Who needs Twenty20?

We were traipsing through the noisy, crowded streets of St John's when in an upbeat manner totally unbefitting of the occasion Mark piped up "Well at least we can say we've now seen a draw." It was just after 4pm when I laughed long and hard for perhaps the first time that day.

There are phonecalls you want to make and there are phonecalls you don't. At 11am on the morning of the first day of the 2nd Test, news that play had been abandoned still fresh in my mind and with my brother, dad and cousin all due to land in Antigua for a weeks cricket at 2pm I was faced with the unwelcome task of informing them that they'd made the trip of a lifetime for nothing. True, a week in Antigua would go someway to making up for it but it's a long way and an expensive place to come just to sit on the beach. And what a beach it was.





The day had started brightly as it always seems to on the first day of a Test match. Having got used to the local buses by now Mark and I made our way into St John's West Side bus stop, walked across the capital to the East Side bus stop and travelled out of town to the Sir Viv Richards Stadium. En route the bus driver did the customary thing of stopping the bus, getting out, running an errand, before boarding back again and taking us to our destination.

A destination that on the face of it was a state of the art facility. Two impressive stands, a party section complete with swimming pool, grass banks, excellent media services, good access to and from the ground and plenty of space to mill around. For the spectators it was a little impersonal, it's location meaning it was lacking in home support but spacious and comfortable for a day spent at the cricket. It's just a shame that it hadn't occured to the authorities for similar care and attention to be put in place for the players.

The problems became apparent almost immediately when Jerome Taylor aborted his opening delivery at the first attempt. The sheer amount of sand in the bowlers run up meant he could only run in at half pace. All of which wasn't a problem for the batsmen who both got off the mark in that first over. But this worrying start was quickly followed by a deluge of water as the bad weather that had been an unwelcome feature on the island for the proceeding three days made a re-appearance.

At about this time I glanced to the right of me to see two long queues snaking around the ground. The stadium had only opened two turnstiles so hundreds of fans were being soaked and had missed the opening salvos and as such were blissfully unawares of the problems to come.

The rain didn't hang around for long and play resumed again shortly afterwards and this time it was Fidel Edwards who was struggling. Steaming in from the South Stand he attempted and failed to get through his over. By this point the TV camera's were picking up on the vast amount of sand flying up from the boots of the bowlers and the displeasure etched on the West Indian faces. "Surely not", I thought, "surely this cannot be happening".

But happening it was. On came the match referee, the batsmen took off their helmets, the bowlers surrounded the areas of concern, and I watched on in disbelief. The varioous media outlets I am working for also began ringing me as the pictures being beamed back to England were flagging up the very real possibility that the game would not be able to continue. And after only ten balls of play and mid interview the players began trooping off.







Within minutes it was announced that play had been abandoned for the day and that it was highly unlikely that it would continue at any stage at the Sir Vivian Richards Stadium. As per usual the paying punters were the last to know this and were kept in the dark for nearly an hour before the tannoy system deigned to let them in on the big secret. Boo's rang round the ground as the enormity of the situation really started to take hold. Here were nearly 8,000 spectators, all of whom had paid thousands of pounds to fly out to Antigua, who had booked holidays, paid for flights, tickets and accomodation, organised tours and now were finally doing something that had taken real effort to and it was seemingly all for nothing.

The players did what they could by mingling with the fans, signing autographs and posing for photos. The reggae continued playing in the party stand but gradually the crowds started drifting away while the post mortem was carried out on the pitch and in the media briefing rooms underneath the north stand. And while this was going on some of the England players began mucking around with the camera equipment.



Rumours abounded that the game may be switched to either the Antigua Recreation Ground or even Sir Allen Stanford's private cricket pitch. Reports that the run up areas would be dug up and replaced by turf from a nearby golf club were also mentioned. But it all seemed as though these options were being voiced in pretence that something other than total abandonment was on the cards. For surely, if you couldn't prepare a pitch despite having two years of preparation then how could you turn a ground into a Test venue in two days?

After attending a press conference with Andrew Strauss I went and spoke with Mark and also my mate Luke's mum, Deryn who had made their way round to mingle with the players. They couldn't believe what was going on; though Mark had the look on his face of a man who was getting used to major catastrophe's whilst following the England cricket team. And talking to them brought it back to me how disappointed my family members were going to be once they stepped off the plane.

My sister texted me voicing similar thoughts. I dread to think what was going through my mum's mind. I overheard similar tales of woe from other supporters. I was dreading making the call. As much as this was a blow, especially considering the Jamaica debacle, at least Mark and I could console ourselves with the thought that our tour would continue onto Barbados and Trinidad. But for my dad, brother and cousin this was it. They were here for one week only and had no room to re-arrange flights, accomodation and book time off work.

The clock started to tick round and I was told that an ICC press conference would be held at 3pm. Truth be told by this point I wanted to get the hell out of the ground and start drowning my sorrows back at the villa. I'd attended enough pressers, listened in to conversations between officials and players on the pitch, done several pieces to air back home, interviewed disgruntled fans and I'd had enough. But I knew I should stick around. So instead I walked round to sit with Mark and have a beer.

It was gone 2pm by now and whilst sitting underneath one of the sightscreens I saw what I think was Dave, dad and Stuart's plane coming into land. I felt so sorry for them. I wondered if they knew the bad news and whether the pilot had told them what had happened.



And then something strange happened. The party stand was still going strong with drunken Brits falling about the swimming pool and dancing along to the music when the MC said something that sounded like 'the Test match will go ahead, it will start on Sunday at The Rec'. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It was a strange way to hear such news. The Rec was the spiritual home of cricket in Antigua for 28 years. Brian Lara had smashed the Test batting records at the ground twice against England scoring 375 & 400. But it hadn't been used for Test cricket for three years. But what a turn up it would be if it was to host the game. What an incredible turn around. It would be amazing!

All of a sudden I couldn't wait for the ICC press conference which had now been brought forward to 2.30pm. Before the game every local I'd spoken to mourned the passing of the Rec as a cricket venue. Captain Nash had regaled us all with stories of watching cricket there during the 80's during the Windies pomp. The smell of the food would float down the high street, the party inside the ground so legendary that one Test against India, where not even a single ball was bowled due to weather was still a complete sell out for all five days a Antiguans descended upon the place to drink, dance and argue about cricket. It was all about the party! Suddenly, all was not lost!

Sure, it was by now pretty dilapadated, I certainly wouldn't feel safe with hundreds of England fans jumping around on the tier above me. I'd been there two days earlier to watch England train, but nobody could doubt the unique atmosphere the ground would bring with it. But, if the game started anew on the Sunday it would mean Dave, dad and Stu could attend all five days AND spend the Saturday on my uncle's boat. This was actually turning into a godsend.

There was still no official confirmation by the time the meeting started and I held my breath when the match referee Alan Hurst, who not a few hours ago had called off play at the Sir Viv Stadium, announced that he had led a party to the Rec and was happy that play could go ahead as planned on Sunday. Get the f*ck in! And then my phone rang.

I had it on silent and the reception wasn't brilliant but at the end of the phone was my brother. "They're saying the Test match has been called off" came a tired and resigned voice at the end of the phone............

..........Half an hour later, my final interview in the bag, Mark joined me in the press box. There I packed my stuff up and sauntered out of the stadium. We paused to look round the ground, take a couple of photo's and wonder if we'll ever be back to this ground again.