Dark. Tired. Lost somewhere in Sussex. A row chose us to pass time. Us- my girlfriend and I had gone missing in rural nowhere.
Don’t blame me, she said
I haven’t said a word have I?
Your eyes, I read your eyes she said.
Map reading ones were they?
That couldn’t go unanswered. She countered “You’re not out there for long are you? Hours, it took hours to get here and you bat what? 10 minutes.
“Yeah, that’s how I planned it. Watch a few games of cricket and you’re the expert now.”
“It doesn’t take ….. to see something aint right?”
“It’s not that simple you know”
“What about that old man, he batted all day.”
“Cricket isn’t like that.”
“Whatever…
Mid escalating row we became very worried about getting home- alive. Speeding cars and beaming headlights down wriggly country lanes had something to with it. We’re both Hackney dwellers. We weren’t born to die in Mid Sussex. Joining the motorway never felt so good.
Hushed by failure and stung by the suggestion cricket was no friend of mine I kept ma’ own counsel and said to myself you are a decent cricketer, what does she know about batting? That four I hit to get off the mark “it went like butter” I would go anywhere in the world, find any game I could, to play that shot. “Cricket was worth playing for that shot alone.” I’ll show her. I’ll score a hundred next week or the week after that.’ There was still time; a few more games before the season’s end.