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The name of the game

Alex James

Wednesday, 20th February 2008

Alex James on his Slow Life

I’ve realised I don’t have a game, a sport. A man needs a game. It’s important. Says a lot about him; more than his car or his clothes. I asked the builders if they wanted to start a football team. ‘We’d have enough for six-a-side,’ I said. ‘Come on, it’ll be great! ...Wednesday?’ But I could tell they lacked commitment. There wasn’t so much as a ‘Bagsy not in goal’ from any of them. They’ve all got their own stuff going on, I suppose. Blackham and Doe, the groundworks guys, are anglers. They’re always showing me pictures of barbels and roaches on their phones and telling me where and how. It’s involuntary, like mothers showing pictures of their children; and the rod squad’s missionary enthusiasm doesn’t come close to the physical and spiritual delight that Neil the chippy discovers while skydiving. He can’t talk about it without beaming and misting over. Even Lee, the lad who does the pig, is some kind of PlayStation sage. Fred the shepherd lives and breathes to show his sheep in sheep competitions. That’s what gets him up in the morning and carries him all over the place. I know these people best by their chosen amusement, and I’m supposed to be the leader, but I have nothing to show them or challenge them to. I’m just this vague kind of astronomy cheese farmer with a ukelele. I need a game.

I found an old map of the farm that showed a cricket pitch in the front field. I go and look for it occasionally, actually quite often, more or less whenever I can. It’s become a source of fascination. I made some low passes in an aeroplane, with a camera, but still not a sniff of a square and even the kids are bored of looking for it now. I called the Ordnance Survey people and they confirmed that it was still there in 1973. There was a pavilion as well, they said, which rejuvenated my enthusiasm, and Fred the sheep had a lead. He said old wotsit used to play up there when he were a lad and he’d ask him about it, but we’re still no closer. I’d really like to find it, but when I do, that’ll be the end of it. I don’t know what I’ll do with it, anyway. I’m rubbish at cricket. It’s dangerous as well, hard on the fingers, boring for ladies and too long and serious.

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