It has been said that cricket was exported by the British Empire as a way of selling some kind of idea of ‘Britishness’- characterised by fair play, individual skills realised in a team context and adherence to rules. Cricket has moved on a long way since then- the seat of power has shifted firmly towards India, and there is a hard edged professionalism to the game.
However, the high drama of the international arena still has a way of throwing up controversies- there is a great test series being played between India and England at the moment- and yesterday one of the England players, who was batting brilliantly and playing his team into a potentially match winning position, found himself in the middle of a conflict with the laws of the game, and what cricketers still call ‘the spirit of the game’.
In case you are interested, this is what happened-
All very interesting if you are a cricket fan- but also, I think there is a useful theological parallel here. Much of the letters of Paul in the Bible constantly debate the primacy of the LAW as against the NEW KINGDOM- and the rule of love. More recently, this whole controversy has surfaced again with the discussions about what might happen to we sinners when we die (eg Rob Bell’s book ‘Love Wins’) and also all this discussion about homosexuality (see yesterday’s post.)
Our ‘modern’ interpretation of the law is characterised by an idea of inflexible, unyielding black and white rules, and whilst many who practice the law might suggest that this may well be an illusion, we assume that this is the kind of law making that God adheres to also.
But what if the universe has a higher court- not of law, but of principle- you could say the ‘spirit of the game’? What if ultimately, the rule of love will indeed overcome all- not to condemn the law, but to fulfill it. Not to ignore the law, but rather to dwell in the midst of the laws purpose?
We were up and away on the 7 AM ferry because Michaela, Emily and Danielle participated in the Race For Life which took place on Glasgow Green- a 5K run/walk in aid of cancer research. Michaela walked- taking around 40-50 mins, Emily and Danielle ran and took around 25 mins. Well done!
It was a bitter sweet moment- as everyone running had the names of people on their backs- survivors and sufferers of cancer, and people no longer with us. We remembered most Michaela’s step father Robert whose died just over a year ago.
Unfortunately, whilst standing around and NOT running, my back suddenly went into spasm. It may have been some kind of empathetic response to all these thousands of exercising women, or it could have been associated with a hard day of DIY the day before.
I managed to hobble back to the car and take a handful of pain killers, but our next destination was Edinburgh, where Will and I were due to play a cricket match against a Royal Botanical Gardens Cricket Club side- an old fixture between our clubs, competing for our own little ‘Ashes’ urn.
When we arrived I could not get out the car- but I then did manage to free up a little- and being the first match of the season that has not been rained off, I was really keen to play, so out I went. Movement helped, and I managed to send down a few overs of arthritic wrist spin- 4 overs, no wickets for 12 runs. Beat the bat a few times, took an edge that was missed.
On the whole we got tonked- they rattled up 176 off 40 overs.
I went in to bat at number 4 with 40 odd to our score- not looking good. I blocked out the pace man whose tail was up and then took guard against a spinner, eyeing up a short boundary. I let the first one go by, but then had a go at the second- a bit of a stiff-back swing at one that kept low and under edged on to the stumps. Out. Blast.
William went in at number 6- and fared rather better! He looked very small- the youngest player by far. Campbell was batting well at the other end, and had a chat between each over- instructing Will to block out the bowlers- which he did, for around 5 overs- finishing with one run, but a whole lot of respect from the opposition! Even if he did put his Dad to shame.
We lost by the way- making around 120 all out.
Finally, we met my brother Steve, his wife Kate and wee Jamie and went for a meal- before catching the last ferry (midnight) home.
This morning we all slept in- kids late for school. I can barely move, so my plan to go walking with Simon is done for. But it was a good day. Full of good people.
We are supposed to be playing cricket on Sunday at the Vale of Leven cricket club, just below Loch Lomond.
And I mean just below- torrential rain is forecast, so I reckon we are likely to be rained off again- as we were last week…
Cricket suffers a little from jokes at it’s expense, but I reckon this is often to do with ignorance- as in the sense of not knowing what it is all about. The trouble is though, when people ask me to explain the rules, they start to glaze over by the second sentence.
However- thanks to the wonders of t’interweb I can now bring to you- the wonderful mysteries of the game of cricket!
