Heavy and Light

Rollers

I'm writing this retrospectively, going into work on the train on Monday after a very tough weekend, with not nearly enough sleep. More of that on Sunday's blip no doubt, which you will be forgiven for not reading. It's been a tough few days and I want to get a few words down for the record while they are fresh in my head. This weekend has been typical of so many that I've had in my life, but I don't want another quite like it. But enough of that for this blip. At least the Weather Gods were on my side, providing wind and intermittent heavy rain and cool temperatures so it wasn't too much of a hardship to be stuck inside at the computer almost all day, but not so bad that it held up the cricket too much.

It also worked out well that both boys were playing at home for the second team. I was able to pick my moments and popped down on the bike to watch a few periods of play between the showers. The lads put me through the emotional wringer in that time. First with Forrest - who hadn't expected to be playing at all this weekend because of a badly bruised finger which the hospital was convinced was broken before X-rays revealed otherwise - who left the first ball of the match just as I arrived and then promptly drove a half-volley straight into the hands of a fielder to be dismissed for a second ball duck. I'm not sure I've ever seen him look so crestfallen. I contend that I was even more disappointed than him. You so want your kids to do well and feel good about themselves that when you see them fail like that, especially when carrying such high expectations from the whole team, you feel the emotions in your whole body. It was literally gut-wrenching.

But of course it's only cricket so perspective is soon regained. Today I was reacquainted with the reasons why I love this sport so much. It mirrors the trials and tribulations, the ups and downs of life like no other sport. As an opening batsmen Forrest puts himself on the line. He looks forward all week to walking out on to the pitch and performing. On days like today it is all over in less than a minute. He has to endure that lonely and very long walk back. There is no applause. Just a stunned silence. No eye contact even. The batsmen is usually left alone to compose himself while he sheds himself of helmet, pads and gloves before sitting down for the next three hours to watch his teammates hopefully fare better. Cricket can be cruel, just like life, and often has a habit of hitting you hardest when you're down, again just like life.

With time so precious I didn't stay much longer. I got very wet cycling back but then there was some respite so they managed to get the innings completed: all out for 150. Not a lost cause. It was a defendable total in these conditions. I'd intended to go down again to watch Roam open the bowling but I got caught up with a problem and I could see some heavy weather heading down the valley. In the end, the shower clouds passed by and I only saw the end of Roam's spell. It was immediately obvious that he wasn't happy. Roam wears his heart not just on his sleeve but all over his cricket whites. His body language was shouting frustration and swearing injustice as he kicked at the turf in disgust at the end of the over. I assumed that it was because he was bowling badly but it turned out that he'd bowled beautifully, swinging the ball about, almost too much to get the wickets he deserved. He said he should have had five instead of just the one, and he'd bowled that annoying bad ball each over which had got punished every time. Just like earlier with his brother, there was nothing I could say to console him. The game was going away from us.

Roam, at his age, is only allowed to bowl seven over spells, so he gave way to Forrest, who promptly took a wicket with his first ball. He then proceeded to make up for his batting lapse by bowling beautifully himself, with far more reward than Roam, taking another three wickets in quick succession, and with a few falling at the other end the opposition were soon eight down with well over 50 runs still to get. The game was all but won. Except that this is cricket and nothing can ever be taken for granted. With the pressure off, a tail-ender, with no technique or finesse, got lucky with some lusty hitting and in the space of a few overs had brought his team to within a couple of blows of snatching a win. At that stage the weather was also a potential winner, as some very heavy clouds were approaching from the west (probably at the same time that PaulFS took this amazing shot just a few miles further down the valley).

Another lusty blow was then sent skyward, high and swirling in the wind. It was over Roam's head but he gave chase and dived full length with the ball going away from him. It was a valiant effort but the ball hit his hands too hard, and he couldn't hang on to it. Worse still, it bounced out at speed and actually went over the boundary for four. The game seemed lost now. Then, next ball, Forrest reading the game perfectly, moved himself to the boundary to cover the slog that he could see was going to come again. The batsmen hit the same line once more, but a lot flatter and faster. Forrest had to make a lot of ground but he was never going to miss this chance. He caught that one for himself, for his brother, for me, and, of course, for the team. Despondency suddenly metamorphosed into jubilation. The last wicket offered no resistance and the game was won by a handful of runs. It was a brilliant game of cricket. And played in great spirit too. Suddenly, all those personal frustrations paled into insignificance. It was all about the team.

I'm writing at length because I want to remember this game, and the whole spectrum of emotions that were felt. Early on, to see both my lads so full of disappointment, I began to feel guilty at having introduced them to this hard sport, but by the end I felt an enormous pride and those feelings had completely dissipated. We risk disappointment, whether it be in sport or in love or in business, because it truly is the case in life of nothing ventured, nothing gained. It was a tough day for me but I was in a much better frame of mind after this match to get back to work and venture a bit more myself. It's what I've always done. And the reward will come. It always has - although never has it been a great financial one. I'm hoping that might change with this current business venture. A case of third-time lucky. I feel like it's my last chance in that respect. It's worth a bit of hard graft right now.

So ... those rollers. In between innings the captain can choose which roller to use on the pitch, heavy or light. It's a bit of a black art really. The heavy roller can either smooth out the divots in the pitch, or potentially break it up further if it is disintegrating. The light roller I doubt does much at all. I'm sure nobody believes it does either. I guess I see it as a metaphor for playing safe, not venturing much. The heavy roller is a metaphor for taking a risk, like choosing to open the batting against the best bowlers or open the bowling against the best batsmen, where there is more chance to get it all wrong and leave disappointed but also that opportunity to win the game on your own, by scoring big or by bagging the important wickets. I'm proud that my two sons prefer the adventurous route. This sport has given them a great grounding in life.