I lean over and tap my cricket bat twice on the worn ground in front of the stumps, before locking eyes with the bowler and giving him a faint nod. I’m ready. That’s how the cricketers do it on the TV. I ignore the twinge of pain in my left knee. I have to. My team are depending on me for the win. I can almost feel them pinning their hopes on me. They aren’t the only ones. The Westquarter and Redding cricket ground in Falkirk is nestled deep among a various housing schemes. I imagine the residents standing motionless at their windows looking down on the cricket match in action. A readymade audience. It’s not the Oval but, to me, it might as well be. This is the last ball. The one that will decide the match.
I’d been wanting to try cricket for ages, but something always seemed to get in the way. My weekends were usually full of kid’s activities, kid’s parties, and the obligatory food shop. It wasn’t easy to carve out time for myself. Then when I saw a post on social media from the cricket club, advertising a free training session to play cricket for fitness for a couple of hours on a Saturday – women only – I put the guilt aside and signed up immediately. I have a vivid childhood memory of sitting on the sidelines while my brother and my dad played cricket in the back garden. No girls allowed. Secretly, I was hoping playing cricket was in the blood. Finally being given the opportunity to play, meant I had a chance to try. I wasn’t going to let a sore knee stop me from going.
It turns out I wasn’t the only one to sign up for the session. There are loads of us – a real mix. More than enough for two teams, the coaches announce, looking pleased with the turnout. They start by teaching us how to throw the red cricket ball to one another. The ball is heavier than I realise. Then they let us practice with the bats, which is fun. Before the session ends, there is even time for a proper cricket match, they tell us. Unlike at school, where I had to wait to the end to be picked, here the coaches split the field in two. To keep it fair, one of the coaches is the bowler. I take my position on the field. The knee which was tingling at the start of the free session is full on complaining by the time the umpire starts the game.
In the end, it comes down to the last ball. My team need four runs to tie and five to win. I am the last one up to bat. The match rests on my shoulders. I push aside any self-doubt, remember why I am here and resolve to enjoy it and try hard to win.
Everything happens in slow motion. The bowler adjusts his cap and rubs the cricket ball on his thigh before he begins running towards me. He swings his arm over his head, releasing the red ball. I keep my eyes on it and ready my bat, swinging it in time to make impact. THWACK. The ball flies through the air before bouncing and bounding between fielders. It’s not a six, but it’s good enough.
“Run!” a person behind me shouts, and my teammate and I spring into action, running towards the opposite stumps, with an eye always on the ball. My sore knee protests in pain. The bowler shouts for the ball. My teammate and I set off again racking up run after run while my team cheer us on. My stride becomes a hop and a hobble as I reach the stumps just as the bowler catches the ball.
“It’s a tie!” The umpire shouts and both teams cheer. Me included.
It was never about the winning. Winning is just being here.