One nod

This week I exchanged the sodden fields of England for the baking sands of Spain. It's strange how even in non-cricket playing countries (how do they cope?), the sport can still catch up with you.

One morning, I was taking a slow walk along a sun drenched coastal path wearing my 'Cricket Force 2007' t-shirt (see my club colleagues modelling the said t-shirt). Walking towards came a gentleman sporting a t-shirt with a giant cricket ball on the front under the large lettered statement 'Cricket is Life'. We each clocked the other's shirt at the same moment and after a second's recognition gave each other a nod of acknowledgement.

And it was all there. In that nod. Everything about the game.

The chock of leather on willow, the sunshine on flannelled players, the days spent on cricket grounds under umbrellas waiting for clouds to pass, the sweet cover drive, the stumps flying, the concerted appeal to the umpire, the shake of the umpire's head, the raising of his finger, the disgruntled batsman, the 'punch the air' bowler, the diving catch, the dropped dolly, the exasperated captain, the delight of winning, the despair of losing, the chats about past players and matches, the beers after the game, the inability of non-cricket lovers to understand the game, test matches, the pointless draws, the autobiographies of past players, the laughter and the tears.

All there, in just one nod.