Me 6: Old Wounds, Big Lunch
Despite my almost unlimited passive-aggressive ego, I'm finding this segment, where I regale you with tales of my own sporting derring-do and try to afford it meaning above and beyond fond self-recollection, rather tricky to complete.
I do have sporting moments I look back on with great fondness and not a little pride, but, often, the best of them are much of a muchness. My best, favourite and most played sports growing up were football and cricket - hence, I could give you "the time I scored that goal" or "the time I took some wickets" several times over and we'd all be suitably bored.
How can I mix it up? Pretend I was a great freestyle skier? Tell you about the time I just failed to earn my 10 metre badge at Gurnell Swimming Pool? It's all up my sleeve if I need it, but, sorry, kids, for now I'm going back to cricket, because cricket is best.
Cricket is a game of infinite statistics, and statistics really do tell the tale most often. But certainly not always. I remember a day playing cricket when my personal statistics were utterly unremarkable but I know it was one of my best ever days.
Cricket was pretty much an unmitigated good thing for me when I was younger - rugby turned bad, and football could be a source of vast frustration and disappointment amidst its joys, but I don't have too many negative memories of cricket apart from my own regular dark strops which came and went as soon again. And I stropped because I loved cricket and wanted to play it to my heart's content, felt that I was good and deserved a chance to show it.
Mostly, back then (and, thankfully, statistics back me up here) I was right. I was a bit better than I was judged to be by others, be they coaches, captains, selectors. Not a great lost genius but I bowled well, batted pretty well and could have been encouraged a bit more than I was. Equally, it was a gilded time. I got to play at one of the best clubs in the land, Ealing, and for my school, where we were extremely well coached and played on a high quality wicket. Cricket, is, by definition, mainly played in pretty good weather, so no wonder when I look back on my childhood playing cricket, it's through rose-tinted sunglasses. Blissful summer days and evenings.
Just once, when I was 10, I was put forward to the Middlesex squad of 30ish, along with a schoolfriend Sam Peters, and went to Friday evening sessions up in Finchley, but then, just as quickly, just when I was getting into it, I was bluntly told I'd no longer be required as I wouldn't be making the final squad. Dreams of captaining England died that second.
I don't know, it might have been the right decision looking back. I was a timid batsman and still a limited medium pace bowler then. It was later that year I'd be converted into a left-arm spinner, which would prove to be the main string to my bow.
But still, I remember the dude that delivered the blow, David Green; as the years progressed I learnt he had a reputation for favouring those he knew - he was affiliated to a a club in North London and he also taught at Merchant Taylors School - a strong cricketing school which seemed to have an awful lot of players who represented Middlesex, funnily enough.
Including three spinners my age - so every year when we played them I got to compare myself against those spinners in their fancy Middlesex jumpers with the three swords and mutter to myself "he's no better than me"... it's not like I was outstandingly better than them either, and it's reasonable enough that to force your way back into the reckoning you had to stand out, but still, they were not clearly better, and they were in and I was out. Dammit.
Notwithstanding any real or perceived nepotism, Merchant Taylors were generally very good. I think I always tried to raise my game against them and generally did decently but they usually got a result against my school, St Pauls. I got into my school 1st XI just at the end of the U16 year, along with the same Sam Peters (we both might well have got in earlier than year if our own year hadn't been so desperately poor and if the other good player at that time hadn't been expelled that year) and then played a full season in our first A-Level year. That was a quality team, full of all rounders - I batted Number 10 but made some decent contributions (despite, other times, feeling hard done by, i didn't mind the low position then - 7 to 9 were all good players too as, frankly, was 11) and ended up bowling really well too, taking 30 wickets. We won 8, drew quite a few and only lost 1, early in the season. That one we lost was to Merchant Taylors. Damn.
Then, the next year, Sam was captain, I was vice-captain and up batting at 7. The weather was worse and a few games were called off. I'd expected to take a ton of wickets but it didn't really work out to start with. The burden of keeping runs down while others conceded meant my bowling became overly defensive - catches were dropped too and I couldn't buy a wicket.
