27th September 2006
Cracking cricket
Smashing, i say, what-o. Cricket, old chap, tally-ho. The glorious sound of willow on leather, say what? Glass of port, and a cucumber sandwich, what what?
Yes indeed, cricket is played at the Oval. And while it is probably a sacrilege for me, a heathen Finn and non-player of the noble game, to be writing this review, i'm going to risk the wrath of the purists out there.
Why am i writing this review? Because i had a simply smashing day out here one time, simply smashing, watching England unexpectedly beat Pakistan on the fourth day of play. Having initially arrived at the Oval rather sceptical about whether or not i would enjoy myself, i found myself riveted by the action, thanks to about 8 cans of strong lager and expert commentary from the one and only Brierley, whose father is a member of the Surrey County Cricket Club. This cricketing celebrity connection secured our posse of ten rowdy young auditors access to the members-only section, where i promptly managed to spill some very posh old gentleman's bottle of '89 Chauteau Lafite-Rothschild into his picnic hamper, thereby ruining the prawn sandwiches and his bouffon-haired wife's chocolate blanc mange.
Regardless of the little mishap, we retained our places right at the edge of the action, and i found myself getting more and more drawn into the game. As the gentle summer light faded into twilight, England dismissed the last of the Pakistani batsmen, and the crowd went wild. We all charged the pitch, jumping and squealing for joy.
What can i say? i enjoyed a game of cricket, my one and only game of cricket, and i am not ashamed to say so. So, if you have never been, i urge you to go.
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