I don’t like cricket … I love it
Dear Reader,
The lark's on the wing; the snail's on the thorn; God's in his heaven, and all's right with the world; for cricket season is upon us. The Marauders are fit and raring to go with four fixtures lined up that will test us to our limits, and possibly beyond.
Like lambs to the slaughter, we have two matches against genuine real-life cricket teams. Our first is against The Rioters CC, who sound like exactly the sort of characters our finely tuned athletes should pit their wits against. Next, we play Tichborne CC at their beautiful ground (venue for the Alresford Show). Then, we play the world-famous Ceasarians XI in our annual grudge match at Cheriton CC.
Rarely, if ever, do we arrive at the ground with 11 players, invariably someone drops out mere hours before play, so I end up chasing a motley rabble of waifs and strays the night before, the morning of, and not infrequently while the match is being played. This year however the whip will be cracked, the law laid down, discipline enforced … perhaps.
Cricket is an extraordinarily overcomplicated excuse for a picnic, with occasional bursts of activity, in many and varied beautiful spots around England, and indeed the world. A sport invented in a very different era, when men were men, women were women, and five matches of five days each seemed an eminently sensible period of time to devote oneself to a recreational pursuit.
Growing up, the background noise to summer was Jonners, Blowers, and Aggers burbling on in good-natured fashion about chocolate cake, pigeons, and London buses. It’s one of life’s minor tragedies that the many and varied forces of wokism have reduced Test Match Special to a mere shadow of its former self.
Blowers banished, Vaughny defenestrated, mild-mannered Aggers dismissed (as BBC chief cricket correspondent, though he remains on TMS for the time being). Surely there must be a significant business opportunity in providing non-woke sporting commentary, and indeed media.
It’s sad to see the decline of cricket in this country relative to football. State schools barely play it at all, village cricket is dependent on a rapidly aging workforce, and my local club (Meonstoke CC) gave up the ghost while I was living in New Zealand. If anyone wants to get Meonstoke’s square up and running again, do let me know. I can guarantee that The Marauders will be up for a game or two.
Which is why The Hundred, 20/20, and the IPL are so important. While Test Matches are unquestionably my favorite form of cricket, there is no doubt that the short form of the game will become ever more dominant, and hopefully persuade future generations to start mainlining cricket like us venerably frizzled addicts.
With its labyrinthine complexity, the cognoscenti will continue to follow Test cricket. I am never happier than when I have a test series to follow. It’s like a microcosm of life itself, with its endless ebbs and flows, bizarre technical language, and potential to end in a draw. Perhaps the reason it’s so enjoyable to follow is because it actually doesn’t matter at all. It’s a rare respite for the cerebral cortex, frazzled by bills to pay, families to placate, and the ever-present threat of World War Three.
I have to confess that, while I played a lot of cricket in my youth, I certainly wasn’t head over heels in love with it. Not enough action, with vast great swathes of time doing very little, which of course is exactly the appeal now. Cricket has just the right quantity of intermittent high-quality drama to keep one engaged, while at the same time affording plenty of time to eat, drink and banter.
Happy marauding,
Jack Martin
Rock and Roll Star
PS I’m super proud of my wonderful wife Shannon, who had her first proper gig with her and Mark Potter’s band, Muddy Lane. They played at Off The Cuff in Londontown, on the undercard for Roques Moraes. We headed up to London, and while being a groupie is not what it was, a splendid time was had by all, though we paid for it the next day.