Rating: 5/5
Review:
Brilliant
Consider the following questions:
1. In all the years since you first picked up a cricket bat, do you still remember with a thrill the occasion when you actually got to the pitch of a friendly half-volley, and just for once the ball didn't dribble a few humiliating yards toward mid-on or loop gently into the hands of backward point, but rocketed through extra-cover for four?
2. In all the years since you first picked up a cricket ball, do you still remember with a thrill the occasion when you pitched one just outside off and it turned in just enough to go through the gate of the hopeless incompetent at the far end to bowl him middle-and-off?
3. Does the single, unadorned phrase "eight for forty-three" unfailingly send you into a long and blissful reverie involving two rather mad, staring eyes under a shock of curly hair and Ray Bright's middle stump lying flat on the Headingley turf?
If the answer to all of these is "yes," then you are me and probably ought to seek psychiatric help. However, if the questions have any meaning to you, whatever the answers, then you will enjoy this book hugely, as I did. It is the story of one semi-competent cricketer's love for the game from the first stirrings of interest through to an adult obsession which many, many people will recognise. It is beautifully written, hilariously funny - I literally cried with laughter several times - and very, very touching in places.
Highly, highly recommended to anyone who has ever played cricket at any level whatsoever. A fantastically enjoyable book.
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