For most of my life, I have spent most of Sundays in Church- all those high pressure mornings in some leadership role or other, often followed by reluctant evenings (even if they did turn out to be a real blessing.) But that is not my confession.
Rather it is this- for the past few weeks, I have spend Sunday mornings playing cricket.
It still makes me feel guilty though. Despite the fact that we do ‘church’ differently- we meet in the week, as well as other times.
But this is a chance to do something I enjoy along with my cricket mad son. It is a chance to connect with some other blokes, and to get some good exercise.
And Sunday, I remind myself, is about rest. And all those years of busyness- they were certainly not restful.
After the training session this morning, we went for a picnic- to a local beach out beyond Tighnabruach on the other side of the Cowal peninsular. The sun shone, it was almost warm, and the scenery was stunning.
Lambs in the fields, snow on the Arran mountains, still waters beyond perfect sand. Catkins on the trees and frogs spawning in the ditches.
This will be a day to remember.
A real sabbath to remind us to stop- and to be grateful.
I have avoided any mention of cricket during England’s recent triumph over Australia in the Ashes, but today Will and I sort of joined the local cricket team…
We went to a coaching session advertised in the paper, and had a great time, although I am aching in familiar cricket muscles that have been dormant since my last serious playing days.
Which were 20 years ago!
William is obsessed with cricket- which to this particular father is a great thing- and in this case, gave me an excuse to join in. I particularly enjoyed a serious batting session, smashing the ball all over the sports hall.
While we are talking about the Ashes, I came accross England Spinner Graeme Swann’s you tube diary the other day, and it made me laugh- the man seems to have some genuine comic timing. Here is a sample-
William was ill last week, and watched some DVDs of England’s win in the 2005 Ashes series repeatedly. He has become a bit of a cricket fanatic (and of course, as a fellow sufferer, I am proud of him!)
William decided we needed our own trophy, and so burnt a wooden stump in the fireplace, and put the ashes in a jam jar. (I could explain why he did this, but if you do not know already, then you are probably not interested in cricket history…)
Genius!
So far, it is one match each in a five match series. Played in poor light on dodgy monoblock with a hard plastic covered full size ball that hurts when it hits you.
I thought it worth mentioning as England play Australia in the first of five Ashes tests tonight. England are the current holders, but have not won in Australia since the early 1980’s and start this time as marginal favourites, with an Australian team in disarray.
To whet the appetite, I thought it appropriate to share a Freddy Flintoff story. In 2005 after an incredibly close match which was narrowly edged by England, Australian cricketer Brett Lee collapsed to the grass in tears. In what was hailed as a piece of great sportsmanship that could only be seen in the sport of cricket, Flintoff went up to him, put a supportive arm around his shoulder and whispered some words in his ear.
Here is Flintoff describing the incident, which tells a rather different side to the story-
Will and I have a long running rivalry in the form of one on one cricket challenge. In the winter this takes the form of a game in our hallway, with resultant danger for ornaments, décor and the odd passer by on their way from living room to kitchen.
But today the weather was wonderful, and the light was still playable (at least for us, but perhaps not for those wimpy professionals) until almost 6.30pm. It was 11 degrees centigrade here today, with bright sunshine and a whiff of spring in the air.
(The photo above was taken in France though- it is not quite shorts weather yet.)
Today we tried out our new ‘nets’- the first bowl on the (experimental but soon to be adopted by grounds everywhere) block paved driveway.
The rules are like this- I have to get him out (caught or bowled) three times, but he only has to get me once. We use an assortment of balls- basically anything that has not already disappeared into the far distance.
Some of you will doubt our sanity- because for you, the joys of cricket have been obscured by prejudice.
But for me, this simple pleasure is full of pure joy- for these reasons…
The coming spring after a long cold winter.
Being with my boy.
The whiff of competition (particularly as I can still hold my own against a 9 year old!)
And the shape given to body and mind by that most noble of pass times- cricket.
The sound of bat on ball and the glory of a ball sailing high in the direction of the Clyde.
The occasional perfection of the perfect leg break as it turns through the gate and smashes into the stumps.
And they dare to call this a waste of time? I intend to play for eternity when I get to heaven…
My closest friends know that I have this secret addiction. Some would describe it as an affliction.
It is called… cricket.
