Grass. Cricketers. Maybe a roller or mower or something. When I was first asked to write about “A View from the Scorebox”, that was what I first thought of. But I don’t suppose it was what the man meant so I suppose I’d better talk about cricket.

Over the last fourteen years, I have sat in a lot of scoreboxes ranging from the sublime to the wasp-plagued misery of Watford Town CC. But since it says the scorebox, it must be Digswell Park - but then again there have been three in my time.

 

The current one has the major advantage of working, but it has to be said the view was better from the orange monstrosity with the dodgy staircase. Which was where I saw P A J Defreitas (Leicestershire, Lancashire, Derbyshire, Boland, England and Sudbury Court) racing in from the Rectory End.

At that time he was nineteen and his best days lay ahead, which is more than I can say for C E H Croft (Guyana, Lancashire, West Indies and Hemel Hempstead Town) - the only person I have seen miss the “cut bit” by three strips.

I have of course seen some high class amateur cricket, a lot of average amateur cricket and some frankly awful stuff that scarcely deserves the name cricket. I doubt that many people will tell their children about last year’s Bishops Stortford game, but I doubt that many will fail to recount the Furnell Cup game against the same opposition ten years earlier. Just in case you don’t remember it, a vastly understrength home side demolished the then strongest side in Southern England.

 

But in fact I struggle to remember whole games.

But even these are not earth-shattering events. A good player demonstrating that he is a good player is fine, but I think my fondest memories relate to people who never quite reached the highest levels of the “summer game”.

 

I am of course one of these myself. However, since I am restricted to games I scored, I remember Dr J R Perry removing W Whyte from the Dales - the said Mr Whyte was apparently expecting the ball to turn and lost his middle stump when it didn’t.

 

He never appeared at Digswell Park again.

 

Then there was Steve Stevens of Hatfield CC. His team were batting second when he declared nine wickets down - thus losing the game! Apparently this was because he himself did not wish to face our pace attack in dodgy light. Walshe? Jowett? Well actually no - the bowlers in operation were K D Piggott and P A Roe.

But the nothing will ever surprise me about Hatfield CC after the day one of thier payers called for a helmet as yours truly marked out his run.

There have been some memorable occasions in which cricket played no part. My first ever opposite number in the Digswell box was none other than Mark Ilott (terrified of bees). He told me then - he was ten - that he was going to play for England. I think I told him it was about as likely as Peter Stevens taking a hat-trick with the third man hit wicket. Hmmm.

And then there was the female scorer who I chatted up effortlessly for 90 overs until I discovered that the 6’5” tattooed opening bowler on the other side was in fact her husband.

A bit of a mistake there, I suppose.

Not that I have made too many in the scorebook, but there do tend to be spectacular. I mean, Tony Skeggs and Matthew Walshe do look very similar and it is quite understandable that I spent eight overs giving them one another’s runs. Even more so when you recall Matthew’s stylish footwork!

In recent years of course I have spent less time in the scorebox, having taken to rather self-indulgent activities on this side of the “last man” sign. Played a bit of cricket, too. I think I make my feelings on this subject well known often enough, but I still think there is room in the “summer game” for those who play precisely because they are not terribly good at it.

The late Don Anderson once told me that the whole club was much like that when he first played and I sometimes feel that we lose sight of the reason we play in these days of winning leagues, taking on former professionals and whatever else.

Not to say that I don’t like winning as much as the next man. I have a painful memory of banging my head on the “total” boxes after taking the wicket that put us top of the league one day in 1994. Yes, I took the wicket - I informed my colleague that his team’s last pair were quite capable of batting out the overs - next ball, Bridgey proved me wrong.

I suppose I should conclude by listing my five most treasured memories of sitting on the painted-out chair in the hut with the door that doesn’t shut properly. Oh, can we have the light working this year please?

Leeds United winning the football league during a match v Old Millhilians, 1992.

P A Driver winning a game at Berkhamsted, 1994.

Winning the Furnell Cup at Heath Park, 1990.

S J Page bowling Andrew Needham, Watford, 1990.

Erm - if she reads this she knows who she is (after the end of the game and the box was closed up).

Andrew Edwards