When I was a youngster I enjoyed playing cricket. This included semi organised games with mates in the park as well as informal thrashes on the driveway next to the family home. I was also fond of a game of "French" cricket, with my siblings, which involved one's legs acting as stumps. One had a bat but one had to keeps one's legs perfectly still. One was out when the bowler hit one's legs (is it just me or is everyone else sick of me saying "one" all the time?).
We used a tennis ball when playing French cricket for obvious reasons but when we used the outside electric meter for stumps we sometimes used a "corky" (genuine cricket ball). This resulted in next door's windows (a doctor's surgery) getting smashed on at least one occasion. These family games could be ferocious as there was a real competitive edge to our sibling rivalry as kids.
This gave me a grounding for the game as I developed an effective bowling action. Throughout my teenage years, football was still my first love, both playing and watching, but I also relished an opportunity to play cricket as well when the chance came. This usually manifested itself in playing for work's cricket teams which brings me to the main point of this post.
In late summer 1995 I played for my then work's cricket team against a business rival's team at a shoddy, run down cricket club in south Manchester. It was an evening limited overs game so I cadged a lift with a colleague to the ground on this warm, sunny, late August day. Upon arrival there was just one changing room open for both teams and the facilities were basic to say the least. The ground was also overlooked by some rather menacing looking council owned flats complete with the odd burned out car. This was definitely NOT Lords.
Our opponents won the toss and chose to bat first. I was playing mainly as a bowler as my batting skills were strictly tail end material. I was chosen to open the bowling so was thrown the ball to start the game. I looked at the ball in disbelief. It was in appalling condition as the seam was "raised" and dangerous. I spoke to our captain and expressed my concerns. He dismissed my complaints and said he had seen worse and "this isn't bloody Old Trafford you know".
My first ball was a wide, but after this I got into my rhythm and bowled a tidy over. Despite the condition of the ball, I was pleased with my second over then took my fielding position on the boundary as one of my colleagues bowled the fourth over of the innings (for those not au fait with cricket, another bowler bowls alternate overs at the opposite end of the pitch. Although if you are not au fait with cricket this will probably still mean nothing to you).
During this fourth over the opposing batsman hooked a top edge high into the air and vaguely in my direction. I wasn't wearing a cap so the sun was in my eyes. I made a vain attempt at a catch by throwing myself full length forward but the ball slipped through my fingers and went to ground. I immediately picked myself up and returned the ball to the stumps. Some of my fellow fielders heckled my dropped catch with shouts such as "what the hell was that?!" etc.
As I returned to the boundary I felt a sharp pain from my left hand and, at exactly the same time, one of the onlookers at the boundary edge shouted " Eh mate, your hand doesn't look too good!". As I looked down the little finger on my left hand was sticking out at a crazy angle and blood was pouring from the webbing between my little finger and ring finger. I knew straight away I was in trouble so sat down just beyond the boundary as a couple onlookers came to my assistance. The bloke, who had first shouted to me, ran on the pitch to tell them I had a nasty looking injury. Despite this they never even stopped the game!
As I started to feel faint, one of my helpers ran to the first aid room in the club house. It was locked and there was no one around who had a key. I was immediately bundled into a car and driven to Manchester Royal Infirmary. The next bit is rather hazy but I do remember the driver saying "please try not to bleed on my seats too much".
Upon arrival at A&E I was helped in, and because I was walking (all be it very unsteadily) wounded I wasn't treated as a priority. Within 5 minutes, however, I was given a temporary bandage as I was bleeding all over the floor. For the next hour, I sat in A&E in agony and alone as the driver who had kindly driven me there needed to get back to the ground. This was still pre-mobile phone days so I felt very helpless and indeed very unwell.
Eventually, I was stitched up (with local anesthetic) and told by the doctor there could be some tendon damage. I was sent home with painkillers and antibiotics and told to make an appointment with my GP as physio would most likely be needed once the wound had healed. Just prior to leaving, the captain of our work's team turned up at the hospital to tell me they had lost by 1 run and if I hadn't dropped that catch we would have won. As it turned out we had indeed lost by 1 run and, of course, he was only joking but my sense of humour had long since deserted me.
Over the following weeks, my pain turned to anger as the raised seam on the ball had caused my injury. My other complaint was that the first aid room was locked and, although my wound was relatively minor, a more serious injury could have been made much worse without some basic immediate first aid available. My concerns fell on deaf ears so this along with the injury to my hand, brought a premature end to my cricket playing days. I never bowled another ball again.
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