After much will-we-won’t-we-ing (very much like the storyline involving the characters Ross Geller and Rachel Green in the popular American comedy series Friends) me and by boy Shep will-we’d: and by that I mean we finally got our acts together and fell in love. No, that was Friends. The only similarity to Friends was the uncertainty as to whether an event would go ahead, much to Mrs Shep’s joy, and my quite disappointment, the only love Scott and I share is platonic. The thing we had our uncertainty about was going to watch the 2020 cricket international between England and South Africa at Old Trafford ce soir.
There had been no takers for two of Scott’s four tickets and the other two (me and Scott) were not being overly positive about the venture. You can tell that from the amount of times either one of us has said “I’m not that bothered mate, I won’t be gutted if they get sold.” After he sold two on eBay we were left with a decision: should two big fans of live cricket go and watch international cricket on what could possibly be a lovely September evening (this was on Sunday when ‘they’ said the good weather would continue)?
We still weren’t sure.
But today we were sure: let’s do it, let’s watch the fuck out of cricket. What could go wrong?
Well going into work in my England cricket shirt shouldn’t have been a deal. Then I got dragged in to a meeting with two ‘important’ people and everyone was dresses relatively well. To avoid being in the meeting in a sports shirt and jeans I word my Fred Perry tracksuit top zipped up, to conceal my lack of professional attire; because of course dressing like an 80s football casual looks a lot better in a work meeting than someone old enough to know better than wearing a cricket shirt for work. In the end I think I managed to divert attention from my appearance by being quite insolent and disrespectful to two people significantly higher than me in the hierarchy. (I was right – in my point, being disrespectful was probably not the best way to be, but when being right about something doesn’t make other people agree with me my boundaries go all over the place.)
So, I left work annoyed – and quite hot, having spent an hour in a warm room wearing a fully zipped up tracksuit top – and was glad to be meeting Scott for a wee swally before the cricket. Sensibly we decided to have a cheeky second, meaning our journey from St Peter’s was now a just after five, namely the same time as everyone finishing work at five (and all the people going to the cricket).
Between us we managed to get on the wrong tram (Eccles). There are three flavours of tram you can get from St Peter’s and two of them take you to/very near to the cricket ground and we had got the other one. Eventually we got there, got in, got a pint and found our seats….