Climbing Mountains on the Cricket Field

I've had a very passive day, at the end of which I feel quite spent. I have no real inclination to write but I suspect it might be good for me. We were all a bit bummed this morning when we woke up to the forecast rain. There was a hope that perhaps they'd get it wrong. After a week of lovely summer weather it feels very unfair to be dealt a damp Saturday for the round of cricket matches. There seemed little prospect of much play this morning, and that was made worse by a good forecast for the coming week - until next Saturday that is! It's a pattern that keeps repeating itself.

As it turned out, though, there was quite a bit of play - not enough for the seconds to finish their match but the firsts managed to complete theirs, albeit mostly played in rain and drizzle. Both teams were up for braving the weather and the umpires were very good sports in doing their bit too.

We bowled Steeton out for 99 but having struggled to chase any kind of score down at home this season I don't think anyone was getting too excited. Early wickets fell, as usual, and we were soon in trouble. After a short spell of hazy sunshine the weather started to close in again and there was a report that thunderstorms were on the way. At that point we had only just passed 50 for the loss of six wickets but the threat of the weather seemed to unshackle the batsmen and runs started to come at a pace. From staring another defeat in the face the target quite suddenly appeared to be eminently attainable - except it was now raining quite steadily. And thunder could be heard in the distance.

There is often a cyclical rhythm to a cricket match. When a side comes back into contention there is perhaps a relaxation from them and a concentration from the opposition that arrests the flow one way and turns it back the other. This is what happened. Two wickets fell in quick succession and we were back staring down defeat at 93-9. Just seven runs to win with only one wicket left. And Forrest was at the crease while those last couple of wickets had fallen. It was now pouring with rain but the umpires were happy to let play go on, both teams wanting to pursue a result - until, that is, a lightning strike hit nearby and there was really no choice but to bring the players off the field.

On any other day that would have been it, but all parties wanted to bring this game to a conclusion. The storm eventually passed over, the rain eased and then stopped, and play was able to resume. With only four overs left in the game any result was still possible. Forrest looked comfortable enough at the crease and was trying to keep the strike. A couple of singles came, then a two. We moved on to 97-9. Three runs to win. It wasn't easy. The ball was popping from the pitch. It was the last ball of the over and Forrest tried to steer one down to third man for a single, but it got big on him and he ended up playing it through to the keeper. He was utterly devastated. I was devastated. I could feel myself welling up. I wanted this so much. For him and the team. Time and time again this season they have come so very close like this and ended up losing, like climbing a mountain but being denied just a few feet from the summit. It's the cruellest kind of defeat. So much hangs on such very fine margins.

Forrest cannot blame himself for it was a good ball and he did well to even give himself a chance to win the game. But that doesn't help. I don't think I've ever seen him so crestfallen. He was in no mood to go out tonight but he's been persuaded. He needs to be taken out of himself. I'm now the one who feels the most flat of all, being left in the house by myself. I've suffered the extreme highs and lows of being a parent this last few days.