The Secret Cricketer: Inside the ropes of Devon cricket

They say most cricketers are either gamblers, drinkers or terrible womanisers. Some fall into all three categories.

It’s fair to say our club has its fair share of social dysfunction and diverse characters, all making it a glorious microcosm of mainstream society.

I’ve played cricket all my life for five clubs over 40 years and have made very close relationships with people who have become best friends and supports at difficult times.

On the other hand, I’ve played with some blokes for years and never even known their surname or what job they do. Most cricketers have nicknames ascribed on account of their appearance or behaviours.

More shady types tend to create emotional distance for a reason. Some have ended up enjoying the hospitality Her Majesty offers, while others are sadly no longer with us.

Recently, during a rain break, we managed to make up a team of local cricketers who have been to prison, needless to say a few of them had been umpires or committee members with fiscal responsibility.

I love rain-break conversations and games. Corridor cricket being a national favourite, as well as list making. Hardest man in Devon cricket, longest in the shower, biggest drinker, womaniser, gambler etc.

I’m fortunate that our club takes a more relaxed approach and everyone understands the club is run for its members and the genuine physical and mental health benefits that brings to everyone, me included.

This can, however, lead to bizarre situations, both on the field and off it, which are passed off as entirely normal and not worthy of further comment.

A fine example of this type of thing was in winter when the hardcore cricket tragics like myself, meet and pretend to address urgent matters arising when in actual fact it’s just an excuse to get out for a pint, tell jokes and generally mess about.

No one is really interested in the brewery’s January promotion of alcohol-free pink gin, although new bats or local gossip are different things altogether.

On this occasion, our group of 14 were sat in the dim light along two long trestle tables with a couple of large family dogs wrestling under the tables and dashing around the room.

I caught the eye of the person opposite, who was one of the dog owners, and sensed some heightened anxiety. The unmistakeable eye watering scent of dog mess was mushrooming its way slowly along the table towards the chairperson, also a dog lover, fortunately.

Each person in turn being revulsed at two-second intervals. The offending object(s) were sensitively removed using a bin liner, dustpan and, oddly, a credit card, then the room sprayed with air freshener.

No mention was ever made of this incident apart from it being discretely referred to in the official minutes as ‘what was a difficult meeting at times’.

On the cricketing front, we have a strong team worthy of promotion but the captain has been reappointed in that classic British way where everyone criticised him beyond belief last season, yet at the AGM all the hands went up in favour.

He’s not really a cricketing man, so his field settings can be bizarre at best. The last game, a colleague, who falls into the womaniser category and carries the nickname ‘Cuey’, short for cucumber, tried to address this with ‘Skip’ but was met with abrupt monosyllabic responses.

‘Can I drop mid off out ?’…. ‘No’. Turns out the skipper is on some sort of spectrum and only ever has two responses, yes or no. Usually no.

The midweek cup game saw us have three square legs just to have enough players in the ring to avoid a no ball. Cuey started his challenge calmly by saying ‘with the greatest respect’.

At that point he was interrupted and cut off by our Brummie veteran opening bat ‘God’ (drinker), reminding him he wasn’t ever respectful of anyone.

I mean, what chance have you got to resolve anything with that going on!