Unusual
week, this one. It’s rekindled old flames, in one way or another – allowed me
to embrace loves from times gone by without betraying my current passion…
…last
Friday, I found myself back at Portishead Cricket Club; on Tuesday, I ran a 10k race
traveling to and from Clevedon with former tennis friends and foes; and, in two
days’ time, I’ll be donning those gloves again and playing football.
I
grew up playing proper sports, amongst which cricket, tennis and football took
the lion’s share of my time, albeit not of my ability. Sports where you keep
the score, win or lose against adversaries – none of this “oh I’m just running
against myself” malarkey! I was a better skier and possibly volleyball player
than I ever was a cricketer or a footballer (until I saw the light and donned
the gloves, that is!), but scope for skiing on the Med coast is limited – and Dad
never did pass on his water-skiing skills!
Because
of the extent to which I’ve embraced running, and even more so because of some
the reasons that led me down this path (i.e. the inability to commit to
specific times with a young family and to get to a club, a court or a pitch without
a lift), I’ve not gone close to any of those sports for years. I didn’t play a
single game (let alone set) of tennis in 2013, which I don’t think had happened
since 1984. Nor did I play any football, my last two games being during
holidays in Italy around two and three years ago respectively. And cricket…
well, some would argue I never really played cricket in the first place, and I
don’t think I’d padded up since before Roberto was born anyway. He turned seven
last month…
…Portishead Lawn Tennis Club
(‘PLTC’) Mens Singles Champion 2008, I left the club a couple of years later
and have only played a few matches since. I’d already cut down on my cricket
appearances a couple of years before Roberto’s arrival, focusing on tennis
(which I was playing four times a week) to give myself a better chance of
winning the tennis club championships; and I’ve not played regular football
since 1992, when I reached the dizzy heights of the “Promozione” league with
Carlo Grasso in Italy. Bench, mind, and only because of an injury crisis: but let’s
not dwell on the details.
I
have always acknowledged a huge debt of gratitude to sport in general and to
these three sports in particular. Team sports teach you how to win and lose as
a group, the value of commitment to your team-mates and respect for opponents,
coaches and officials: fantastic life lessons. As for tennis, I always
preferred the individual version of the game, which to me is “boxing with a net
between opponents”: but equally I came to enjoy doubles and leagues, which turn
it into a team sport. And team sports helped me turn the name of a pop group
into home – least as much as any place other than Sheffield will ever be…
When
I moved to Portishead in 1999, I only knew my housemate, a colleague with whom
I’d looked for a place to rent before buying it seven months later. Most of the
early acquaintances I made came through cricket: at a time when I could drive
and was unattached, many a Saturday and Sunday were spent hopelessly trying to
get bat on ball (although I did manage a 57 and a 49*), being occasionally
given the chance to bowl (best figures: 4-19 as a medium pacer, 2-2 giving it
some flight and turn) and reliving every ball over a few beers in the bar. Since
team-mates covered all ages and abilities, Portishead C.C. was a great place
to break the ice with the town and make friends, as well as to realise the
dream of playing proper cricket after all those childhood innings in the
backyards of S11 were followed by Italian summers once Sheffield became home. I’d
never felt settled enough to go to a club and say: “I’ve never really played
but I’ve got decent eye-to-ball coordination – can I join you?”. Till I was 24,
that is. Safe to say, my eye-to-ball coordination paid higher dividends on the
tennis courts across the water at Portishead Lake Grounds, a spot which has featured
on many a Strava map, either because I’ve taken in some channel views on a long
run or because that’s where I head for my speedwork sessions…
…and
a spot which I revisited in civvies last Friday, to watch Roberto’s cricket
training. I use the term loosely: he was the one lying on the grass whilst the
others listened attentively… I went to thank the coach, with whom I shared a
few drinks a few years ago, after the session, and he used the expression “day-dreaming”.
As have Roberto’s football coaches, his rugby coach… there is a theme. I’m told
not to worry. So I don’t. I just despair. Still, it was nice to see a few known
faces (if not as many as I thought) and to enjoy a burger after the session
(Karen, Roberto and Daniel all went for one burger AND one hotdog – not runners,
see…). Brought back some happy memories.
Four
days later, I ran the Clevedon 10k. Mark, whom I knew from the tennis club,
invited me when we were talking about the Bristol 10k: he assumed I’d be
running it, whereas I genuinely don’t enter that many races, was spending that
Sunday with the family and wouldn’t have been in any hurry to pay £25 to run
six miles anyway – even with the “point two”. I’d pay £7, as I did for Tuesday –
setting a PB
of 41’35”, by the way (yes, ten seconds less than Strava reckons!). But I
digress…
…it
was nice to get a lift from Mark, alongside Chris and Mike. I don’t know Mike.
