About
In the roaring forties, mortality lies ahead. Kids’ college funds and knee reconstructions await. Mid-life crises, annual prostate checks and home dialysis units are not much further off in the horizon.
It is time for one last fling.
With the cricket pitch.
Come Saturday afternoon, having discharged householderly obligations (vacuuming, mopping, lawn mowing, whipper-snipping, hedge trimming) I will slip the leash and join the boys-”g’day Smitty, Fordy, Ilco, Posty, Butchy-all’s well boys?”(none of said boys being under forty) for our afternoon of reclaimed youth.
We will charge around and effect sliding stops. When there is a happy equinox of hands, ball and grasp followed by a successful throw into the ‘keeper, there will be shouts of ‘moving like a gazelle’ and ‘you old enough to play in this league?’
And when Boxing Day rolls around, the annual pilgrimage to the MCG is made with a core of rapidly greying tragics. Without fail we wonder each year what it would be like to play but once on that canonical sward, with the bated breath of thousands hanging on the outcome of the next ball….
Ah. Finally away from that beastly bigblog thingie, I see. And oh, the link to my blog in the blogroll section seems to be broken.
Ahh ! I envy your fitness and cricket get togethers, mate .
Thou make me long for the good old days of youth and the torn matting wickets of Madras when I turned out for a local Club in the TNCA league. All I can do now is watch matches on the telly but plan to watch at least one Test at the MCG sometime in the future when Team India is playing.