The truth of the story lies in the details. (Paul Auster)
In our league, the majority of clubs have their own ground and are not reliant on municipal facilities which are usually found wanting in the sight screen, boundary rope and appropriate wicket departments. During my apprenticeship in the lower leagues I would arrive at a beautiful village ground which, from the car park, looked totally irresistible with its immaculately mown outfield and a groundsman putting the finishing touches to his master pitch. But as I imagine the homemade scones and jam and the rest of the lavish tea, I am greeted by the captain of the home team: Our firsts are on the main pitch today. We’re on the lower field. There’s a makeshift changing room down there so see you in a few minutes.
For field read meadow and for changing room read equipment outhouse. My heart sinks as I visualise the firsts and their opponents tucking into a culinary Michelin star tea while we are thrown a few Lidl scones filled with ungenerous portions of savers jam to be consumed in a room full of broken lawn mowers.
It is because I always arrive early at a game (remind me to tell you about the time the umpires’ controller sent me to the wrong ground) I get to see how much work goes into preparing a league cricket match, some of which is done by the groundsman – often a player’s relative. The amount of unpaid work undertaken by players and club officials to get the ground ready for a match, and league officials who oversee hundreds of matches a season, are disproportionate to the hundreds of millions of pounds generated by the England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) in sponsorship deals.
Let’s start with the boundary rope. In the absence of a vehicles to drive it round the perimeter, the home team players do it manually. And if there isn’t one, then small bunting-style plastic flags are spiked into the grass to make a boundary shape that resembles a zigzag at a pedestrian crossing. Then you have a wicket properly prepared with very short grass and as flat as possible with appropriate markings at bowlers’ creases and protected area (a rectangle running down the middle of the pitch, two feet wide, and five feet from each popping crease).
And without an industrial mower there is no way the outfield can be cut. I’ve umpired games where fielders in the deep struggle to gather and return the ball (at least they can prepare for competitive orienteering). And I have a special aversion for inadequately secured sprinkler boxes and rabbit holes that should have a Break my leg sign for fielders entering a zone anywhere near.
When we have a summer without rain, a baking sun can turn an outfield into the perfect set location for a Western (title suggestion, The Magnificent Seven-For). Then comes the preparation of the tea and drinks breaks, often produced and managed by players’ partners and whose efforts are covered here.
The better the club, the better the attention to detail – clean showers with a decent water tank that works; toilet paper and soap in the rest rooms; a suitable vantage point and table for the scorers, along with a fan if they are spending a minimum of six hours inside a scorebox oven; on rain-threatening days, a large bag of sawdust; sight screens ready for action (and that really does not mean two fielders doing the honours as we call play); two match balls presented to the umpires ahead of the game along with a box of spares with different stages of usage given to the scorers; going the extra mile includes providing a small bowl of water next to the stumps to ease the effort in putting them in.
And of course, we assume that appropriate changing facilities are available for the umpires. I have changed in rooms that remind me of ten people squeezing into an old phone box in order to realise an ambition to make The Guinness Book of Records. However much I want to have a professional and friendly relationship with my colleague before, during and after the game, I draw the line of having his gonads in my face as I sit down to tie my laces. I have changed in a school that is inside the car park of one ground, we’ve been given a room behind the pavilion kitchen (handy if you fancy an Aldi sausage roll on the sly) and I’ve changed in my car when there is no changing room.
And if you think the workload on match days is enough, think again. The majority of clubs cannot afford state-of-art CCTV security so thousands of pounds of equipment is vulnerable. There is no chance of catching thieves and vandals ransacking a remote cricket ground on a cold February night. So weekly visits to the ground to check on the state of the square and pavilion the only deterrent throughout the winter.
A word too for the league officials who put in hundreds of unpaid hours administrating matches and dealing with results, finance, registration, umpires, facilities, welfare, junior players, complaints and behaviour. Every one of these players, club and league officials work tirelessly to keep the tradition of league cricket thriving. I have maximum respect for their work. They are the heart and soul of cricket