So…after a week of trying to figure out what my login code is for Pitchero, a group (?clot) of fellas are on the books for the season opener. Could be worse. Could be Dulwich away. Instead, we are to face the high-flying champs from Div 5 (east) last season who have been promoted. Hard to predict how we will match up as our own form near the end of last season might best be described as ‘heroic salvage’.

Skipper above informs me that there may be a stray player needing to join us. Does he really mean that there could be a good player that needs to come down this week? This never happens. I politely decline on the basis of incredulity as much as anything else. Nearest thing to witchcraft I have experienced in my life so far.

Nets prior to match day have a mediocre attendance. I guess this might be because it was a Thursday evening and all available evidence from the last month tells us Thursday evenings are when it rains in Reigate. Must get around to a fielding drill or two one of these days.

Weather report informs us that very little, if any, cricket will be played on Saturday. If it was a friendly game I would call it now and give everyone their Saturday to plan other things. League cricket does not allow for such practical sensibilities.

Come the Saturday morning I get the ground for a 10am inspection as I have suggested I would to the opposition Skipper. I send photos (including photos of the Met Office weather report) and leave a voicemail describing my long experience of the ground and how little confidence I have in getting the requisite overs completed in such conditions. It takes him a while to get back to me (no probs mate, it’s not like we have 20 other blokes and the person doing the tea waiting on our decision or anything!). His view is that ‘things might improve’ and so they would like to come. Things will not improve. I should have thought of a contingency plan to deal with such pathological optimism.

Having collected the youth players I had to cash in a favour to get on the team sheet, we arrive at the ground. There are many global apologies offered by me. Conditions have gotten worse. Who could have predicted this? Most of their team arrive in convoy and decant into the clubhouse. Very pleasant chaps all of them (of course they are, they are cricketers). I put one of my playlists on the portable speakers. No one complains or tries to change the music. Hmmm, maybe the boys are ready for something a little more niche next time….like Jazz?

At 1300 I take the opposition skipper (who seems genuinely surprised at the heaviness of the rain, in a town only 10 miles from his own) to the square to discuss matters. I do what I should have done hours ago and say that I’m not prepared to take the field until it ACTUALLY stops raining. Furthermore, the run ups are properly treacherous and unsafe in my mind. Therefore, I am no longer recommending the cancellation of the match, but demanding it. He shrugs and shakes my hand saying he assumed it would be this way all along. For God sakes man- then why drive all the way here in the first place?! I can’t help thinking this is some kind of bizarre pantomime I’ve been cast into. Much talk about retiring to the pub on mass for a commiseration drink. They all smile and nod…and then drive away.

Some of us meet in the clubhouse afterwards to debrief and top up our beer quotient. No one has played any cricket. We find some solace in each other’s company and of course in the beer. There must be a formula somewhere that suggests the right amount of time one is allowed to spend in the clubhouse after a cancelled game before checking in with one’s partner. None of us knows what it is. More complicated than Duckworth-Lewis in my opinion.
In the end, I make my ‘declaration’ late and have to leave the car and walk home.

Next week- the local derby.