odd pieces: cricket memories

I've got all sorts of written pieces popping up in all sorts of places at the moment - here's one that's currently the lead piece on Cricket Network.

Ahh, the smell of new mown crass, the sound of leather on willow...jumpers for goalposts.......

A wreck - but on a high

I'm a total wreck today, but on an emotional high that's surging adrenaline through my veins and bringing renewed vigour to even the most mundane tasks.

Physically, I'm still suffering the effects of a recent stomach bug, and every meal's currently a case of Russian roulette. But slowly I'm improving. The swelling's finally gone down on my cracked knuckle, though it's still tender to the touch and still hampering my already lousy typing. And to cap things off, I've got a stubborn summer cold that has glued up one ear ever since I flew to Scotland 10 days ago. So at the moment I'm a particularly unappetising prospect.

But I've finally settled into the rhythm on my current editing/rewriting project and what looked like a train crash of good intentions and questionable process is slowly coming together as useful and usable intranet content. I now have one contact to deal with rather than a deluge of conflicting information from many, and we're groping towards a way of working that suits us both.

A couple of other pieces of work have come my way this week including, deliciously, some scripting on a video covering the internal problems the company is having paying suppliers. The irony is that it's for the company that always pays me late and, having taken on the writing at the 13th hour, I've knocked out the job without a purchase order!

So what's given me the new energy? It's probably the cloud I've been riding on ever since about 8.35pm yesterday when Middlesex CCC defeated Lancashire to reach finals day of cricket's Twenty20 Cup.

I've supported 'the Middle' for over 30 years - having first made my way to Lord's at the age of 12 to watch the likes of Gatting, Brearley, Daniel and Edmonds. For the first decade of my love affair with the club, they could do no wrong, regularly picking up trophies. But for the past 20 years, the cupboard's been pretty bare, and I've got used to season on season of underachievement.

But something's changing at St. John's Wood, and a new breed is emerging: talented players who've got the appetite for winning and don't realise when they're beaten.

At about 6pm last evening, in the unfamiliar surroundings of The Oval, Middlesex were 21-4. Lancashire were rampant having ripped the heart from Middlesex's batting. An hour or so later, 'Sex left the field 176-8. Moments before, Dawid Malan had departed for 103, scored at almost two runs a ball. He'd lashed the Lancs bowlers all around the field, turning near disaster into hope.

That hope turned to joy about 90 minutes later when Tyron Henderson splattered Dominic Cork's stumps all over the square and Middlesex were heading to finals day for the first time since 20/20 began in 2003.

Malan was immense, but so was Middlesex as a team. In 32 years of supporting my home County, I've never been so proud. It was one of those perfect games of cricket. I wanted Middlesex to win and they duly did having put my heart through a blender first. I wanted Lancashire's talisman, Andrew Flintoff to do well - and he did with 50-odd runs and three wickets. And, in this gloomy summer, I wanted the sun to shine - and even that fell into place.

Surrey members had been let into the match free, and there was one in particular in the lower tier of the pavilion where I was seated who moaned about Middlesex and declaimed loudly how inferior they were to his side throughout the evening. Even he had to swallow a large helping of humble pie by the end (and Surrey are precisely where this season, sir?)

I grew up on the exploits of Slack, Butcher, Barlow, Radley and the spin twins, Edmonds and Emburey. Now the likes of Godleman, Joyce, Morgan, Malan, Finn, Murtagh and the rest may just be propelling Middlesex back to cricket's high ground.

They've won nothing yet, but they've put me on a high today, despite the rain, my lack of sleep and the mountain of editing I've still to do.

Sometimes inspiration comes from most unexpected sources.

Hmmmm moments number one

I've just called the English Cricket Board's handling agents to enquire why, a month after the event was virtually washed out, I haven't yet received a refund for my two tickets to the third day of the England v New Zealand test at Lord's.

The ECB has a policy that states that the cost of tickets will be refunded in full, less a small admin charge, if less than 10 overs of play are completed in a day. Having shelled out rather a lot for Rory and myself to sit in the rain watching the FA Cup Final on the Lord's big screen, I duly dispatched my tickets to the handling agents....and noted the number to call if my money wasn't with me in 28 days.

28 days passed earlier this week, so I called the number today and was told, by a very pleasant call handler, that the repayments system was experiencing a slight delay.

'Why?' I enquired in all innocence. The answer made me smile: "Because we're having to deal with an unanticipated number of refunds.'

Now how could the number be unanticipated? The ECB knows the capacity of Lord's and knows how many tickets were sold for the day - even my scanning of the stands in the short while that play was possible could fairly accurately guesstimate 20,000.

So, surely the ECB had to bank on a worst-case scenario and prepare to deal with, say, 10,000 claims, since few attend the Test as 'Bill, party of one'.

Yet they're unprepared: unprepared in the way that Britain's unprepared for snow on the railways every year or in the way that Christmas creeps up without you quite expecting it.

The average price of a ticket to an international day at Lord's this year is something like £65. If we're expected to cough up that not inconsiderable sum, shouldn't the authorities be expected to have an efficient refunds process?

Hmmm - not impressed.

Some days are better than others

So, at the outset, yesterday didn't look too promising. I'd arranged to take Rory and one of his mates...also called Rory to Lord's to see Middlesex play Essex. It was 'kid for a quid' which was a real plus, but the weather forecast was pretty dreadful - a definite minus, especially after our visit to cricket nirvana for the New Zealand test.

Anyway, the rain stayed away for most of the day: we enjoyed the privileges of the Members' stand, thanks to my student membership (just about the only time I've exploited my student status since returning to the arms of academe last September), and the boys had a terrific day.

Praise to Middlesex CCC for laying on some half term-ish activities that kept the lads in good spirits even though rain blew out the end of the match - they were particularly taken by the free binoculars for turning up in their club shirts, and the player autograph session at the end. Actually, as we wanted to avoid the England football hoards at Marylebone, heading for 'wemb-ber-ley....wemberley', we hung on around the pavilion and the two Rorys not only collected all the Middlesex signatures (that's Rory S getting his book signed by Middlesex, Ireland and England's Ed Joyce, above), but all the vanquished Essex players too......except the grumpy skipper Mark Pettini who'd been LBW'd for a big fat zero earlier in the day!

But my highlight of the day was noticing a new message on my phone, calling it and hearing an unmistakable voice: "Hello, this is James Burke......."

For anyone under 40, it probably means nothing, but for me, James Burke was the BBC's voice of science, technology and the Apollo missions. My mission for my Masters dissertation this week has been to track him down...and I landed a big step in the the mission yesterday!