CRICKET EXPLAINED BY AN EXPERT
Some years ago, at a time my
offspring was but a cute ten year old, she asked me to help her with her
composition on tennis. My smart suggestions caused her to zoom up to the top
of the class that week. The next month, with equal enthusiasm, I gave her
some brilliant points on cricket. I have never understood why my carefully
written phrases caused so much unseemly mirth between hubby and offspring,
but my remarks were relegated to the waste paper basket, from where I
rescued the crumpled sheet of paper, smooth it out and preserved it, for
such an occasion as this... the Thomian match souvenir, and it has been balm
to my wounded feelings that the present day Thomians recognise my expertise
at the game despite continued family hilarity. I shall now proceed to
explain cricket to those who are sadly not as knowledgeable as myself. Feel
free to apply to me for clarification any time.
As all Bishop's College girls
know, cricket is a game derived from rounders. 22 players are needed, -11 on
each side, - and a few reserves •thrown in just in case one of these Gods
should have a heart stroke while fielding in front of the Bishop's College
tent. I understand that several of these cricket casualties have eventually
ended in the life long disaster of marriage to the girl responsible for this
flutter.
But to get back to business, for
months both teams have justified Noel Coward's phrase that only "mad dogs
and English men go work in the midday sun", - for is you think that the R/T
match is a simple GAME you can think again. With a far more material like
approach, it is now referred to as an ENCOUNTER. - albeit a friendly one.
Espionage operates underground, and the prowess of all 22 players is
computerised for a feedback to the coaching Generals. So often was the word
"Tactics" used that eye began to wonder if Johann Peiris was just a school
boy, or in training to be Field Marshall. By the time Match Day arose around
the captain's head spins in a tizzy while he tries to remember the
suggestions made by the principal, the staff the new old boys, the old old
boys and all the former living captain's, to say nothing of those ever
present coaches sitting right with him to make no PAST mistake. The captain
can usually be relied upon to make a few new ones of own , but this folly
has to be permitted.
Traditionally count down used to
be at 11 a.m. to acccommodate those sweet B.C. girls who could then dash off
to school, mark their attendance in class,play a game of rounders and then
buzz off to the oval. Play now begins at 10 am. and so the B.C. girls have
obligingly speeded up too except that they now must change into their high
fashion attire of faded jeans, smart top and high heels en rout from the
school gate to what is that day, the centre of the world.
At this point the Captains stroll
out to inspect the turf. Among the spectators worried mamas are wondering
how these young oracles can recognise one blade of grass from another, so
carefully have they avoided looking at the lawn mower at home. I've often
wondered what would happen if one of them found the turf unplayable. I've
been reliably given to understand that the entire game would then be moved
to Lords where the English climate will guarantee a perfect green if nothing
else.
In the meantime the Old Boys of
both schools are turning up for three days of mutual hostilities. The only
courtesy maintained is in the VIP tent where our dignified President
concentrates on remainding himself that he is impartial and ABOVE I ALL he
smiles benignly on both Principals who sit beside him trying hard to master
somewhat stronger feelings and to present an equally serene front. One
forgives the President if his chair inches just fraction closer to that of
the Royal College Head after the first century has just been made by a boy
from there.
The game begins the school that is
OUT is actually TIN there batting. The TIN side is OUT there fielding. 9
players sit in the Pavilion to keep a friendly eye on the crowd and see that
their fed and watered. I think this is most kind of them.
Play itself is not difficult to
follow. You may have some difficulty in knowing if they are actually playing
or not, so slow is the pace of the game. But take heart, for nothing
worthwhile is easily learnt. Many minutes pass while the fielders spread out
as directed. Should a left handed batsman be on line, (oh hell!), the field
has to be carefully re arranged. Until commencement the batsman assumes a
pose of elegant languor just in case a cameraman has his lenses trained on
him...... although elegance does not come easy to these players padded so
heavily upto-well never mind. The wicket keeper is a vision of delight.
Every pore protected he squats behind the batsman in an attitude suggestive
of the day Horatio held the Bridge.
With a "For President and Country"
look on his face the bowler "delivers", (NEVER throws), the ball at about
the speed of light. A crack is heard, (don't expect to see the ball unless
you possess telescopic vision), and everyone goes wild. One of many things
has happened.
(1) The ball has struck the bat
and soared upward into the unsuspecting hands of the young fielder in Front
of me who has just that minute thrown up his arms in an attitude of
defensive prayer, it smacks in to his hands, he is a hero - and no one is
more surprised than he is.
(2) The ball has reached its
target, namely some vital spot on the batsman himself and he lies flat on
his face. The doctors on the spot who have been masquerading as umpires,
pick him up by an arm and a leg and hand him over to the willing hands of
the nearest feminine spectator.
(3) The batsman has hit a 4,
(Unlikely)
(4) The batsman has hit a 6,
(impossible)
(5) In order to protect the stumps
the batsman has placed a leg before the wicket and ball has glanced off his
bat felling superman behind the stumps He falls and amidst a sudden silence
he is carried out to face the firing squad.
At this point I may mention that since those innocent games of Rounders
cricket has changed some what. One side hogs the field in a most peculiar
manner and there are no casual remarks thrown about like, "would you like to
have a go with the bat for a minute old boy?" I find this behaviour rather
selfish, don't you?
This kind of thing lasts for three
days. It used to be just two but so exquisite is the tortuous tension of it
all that in true masochistic fashion the agony has been prolonged. After all
this excitement, is there a final document to the drama? There is not three
days at it and an inconclusive result. It is for this reason that the game
is well in to it's 103rd year. If there is a decision the others want
revenge, and if there is no decision, well,- the necessity for continuity is
obvious.
However, I am personally a great
RIT match fan at a distance. The distance is maintained only because hubby
refuses to be seen at the oval with me. My erudite comments on cricket, (a
game which after all I under stand so well), only serve to embarrass him to
such a degree his sanity is gravely threatened, and ,And I'd rather he died
of something less dramatic than apoplexy.
Goolbai Gunasesekara
An extract from the Thomian
souvenir, of the 102 Battle of the Blues (1981)
