and sledging, which I never knew went on until recently, and which I’m weirdly fascinated with. I nicked the title off Don Henley’s song Boys of Summer.
You’ve got your hair combed back and your sunglasses on
My new approach was really paying off. When I told Geoff that his batting technique was the envy of everyone at Mid Herts Cricket Club and that his strategic application of sunscreen made him look like the elusive and classically beautiful white panda, famed for it’s physical strength and spiritual significance, he chipped the ball lovingly into my hands and staggered back to the pavilion. Even thick-skinned Donald was so disorientated on hearing that he combined the world championship winning speed of a cheetah with the breathtaking majestic grace of an antelope, he barely noticed his wicket as it fell, and I swear I saw him click his heels together as he leapt over the boundary and headed cheerfully towards the bar.
It became our best season on record. But when it was over, and the winter came, I felt like a spaceman trying to walk on the spongy surface of another planet. I had dreams where I was crying, light blue cathartic tears that crystallised on my cheeks, but when I woke up my face was dry and cracked, as if I’d been simmering all night on a low heat. I tried complimenting my wife Mandy on her elegant forearms and incomparable ability to plan ahead, but after 20 minutes she said, “For goodness sake Barry, give it a rest. If you really want to be useful go and get me some more wood. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been building an extension all summer. I’m two doors away from completion.”
I met Freddie coming out of the DIY shop. “My girlfriend’s building a chicken shed,” he said wearily, showing me a packet of multi-sized nails. There was an awkward silence as we stood under the rush of warm air from above the door, and then he looked me straight in the eye and said, “Did you mean what you said last summer? About how I’ve turned the team around with my fresh ideas and youthful optimism? And how when I hit a six it’s the closest we’ll ever come to flying?” He looked like an innocent rainbow fish staring up at the dark robotic sea. I put my hand on his shoulder to steady us both. “Every word,” I said, as a gust of icy wind whipped in from the street, “Every last word.”
