While I was driving home from the cricket club Saturday night, in a foul mood because we had lost from a strong position, I began to wonder what it is that makes the amateur sportsman tick. Maybe amateur is not even the right term here. I think I'm a cricket hobbyist.Normally sensible grown men with comfortable lifestyles subject themselves to around 4 hours of standing in the mid-afternoon heat. Usually taciturn, well mannered members of the community taunt 14 year old boys in the hope of upsetting them enough to make them miss the ball. Unfit, overweight desk jockeys, normally too lazy to walk to the corner shop, sprint back and forth over a distance of 20 metres and dive full length on the ground, in the hope of being allowed to do it again, next ball.
What is it that drives us to prove that we can perform a set of pre-defined actions inside a framework defined hundreds of years ago better than 11 other people? It came to me last night, watching the opposition in our annual day/night match win off the second last ball of the night. Men who would freeze with embarrassment at the thought of singing in a karaoke bar joyfully wrapped themselves in their team-mates' embrace and gave full voice to the club song. Winning is what it is all about. Many will tell you that sport is all about participation. I didn't have the heart to ask the vanquished whether this was the case last night. From the outside, it didn't look like they were having half as much fun as the Nollamara boys.
Competition. To pit yourself against your peers, to test you wits, reflexes and luck inside the safe boundaries of the cricket field is, to me, baffling, exciting and uplifting. That may explain why I spend around 20 hours of my precious leisure time either coaching, playing or umpiring cricket. I tell myself I keep involved for the sake of my boys, who seem to have inherited this lunacy, but deep down I know the reason.
I just love it. How's that?
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