Drink: Days of claret and cricket

Claret and cricket go together. Not, admittedly, while watching live cricket; then, the drink should be beer. But what about those of us who believe that the second worst affliction in modern cricket — after Twenty20 — is the barmy army? The batsman has played at and missed each of the last three deliveries. The fielders have all closed in, crouching at short piranha. Exuding destruction, the bowler is returning to his mark. The entire ground is silent, and not just in the sense of making no noise. There is an intensity of silence, all of it piled on the batsman’s shoulders. That was one of life’s great experiences. Now — Lord’s largely excepted — it has been replaced by constant football chanting.

This also stifles the brilliant heckle. Hutton, batting at Headingley, is hit on the box by Lindwall. Hardly surprisingly, he limps towards square leg, massaging the stricken region.