Hoping for a season in 2020, and imagining how it might feel on the first day, Cameron Steel writes from his family home in Western Australia.
Eyes instinctively cement together as the shrill, simulated sounds of an iPhone pulse against the pale wooden desk of a Holiday Inn. The rapturous snores of a hairy roommate do nothing to dilute the racket. The bugle call of county cricket is blasting once more.
Separated by a winter of work and a spring of suspense, almost a year has passed since the last fixture. So much is the same: the early wake-up; the contempt for no bedside power points; the dreary English weather forecast; the instant pre-match nerves. Everyone will be extra nervous today. Today is different.
“The dawn of distanced cricket” the Twitter headlines will declare. “Spaced-out slips” the caption will read, below a shot of the unfortunate fielder who shells the first catch of the year. Perhaps us ‘Covid-cricketers’ will someday have an asterisk next to our names in Wisden.
Morning greetings of temperature checks and elbow taps complement the unnatural silence that fills the hotel foyer. Contemplation replaces conversation as buffet breakfasts are mourned and facemasks are pulled aside for their pre-packed successor. Coffee clubs and crossword guilds are sacrificed as individuals secure themselves into their imaginary enclosures.
Chuckles spread through the bus as one of the bowlers waves a stretched-out tape measure at an unsuspecting batsman. “Don’t you dare come too close!” he commands through a sinister smile. “I wish that was the worst thing you’d ever swung in my face,” the batsman jokes, retreating beyond the two-metre exclusion zone.
The humour relaxes restless bodies and softens wired eyes. Born out of a life in lockdown, mutations of once-familiar pressures are burdening even the most experienced shoulders. Passing safely through the bio-secure gates, the absence of normality fuels excitement and compounds existing anxieties.
With changing rooms altered and competitions cancelled, there will be more to this strange season than just winning or losing. Curious tales will be born, of masked matches, streamed spectators and permitted ball tampering. Dangers posed by sickness and lost opportunities will threaten careers, families and livelihoods.
Schedules shrinking and precautions increasing, the spaces between fielding positions will grow, along with the stakes for the individuals who occupy them. Pressures dealt with over months and years have been condensed into weeks. From the England hopeful and the county stalwart, to the burgeoning youngster and unproven rookie, limited chances to prove one’s worth have never been so valuable.
As warm-up balls are individualised and pre-game routines become solitary, cricketers’ oft-suppressed personal drive will assault ingrained team-above-all mentalities. Some will play for today, others for a contract tomorrow. All, however, are united in wanting to continue living their childhood dreams.
The history of cricket is rich in old rivalries. Across nations, counties and cities, bowler and batsman do battle with every ball. While unpredictable seams, wickets, cruel decisions and weather will always be frustrating; these phenomena will at least continue to be visible. This season, however, an unseen foe looms over every ball. A cough or a fever is all it could take to freeze cricket’s timeless currency of runs and wickets.
Captains, get your rubber gloves on. It’s time for the toss.