Disclaimer
This article contains scenes of mild sporting disappointment, unexplained administrative decision-making and an alarming number of children’s activities. No cricket executives were harmed during the writing of this post, mainly because nobody is entirely sure where the cricket executive suite is located. All views are my own and should not be used to determine qualification for any future Mid-Wessex competition.
In the previous entry, I left readers with one of the great unresolved sporting cliffhangers of our time.
Would Ilton qualify for the semi-finals of the Mid-Wessex U10 Cup?
Would finishing second in the group be enough?
Would somebody, somewhere, locate the relevant competition regulations?
Would anyone actually know what was happening?
The answer arrived the following day through Spond, modern grassroots sport’s preferred method of delivering fixture information, team selections and occasional emotional devastation.
James explained that Ilton had not performed well enough to claim one of the available places for the best second-placed teams.
And just like that, the dream was over.
Apparently, a decision had been made somewhere within the executive suites of Mid-Wessex cricket. I picture a large oak-panelled room containing several important-looking people, a bowl of complimentary biscuits and a complicated spreadsheet projected onto the wall.
After extensive deliberation, perhaps involving a calculator, a rain-adjusted algorithm and someone saying, “Well, technically…”, the qualification process had seemingly changed.
Rather than a semi-final place going to the team that had played one match fewer than the others, it would instead go to the best-performing second-placed team.
This was, to be fair, sort of understandable.
Sport generally prefers to reward performance rather than administrative misfortune, although the two are often difficult to separate at U10 level. However, it was still disappointing after we had previously been told that the remaining semi-final places would go to the teams finishing second in their groups.
There is a significant emotional difference between being told, “You might qualify,” and later discovering that “might” was doing considerably more work than initially advertised.
Ilton’s cup campaign was therefore officially complete.
No semi-final.
No dramatic cup run.
No opportunity for me to stand beside another cricket pitch pretending that I understand every tactical decision being made.
It was disappointing, particularly because North Perrott’s withdrawal meant Ilton had played one fewer group match. You cannot improve your statistical record against a team that does not exist, although I suspect somebody could still design a formula that marks you down for it.
Nevertheless, rules are rules.
Or, more accurately, rules are rules once somebody has decided what the rules are.
After the initial disappointment, normal life resumed. The Mid-Wessex Cup moved on without us, presumably under heavy security, and the Richardt household returned to its regular routine.
Our son’s final three days of school disappeared remarkably quickly.
The last week of the school year always has a slightly unusual atmosphere. There is still technically education taking place, but everybody knows that the academic engine is being gently powered down.
Exercise books are returned.
Classroom displays are dismantled.
PE kits that disappeared in October suddenly re-emerge.
Children come home carrying several months’ worth of artwork, certificates and mysterious pieces of cardboard that parents are expected to preserve forever.
And then, suddenly, the school year was finished.
The summer holidays had arrived.
My German friends are currently visiting the United Kingdom. They spent a few days in London before travelling down to Taunton for the final part of their trip.
There will undoubtedly be more to report about this in a future entry once I have gathered sufficient evidence, reconstructed the timeline and received clearance from the relevant diplomatic authorities.
For now, I shall merely say that introducing German visitors to British summer life can be unpredictable.
You explain that July is normally warm.
You recommend bringing a raincoat.
You mention that the weather forecast is largely decorative.
Then everyone stands somewhere in Somerset wearing three layers while insisting that it is “actually quite pleasant when the wind stops”.
A more exclusive report will follow in a few days.
For the moment, our attention has turned towards organising the school holidays.
This is where the phrase “summer break” becomes misleading.
A break suggests rest.
It suggests leisurely mornings, spontaneous outings and perhaps the occasional afternoon during which nobody needs to know the location of a tennis racket.
Our summer calendar, by contrast, resembles the operational planning document for a medium-sized international sporting event.
I am off work this week until next Monday.
My wife is off for another week after that, giving us a useful two-week parental relay system. I complete the opening shift before handing over responsibility, ideally with the child fed, hydrated and still in possession of all essential sporting equipment.
There is a tennis tournament at Taunton Blackbrook on 3 August.
There is cricket camp.
There is tennis camp.
There are various additional tennis tournaments.
And, naturally, there are the Somerset Tennis Championships in Burnham-on-Sea at the end of August.
By the time the school holidays finish, our son may have spent more time on sporting surfaces than at home.
The logistical challenges are considerable.
Every activity requires different clothing, footwear, and equipment.
Cricket requires whites, a bat, pads, gloves, a helmet and enough snacks to sustain a small county side.
Tennis requires rackets, tennis shoes, spare grips, water bottles and the ability to locate a single missing ball five minutes before departure.
A short family outing requires only optimism and a working SatNav, although experience suggests that both may fail simultaneously.
Somewhere among the camps, tournaments and championships, we are also planning a short three- or four-day holiday in Cornwall.
This will be our opportunity to relax in the Cornish sun, wind and cliffs.
The order is important.
Cornwall may provide glorious sunshine, dramatic coastal scenery and the sort of views that appear on tourist brochures.
It may also bring horizontal rain, sudden fog, and a coastal breeze capable of blowing unsecured garden furniture away.
That is part of its charm.
We hope to enjoy a few quieter days away from the constant sporting schedule, although our family’s definition of “relaxing” may still involve walking several miles along a cliff, locating a beach, visiting an attraction and discussing whether there is a nearby tennis court.
There will probably also be ice cream.
Cornish ice cream is an essential component of any coastal holiday, regardless of weather conditions. Eating it while sheltering from rain merely demonstrates commitment.
Overall, there is plenty to look forward to.
The cricket cup may have ended earlier than hoped, but the summer programme is only beginning.
There will be tennis tournaments, camps, county championships, visiting friends, a trip to Cornwall and almost certainly several moments when two activities have accidentally been scheduled for the same time in different counties.
The next four weeks should therefore provide no shortage of material.
However, posts may be slightly more sporadic than usual.
This is not because pseudocystblog.com is entering an extended summer shutdown. It is simply because I may occasionally be driving between Taunton, Burnham, a cricket ground, a tennis court and an unidentified location in Cornwall with limited internet reception.
Normal service will continue whenever the sporting calendar permits.
Until then, the Mid-Wessex semi-final dream has officially ended.
The school holidays have officially begun.
And the Richardt household summer logistics department is already operating at full capacity.
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