Shakespeare and Stretching

The Good Lord heard my pleas and despite yet another 24 hours of Friday rain, the ground had recovered sufficiently for our game to go ahead.

Before we take the field, it is customary for our team to undertake a collective stretch. This involves standing in a circle while one team member conducts the strange contortionist symphony with a series of arm and leg exercises.

During this week's effort, to add a novel twist, I suggested we recite our favourite Shakespeare sonnet during the thigh stretch. I wasn't even prescriptive! I said they could choose whichever they pleased from the beautiful selection of 154 the bard kindly left for us.

I was a little surprised at the reaction my suggestion provoked. Most are not printable for the sensitive audience this blog enjoys.

Suffice to say I will not be offering such a suggestion again, and to Glyn Martin, our solid number four batsman I defiantly say this:

Yes. I do think it would be possible to bowl with a complete First Folio shoved up there.

Friday Flooding

The weather in England over the last two days has been appalling. Today (Friday 15th June) has seen widespread torrential rain and serious flooding. Not only was the entire day's play lost in the Test Match against West Indies, but, more importantly, tomorrow's Penn Fourths game has been cancelled. I think this is the earliest call off I can remember. 5pm on the day before the match.

So that leaves an entire Saturday free. A rarity. However, I've made the stupid mistake of telling my wife. I am not joking when I tell you she is now writing a list of jobs for me to do.

Dear Lord, if you are truly merciful, please let the sun shine next week.

The art of watching cricket

A low scoring match and an early victorious finish for the Fantastic Fifths meant that I had a couple of hours to spare. I drove up to Penn's main Mount Rd. ground to watch the second team in action. It was a beautiful sunny day and I settled down with a cold pint to watch the cricket. A rare treat for players who most weekends are playing.

One of the traditional elements of watching the game is a slow relaxing walk around the boundary feeling the sun on your face, listening to the birdsong and the chock of leather on willow. I'm a traditionalist so I set off, pint in hand, on my heavenly amble of the perimeter.

Approximately halfway round, I met fellow supporters Mike, Paul and Norman engaged in a similar activity except in a counter clockwise direction to my clockwise. They all looked at my (by now) empty pint glass and cast a few concerned glances. Apparently, the form is to ALWAYS make your pint last for exactly one circuit. I had committed a cricket spectator faux pas by not doing so. They walked away, heads shaking and I felt somehow inadequate.

I took a seat at the halfway point and began to observe this expert trio. It was true! Each time they completed a circuit, they popped into the bar for a refresher, and off they set again. Each time they passed me they looked on in pity.

The timing was precise. One circuit, one pint.

Gentlemen, I salute you. Your system is perfect, and I will try harder in future.