Last season, I played in and have since suitably complained about playing in the most disgracefully cold cricket match I have ever been a part of. I’d give my vintage Woodworm Wand to play in that game this Saturday!

I have played our beloved game for over two decades and never envisaged so much as a break in proceedings much like back in ‘06 when the sprinklers were left unassumingly on overnight forcing the cancellation of a Sunday friendly, let alone a pandemic sweeping the globe bringing a stop to the game worldwide.

This break triggered thought. Cricket is just a game. A pointless game; non-essential and irrelevant. Further from the truth, I’m not sure is accessible. This game offers much to many.

Joy. Splendour. Despair… Murderous Fury – just four emotions at both ends of the spectrum. Observe;

It’s full, in your arc and comes out sweet, towering over the sightscreen. Their quick kicks a chunk out of the turf – Joy.

It’s hit flat and hard. You weren’t paying attention and had just thought of a killer one-liner to shout to Thommo. A dive right sees a stunning one-hander stick affecting rapturous applause in front of the pavilion – Splendour.

Her Fiat 500 pulls up in the car park, you pull down the grill and walk out. Guard taken, she flicks her wrists and the blanket floats to the grass and lays creaseless. Tim said it’s hooping away. This one does not – Despair.

One nips away, you play the line flicking your pad with your V500. Bill’s already got his finger up, his hearing aid drops to the floor – Murderous Fury.

I could cite these all day; cricket has so many guises. As I write, I already miss cricket… it’s April 13th.

People count on this sport. They get lost in the monotony of a weekday pondering the weekend’s matches. They crave the greens, whites and reds it offers. May it hastily return, picking up where we left off.

Momentum, whether you ‘believe’ in it or not was built in abundance for our sport last year. England’s World Cup victory and an enthralling Ashes series accompanied by the anticipation of an exciting new, yet unjustifiably scrutinised, English competition left kids wishing the winter away. Sadly, that momentum theoretically must’ve been dampened by all this. Surely stunted; unexpectedly dismissed with a direct hit from point.

Once again, however, and if social media is to be evidenced, I believe further from the truth is simply not accessible. After all, unreasonable hatred of cliches aside, absence makes the heart grow fonder and of course where there is a will… there is always your missus to chuck you a few in the garden!