Suddenly I was a child again

PAUL EDWARDS: It would be uncharitable for a chap cantering reluctantly towards his second childhood to begrudge anyone the joys of their first

There are moments of clarity when big decisions become very simple. I have friends who say it was plain to them in an instant that they should spend the rest of their lives with a particular partner. Changing careers and moving to a particular house are similarly crucial choices that are sometimes negotiated with little more than a shrug of recognition. But to shift from such life-defining commitments to James Anderson’s dismissal of Virat Kohli in the first innings of the Trent Bridge Test may be too great a leap. All the same, let me attempt it.

First, though, many thanks for all the responses to last week’s column. It seems, as my editor Sam Morshead pointed out, that the piece touched a nerve, even with people who disagreed with its arguments, and my gratitude includes them, too, of course. But we should not be surprised that issues like The Hundred and its presentation prompt a wide variety of strongly held views.

English cricket is embroiled in a ferment the like of which I cannot remember. Though the game does not matter at all to millions of people, it still counts for something to more folk than those of us professionally involved in it might imagine and a perceived threat to the counties was always going to stimulate debate.

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Yes, “debate” has frequently been too posh a word for it. At times it has been wounding, a polarised slanging match characterised by aggression and fear. Rather like politicians in the era of Johnson, Corbyn and Trump, many people have stopped listening to each other. They are immune to nuances of opinion and it has become inconceivable to them that another person’s view might have the slightest validity.

The doctrinaire supporters and opponents of The Hundred are drunk on their own certainty. We might take leave to wonder whether in, say, two years’ time, our present discontents will matter very much but we should do so fully accepting that the thought might return to haunt us in August 2023.

And so to the first round of Jimmy v Virat. I was fortunate in that I was at home for the first three days of the Nottingham Test and was therefore able to fit work around rather large chunks of the game. And yes, it was enriching to be watching red-ball cricket again, especially given the array of seam bowling talent on view.

^{The Hundred is well underway}

Administrators can change formats and alter the game in other ways but the use of a white ball rather than a red in over-limit competitions defines the nature of the contest. And James Anderson is as good a fast-medium bowler as I have seen. So I was not surprised when he took the wicket of Cheteshwar Pujara, fine player though the Indian is, and I settled down to watch one of the summer’s great duels. Not for long, though. A well-pitched up tempter on fifth stump was enough. Kohli could have left it alone…

“Jimmy’s only gone and got Kohli first ball!” I yelled very loudly, though there was no one else in the flat.

And suddenly I was a child again, enraptured as though for the first time by a game I’ve now loved for rather more than half a century. It took one ball for all the antagonism that currently clots social media to drop away and be replaced by the primal wonder of sport. I reckon I was nearly as surprised by my reaction to Kohli’s dismissal as he was by the fact of it. But of course I was not alone. Watch the reaction of Jimmy and his colleagues to that wicket and you will see boys celebrating a vital success in an under-15s game. Many of those players may now be millionaires but their riches extend far beyond their investment portfolios

And, of course, I was not the only person in giving it large. A few moments later I received a text.

“Kohli 0 (1) Incredible to see.”

I texted back: “Absolutely. Test cricket. Right there.”

My correspondent was Scott Lees, a cricketer whom I’ve known since 2010, when he joined Southport and Birkdale as a bowling allrounder. Leesy now plays for Ormskirk but he still tries to get to as many first-class games as he can. (It is a stage he would not have disgraced himself but don’t tell him I wrote that.) I always value his contributions, albeit slightly less so when he texts me at writing-up time. Last Friday afternoon, though, we were joined in the exultation of the moment and I could easily imagine the stands at Trent Bridge going loudly berserk.

^{James Anderson dismissed Virat Kohli at Trent Bridge for a first-ball duck}

I’d seen such scenes for myself. In 2009 I was working at one of the coveted desks outside the miserably dark Oval press box during the deciding Ashes Test and saw a gentleman of mature years but unexpected athleticism race up and down the tiered gangway every time Stuart Broad took a wicket in Australia’s first innings. Broad took five wickets in seven overs so it was a fair effort by the old boy, one that was enlivened by his enthusiasm for exchanging a high-five or bestowing a kiss on each person he passed. Nobody minded.

After that vaguely jingoistic recollection it might come as a surprise to readers to learn that I do not want England to win every match they play. I’m more interested in the maintenance of a balance in world cricket and in seeing the five-day game encouraged in countries where it sometimes struggles.

This summer, though, I’d like Joe Root’s team to edge a closely contested series, one in which the unparalleled riches of Test cricket are made very plain to those who think twenty overs or a hundred balls are all the game has to offer in the third decade of the 21st century.

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And so we come back to those discontents and to a competition I described as a “rootless parasite” only a few weeks ago. I stand by that description and I still fear the consequences of our masters becoming so infatuated with their new toy that other formats are neglected. Just as seriously I fear the tyranny of the urban.

But when such fears break my sleep and prompt intemperate thoughts, I try to consider the benefits of The Hundred for women’s cricket and for the very young cricketers who attended one Manchester Originals game and are now to be found at club nets, enjoying every minute of their new sport. After all, it would be uncharitable for a chap cantering reluctantly towards his second childhood to begrudge anyone the joys of their first.