I was ten when I first played cricket. I understood nothing about the game because until then I had only been interested in soccer. I had just arrived at my new school as had two other boys, Charles and John.
Charles was a tall, thin boy who wore glasses, and had a strange walk. He bounced along as if his feet had springs on them. Wherever he went, he always carried his briefcase. Even to cricket matches. John was from a rich suburb of London and knew all about cricket. He knew where silly mid-on was, what a box was used for, and even knew what a leg-pull was. When he told us he usually bowled left-arm over the wicket, we nodded as if we understood.
On our first afternoon of cricket we all got into the school bus and went to Beggars Bush, the school's playing fields. Charles and I were amazed when we saw all the things needed for a game of cricket. There was so much to be worn that it seemed as if we were going into battle rather than into bat. There were thick pads to protect your legs. There was the box, a piece of strong plastic to protect your privates. There were the padded gloves which made you look like a boxer. Then finally, the wooden bat. Wearing and carrying all this, you were somehow supposed to not only hit the ball, but then to run the twenty-two yards to the other end of the wicket.
A coin was tossed to decide which team would bat first. As John seemed to know what he was doing, we let him be captain. John suggested he bowl first. He told us that having a left-armer start (especially bowling over the wicket) would give the other team lots of problems. He didn't realise it would give us problems too. None of us knew where to stand. John told us to stand in positions such as the slips, the gully, square leg, mid off, mid on, cover, long leg. None of us knew what they meant or where they were.
After getting us to stand where he wanted us, John stood with his back to the batsman, and began to run away from him.
'Hey, John, he's behind you.' I thought it best to tell him.
'I know, you idiot. I'm counting the steps for my run-up.'
The umpire dropped his hand, the sign for the game to begin. As John ran to bowl the first ball of the innings, we all walked quickly towards the batsman. The red leather ball left John's left hand and flew through the air. It flew over the batsman, over the wicket keeper, and only touched the ground once before flying over the boundary. None of us was quite sure, but we had a feeling that wasn't supposed to happen.
'I thought the ball was supposed to hit the ground before reaching the batsman?' I asked John. He pretended not to hear me.
The game went from bad to worse. Every ball John bowled was hit by the batsmen. They had obviously played cricket before. Charles and I ran about in the field, not brave enough to ask John why his left-arm over the wicket bowling was not troubling the other team as much as it was us.
When finally he managed to bowl out one of the batsmen, it was more thanks to the pitch than his bowling skill. The ball left John's hand, hit the ground, and ran along the grass underneath the batsman's bat. John told us he had meant to do that, that it was called a daisy-cutter or a grubber. I called it a fluke, but kept the thought to myself.