To paraphrase and idea from Cricket Et Al’s fearless leader, all cricket clubs are the much the same, that’s what makes them (and club cricket) unique.
Most rooms feature the same kits and shabbily treated equipment and daggy memorabilia. The more orderly will feature some posters about conduct, uniforms and contacts. Its lore that tea will feature at least one pack of Arnotts from a 7-11 with a pack of snakes. Cordial is almost always koola served watered down.
For park cricketers, the hours are long, the returns are fickle, the holidays are compromised. There’s always a selection drama, a player needs disciplining (a punishment for ‘mooning’ was handed out last season), gear is constantly going missing.
Park cricket can be slow, but its rarely quiet. The drawl of scorers checking names, clapping and daggy encouragement is all part of its hum. Training is much the same with silly gags and games within nets to help to deal with some of the quirks of the sport.
Players will blow up about a run out or words said on the ground. Run down volunteers will exasperatedly call out for help on Whatsapp chats.
I’ve called time from the cricket club hullabaloo for a while to invest time as a new dad. 25 seasons is plenty and a summer family holiday was due.
Park cricket is strange. It’s deeply frustrating. It’s loud. The three quiet minutes of park cricket in those 25 years are the moments I reflected on this morning.
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