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New Statesman​

I am a curse on English cricket

To London again. What is happening to me? Do I miss the place so much that I am now stalking it? No. It is the third Test against India, and it is being held at Lord's, and I am an MCC member, which means that I can stroll into the ground for free, any day I like, as long as I have paid the somewhat large membership fee at the beginning of the year. You may ask yourself what a column called Down and Out is doing stumping up this amount of cash on 1 January and then swanning around Lord's in an egg-and-bacon tie. And it is true, I do not have a pot to take a comfort break in, but the membership is a legacy of my father's and is paid for by Mind Your Own Business. And I really, really like cricket. Plus, I also get to meet my little brother, which is always fun. Of course, there is a downside, and it is also the same one every time. And that is: whenever I go to a cricket match – and bear in mind Test matches last up to five days – England either lose terribly, or play so badly that you know they will lose, or that the day's play is so boring that I begin to wonder whether it's worth it. I could have stayed at home and listened on the radio while pottering about, and then caught the highlights on the telly if I felt like it. But there is nothing like the roar of a crowd, and it is nice to walk around as if I own the place, for in a way I do, and I can go inside the Pavilion and come within touching distance of the players as they go from dressing room to playing field, or the other way around, as the occasion demands. Now for those who don't know, English Test cricket has in recent years been transformed by the methods and approach of the captain, Ben Stokes, and the coach, Brendon McCullum, and so games that would have in the past collapsed into tedium have now become thrilling run chases. It is a kind of golden age: the new rule is that Test matches will never be dull again. However, bitter experience over the last couple of years has taught me that there is a footnote, or a subclause, to this rule: 'Unless Nicholas Lezard is in attendance.' So on Friday and Saturday I sat around for hours – actually, the place was rammed and finding seats even inside the Pavilion and watching the game on the telly screens was a challenge – becoming full of beer and slowly being boiled alive by the weather. It was so hot that the authorities let us take our jackets off inside the Pavilion and that doesn't happen often. As I was getting on the train at Brighton I realised I'd left my tie behind – it's the only tie I possess, and once belonged to my father, and, yes, it's MCC. So when I got to the ground I had to pay £35 for a new one and that didn't help my mood. On Friday night I stayed at my brother's and I thrashed him at backgammon (he is a ranked player, so I love it when this happens). Saturday was more of the same and at 5 o'clock, an hour and a half before the end of play, I thought sod this for a game of soldiers and went back to Brighton. Of course, as soon I was on the Tube to London Bridge the game exploded into excitement. The cry had gone round the ground: 'Lezard's had enough! Now we can play again.' Sunday was spent in the Hove-l, sulking, while I got on half-heartedly with some work. And then Monday dawned. England were on the brink of a famous victory, and, believe me, these victories are sweeter when there has been a build-up of days behind them, and the balance of power has been switching back and forth (though mainly in the opposition's favour). So my dilemma was this: do I go back up to London and watch sporting history being made? Or do I go up to London and watch England blow all their chances and hand the prize to India? India are very good, by the way, and they absolutely clobbered England in the second Test. Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month Subscribe Duty to my country won the day, and when the alarm went off – I was going to get there extra early to get a seat – I turned it off, turned over and went back to sleep. In the end this turned out to be the right thing to do. It was an agonising day's play, and I had radio coverage going on in all three of the Hove-l's habitable rooms, so as not to miss a second. That evening, I read a post from my friend S— on a social media platform. It was her first match, as you will be able to tell shortly, and I had been planning on meeting up with her. 'It's very nice at Lords [sic] and did you know they have two batsmen on the pitch at once? Incredible. I asked if this was a set-up unique to Lords but was told – by quite a number of people – that all cricket matches have two batsmen out at once. They do these little runs past each other but they are friends! Even more incredible.' Etc. Now this, in a way, is the best description of a cricket match I have ever read, and I've read quite a few in my time. On the other hand, I wonder if she appreciated the extraordinary nature of England's win, and my self-sacrifice. [See also: Israel's calculus on Syria] Related