Whereas Chris…
…Chris
was a major adversary at PLTC. A nice chap, but an adversary nonetheless. I
reached my first Singles Final in 2007, and the beggar beat me 2-1 after I’d
come back from the first set to win the second 6-0. I can’t recall the scores
from the two sets he won, honest. But it was a scorching hot day: the club’s “Finals
Day” is middle Sunday in Wimbledon terms, so it would have been July 1. I went
on to win the Men’s Doubles and then onto lose the Mixed Doubles on a tie-break
on that same afternoon. Maybe I paid for that half-hour knock beforehand…
Chris
was by no means the best player in technical terms. His serve had nothing to
it, his backhand little more than that… but he made very few mistakes and it
was a real challenge to get the ball past him. Chris ran, you see: on and off
the tennis court. He could run you into the ground: and he wouldn’t engage in
any psychological battles with you (oh I do miss those!), he’d just focus on
himself and on getting the ball back time and again. More often than not, it
would wear you down.
So
when on Tuesday night he said he would see how things went and maybe aim for 42’,
I thought I’d try and keep up with him, as that was my same goal, and nurtured
hopes of overtaking him, of getting my own back for 2007. After all, by his own
admission he’d “not run for a few weeks”, other than on the tennis court. My
plan worked alright for a couple of miles, then I let him go. 39’33”, the
beggar did it in: 68th overall, 7th vet. I’m still chuffed with my 41’35”, but
I do harbour hopes of beating him one day… even if at tiddlywinks! Something to
bear in mind during my speedwork sessions, as for four weeks on the trot we saw
each other as I ran past his house while he was putting out the rubbish. Wonder
whether he stalks me from inside his four walls and comes out to out-psyche me…
to remind me he’s always around…
So
I’ve watched Big’Un ‘play’ cricket and I’ve shared a race with members of my
former tennis club… now, what about the football?
. . .
Believe
it or not, in under two days’ time I’ll be donning those gloves again. Josh,
who set up and managed a church team some years back, is getting the team back
together for a charity match to support his John O’Groats – Land’s End
fundraising bike ride. I got the call (well, the Facebook message): and, in
spite of it clashing with parkrun, I accepted!
There
are a couple of reasons why I ended up in goal. A disappointing level of ability
with my feet is a key one, as is the fact that I’m actually quite good in goal.
But there’s no denying the contributory impact of my seemingly innate inability
to run… back in the day, anyway!
Ever
since getting the hang of running, I’ve wondered how it might impact my contribution
as an outfield player. It wouldn’t do any harm, that’s for sure. But I won’t
find out anytime soon: I only get calls to play by folk who know I can lend a
hand in goal… the rest are still too scarred and scared to let me loose!
I
appreciated Josh’s call and am delighted to get the chance to grab the old
Carlo Grasso bag out of the garage. I’ve checked: all the bits are still in
there! I’m sacrificing a parkrun, which would have been at the closer, more
scenic but not as flat (!) Ashton Court course, as there’s a footie tournament on at Little Stoke
parkrun and we’re leaving it to them. I do suspect I’ll be more aware about
chucking myself about: however, I’m equally confident that, when that ball
calls, my hands (and the rest of me) will duly follow!
One
of the good things about being a ’keeper is that you don’t have to do any
running before the match starts. Stretching, take a few shots, ideally some
crosses… but that’s all fun. Although this particular ’keeper now “needs” to
get a 5k in before 8:15 in order to be at the end of his estate just before
9am..!
Do
I miss those sports? Do I wish I could still play at least one proper sport,
alongside running?
I
do miss them, yes: tennis more than the others, because I like being
responsible for my own successes and my own failures and because I was actually
decent at it. I miss the satisfaction of a well-executed volley, of that
fleeting glare across the net if not of the realisation that I’ve gone and
broken another racket by throwing it away in anger. I miss the camaraderie of
team sports, although I am fortunate in having somehow recreated that with
running. Be it with lifts to/fro parkrun or by running Ultras with friends (as
running has helped them become), not to mention social media, I have developed
a social side to running which I love, without the ties and regularity of, say,
club runs. I’ve got the best of both worlds. And I never have to question the
accuracy of a line call, an umpire’s call or a refereeing decision: just of my
Garmin. A sport where the only true opponents are you and Father Time may not
be a proper one: but there are plus points to that. Aplenty.
(n.b.: when I won in 2008, my opponent
on the day, Pete Lench, had kindly knocked out Chris in the semis. I beat Pete
6-3, 6-1: like me, he preferred to come to the net and wasn’t immune from the
occasional mistake. And on that day he made more than usual. Not least because
I was on top form.
Oh, and I only truly broke two rackets.
Scratches don’t count. And my first ever racket, from 1984, is still in
pristine state… Anyone for tennis?)
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