If all sport is distraction then it seems to me that cricket is one of the best ways to waste time. Today, for instance, is Saturday. The weather has closed in outside and the rain is rattling against the windows. We have an empty house after a week full of family and hard work re-plumbing. The house is warm and the kids happy.
And India are playing Australia in the heat of the Punjab- brought to me by the power of TV here in autumnal Scotland. India are in the ascendancy after a drawn first test match. The Genius Sachin Tendulkar has broken the record by compiling the most runs scored by a batsman in a career, and two spin bowlers are twirling away in the kind of attritional subtle cricket that Indians excel at.
Some of you will not have a clue what I am talking about. Others will already be curling a sardonic smile at my stupidity for suggesting that cricket is worth watching. It is like watching paint dry you say. Here in Scotland, despite the fact that cricket is still played, most people love to have a go at the game. Perhaps this is because cricket is seen as an English game- conjuring up images of imperialism and empire.
This makes little sense- as the powerhouse of cricket has shifted permanently east- where it is the obsession of millions of Pakistani’s and Indians. English teams have become famous for getting well beaten all around the world.
In Scotland, cricket was the most popular sport with working people until around 1900, when that other English invention- football- began to take over. Celtic bought the site of their football stadium from a cricket club.
Well, I thought I would indulge in a little cricket apologetics… For the sake of the argument, I will limit the discussion to international cricket.
Cricket is boring. Some of the games last for 5 DAYS for heaven’s sake!
Test matches do indeed last 5 days. Most purists think this is the ultimate test of skill, captaincy, stamina and strategy. These matches are full of individual one-on-one battles of wit and talent, and the whole thing ebbs and flows with high drama and tension. It is a team game, played out by individuals. Strategy is everything, and the captain’s role is crucial.
Like all things- this will indeed be boring if you do not understand what you are watching- and test matches are not for everyone. Numbers attending have been falling around the world- apart from India, and surprisingly, England, where matches are sold out routinely.
But there are also one day matches- where each team has one innings of 50 overs (each over is 6 balls). whole different set of skills and talents need to be honed.
The current craze is for 20/20 cricket though- each side facing only 20 overs. This is frenetic, crash bang whallop stuff, often played under lights in the evening. Not for the purists, but great fun and seems to be a marketing phenomenon.
It is not a sport- people walk about in white clothes in the sunshine. You can be fat and still play cricket. It is a soft game played by wimps.
Anyone who has ever tried to bowl fast, or face a ball bowled by someone who knows what they are doing and is out to hurt you, will suggest that cricket can be a serious business. At the highest level it demands great fitness, huge concentration, and above all things, strength of character.
It was the West Indian bowlers of the 70’s and 80’s whose tall fast bowlers terrified and humbled cricketers around the world. The bouncer, aimed at up into the ribs of the batsman, or whistling into the odd nose, became stock in trade. Most batsman since these days, despite helmets, padding and glove, walk from the field covered in bruises. This summer a wicked bouncer from James Anderson knocked the teeth from an unfortunate New Zealand batsman. And we were all impressed.
See if you think you could face this kind of pressure. Here is England’s talisman in full flow
Cricket is all about snobbery and English stiff upper lip affectation. It lacks passion and real emotion.
Nonsense.
Cricket is played all over the world (unlike the American baseball so-called ‘world series’) and different nations bring their own characteristics to the the game. So the West Indians bring a calypso cavalier brilliance, the Australians bring ruthless professional gritty determination to win, the New Zealanders somehow maximise the mixed bag of limited talent through working as a close team, and the English- well expectations are usually exceeded by achievements.
Then there is the fine art of sledging- the practice of teasing, humiliating and abusing the batsman. The Australians became past masters at this- a ring of foul mouthed close fielders for whom nothing was off limits. It was criticised around the world- particularly by the ‘whinging poms’ as the English were termed by the Australian media. And damn it- the Aussies kept winning!
But sledging is here to stay- here is another bit of Flintoff. The famous ‘mind the windows Tino’ episode. You decide whether English cricket is soft and gentlemanly!
Cricket is a waste of time.
I could go on about the old imperial stereotypes of preparation for life by the building of character- but of course, cricket is indeed a waste of time.
But there are so many others. I reckon this is better than most.
this fragile tent 