Cricket

I was a young teacher; someone on the staff said to me: "We're short for the cricket team on Saturday; fancy a game?" "Sure," I said. He told me where and I turned up thinking it would be an ordinary affair, throw the ball about sort of thing, have a laugh sort of thing. Not on your nelly. They were all in white, I was in dark trousers, shirt and pullover; I was wearing daps. There was a hole in one of the toes.
I fielded on the boundary, touched the ball twice maybe; went in for tea; came out to bat number 11. The first ball hit me on the toe - the one poking out from the hole. The second ball clean bowled me ("it was an unplayable ball").
What a game! No, I don't mean just that one, I mean all cricket games. It must be the only game in which you can be out first ball and have no opportunity to have a second go. You walk the long walk out to the crease, bang goes your wicket and then you have the long walk back.
I read an article in The Spectator last week about cricket and suicide; it seems there are more suicides of cricketers than in any other sport. I thnk he mentioned 80. Last week another ex-cricketer took his own life. The article also mentioned Gimlett of Somerset. He killed himself after he'd retired from the game. I'm not surprised that there are many suicides in cricket: it's a crazy game; I'm sure it can drive you nuts; you stand around the place for five days or you bat a bit with someone bowling who is trying to decapitate you; you bowl a bit doing your best to maim the batsman. It's a mad, mad game I tell you.
The first professional game of cricket I saw was one between Glamorgan and Somerset at Weston-Super-Mare. Gimlett was playing. Big hitter. Strapping fellow. He tried to knock a hole through Wilf Wooler who was standing, intimidatingly, a few yards from him. Wooler caught the ball and Gimlett was out.
What a game!