The stadiums here are nowhere near the size of their Aussie counterparts and lack the imposition those old famous grounds impart on proceedings. And of course the crowds are tiny compared to those at the 98,000 seater MCG or 40,000+ grounds of the SCG or Gabba.
But though they may lack punch and power it’s more than made up for in charm. And I’m not just talking about the lack of idiot Aussies, although that is a definite plus point.
One aspect of the game here that fans will miss about the cricket in England is that they allow you to play on the outfield during the lunch break. This used to happen back home and may still well do at some grounds. But it’s not something I’ve been able to enjoy since I was a kid.
There’s something strangely liberating about walking around a cricket field moments after the players have trooped off. Most people casually approach the wicket before studying the state of the track and pretending they know what they’re looking at. Others get in a bit of batting practice on the sides. While the kids usually run riot with parents looking on fearful that one of them will drop an ice cream midway through the bowlers run up.
Enjoyable stuff but not quite as entertaining as when, a few years back, on a mate’s birthday to watch Tranmere we stole out onto the field some hours after the match had been played out. Full of beer and with the sponsors bar about to close we made our way away from inside the stadium to head into town.
A few of us needed to relieve ourselves, took a wrong turning inside the ground and suddenly found ourselves staring at an unguarded Prenton Park pitch. Inebriated, we jumped over the seating, ran onto the pitch and proceeded to play a game of football on the actual pitch. I seem to remember scoring a sublime header to finish off an exquisite counter attacking move although as it was played out in darkness and without a ball few will be able to confirm this take on events.
The only crime I committed this time round was on the last day of the Test. Nathan and I took a tennis ball onto the pitch and went through a gentle throw and catch routine. As the lunch break drew to a close and with the PA asking us to leave the field of play our throwing and catching had got more daring. Where we had started just a few paces from each other tamely throwing the ball to and fro now we were some distance away hurling the ball and diving around on the grass. And while our catching was more than up to the task sadly my shorts were not as I came to realize just why they cost so little when I bought them in Thailand last year. After diving full length to snaffle an Ashes winning chance in the deep I felt something go in the bottom area. I was thus forced to watch the final four hours of play with huge tears along the front and back of my shorts.
Thankfully I’d been invited to a rugby game in the evening and had brought some jeans along to the cricket. Otherwise I’d have had to interview Kevin Pietersen after the game with my pants on full view.
Another enjoyable slant to proceedings over here is the choice of music on offer. Obviously in Test cricket there is a respectful silence whenever the action is halted on the field of play. In One Day cricket substandard chart and dance music is pumped out to the enjoyment of no-one. But here they choose their music carefully. Have you ever lazed back on a grass bank, cricket being played out in the background with a drink in hand, people milling about and the sun beating down whilst Vivaldi sweetly serenades you? I highly recommend it. And if it isn’t classical it’s a bit of Nina Simone, or one of the various Kiwi dub bands. Now that’s how you should watch cricket.
And then there’s the PA. In England all you get is a muffled announcement five minutes before play starts and an unintelligible message that someone somewhere needs to ring home because the cat is on fire.
Here they bring the art of the personal announcement to unheralded new highs. Not only are they informative about each and every new bowler or batsmen.
“Next in to bowl, with a career average of 31.93, 113 days short of his 23rd birthday and born as Mars crossed into the path of Jupiter……Chris Martin”
They’re funny with it.
“Coming into bat now, breast fed until he was 8 years old……Andrew Strauss”
“Cycling to the wicket on his new pedal bike and sporting a outsized red beret……Stephen Fleming”
“And the fielder who executed that run out, a man still incapable of looking Kevin Pietersen in the eye after being caught staring at him in the showers……Michael Vaughan.”
I am of course exaggerating slightly there. But that’s not to say that when presented with an opportunity to have a laugh they don’t take it. During one lunch break, as any shepherds in the crowd led their sheep onto the outfield for a free feed, the English squad players were put through their paces. Under a beating sun they were forced to run round and round the outfield. Suddenly the PA started to loudly chastise the fitness coach demanding him to give the players a beer.
It all makes for a much more laid back manner in which the cricket is played out. Helped by the friendly and self-depreciating Kiwi fans who shun the Mexican wave and have about as much faith in their team and we have in ours. While the security, so heavy handed last year in their treatment of anyone having fun, is almost non-existent here. Those that do parade the stands are approachable and friendly and don’t feel the need to pat their guns and evict people for the smallest indiscretion. And this mindset was all too evident on day three of the Wellington Test when two local fans next to me pulled out a bag of skunk from their bag and proceeded to smoke a small pipe throughout the tea break. Brilliant.
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