turned to me in confessional mode.
“I’ve gone a bit wild lately” he said softly as I scrambled my mind to figure out what was coming next. Had he bought a copy of Fifty Shades and some fluffy handcuffs for Carol?
“Speak my son” I offered with the fallback of fifty Hail Marys as suitable punishment.
“I’ve bought a new bat!” he said, this for a man who’s repertoire of shots consists of the forward block and the back-foot block.
I looked him in the eyes for early signs of dementia but they glistened with hope for the new season and no recognition of the madness of this investment.
Anybody seeking a one-owner, barely used bat should apply here around mid-June.
Dear Steve.
As each new season approaches I brace myself for the inevitable email or text – never a phone call or old-fashioned chat – from a parent telling me that his prized one won’t be turning up anymore for the summer fun.
This is nothing new, people quit teams way back when we were young in those days of the Ford Capri, the Bay City Rollers, Tudor crisps and Texan bars.
We were no different, just perhaps back then most survived until at least a wife and kids came along.
This is not simply cricket’s problem; most recreational sports have been suffering the same fallout rates for years now as evidenced by a declining number of weekend teams. Spot the Olympic Legacy if you can?
If we are granted any explanation at all as coaches – often we are not – generally it’s exam pressures albeit I seem to remember we also had to take exams.
I’m also not suggesting we were tough kids but the experience we gained from sticking at it, especially overcoming the initial shock of a senior dressing room – way before the advent of what not to say – was a vital part of growing up.
Being told by the late lamented Car Park Jackson that I had a spotty arse as a 14 year-old was not my best day nor was his reply to me after I suggested my arse would improve whereas his face would not.
“Any more lip from you and I’ll take you out in that carpark and leather you!” he said before breaking into a great wide smile.
I remember taking my seat one day and seeing old Klinkers soiled Y-fronts hung up on a peg above my head; it was as good as any reason to get changed quickly.
I wish I was bright enough to offer any suggestions to cure this malaise having scratched my head without success for many years now.
However, I see enough evidence each year that many kids drop-out before they find out how good they could be and how little they understand what they have given up and will not get back.
What I do not see is them substituting the talent they have discarded with much else. And as preparation for adult life you need a bit more than fifteen A* GCSEs to make your way through life.
And Finally…Spare A Thought.
On the flip-side, consider the story of a lad that has lived to play sport. Fresh from playing his part in England’s win in South Africa came news on the BBC website that “England and Nottinghamshire batsman James Taylor has been forced to retire because of a serious heart condition.”
Aged 26, this is a cruel blow. With a combined age of 104 Molly and I may well consider ourselves very lucky whatever ups and downs await us this new season to simply share that priceless banter and good company of a sporting afternoon out on the oval.
Good luck to all of you out there this summer.
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