Disclaimer
This blog entry contains references to junior sport, parental logistics, sun cream application under mild protest, and the emotional consequences of a closed cricket shop. No Upper GI organs were harmed in the making of this weekend, although several parental stress levels briefly approached emergency theatre-list intensity.
After the previous entry took us into the slightly more serious world of work-related reflection — and work-related writing always has the annoying habit of becoming sensible — it is time to return to the real suffering in life.
Junior sport.
More specifically, the increasingly complex Richardt household sub-specialty of tennis-and-cricket-based calendar management. This is a field not yet formally recognised by the Royal Colleges, but frankly it should be. There are rotas, risk assessments, hydration plans, transport logistics, equipment checks, emotional containment strategies, and, occasionally, snacks. Actually, not occasionally. Constantly.
Last Sunday was one of those days when the calendar looked at us and said: “You seem relaxed. Let’s fix that.”
On the same day, there was an U10 cricket festival in Taunton and Ilton’s first cup match of the season against South Petherton. Naturally, because junior sport likes to maintain the same operational efficiency as a hospital printer during ward round, both events happened at the same time.
A decision had to be made.
The fact that the U10 Taunton Cricket Festival was being held at the Somerset cricket ground made the choice easier for our son. Playing at the county ground is, understandably, slightly more exciting than playing anywhere else. There is something about walking into a proper cricket venue that makes even an eight-year-old feel like he is only moments away from being interviewed by Sky Sports about his bowling figures and whether the pitch was offering anything early doors.
So, festival it was.
He was representing Taunton Cricket Club, along with three of his classmates. This already gave the day a nice school-trip-with-competitive-undertones feel. The sort of thing where everyone is smiling, everyone is learning, and one or two children have already mentally calculated the net run rate before the first ball is bowled.
My wife was on weekend duty in the surgical department, which meant the role of responsible sporting adult once again fell to me. This is always reassuring for everyone involved.
My job description was clear: make sure the water bottle was filled, sun cream was applied, cricket bat and ball were in the rucksack, and an enormous quantity of snacks had been packed. The snacks are important. Junior sport without snacks is not sport. It is just child labour with shin pads.
We arrived at the cricket ground for 11.30 and caught the tail end of the Dynamos kids’ competition. There was already plenty going on. Lots of children, lots of cricket bags, lots of parents pretending they fully understood where they were meant to stand, and the usual collection of volunteers making the whole thing possible while somehow remaining cheerful.
The format was simple enough. Fifteen teams were divided into five groups of three. Taunton Cricket Club were placed in a group with Crewkerne and Chard.
Now, on paper, this sounded like a lovely grassroots cricket festival. The kind of event where the focus is development, enjoyment, participation, and giving children an opportunity to experience playing cricket in a bigger setting.
Unfortunately, our son does not always process sport through the lens of “relaxed participation”.
For him, training is already life and death. A warm-up drill can carry the emotional weight of a World Cup semi-final. So, an actual event at the county ground was never going to be treated as a casual grassroots experience. In his mind, this was probably one tactical notebook away from international selection.
The slight complication was that, apart from him and Beauden, most of the Taunton boys did not really have match experience. And, unfortunately, this became quite apparent.
That is not criticism. Far from it. Everyone has to start somewhere, and festivals like this are exactly where children learn what cricket feels like outside training. But cricket is one of those games where match experience matters very quickly. You can practise bowling, batting, throwing and catching, but the moment you are actually in a game, everything suddenly becomes much more complicated.
Where do you stand? Who is backing up? Should you run? Should you not run? Why is everyone shouting? Why is the ball now behind you? Why is someone’s dad walking around with a scorebook like he is compiling evidence for a public inquiry?
Taunton lost both games quite convincingly.
There were flickers of good cricket from the boys. A decent bit of fielding here, a brave shot there, the occasional moment where it looked like the whole thing might start to click. But overall, they came up short against teams who looked more settled and more match-ready.
Our son, to his credit, played well individually. His bowling was, as ever, decent. He has a good rhythm, he looks like he knows what he is trying to do, and he generally gives the impression that he would quite like the batter to reconsider their life choices.
His batting was also good. He hit a couple of sixes and a four, which at least meant there were some proper highlights to take from the day. There are few things more pleasing in junior cricket than watching your child connect properly with the ball and send it away with confidence. It briefly makes all the driving, washing, waiting, and frantic searching for cricket socks seem worthwhile.
Briefly.
But despite his own contribution, he was not happy at the end of the day. And that, I think, was partly because he did not really understand what the event meant for him.
From a parent’s perspective, it was obvious: he had been given the chance to represent Taunton Cricket Club at the county ground, play against other clubs, gain experience, and be part of a proper cricket festival. That is a brilliant thing.
From his perspective, they lost.
Twice.
And the cricket shop was closed.
This last point should not be underestimated. In adult terms, this is the equivalent of being told your clinic has overrun, your lunch has disappeared from the fridge, and the coffee machine is out of order. It changes the entire emotional architecture of the day.
A closed cricket shop at a cricket ground is not just a shop being closed. It is a betrayal. It is a missed opportunity. It is the sudden collapse of all possible bat-grip-based recovery strategies.
So we left the ground with the mood sitting somewhere between “reflective disappointment” and “minor sporting injustice”.
On the way home, because apparently I had decided the emotional atmosphere needed further enrichment, I also told him that Ilton had lost their cup match against a very experienced South Petherton side.
This meant that Ilton now have to win their next match against Lydford the week after next and then hope that Lydford beat South Petherton. Junior cricket group-stage mathematics had entered the car journey. This is always a risky parental strategy, particularly when the child in the back seat is already processing two defeats, a closed shop, and the absence of immediate cricket-related retail therapy.
South Petherton, by all accounts, were experienced and strong. Ilton losing to them is not a disaster. It is part of sport. Teams win, teams lose, and sometimes you come up against a side who are simply further along the developmental conveyor belt. The important thing is what happens next.
That is, of course, the sensible adult interpretation.
The child interpretation is usually shorter and involves disappointment, silence, and aggressively eating snacks.
Still, this is junior sport. You learn. You lose. You come back. You bowl again. You bat again. You discover that one bad result does not define anything, although try explaining that to a child who treats a training drill like the Ashes.
For all the disappointment, there were positives. He played at the county ground. He represented his club. He played with classmates. He bowled well. He batted well. He hit sixes. He experienced the difference between training and matches. And, perhaps most importantly, he learned that cricket, like life, occasionally closes the shop just when you need it most.
There is no cricket this weekend, which should theoretically mean a quieter household.
Naturally, that would be far too easy.
Instead, we move back across to tennis, where he has his first U10 tournament since — I think — the end of May. So that will be interesting. By “interesting”, I mean I will once again be in a sports venue, carrying water, snacks, spare clothing, and the emotional support system of a small touring professional.
Onwards and upwards, as usual.
Or, more accurately: onwards, upwards, sideways, into the car, back out of the car, check the water bottle, find the hat, apply the sun cream, locate the bat, remember the racket, pack the snacks, and hope the shop is open.
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