The first day of county season is the opposite of the IPL in so many ways, but the amount of straw hats and the colour of the spectators as you walk in is your first two hints that it isn’t going to be an IPL experience.
County cricket truly is one of the whitest events in human history, if the BNP really wanted to cleanse the UK of dark skinned people, they should stage county matches on every corner.
Racists are just never clever enough to use tactics like this.
Ofcourse, at the end of the day the colour does come in when the palest men in the world turn slightly red after a day of topless wrinkly sun bathing.
I’ve never truly understood men who take their top off when surrounded by other men, who are all together watching men play.
The only way people know you’re pale on your chest in the first place is by taking your top off.
County cricket is a bit like the men with their tops off, it doesn’t really need to be an event, but even a bare chested 73 year old white man is something for you and your friends to bond over.
In Australia there is no first day of the summer, there is no one day that true cricket sadists plan for. I never went to a Vic match and knew 30 people in the crowd. Especially not the first day.
In England that is exactly what happens.
It’s a reunion, it’s the start of summer, it’s cricket coming back to town, and old men rejoice all this half naked.
It’s real cricket too, after weeks of world cup, with weeks more of the IPL, it’s good to see fat man play in front of a ground with no music, crowd or atmosphere.
It feels right.
You can put your feet up on chairs , argue about the Fresh Prince of Bel Air and be amazed that Rory Hamilton-Brown can captain a first class cricket team without knowing how to run between the wickets.
It’s not perfect, they have no crisps at the ground, you can only get pimm’s from one bar, and they have no jugs for the Pimm’s.
Everyone comes together though, and this is never more evident than the home made hot dogs they have.
Any day that starts with Gary Wilson, has Andrew Hall’s bowling action and various large unemployed looking men yelling incomprehensible rubbish is a good day at the cricket.
In Australia I’d feel like a sad loner at the G watching the Vics, in England, County cricket unites all these sad loners into one place, and then denies them access to jugs of Pimm’s.
If that isn’t cricket, nothing is.