The email arrived:
I don't suppose I can interest you blokes in training tonight? It will be none but the brave. Como Park.
52 years old. (Not "of age".) Haven't played for 22 years. Malingering somewhere between unfit and unhealthy. 43 degrees.
None but the stupid in my case. I said yes.
Setting up the nets I was starting to flag. Several balls in, some in the general vicinity of a good area and only one approximating utter filth, but all accompanied by loud creaks of shoulder and both groins, I was flat on my back on the grass gasping for breath and squirting water on my head. A couple more mini-spells punctuated by trips to the water fountain and my first cricket training since Cox Plate week 1991 was over. Didn't even have the energy for a bat and a chance to "hit 'em well in the nets" or, most probably, get well hit in the nets.
Extracting the positives, I did not bowl long enough to be sore today.