In the north of Antigua, just by the medical school, is a neat little cricket ground. It was a bit overgrown and bedraggled when I drove past the other day, but the small stand was still there, the changing rooms, the peeling scoreboard, and the sails of the kite-surfers dancing skittishly out on the Caribbean. It was all different in 2013 when a team of us from the UK played in a T20 match against a student side. The mid-afternoon start was breezy, the outfield rugged, but the ground was quite full of youngsters who had come to watch their friends give a pasting to a bunch of ageing overweight English guys. They weren’t disappointed.
We knew we were in trouble when their opening bowler’s run-up went back to the boundary. He was 17, tall, whip-thin and quick — very quick. He was also rather angry as he had just been left out of the West Indies Under-19 team to tour Bangladesh.
He had a point to prove now, especially in a game being played in front of Sir Viv Richards’s brother.
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