The game against Merchant Taylors was to be dreaded - their line-up was a litany of my cricketing injustices - full of guys I'd played against all my life with their Middlesex jumpers. Against, and one I'd played with, Neeraj "Midge" Sapra, who I'd known since I was 8 from Ealing - he bowled deadly, deceptive, medium pace.
The game started at 11.30, they batted first. Like I said, we were not a particularly strong side and they got off to a rapid start. One of their batsmen was quality and got a big hundred that day. I was brought on to bowl early and, honestly, did not bowl a bad ball. Before lunch, I rattled relentlessly through my overs, every ball exactly where I wanted it to go. The century-maker, Grundy, played me with exaggerated respect, and I could have had a bag of wickets. But because runs were easy to come by the batsmen were happy to block me out. Even so, there were chances. I got one wicket, had a stumping missed, a caught behind dropped, dropped a caught and bowled. I went into lunch with figures of (I still remember) 15 overs 1 for 18. Grundy said "Well bowled, mate, impossible to get away" as we were going off. I was satisfied.
But hungry. I ate. A lot. I deserved a big lunch. So when we went out for the post-lunch session, a combination of my arm having seized up a little and the huge amount I'd eaten meant that I felt like I was bowling with a different body. After three ghastly overs which went for more than my previous 15 put together, Sam and I exchanged a wry glance - I usually was kicking and screaming when my bowling spells were ended, but not this time. No more, thanks.
MTS piled on the runs - they declared on about 270-4. D McGaughey 18 overs 1-37 - no real indication of how well I bowled. And they ripped into us. I came in at 50 for 5 with 30 overs still to bowl. I usually liked and did well in this type of situation, where flashier stroke players would fail, I could concentrate if needed and knew where my stumps were. Right, game on. All the spinners in their Middlesex jumpers took turns - the left-armer, Boardley (I think), nothing special, the leg-spinner, Alibhai, pretty good but thou shalt not pass, the other leg-spinner, Latchman, I remember hearing him saying "Let me bowl, I know how to get the lefty". "No, you fucking don't," I thought, and he didn't (though I think he almost did ...)
I took us almost all the way, batted 28 or so overs for about 20 runs. Then, belatedly, they bought Midge back on to bowl, Midge who'd probably got me out 100s of times back at Friday evening nets at Ealing when we were little. And he got me to nibble at one outside off stump and I was caught behind. Midge getting me, I didn't really mind that. Well, I did at the time, but not later.
And I remember his dad, Prakash, giving me a nod of respect as I walked off, saying "We got you in the end ..." I thought we'd lose then, even though we had a couple of wickets in hand and only a couple of overs left, but we held on, just. 99-9. Versus 270-4. But a draw. We'd been outplayed, but drawn, and, honestly, that might have been the best I ever played, though I ended with 1-37 and 20 runs.
We'd definitely have lost, lost by an embarrassing scoreline, if not for me, so I felt pretty proud. I remember it was someone from school's party somewhere in North London that evening and I was still labouring under the impression, as I had years before the first time I'd done something of general insignificance in a school sports event, that some people gave a shit.
Well, to be fair, some of the schoolfriends I spoke to that night did give a bit of a shit. They asked about the cricket, how it had gone, but it was impossible to impress with the raw statistics just how well I felt I'd played, nor then was I able to articulate that it was about more than scores, about more than winning and losing, it was about showing that I was as good as these guys. Like Jake LaMotta, "You never put me down, Ray".
So I remember that cricket match much better than many others where I took more wickets or scored more runs (well, I actually remember, if pushed, most cricket matches I ever played in pretty well, that's my freaky mind, but that one's at the forefront of my memory). It represents my favourite era of cricket, because it was also my favourite school era, when the horrors of nasty adolescence had passed and we were treated a bit more like adults and treated each other a bit better, when we did the subjects we were good at and played the sport we were good at, ate good lunch in the middle and drank beers afterwards. It's strange how towards the end of a school and in a context of responsibility like that I actually felt more of a mature adult than I did when I was, say 29, or, say, yesterday.
