Broken and broke

A nuisance of a calf injury left me unable to play this week but I did travel over to Lichfield where the Mighty Fourths were engaged in battle.

I arrived during our innings and the weather was not the best. Light drizzle seemed to seep into every clothing gap and a cold wind chilled the tiniest piece of exposed flesh. I hobbled around the boundary and got wet and miserable.

Then Skipper Steve Tranter asked me to umpire. I did, and got annoyed yelps and stares from a bowler who wasn't happy with my refusal to award an lbw. A little later, as I stood at square leg, my team mates began to shout abuse from the boundary because they thought the black anorak and grey woolly hat I was wearing were not exactly the height of fashion. It turned out I looked like a polish docker/Sangatte refugee/football hooligan/birdwatcher/trainspotter/Michael Foot (take your pick). Little did they know that on the platforms of Cracow railway station I would have been considered quite the thing.

I trudged off sulking at the end of the match and headed for the bar. Bad move.

Three of my team mates followed me in and I copped for the round.

Fellow cricketers everywhere take heed. If you're injured, STAY AT HOME.