Cricket for the Blind

Meanwhile, mercifully, there’s a Test match taking place in Birmingham. The contrast between this England and that other England in the headlines these past few days is total, complete and reassuring. Which brings me to this lovely piece by Peter White on how a blind man may adore – and imagine – cricket:

[…] I love cricket’s sounds, its scores, its slowness. I delight in its long periods of apparent apathy, suddenly punctuated by a moment of frenzied excitement (I understand that non-cricket lovers claim to be unable to distinguish between the two). I, of course, attempt to explain I’m also there for the atmosphere: the sound of bat on ball in a live arena is completely different from having it filtered through the speakers of the most sophisticated stereo. I occasionally try to enliven the (to me) repetitive conversation by claiming that I can easily distinguish, merely by the sound of bat on ball, between a delicate late cut and a full-blooded on-drive; and here, accidentally perhaps, I’m beginning to approach the question people ought to be asking, which is, what exactly do I think I’m experiencing, and just how close to reality is it?

I’ve gradually come to realise that my picture of the game, almost exclusively drawn from the words of others, may bear little relationship to the one sighted people are playing or watching.