As a young little Comrade, I used to play cricket. I wasn't any good - indeed if the club had two teams at that age level I would be in the second. If there were four teams I would only just make the thirds. So yeah, I lacked talent. Still, it was fun.
I could delight you with some of my past glories, which were few and far between. And really, nobody wants to hear of my 19 not out highest score, do they?
Training was another matter. After a warm up, it'd be batting and bowling in the nets for a couple of hours. As one training drew to a close, it was time for the bastman (Mickey) to start slogging. He'd have only a couple of minutes left. One of our group decided it would be amusing to chuck the ball (in cricket, you have to bowl with a straight arm. Having it bent, then straightening it is considered throwing). Not used to it, the bowls were short and wide Mickey had no chance of hitting them. He started to get angry, so we continued, and the balls continued to be wide. His mad reaction to each ball spurred us on to keep doing it. Finally, Chris (who didn't bowl much. He was more of a wicketkeeper) ran and bowled/chucked. It wasn't short and wide. It was high. Really high. The bowl went above the roof of the nets, bounced once or twice on top of it and flew neatly into the garden of a nearby house. Mickey exploded. We bowlers collapsed and were rolling on the ground laughing.
Sure, people on the outside may find the tale dull, but it was one of the most enjoyable moments of playing cricket.