1 for 37. 20. Sometimes I wish I didn't remember numbers so well, so I could romanticize it all a bit more, but still I look at those numbers and glow a little.
I do have sporting moments I look back on with great fondness and not a little pride, but, often, the best of them are much of a muchness. My best, favourite and most played sports growing up were football and cricket - hence, I could give you "the time I scored that goal" or "the time I took some wickets" several times over and we'd all be suitably bored.
How can I mix it up? Pretend I was a great freestyle skier? Tell you about the time I just failed to earn my 10 metre badge at Gurnell Swimming Pool? It's all up my sleeve if I need it, but, sorry, kids, for now I'm going back to cricket, because cricket is best.
Cricket is a game of infinite statistics, and statistics really do tell the tale most often. But certainly not always. I remember a day playing cricket when my personal statistics were utterly unremarkable but I know it was one of my best ever days.
Cricket was pretty much an unmitigated good thing for me when I was younger - rugby turned bad, and football could be a source of vast frustration and disappointment amidst its joys, but I don't have too many negative memories of cricket apart from my own regular dark strops which came and went as soon again. And I stropped because I loved cricket and wanted to play it to my heart's content, felt that I was good and deserved a chance to show it.
Mostly, back then (and, thankfully, statistics back me up here) I was right. I was a bit better than I was judged to be by others, be they coaches, captains, selectors. Not a great lost genius but I bowled well, batted pretty well and could have been encouraged a bit more than I was. Equally, it was a gilded time. I got to play at one of the best clubs in the land, Ealing, and for my school, where we were extremely well coached and played on a high quality wicket. Cricket, is, by definition, mainly played in pretty good weather, so no wonder when I look back on my childhood playing cricket, it's through rose-tinted sunglasses. Blissful summer days and evenings.
Just once, when I was 10, I was put forward to the Middlesex squad of 30ish, along with a schoolfriend Sam Peters, and went to Friday evening sessions up in Finchley, but then, just as quickly, just when I was getting into it, I was bluntly told I'd no longer be required as I wouldn't be making the final squad. Dreams of captaining England died that second.
I don't know, it might have been the right decision looking back. I was a timid batsman and still a limited medium pace bowler then. It was later that year I'd be converted into a left-arm spinner, which would prove to be the main string to my bow.
But still, I remember the dude that delivered the blow, David Green; as the years progressed I learnt he had a reputation for favouring those he knew - he was affiliated to a a club in North London and he also taught at Merchant Taylors School - a strong cricketing school which seemed to have an awful lot of players who represented Middlesex, funnily enough.
Including three spinners my age - so every year when we played them I got to compare myself against those spinners in their fancy Middlesex jumpers with the three swords and mutter to myself "he's no better than me"... it's not like I was outstandingly better than them either, and it's reasonable enough that to force your way back into the reckoning you had to stand out, but still, they were not clearly better, and they were in and I was out. Dammit.
Notwithstanding any real or perceived nepotism, Merchant Taylors were generally very good. I think I always tried to raise my game against them and generally did decently but they usually got a result against my school, St Pauls. I got into my school 1st XI just at the end of the U16 year, along with the same Sam Peters (we both might well have got in earlier than year if our own year hadn't been so desperately poor and if the other good player at that time hadn't been expelled that year) and then played a full season in our first A-Level year. That was a quality team, full of all rounders - I batted Number 10 but made some decent contributions (despite, other times, feeling hard done by, i didn't mind the low position then - 7 to 9 were all good players too as, frankly, was 11) and ended up bowling really well too, taking 30 wickets. We won 8, drew quite a few and only lost 1, early in the season. That one we lost was to Merchant Taylors. Damn.
Then, the next year, Sam was captain, I was vice-captain and up batting at 7. The weather was worse and a few games were called off. I'd expected to take a ton of wickets but it didn't really work out to start with. The burden of keeping runs down while others conceded meant my bowling became overly defensive - catches were dropped too and I couldn't buy a wicket.
