Postcard (21 April 1999)

21 April 1999

Postcard

from Justin Langer

The guards at soggy Lords try to turn me into a 'bowler'

Never have I played in a game that has been completely washed out for the full four days. Last English summer I was involved in games that had one, perhaps two, whole days abandoned by rain, but until today a whole match of cricketless labour has seemed most unlikely.

In my book 'From Outback to Outfield', which is an account of last year's County season, I must admit I spent a great deal of time 'whingeing' about the cold weather, grey skies and days stuck in changing rooms, watching the rain tumbling down. My mum's first comment to me after she read the final manuscript of the book was "it obviously rained a bit during the season did it? You never stopped talking about it."

While I vowed not to let the English weather get the better of me this summer, it is with a small grin that I can report that it is very cold over here at present, and very wet. Although the coin was tossed about 20 minutes before lunch on the third day, not a single ball was bowled for the match. After padding up and preparing for a short burst from Lancashire's fast bowling attack, the heavens again opened, sending down blankets of heavy rain that ensured another abandoned day.

Four days without any cricket is enough to send any man a bit potty, although I would be lying if I didn't confess to being half relieved at having a few days to rest the cricket-wearied legs and brain. Not having had a break from the game for about three years, it is guiltily enjoyable to have a few days off every now and then. The only problem that I can foresee is that four days without cricket at Lords is very dangerous for the waistline. As Lords undoubtedly boasts the best cricket lunches and puddings in the world of cricket, it is a little dangerous eating the same amounts without working it off, on the field. A minor pitfall of playing cricket for Middlesex County Cricket Club.

One of the myths of Lords is that the security men, generally grey haired and stiff lipped, are mean, grumpy old fellas who delight in bringing as much misery to the patrons as they possibly can. Having got to know most of these supposed fire-breathing dragons, I can testify that every one of them is a top bloke who loves a laugh and loves his cricket. As a gift when I returned to Lords, they had all chipped in and bought me an old, black bowler hat. They felt that I would look the part as an English gentleman wearing this dapper garment of clothing. Although I look a bit strange with my new article tilted on my head, I am happy to play the game if it keeps me in the good books with the Lords security boys.

>From London, JL