I played here for the school XI when I was 15. I mention that with some pride but the truth is that half the team were ill or had exams so the last fit cricketer in the school got picked. We travelled up the night before. I got very drunk- iniation ritual by older boys- and threw up in the middle of the night in the bathrooms of a house called Whitelaw. I got a duck the next day and on my return to the pavilion I was heckled by team mates on the balcony.
My return 17 years later was a joyless waste of time. A thanks for coming day. I batted 8. Bit my lip. I was gutless. I should have said to the captain ‘next time, do us a both a favour don’t pick me. Do you think I’ve travelled 3 hours from London to bat at number 8. Your pal batting 7, he bowled 12 overs. Why don’t you ask him to bat 8? At least he’s played some part in the game. You’ve stuck your nephew in at 6 even though he broke his finger and went off to hospital mid game.’ if the bloke who runs this game ever reads this rant, I don’t fancy my chances of playing for him game again!
When I got in we needed 50 odd of 7 overs on a slow pitch. I did my bit before being given out to a stinker. The game was abandoned a few overs later. There was light rain and one umpire ruled it was too dangerous for the boys to play. ECB rules apparently; something to do with insurance. The boys wanted to play, we wanted to play but the Umpire wanted to go home.
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