Dusting off kitbag cobwebs and limbering up for the cricket season

Contrasting emotions and the uniqueness of fresh characters are a sign that the build-up to a new domestic season has begun

The ball feels like a stranger in your hand. It’s been, what, five months since you last turned your arm over? Are you sure you still can? Those unused muscles in your back and shoulders stiffen with apprehension. You know this is going to hurt in the morning.

A slow breath. You try to remember the good times. You conjure up the memories of that sunlit five-fer from three seasons back. You visualise that jaffa that defied nature’s laws to arc through the air before straightening off the deck. You recall the out-of-body sensation the moment after you produce something beautiful from the tips of your fingers. The triumphant roar. The pats on the back. The loving smiles from beyond the boundary.

So you lean your head forward, compel your cold limbs to follow, and begin a clunky trundle towards the crease to deliver your first ball of the new year.

Winter nets perfectly capture cricket’s dichotomy. At once an endless expanse of hope and promise opens before you. Perhaps this is the season where it finally clicks. Where your ageing torso manages to twist to the demands of your brain. Where everything works as it should and you go on a magic run that your kids will beg to hear about. But maybe this training session inside a rented school gym or on some soggy field confirms what you’ve long suspected. That your best days are but a speck in the rearview. That your high-water mark is now just a stain on the wall. That the call to greatness is a fading echo of what might have been had you taken this game, and indeed yourself, just a little more seriously.

More than anything it is this launch into the unknown that unites gifted professionals and romantic amateurs. Because before the start of that inaugural game in April, we’re all, more or less, in the same boat.

“I think it’s a distinctly human thing to carry both of those contrasting emotions at the same time,” says Ethan Bamber, the Middlesex opening bowler who, along with three other teammates at Lord’s, is a proud product of North Middlesex Cricket Club. “You’re just trying to control that excitement as well as the nerves. You’re hoping you can replicate all the good stuff from the previous year and get rid of the bad stuff. It’s important to let yourself dream. I think we can all relate to that.”

That’s where the connection ends. Bamber’s muscles twitch faster than at least 97% of the more than 350,000 registered cricketers in more than 5,000 clubs across England and Wales. And this is not a story about those at the top tier, with their state-of-the-art equipment, on-demand physios and curated training camps in Dubai. This is about the rest of us at the base of the pyramid. So, in search of common themes linking trundlers in Taunton with sloggers in Staithes, I sent out a request for some anecdotes. Stories were supplied by the seven club WhatsApp groups I’m a part of. And though the granular details were different, several throughlines emerged.

There’s the classic tale of the ‘gun’ new signing. Sometimes from a rival club, often from Australia or South Africa, this toned maverick arrives with the promise of runs and wickets. In winter nets they look like a dream. All flashing blade and whirring arms. You can tell they’re a cut above by the sound the ball makes off their bat or as it thwacks into the netting behind you. Except you’ve seen this before. As one message read, “Nine times out 10 they either never actually play or it turns out they’re a bit shit.”

To be fair, it’s far easier to look like a prospect in February and March. More than likely you’re bowling indoors on a surface that is hard and true. This is as close as you’ll ever get to the lightning quick strip that is found at the Wanderers or old Waca. But that doesn’t stop you from bending your back and unfurling bouncers you could never execute on grass.

Not that anyone’s complaining. You’re not fast enough to rattle any helmet and your mere presence is a bonus for those captains who have started their six-month practice of herding cats towards ovals. At least you are not the sort ofplayer who arrives late, pads up and has a brief net before spending the rest of the session passing side-mouthed comments.

You look around and find ubiquitous characters: The gnarled veteran, with a nickname like “The Reverend”, who hasn’t played in 30 years but remains a constant presence; the talented youngster who hasn’t yet figured out that he will need to find another line of work; the badger with the bespoke bat and strange technique; the stroke-maker from New Zealand; the terrifying quick from Pakistan; the Canadian who can barely get the ball down the other end but will be available for every away game.

They all come together for a winter net where your back is starting to pinch and your toes are starting to cramp. This hasn’t gone according to plan. You’ve bowled pies and batted with something resembling a wet fish. Maybe this isn’t your year after all? “Nonsense,” you tell yourself as you make your way to the pub. Until that first game in April, anything is possible.

Cricket’s institutional memory

Death, taxes, and [fill in any number of cricket results that seem inevitable]. England reinvent the wheel but still get trounced in a Test series in India. Australia fall into a hole at 34 for four but still chase down 281 to beat New Zealand, consigning their cross-Tasman rivals to a 26th defeat from the last 36 Tests in an increasingly one-sided contest.

Every game is different. Every ball is an event. Yet some teams seem to be beholden to institutional memories. And in a cerebral sport such as cricket, that can often prove the difference.

Perhaps this is why Australia’s men’s side continue to eke out World Cup triumphs no matter what sort of form they’re in at the start of the competition. Conversely, this might explain why South Africa routinely get dumped out in the knockout rounds of major tournaments despite building a head of steam through the group stage.

Those recent results at the Hagley Oval – that saw Pat Cummins steer his team over the line – and Dharmasala – which saw England’s Bazzballers collapse to a familiar-looking innings defeat – help reinforce the idea that what came before matters more than some might like to admit.

Quote of the week

“When you are exposed in the way we have been here, you know that you have to get better in some areas. The next couple of months will be us working out that and making sure when we come to the summer we are a more refined version of what we are at the minute” – Brendon McCullum after his side’s 4-1 series defeat to India. After so much hubris emanating from the England camp over the past 18 months, it’s heartening to hear the team’s coach show a little humility.

Memory lane

Rahul Dravid had come so close, falling just five runs short of a century on his Test debut at Lord’s in 1996. It would be another 15 years – with his status as a legend of the game long established – before he finally brought up three figures for India at HQ, hitting an unbeaten 103. Dravid was India’s best player on a miserable tour of England, hitting three hundreds in a 4-0 series defeat.

Still want more?

Jimmy Anderson claiming a landmark wicket during India’s drubbing of England was fitting for a player full of fighting spirit, writes Taha Hashim.

Yashasvi Jaiswal’s story of going from life in a tent to breaking records represents a new India, explains James Wallace.

Gary Naylor hands out player ratings for India 4-1 England. Quite a few Cs for the visitors.

From Hagley Oval, Geoff Lemon writes on Pat Cummins and how he was, yet again, Australia’s batting hero.

And a long read on how bush cricket is helping women find themselves after spending years cheering on their male relatives.

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