Opening game - Chester-le-Street

 There is that little spark of anticipation when the fixtures come out. The long summer days are consigned to the past, and the exhaustion, sweat and dust of the previous season are shrugged off. The new fixtures give purpose. They are a reason to get through the dark days of winter that drag and offer nothing but thoughts of the bleakness of everyday life. Days when the sun feels like it rarely rises and the workday seems to consume the vitamin D hours.

New eras and competitions always bring teething problems. It’s almost as if that’s what the ECB does best. They feel the pull of trying to improve things. Too often, those tweaks lead to new problems, and the tweaking for the sake of it becomes the norm. That’s where the women’s domestic game is right now.

The regions raised the level to some extent, but those not closely following got confused. Who are Western Storm, and what do they stand for? That question was being answered. Patience was in short supply, and the return to counties felt safer. In some ways, it might be a step back. However, now that it’s here, the tweaking has to stop.

With the new structure comes more competitions, including a knockout T20 Cup that gives an FA Cup vibe. With more games crammed into the same space as seasons gone by, attending matches isn’t easy with a full-time job in education.

Long trips to plan, and some fall on school nights. Many more fall mid-week in term time, where results can be confirmed before you set off, with no chance of putting in a day off or pulling a sickie. That isn’t me, and with the way I consume cricket, I would be found out.

I’d be sacked. And while there’s more time to watch, you still wouldn’t be there if you can’t afford it. Definitely no stays in castles, that’s for sure.

So, the excitement dulled to some extent. I’m going to miss more than I see. That spark returns with the thought that you’re going back to a spiritual home, one that others just don’t understand.

There’s always an internal conflict. I don’t write for a living, so I have more control over where I go and what I write. Do I really want to travel to Southampton to watch The Blaze, a team that matters to me?

There’s something about this set of players, their coaches and the support staff that draws me in. It’s something deeper than just their performance on the field. Their stories may not be unique, but they resonate.

I’ve seen many of them grow since 2018, when I first started writing about women’s cricket, and in that Nottinghamshire team were Kirstie Gordon, Lucy Higham and Georgie Boyce. They were right on my doorstep.

That desire to stay somewhere local feels less like a want and more like a need. A need to be close to the people who understand this journey. And while the outcome of the game is just as important, there’s an emptiness that comes with watching from a distance.

I’m not with my people, those who share this passion and commitment, and it feels like a part of the experience is missing.

Once the games are in the diary, plans take shape, and meeting old friends brings a quiet smile. A small victory on a day where the mundane threatens to consume you.

The thought of staying in dodgy hotels isn’t so bad, with the promise of flimsy walls, shared bathrooms, and cooked breakfasts that swim too much in watery baked beans, but still manage to make you reluctant to tackle the fried tomato with caution.

In the end, all I need is somewhere to close my eyes, closer to the action.

If there was another way to just be a fan, if someone was satisfying my need to write about what matters to me, the tensions, the players, the passion, I could enjoy watching the action unfold from a moulded green plastic seat at Leicester without the need to rush towards the action.

The fixture list throws up games on the day of rest, and the lazy way trains and buses move on a Sunday mirrors this. For me, it’s an action day, when I need to be alert to the cricket, not anxious about missing connections.

Both physical, in running from one platform to another, and emotional. The people I meet, people who want to hear my opinion because they are interested, invested in the game, and a little in me.

Those are the moments I do this for.

It wasn’t so much a rushed trip to my first game. I missed the first match of the season at Trent Bridge. Opening day was two days into the start of a new term. It was as if the people responsible for organising things were working off their kids’ school holidays, which aren’t standardised, and which Nottinghamshire always seems to be at odds with.

So, I would have to make do with the next game and, with it inked in the diary, tickets and hotels booked, I took my first steps.

Chester-le-Street was my destination for the second set of games in the Metro Bank One Day Cup clash between Durham and The Blaze. It’s a venue where I’ve seen early-season cricket before. Like so many places, I haven’t had the time to explore the area, to feel what makes a place tick.

Going the day before left me with time to be a tourist. Playing around with timetables and splitting on the trains meant hopping off the bus in Chesterfield and heading towards the railway station in such a rush that I missed the crooked spire, a church that’s usually hard to ignore.

Changes at Sheffield, York and Durham awaited. I should have got the bus to Sheffield. That service pulled away as mine arrived.

There was little time to catch the connecting train at York. I was early at Sheffield. Part of me just wanted to get moving. The train before mine arrived on time but was overcrowded. People rushed for the doors. They were closing in less than a minute. The sardines kept arriving, and the guard, unperturbed, let them on. Eventually, they were on their way to Leeds or somewhere more romantic between the South and West of Yorkshire.

The anxiety of not knowing if my train would be on time filled me with dread. It was as if the nervousness would prevent my legs from moving towards the train that would eject me into the North-East. The beeping of the doors unlocking sounded like a starter’s gun. The doors opened, and I sprinted, feeling like Usain Bolt. In reality, I probably looked more like Anneka Rice in one of her old challenges, without the helicopter.

