I must stress it was a blisteringly hot day . . .
Not just warm, but the sort of heat that would have had Death Valley scorpions too lethargic to do anything other than plop another ice cube in the
Pimms.
This episode
pre-dates my Headliners career, and occurred when I played for
Beckenham's Sunday thirds.
Have I mentioned it was unseasonably hot? Jolly good. Because it 'kin well was!
We were in the field while the opposition (whose name I've forgotten - and I hope they have afforded me the same courtesy!) toiled in the middle. In truth, it was a poor game and the
sizeable crowd on the shallow grassy bank at the boundary was drawn to the sunshine rather than the cricket.
I was right on the boundary, on the lowest part of the slope with probably a hundred people behind me soaking up the sun.
Sadly, in the heat my concentration was starting to waver. I had been standing idle for perhaps half a dozen overs and not once had the ball been hit with 50 yards of me.
It's possible I actually nodded off. By possible, I mean extremely likely, if not absolutely certainly.
Suddenly everything seemed to speed up. Action was required! I was alert in a
nano-second, with a hit of adrenaline like a driver suddenly bolt upright after feeling that first drift over the 'rumble strip' on a late-night motorway.
The batsmen were converging , ready to cross. Other
Beckenham fielders were on the move, but where was the ball?
Eagle-eyed Jackson caught a glimpse in his peripheral vision of a small, brown missile heading his way. "It's within reach if I really go for it . . ."
I ran and flung myself full-stretch to my right . . . but my grasping fingers closed on fresh air. Damn! I landed with a heavy thump and raised a cloud of dust from the parched outfield.
I'm just about to forlornly signal a four when I hear a titter. A titter that becomes a chuckle, a chuckle that grows into an incredulous guffaw from the now interested crowd. "Did you see that?" "Why did that man throw himself to the floor?" "Do you think he's all right? It might have been sun-stroke . . "
What are they going on about? Are they laughing at me? Indeed they are. And my team-mates look completely bewildered, too.
Alas, the batsmen were not looking for a run - but were merely conferring. The fielders were not chasing the ball - merely getting into position
for the end of the over!! And the little brown missile I so heroically attempted to catch?
A sparrow, now sitting on the branch of a sapling and looking at me with pity and disdain! (I tell you what, though. It was a bloody hot day.)
