As a pre teen kid in the 60s I adored cricket. Black and white TVs in those days, if you were lucky, and most week days in the summer you’d find a 3 day county match being covered. Gently. Ever so gently. And all for free. Not a pay for view channel in sight.
It seemed a different world to mine. Divorced parents, unusual in those days, and the cricket offered me comfort. Friendship even. The familiar voice. The gentle applause. The occasional clack of the bat hitting the ball. Usually a single. Perhaps a 4. And if it was a 6, the ground, the commentator and yours truly, all thrilled. Didn’t matter who’d coaxed it over the rope.
And it worked on radio too. Perhaps more so, despite the poor quality of medium wave or long wave, depending when you’d listen. And, portable in hand you could listen in the garden, hours passing by either side of what seemed like ridiculously lengthy lunches.
The pace suited the 60s. The 70s too. And the internationals added an extra thrill. The wonderful West Indians bowling incredibly quickly and sometimes too, an Australian accent during a post match interview. All so wonderful and exotic to a lad growing up in a not so nice council house in a not so nice housing estate on the outskirts of Portsmouth.
As I got older and life became a little busier, coverage of cricket was largely delivered by broadsheets. Beautifully detailed match results and tables taking up acres of space. If I recall correctly The Telegraph’s coverage was best and if I had to give a reason why I grew up a Tory, before switching sides, well then there you have it.
But life has changed. And few have the time any more, and the desperate offer of one day matches, coloured whites and ever more complicated rules, has done little to attract new fans - who like their mums and dads, and most of the schools that teach them, focus on football, and dreams of riches and wags and pocket money spent on pay per view.
