The Championship continuously revolves. Round and round and round it goes. Players come, and players go. Some stay for seemingly infinite orbits, whereas others jump on and off during a single rotation. Within this mystical world, and its myriad players, come storylines that bewitch. The comfort of the grizzled old pro going at it once again; the mystique of the overseas signing gearing up for a Test series; the debut of the prodigy that you’ve tracked through the age-grades; or the...
No one is born a maverick. It is something placed on an individual over time. It is not self-determined but instead hung around someone’s neck without their approval. Everyone looks at the maverick and wants to be them, but that is without knowing the burden they often carry. See, the maverick gives up their life to live as one, and everyone wants a piece. There is something within the maverick that draws us in – the joy, the mastery, the triumph or the way they deal with...
There is a little bit of sadomasochism in all of us. The feeling that something is going to do us harm, but doing it anyway. That feeling of knowing we should look away, but simply can’t. We often find pleasure in the most excruciating of ways. A morbid curiosity which trumps all reason. My festive viewing this year has largely been twofold. Catching the last carriage on the Succession bandwagon, by watching a few episodes each evening in the bleak midwinter hours before the Ashes...
I flipped open my laptop in a hurry. Punched the keys to bring up my usual page. I could feel the buzz of anticipation which preceded the inevitable come down. The buzz that always makes you continue. The hypnotic circle on the screen continued round and round. The premonitions start. Ball outside off, snick, gone… ball outside off, snick, gone… ball outside off, snick……..and then the screen lit up. A guilty pleasure, taking his guard, James Michael Vince. Watching James Vince bat feels...
Raw numbers paint the picture. The viewership of Yorkshire’s live stream hovered consistently around 3,500. As the afternoon ticked along, so too did the flow of viewers. The steady click of electronic turnstiles turned into a stampede, as people raced to view the climax of Northamptonshire’s visit to Headingley. As soon as Northants lost the ninth wicket, attendees arrived en masse. The numbers whirring upwards like an odometer fraud in reverse. 3,981, 4,121, 4,333, 4,550, 4,670...
A spinner’s very existence is volatile. Unlike the occupation’s primary objective, the career arc is rarely a perfect parabola. Dom Bess’ young career has proved no different. Bess is 23. He has been up, down, up and now down again. He’s been the speculative young bolter, the forgotten man, the backup option, the front line option, the answer and now the problem. The various routes and potential destination for Bess feel endless. He is in perpetual motion circling a roundabout of...
