Sad Wurzels

Yorkshire cricket is the epitome of hard, correct cricket. Lancashire cricket is always bowling into the wind, beating the edge and wondering if luck will ever shine on the Red Rose. Kent cricket, I somehow feel, should always be played in a manner that has the ghosts of Woolley and Cowdrey murmuring their approval.

These, of course, are generalisations.

So if Trent Bridge remains the loveliest of Test grounds (“A lotus land for batsman”, as Cardus wrote, “where it is always afternoon and 360 for 2”), I’ve nonetheless always thought of Nottinghamshire as a kind of junior Yorkshire. From Arthur Carr and Larwood and Voce to Clive Rice and Richard Hadlee, Notts cricket has been tough, serious* and purposeful. It’s a surprise, then, that this is only their sixth championship.

Somerset cricket is rather different. Often hopeless but never serious, it’s been a struggle most summers. 12 Wooden Spoon finishes tell you that.