Like many of the Durham Cricket squad, this period gives them the perfect chance to home in on new skills and develop current ones. Durham Cricket batsman Cameron Steel has been using this time to enjoy his passion of writing, have a read of the feature he has written below.
On a bitter and blustery February morning in Chester le Street, words like ‘Wuhan’, the ‘Diamond Princess’ and ‘COVID-19’ meant nothing to most Durham cricketers. We were more interested in passing the ominous 2km time trial.
Fresh from beating the traffic on the Tyne Bridge, Ned Eckersley was reclined in his customary morning news-reading position on the home dressing room’s physio bed. He asked me whether I thought we would lose any of the season to ‘this corona virus thing.’
Unless a cricketer had travelled to China, or if the situation were to rapidly deteriorate, we swiftly agreed that the 2020 season would be played in its entirety. This virus would be merely another distant episode of the Far East – a phony ‘apocalypse’ that would no doubt provide the fuel for the latest click-bait, social media furore, and predictable jokes about Mexican beer.
It would have been hard to imagine that, by the end of March, batsmen’s anxieties would be less focussed on their seemingly magnetic front pads, and more on the art of hand-washing and social distancing. It would have been even harder to imagine that cricketers would be discussing national lockdowns and government furlough schemes by the start of April. I certainly did not expect to have reached mid April without having my bails dislodged at least once.
The new reality that COVID-19 has dealt is already fraught with uncertainty for cricket. When (if at all) will we start the 2020 season? When can we start training again? Will we even be allowed to shine the ball when we do? One thing for sure, however, is that we will all miss cricket in our own way.
Sporting bodies worldwide have jostled frantically to find a return-to-play strategy. With the threat of financial ruin looming large, the previously unthinkable notion of games being played in empty stadiums now seems like an oasis – one that could yet prove to be a mirage. Sadly the future of many professional sports clubs will rest in the hands of TV companies and definitions of contract fulfilment.
On a more individual level, lockdowns across the world have entirely recalibrated daily routines and rituals. Training twice a day at Riverside has turned into a thirty-minute jog in the park, garden conditioning sessions or lifting a heavy backpack. County cricket’s agonising yet addictive program of travel, soreness, ecstasy and anxiety now replaced by hours, days and weeks surrounded by four familiar walls.
Some players will be enjoying their new confined respite. Precious time with wives, girlfriends and children, usually so rare in the summer, is now available to most in abundance. The ever-aching backs, knees and ankles of fast bowlers consigned to the memories of 2019, along with those unforgiving pressures of practice, selection and performance.
While cricketers busy and better themselves with home schooling, online courses, Strava obsessions, Netflix, gaming and toilet roll challenges, I do not doubt, however, that most will feel lost without cricket.
Without the rigours of training, the excitement of competition, the comfort of routine, or even just being in the field with your mates, all cricketers will have a part of them that is empty. Time in isolation has given us all time for reflection. We have time to appreciate not just the obvious things that make life as a cricketer wonderful, but also the finer details that we so often take for granted.
It’s the sound of spikes crunching against the concrete steps for the first time. It’s watching the members scramble for a photo or signature from the latest debutant. It’s that intoxicating concoction of nerves and excitement as the first ball is bowled from the Lumley End. It’s the despair as you walk back to the pavilion having nicked it – it’s the pat on the back from your teammate as you ponder it.
It’s Mark Wood tying someone’s shoelaces together in the corner. It’s Ben Raine eating Tupperware mashed potato for the 75th day in a row. It’s watching Josh Coughlin demolish a plate of baked beans. It’s wondering whether James Weighell will ever accept his fate and shave his head.
It’s everyone on their haunches after the 2km time trial. It’s the sweet taste of a cold Fosters after a Championship win. It’s the inevitable sound of Matt Salisbury complaining it’s not Heineken.
As the daily newsreels overflow with fresh stories of death, loss, and foreboding, it is easy to forget these things. Regardless of any league tables, scorecards or runs bonuses, we are so fortunate to play the game that we do, with people we love. Whenever we do start, whether it is next month or next year, I’ll be making sure to stop and smell the roses.