The game against Merchant Taylors was to be dreaded - their line-up was a litany of my cricketing injustices - full of guys I'd played against all my life with their Middlesex jumpers. Against, and one I'd played with, Neeraj "Midge" Sapra, who I'd known since I was 8 from Ealing - he bowled deadly, deceptive, medium pace.
The game started at 11.30, they batted first. Like I said, we were not a particularly strong side and they got off to a rapid start. One of their batsmen was quality and got a big hundred that day. I was brought on to bowl early and, honestly, did not bowl a bad ball. Before lunch, I rattled relentlessly through my overs, every ball exactly where I wanted it to go. The century-maker, Grundy, played me with exaggerated respect, and I could have had a bag of wickets. But because runs were easy to come by the batsmen were happy to block me out. Even so, there were chances. I got one wicket, had a stumping missed, a caught behind dropped, dropped a caught and bowled. I went into lunch with figures of (I still remember) 15 overs 1 for 18. Grundy said "Well bowled, mate, impossible to get away" as we were going off. I was satisfied.
But hungry. I ate. A lot. I deserved a big lunch. So when we went out for the post-lunch session, a combination of my arm having seized up a little and the huge amount I'd eaten meant that I felt like I was bowling with a different body. After three ghastly overs which went for more than my previous 15 put together, Sam and I exchanged a wry glance - I usually was kicking and screaming when my bowling spells were ended, but not this time. No more, thanks.
MTS piled on the runs - they declared on about 270-4. D McGaughey 18 overs 1-37 - no real indication of how well I bowled. And they ripped into us. I came in at 50 for 5 with 30 overs still to bowl. I usually liked and did well in this type of situation, where flashier stroke players would fail, I could concentrate if needed and knew where my stumps were. Right, game on. All the spinners in their Middlesex jumpers took turns - the left-armer, Boardley (I think), nothing special, the leg-spinner, Alibhai, pretty good but thou shalt not pass, the other leg-spinner, Latchman, I remember hearing him saying "Let me bowl, I know how to get the lefty". "No, you fucking don't," I thought, and he didn't (though I think he almost did ...)
I took us almost all the way, batted 28 or so overs for about 20 runs. Then, belatedly, they bought Midge back on to bowl, Midge who'd probably got me out 100s of times back at Friday evening nets at Ealing when we were little. And he got me to nibble at one outside off stump and I was caught behind. Midge getting me, I didn't really mind that. Well, I did at the time, but not later.
And I remember his dad, Prakash, giving me a nod of respect as I walked off, saying "We got you in the end ..." I thought we'd lose then, even though we had a couple of wickets in hand and only a couple of overs left, but we held on, just. 99-9. Versus 270-4. But a draw. We'd been outplayed, but drawn, and, honestly, that might have been the best I ever played, though I ended with 1-37 and 20 runs.
We'd definitely have lost, lost by an embarrassing scoreline, if not for me, so I felt pretty proud. I remember it was someone from school's party somewhere in North London that evening and I was still labouring under the impression, as I had years before the first time I'd done something of general insignificance in a school sports event, that some people gave a shit.
Well, to be fair, some of the schoolfriends I spoke to that night did give a bit of a shit. They asked about the cricket, how it had gone, but it was impossible to impress with the raw statistics just how well I felt I'd played, nor then was I able to articulate that it was about more than scores, about more than winning and losing, it was about showing that I was as good as these guys. Like Jake LaMotta, "You never put me down, Ray".
So I remember that cricket match much better than many others where I took more wickets or scored more runs (well, I actually remember, if pushed, most cricket matches I ever played in pretty well, that's my freaky mind, but that one's at the forefront of my memory). It represents my favourite era of cricket, because it was also my favourite school era, when the horrors of nasty adolescence had passed and we were treated a bit more like adults and treated each other a bit better, when we did the subjects we were good at and played the sport we were good at, ate good lunch in the middle and drank beers afterwards. It's strange how towards the end of a school and in a context of responsibility like that I actually felt more of a mature adult than I did when I was, say 29, or, say, yesterday.
1 for 37. 20. Sometimes I wish I didn't remember numbers so well, so I could romanticize it all a bit more, but still I look at those numbers and glow a little.
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