Cricket

There are not many more pleasant ways of passing a summer’s day in England than watching cricket in fine weather

            In front of you is a large area of grass, dotted about with men or women dressed in white.

            Around the field are spectators who watch avidly, yet go off to lunch and return from formal dining or picnic well after the game has restarted after the interval.

            Cricket is a physical game, a psychological game, and a mathematical game. If you are good at all those you could become either a cricketer or a knowledgeable spectator. If not, like me, you can just love the game, enjoy the skills or ineptitudes on show, have a very nice time watching only the best, and for the rest of the time reading the daily scores in newspapers to keep in touch.

            It is a game that encompasses people from all walks of life, with very seldom any violence, but sometimes inebriation. Matches can be exciting, but more often a bit boring and attritional. During those doldrum times there is a lot to occupy one’s mind and eye.

            The weather has a strong bearing on the game – its techniques and result. And if you were an airman, like me, the cloud formations, types, and wind direction, occupy the mind and give the pleasure of prediction.

            Then there are the spectators – English at their most English, regardless of their origins. Rowlandson and Hogarth would be in their element depicting the English cricket spectator. Exaggerations of facial structure in those 18^th century faces of theirs that we think to be a bit grotesque and exaggerated are much in evidence among a Test Match crowd. And spectators’ dress, even formal dress, is also exaggerated, and sometimes most stylish.

            Hats can be of any shape or colour, and are much needed in sunny weather. These are worn mundanely or with style, from Panama to cloche.

            Near to me one day was a man with a simple black cricket cap on his head. Every 28 seconds, give or take four or five seconds, he took it off to scratch his scalp of sparsely-growing grey hair, then to run his fingers through it like a comb, before replacing the cap on his head. This continued for as long as I took notice of it.

            Dull-looking food often comes from browning Tupperware boxes to be accompanied by red or white wine – sometimes Champagne. A man in front of me consumed an entire bottle of the latter before his lunch, drinking from a plastic wine- glass.

            And then, of course, there is the nodding off. Whatever the intensity of the game, the effects of alcohol and/or the customary afternoon nap, will take its toll. Bodies slump, heads drop. A wicket falling wakes the dozer from slumber for that person to start clapping, not knowing exactly why or what happened on the field of play.

            Aeroplanes, birds (I once saw a pair if ospreys circle high when passing overhead) are useful objects on which to concentrate when batting is slow.

            And when the lunch interval is reached, a pint of cold beer restores the spirits and engenders animated cricket conversation among friends.

            No wonder that this either elaborate or simple game, in all its newly adapted styles, binds together so many races and ages of civilised people.