“A half-truth is even more dangerous than a lie. A lie, you can detect at some stage, but half a truth is sure to mislead you for long.” Anurag Shourie
A few years ago I wrote a post that gained quite a bit of attention not just here but also in the local press. Indeed, the local rag printed it in full.
My topic was the folly of a plan to invest in excess of £5m in a dilapidated old cricket ground simply because of where it is and delusional tales spun of future grandeur.
The English Cricket Board’s Big Dumb Idea detailed a scheme to restore Bradford Park Avenue cricket ground to former glories, albeit decades ago. No matter if it’s not your money.
At the time, Mark Arthur, Yorkshire’s CEO said: “This is about giving the Bradford community more cricket facilities, both practice and playing, in the immediate and long-term, at a time when there is a shortage of cricket-playing facilities for them to enjoy.”
That, in itself was a ridiculously mis-informed statement fed, in part, by career pen-pushers at Bradford Council desperate to waste someone else’s money instead of Bradford’s for a change.
“…there’s no reason to believe that major matches cannot be played at Bradford. In 2019…we’re going to have an Ashes Test at Headingley…so there could be an opportunity to take a first-class Yorkshire County Cricket Club match back to Bradford Park Avenue.”
And so they salivated in unison.
Wind forward now almost three years and the great and the good were there to officially open the new nets and community pavilion at BPA. Note though the change in tone from Arthur.
“We hope in the future to hold women’s international cricket here, Yorkshire Diamond’s women’s cricket, England disabled cricket, and probably one day of Yorkshire cricket per year, a 50-over game. The rest of the time it is for the community to use.”
So there you have it! A total freebie for the community as I predicted it would be. But who will maintain the facility because, rest assured, it will not be based on volunteers. The annual running costs will be serious money as anyone who knows anything about running a club will confirm.
As for the next stages and more grand plans to buff up the white elephant.
The final phases of the project include a new county standard pavilion, a 250-capacity restaurant – name me one in the whole of Bradford – 5,000 new seats to house average attendances a garage would accommodate and ECB-standard floodlights.
“For the next stage we need to raise another £5 million to refurbish the ground, the spectator facilities, and a new pavilion that is capable of hosting international cricket, but also disabled facilities.
“The money will be a combination of private and ECB funding. We’re all waiting to see what happens with the next round of TV negotiations and there is a pledge from the ECB to improve facilities nationwide, and this is obviously a landmark project.”
In other words they have not got a clue where this £5m is coming from.
From a grass-roots perspective nobody can quite explain to me why the only serious investment in cricket in the city has been focused on one community. And, given Manningham Mills CC (defunct), Myra Shay (disused), Karmand Centre and now BPA what could possibly go wrong?
Every local league acknowledges the game is struggling to retain its mass participation appeal as society rejects what has held good for so long.
Meanwhile, only Bradford Council and Sport England could be stupid enough to promote a belief that there is a shortage of cricket grounds in the city.
See this quote from a piece this week concerning plans to sell a disused cricket ground.
Sport England has also refused to back the plans, given the loss of a playing field when “demand for cricket provision far outstrips supply in Bradford”.
These are barely employable people doing non-jobs in control of doling out millions based on total ignorance, blinded by political correctness.
Finally, here’s my own view. Over the next few years this project will fade from consciousness; people will move on.
It will all have been a ridiculous pipedream having wasted hundreds of thousands that could have been invested in school coaching to promote a game invisible to the vast majority of kids.
Florida Phil Saves The Day
Last Saturday our club promoted one of a regular series of Chairman’s Ale Cask Days this summer and one might suggest it was something of a success.
We were fortunate the rain abated and Florida Phil landed from his seasonal excursion to Wembley before heading off back to the Everglades via The Khyber.
Chairman Molly had chosen Bradfield Brewery’s Farmer’s Blonde and my she was smooooooooooth as silk.
As we fought out a good win on the field, Florida, Curator Binns and my old man valiantly tackled the 72 pints on offer with able assistance from HMRC’s finest.
At the end of the game Jones The Mower stepped up the pace as he does when batting with those Popeye forearms lifting pint after pint to groans from those now seeking the peace and solitude of spare rooms.
As we closed the gates to head home, we passed The Curator proudly waving us on as he lent back on a gate for comfort, only to find there was no gate and to fall straight through ending up seeing the last stars of the night.
Hon Lady Secretary and The Curator’s partner had her usual soothing words.
“Leave the silly old bugger there he can sleep in t’garage!”
And off we drove.
The Road To Scarborough
Here we go again with the first of three games as Villas Over Fifties seek to emulate the unforgettable success of only two years ago. Read all about it next week.
Time to find the ibuprofen boys!
One Hundred Years Ago
More tales of the ultimate sacrifice plus a wonderful story of an appeal for cricket equipment to be sent to The Front. These were brave lads beyond the imagination of any of us living today.
What Women Want
There I was enjoying a moment; it was time to start lifting a few winter onions as I probed with my sturdy tool. I gently lifted the long elegant stalk and caressed the bulb blinking in the sunshine, brushing dirt lightly from it’s fine curvature.
The smooth skin shone with undiscovered youth as I held it gently in my fingers, inspecting for any blemishes as the heat of the day enveloped us. I took it to the shower – my water butt – and cleansed the beautiful surface.
“You don’t caress me like that!” came a voice from the clouds or possibly the creaking recliner nearby. “And fat chance o’ me gettin’ in t’shower for a rub!”
I tried to explain that this was a delicate process and required devotion, care and attention to detail; one false move and months of effort could be ruined.
“Aye an’ if you don’t pull yer finger out it will!” said the voice again as it’s owner shifted on my ASDA bargain, rust shaking from it’s springs as what is commonly known as a tantrum came forth.
I took her gently between my fingers – the onion that is – and reassured her all was well as The Voice was silenced by a cold beer and a sedative. I lay her gently in the sun – the onion of course – as t’other snored peacefully.
For safety I retreated to the greenhouse, surveyed my land as a song wafted into my head…
“When I was young my father said
‘Son I have something to say’
And what he told me I’ll never forget
Until my dying days
He said son you are a bachelor boy
And that’s the way to stay
Son you’ll be a bachelor boy
Until your dying days”
Songwriters: Bruce Welch / Cliff Richard
Bachelor Boy lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
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