That's Cricket - Something For Everyone

C.L.R. JAMES felt W.G. Grace did not need whatever he lacked: "All that he had he could use," he wrote, suggesting that the completeness of this cricketer was comprehensive even in its incompleteness.

This is what I have found in cricket: an absolute appeal to the senses; and it is why it is still riveting despite the travails of current West Indies performances.

Cricket, like relationships, exists at several different levels, and when there is trouble in one dimension, it is possible to find sustenance at another. Historical memories offer fascinating sagas of conquest and heroism; journeys toward identity and empowerment. One can behold its artistry; or examine its social contours; one can dissect players for technique, temperament, style and character. You don't need technical knowledge to enjoy it, but to analyse it without that understanding, said James, would be "mere impressionism".

I have written mostly on my impressions of the game: its form, its environment, its players and its social impact; and to illustrate the diversity of its attractions, my favourite cricketer in the whole world was a man I had only seen play three times, in club matches.

On reflection, I suspect my inadvertent 66 per cent disruption rate might have accounted for the low attendance figure ? I disrupted the game more often than not.

On the first occasion, stupefied by the drilling afternoon heat, I ambled into the cane field adjacent to the ground thinking to stretch my legs and wake up a bit. To my great surprise, play was interrupted and a search party quickly yanked me out of the 'dangerous' outfield. On the second, my favourite cricketer had gone lower down the order and left the field (with permission) to pick me up from the airport. In less than an hour the batting had crumbled, folded, and was tail-ending as he arrived. Such was his dismay, I thought he would drive straight up to the crease and begin hitting the ball from behind the steering wheel. Never mind his heroics, the match was lost, and all but me were crestfallen. With nothing at stake, I was just happy to see him flashing like a ballet dancer on speed.

The third match was incident-free, except for a sexy slip catch. So, I had managed to see him bat, bowl and field; I could tell that he had all that he needed, but I had known that before and that was not all that made him my favourite.

He thought cricket like nobody I'd known. He talked it with passion: nostrils flaring, arms flailing, fingers curling just so around the ball imagined. He knew its history, knew the players, and was suffused by ideological forces that have broadened the shoulders of men. Knowing where it had come from, what it meant to the region, he could see where it was going and more importantly, where it should go.

Watching cricket together at various grounds was always enriched by these stimulating conversations. They heightened the senses, and in this milieu, nuance was keenly felt.

Sadly, and the West Indies cricket team should add this to their list of blames, as the matches lost lustre, his intensity as a spectator waned, and combined with his expanding interests, the precious cricket outings became more of a networking exercise, and a vital dimension was lost.

Nonetheless, I am still drawn to the game, spending long moments pondering the fate of West Indies cricket as I watch this team zig-zagging its way around my heart. On Thursday, it seemed like a team to watch, except for the fielding, then on Saturday, who knows what happened?

At least I know in cricket, there is always something to watch, no matter the distractions. If it isn't happening on the field, there is always something to play on your mind; and that's cricket; something for everyone.