Tired, old and fragile

I once loved fielding...

...but that was when things (as in knees, ankles, shoulders, back, neck, elbows, etc.) sort of behaved during the game, and only came screaming out of the agony closet the following morning. I wanted to be where the ball was going, I wanted to be busy.

Watch cricketers fielding (or, apparently, indulging in organised loafing) a bit more closely than most , and you'll see them walking in with the bowler – I usually start about nine paces away from where I want to be, walk in as the bowler runs up, and then, unless called into action, walk back again, to walk in again. I find that about right to get me set should the ball come my way off the bat. Or, even up to a season or so ago, that was me. Clapping hands, encouraging the bowler, nagging team mates to be on their toes, plenty of chirp, loads of enthusiasm.

Now, watch me and you'll probably see me with hands in pockets, looking bored and sulky. That's because I'm away from where the ball's likely to go very often, and that's because my back's bad and bending down is an issue and diving to stop the ball is almost a thing of the past, and I'm thinking about things other than the game I'm supposed to be engrossed in: work, mowing the lawn, fixing the rear security light, work, sorting some things out at Kiz's place (the ground floor lights), our dormers, work, kitchens, did I say work?

So now rather than the labour of love it was once, fielding is a chore, one during which I find it difficult to focus on what I should be doing, easy to drift off, and all too easy to drift off to somewhere I don't really want to be, staring at the lights of the oncoming train. Not in the here and now of the game, where I should be, but thinking of all the other things that are being put off to be here, begrudging making the effort.

It also hurts. Whereas reasonably recently the pain was never in question, but at least was deferred until the next day, now it starts from the get-go. As soon as the first few warm up catches get pouched and thrown back, everything starts to creak and send those warning signals.

Now, I must admit that in recent years, the warm-up has gone by the board. However, the way the body feels, there's as much risk of something going ping, pop, crack and ouch in the course of warming up as there is during the action. Or, at the moment, during the inaction.

I've also always been sure that things will blow over, will improve, will get better left to their own devices. I don't dig around in the bag enough for the supports, bandages, wraps and painkillers that would make life easier. I don't go to the doctor, despite now going downstairs one tread at a time most mornings, despite finding getting in and out of the car increasingly painful, and more and more making those arthritic old git noises. At least a little while ago I was making those noise voluntarily.

It's also getting harder to support team mates that don't grasp the facts and the state of the games we're playing. We can't be ultra-defensive and allow opponents to milk us at a run a ball, because we're incapable of scoring at six an over for any sustained period of time. Our 'old reliable blockers' dropped to the bottom of the order to see out the draw are no longer reliable. The SKY and TMS guys are talking over and over again about England losing momentum mid-innings, and letting games slide away from them, and that's what we do all too often. If you ever get your foot on the opponent's throat, then your only thought should be how to increase the pressure. To be frank, if we're going to lose, then I'd rather we lose quickly and get off home and back to other things, not do the slow-dying swan thing and drag things out beyond endurance. We're not only unsuccessful at the moment, we're monumentally boring opponents, incapable of making a game of it, and unwilling to attack with the bat or in the field to even make a show of trying to win a game.