The ball feels like a stranger in your hands. Has it been five months since you last turned your arm over? Are you sure you can still do it? Unused muscles in your back and shoulders tighten with anxiety. You know this will hurt in the morning.
A slow breath. You try to remember the good times. You bring back memories of that sunny quintet from three seasons ago. Defying the laws of nature, you visualize the jaffa arcing through the air before descending from the deck. The moment you produce something beautiful with your fingertips, you remember the feeling of being out of body. Victorious roar. Explosions on the back. Loving smiles from beyond borders.
So you bend your head forward, force your cold limbs to follow, and begin a clumsy roll to the crease to bowl the first ball of the new year.
Winter nets perfectly capture cricket’s dilemma. Suddenly, an endless field of hope and promise opens up before you. Maybe this is the season where it finally clicked. Where your aging body manages to bend to the demands of your brain. Where everything works as it should and you embark on a magical journey that your kids will want to hear about. But perhaps this workout in a rented school gym or wet field confirms what you’ve long suspected. That your best days are just a dot in the rearview mirror. Your high water mark is now just a stain on the wall. The appeal to greatness is a fading echo of what could have been if you had taken this game, and indeed yourself, a little more seriously.
More than anything, it is this journey into the unknown that unites talented professionals and romantic amateurs. Because we are all more or less in the same boat before the opening match in April.
“I think it’s an absolutely human thing to have those two opposing emotions at the same time,” says Middlesex opening bowler Ethan Bamber, who, along with three other teammates at Lord’s, is a proud product of the North Middlesex Cricket Club. “You try to control the nerves as well as the excitement. You hope you can copy all the good things from last year and get rid of the bad things. It is important to allow yourself to dream. I think we can all relate to this.
This is where the link ends. Bamber’s muscles are faster twitch than at least 97% of the more than 350,000 registered cricketers at more than 5,000 clubs in England and Wales. And this isn’t just a story about the top tier, with their state-of-the-art equipment, on-demand physiotherapists and special training camps in Dubai. This is about the rest of us at the base of the pyramid. So, in search of common themes linking the trundlers in Taunton to the bloggers in Staithes, I sent out a request for some anecdotes. The stories were provided by the seven club WhatsApp groups of which I am a part. Many through lines emerged, although detailed details differed.
The new signature has the classic story “with the gun”. Sometimes this maverick arrives from a rival club, most often from Australia or South Africa, with the promise of runs and wickets. Winter nets look like a dream. It’s all flashing blades and buzzing arms. You can tell they are a cut by the sound the ball makes on the bat or when it hits the net behind you. But you’ve seen this before. One message read: “Nine times out of 10 they either don’t actually play at all or they turn out to be a bit shitty.”
To be fair, it’s much easier to pose as a potential customer in February and March. You are most likely bowling indoors on a hard, true surface. This is the closest you can get to the lightning fast lane at Wanderers or the old Waca. But that doesn’t stop you from arching your back and opening bouncers that you would never be able to do on the grass.
Can’t say anyone is complaining. You’re not fast enough to swing any helmet, and your mere presence is a bonus for captains who have begun the practice of herding six-month-old cats into ovals. At least you’re not the kind of player who arrives late, recovers, and has a brief moment of clarity before spending the rest of the session making side-mouthed comments.
You look around and find characters everywhere: the gnarled veteran with a nickname like “The Priest” who hasn’t played in 30 years but is a constant presence; the talented young man who has not yet realized that he needs to find another line of work; the badger with his custom-made stick and strange technique; New Zealand paralytic; Horribly fast from Pakistan; A Canadian who can barely get the ball to the other side but will be ready for every away game.
It all adds up to a winter grind where your back starts to tighten and your toes start to cramp. This didn’t go as planned. You rolled the pies and batted with what looked like wet fish. Maybe this isn’t your year? “Nonsense,” you say to yourself as you head towards the bar. Anything is possible until the first match in April.