The Loneliness of The Long-Distance Bowler
My dad never came to any of my cricket matches. It’s true that I wasn’t on the team, and so didn’t go to the matches either, but still. It bears mentioning.
I was a small but terrifying fast bowler. I had spindly legs and bed hair, but I charged in like a man running late for a war. I used to bowl with these enormous run-ups, in part to compensate for my lack of upper-body strength. Sometimes they started in a different postcode from the other players. I’d stand at the top of my mark and scowl ferociously at the batsmen. But I was so far away it was lucky they could see me at all. It only took a few shrubs or a sloping ground for me to disappear entirely from view.
From the introduction to issue 9