The cricket I am following today is in Kent, at the St. Lawrence Ground, which is on the site of the old leper hospital. I mean, it hasn’t been a leper hospital for centuries, so it’s probably not a health issue.
The other thing about the cricket ground is that, evidently, when they cleared it in 1847, they left a tree on the pitch. It evidently grew to about 120 feet tall at one point before being shortened in the 1990s, which kept it alive for a few more years. It’s gone now, and the replacement tree seems to have be just outside the boundary. There were special rules for balls that hit the tree, just like when I played whiffle ball with my siblings in our backyard. Well, not just like, I guess. Same basic idea, though. Similar to a baseball club starting the tenth inning with a runner on second—bush league stuff. Well, tree league, I suppose in Kent.
And when I say that I’m following the cricket at St. Lawrence Ground today, what I mean is that it’s raining and there’s no play. I’ve been following the visiting team, Glamorgan—when this season’s County Cricket started, I decided to follow along a little more than I usually do, and wound up for no particular reason choosing the Welsh team that plays in Cardiff (at Sophia Gardens, another lovely name for a sporting arena). They’re not terribly good, and I don’t know that I’m a fan, precisely, but I’m following the matches and learning the names of the players and so forth, and being disappointed when it rains.
Tolerabimus quod tolerare debemus,
-Vardibidian.