Admittedly this edition of ‘Tailenders’ wasn’t broadcast from the heart of Soho in the corner of Marshall St’s finest pub ‘The Old Coffee House’ and none of the team were (seemingly) downing Holsten Pils like it was going out fashion. But the overall essence was very familiar.
They were talking on the opening day of the English County Championship season and sharing their excitement at the forthcoming competition. And I was transported back to my own initial introduction to the game, which fired a passion that still burns brightly deep within me.
It was a Sunday and, in those days, BBC2 would show live broadcasts of the John Player League. The JPL was a 40 over competition with bowling restrictions (8 overs max per bowler and a reduced run up). It was played during the middle of a County Championship fixture and was initially seen as a bit of a hit & giggle affair. However, the thing it had in its favour was that unlike the County Championship it was shown on TV.
I still remember the moment when the beauty of cricket became apparent. I’d been playing in the garden (football) and came in for a break and found my mum watching a game on the TV. I vaguely knew what cricket was (not least because my Grandad was an avid Surrey supporter) but hadn’t seen it before.
Cut to Sophia Gardens… the Black & White OB team had set up in Cardiff and were covering a Glamorgan home game (v Somerset, I think – note to self, check Wisden). There was a very stylish man nudging, clipping & stroking the virtually impossible to see ball to all parts of the ground. This man, it transpired was Majid Khan. I was captivated by his mix of elegance, guile and occasional brutality. Compared to the other batsmen who came and went, he just seemed elevated, as though on a higher plane.
No sooner had the innings finished and I was out into the garage (apparently, we had an old bat there – My Grandad had obviously planted it there for just such an occurrence). My poor Mum then had to serve up an hour’s worth of (what I would later learn to describe as gentle dibby-dobby medium pace) deliveries. I was hooked…
Over the coming days and weeks of the summer holiday, I devoured every bit of televised cricket I could find, even started reading the newspaper (a big leap in my education apparently) and of course I spent the remaining time learning to bowl and bat courtesy of a Tony Greig cricket skills book.
I started to learn about the various county teams and whilst Majid Khan was my first hero, Sussex were my team (as they still unequivocally are). Whilst I still liked football, I started to put cricket higher in my affections.
Little did I know that I would end up playing this bloody game for over 50 years. Nor did I know how frustrating, disappointing, depressing, exhausting, costly (both wealth – Ashes trips don’t pay for themselves nor do Gray Nicolls Scoops - and health – this back, these knees and these crooked fingers) this game would turn out to be. Nor did I realise how wonderful, exhilarating and astonishing this ludicrous sport could be.
Of course, we are not defined by one single thing we do but the six I hit so far over the midwicket boundary in my last ever knock comes pretty close. It was and I make no apologies, stylish, elegant and brutal – almost as if it had come from the bat of Majid Khan himself!
And on that immodest note, I can say – the cricket is back and Summer is here!
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