It might not have been the same train sound effects. Once, coming back from Northampton, I had seconds to sprint across the bus station from my coach to catch the last bus home. It wasn’t the end of the world. Getting stuck in Derby wasn’t something I was prepared for. Even worse, the next time I went to Northampton, I got stuck there. The bus either left early or didn’t show up at all. Buying a bag of Skips and a Robinson’s Fruit Shoot might have been what caused me to miss it. I was still the right amount of early according to the ticket. The Travelodge down the road profited from my misfortune. I saw little of its standard room. The exhaustion of the experience helped rock me off to sleep quickly and quietly.

It was in this spirit that I was hoping to enjoy my first trip of the women’s season. I need to take more time to unwind and look at what is going on around me, and not just breathe in the cricket.

As the train approached Durham, the castle and cathedral rose proudly atop a hill, visible from across the city. There’s a bus stop by the station, and the view from its bench is obscured. Behind it, the medieval past of the city is still alive in the form of the castle and cathedral, both of which are working, breathing buildings, still lived in.

To get there, you pass through a valley with an Iceland, Pound shops, and several Greggs before making your way up the rising path to the cathedral, as if the path itself was designed to highlight the magnificence of God.

Along the way, you pass people who have taken the pace too quickly, their faces flushed as the slope rises, the uneven ground making each step a little more difficult. It’s not as steep as Steep Hill leading to Lincoln Cathedral, but you are just as relieved when you finally reach level ground.

The lawn outside the medieval church is divided into contrasting groups. Some sit in contemplation, perfectly in tune with the setting, while others snap photos they will likely never revisit.

I always find cathedrals interesting, places that have stood for nearly a thousand years. Durham laid its first stones in 1093. You can feel the history through its bones. The grooves and patterns in the columns, the flourish of the stonemason still clearly visible, as if they knew their act of carving would remain forever.

There are hints of colour from times when the church was awash with murals and paintings, before the Reformation and its aftereffects turned a vibrant building into a mausoleum.

The grandeur of the place, as with other cathedrals, is stunning. I always find myself drawn to these places. Ely Cathedral in the lowlands of the Cambridgeshire countryside, with its octagonal tower.

Durham hits just as hard. My true cathedrals are the cricket grounds that dot the country, their grandeur and energy just as powerful. When a ground gets it right, it becomes a sort of spiritual space. A place where you decompress in the presence of both its past and future. Cricket is my religion, and as with the cathedral, it makes sense to me.

I did want to visit the castle. Tours were the only way in, and the next one wasn’t for another 45 minutes. I wasn’t in the mood to wait around. The only thing I took away was the fact that Durham University students still reside there. They didn’t offer halls in a castle at the University of Derby.

Anyway, I had a castle of my own to stay in. The dark days of winter can skew the thinking, making you long for the better times ahead. There’s a perfectly fine Travelodge down the road from the ground. It’s on a busy dual carriageway, and the walk is simple enough.

I once stayed in one of the big pubs that Chester-le-Street still has plenty of. By the time I got there, though, they had stopped serving food, and I had to go next door to another pub. It was showing some long-forgotten Scottish football match, one even the diehard fans of both teams have long since forgotten.

I was in the mood to give myself a treat. Sometime in November, I decided to stay in Lumley Castle, which overlooks the Banks Homes Riverside, the home of Durham County Cricket Club. The castle dominates photos of the ground, framed in the background, much like the cathedral at Worcester. The past gazes at the present, not with disapproval but with a knowing acknowledgement that the action still matters.

To get there, I had to make my way to Chester-le-Street. The walk back would have been pleasant, mingling with tourists, locals and the students experiencing the area’s pubs and bars.

I caught a small bus that promised, and delivered, a ride back to the railway station in Durham. The driver’s radio crackled, and for a moment the distortion made Footloose sound heavier, as if it were some form of death metal, which would have been at odds with the driver, a friendly woman in her fifties. Soon after, Phil Collins joined in, and all was right with the world again.

Tourists wandered in front of the bus at several points. We still reached the station with plenty of time. I had half an hour to wait, and it was pleasant watching the LNER Azumas make their way to Edinburgh and London. The sun was out, and I was in no hurry. I was happy to be going to a small town in Durham, one that had seen better days but still felt like it had a quiet charm of its own.

Walking through Chester-le-Street feels like many northern towns, caught in a period of limbo. It has a proud past, but it’s struggling to keep pace with a world that feels increasingly out of step.

I noticed an open Boots pregnancy test, ripped open in a hurry, outside a boarded-up shop. The town is worn at the edges. The Queen’s Head, shuttered up, is a Grade II listed building, with roots stretching back to the eighteenth century. Other once-grand buildings, now derelict, show signs of neglect. Paint is weathered. Wooden window frames are in a state of disrepair. It’s not that the people don’t care.

There’s still a sense of pride. The streets are surprisingly free of rubbish, and you can see the determined hope in small details. One example is the quirky Chester Le Geek, a collectables shop where the nerd pound is strong. It’s your one-stop shop for Lego, Pokémon and Warhammer items. A reminder that there’s still life and character in the town, even amid the decay.

Chester-le-Street is a place with space. It is a market town, and also a place where industry and mining are evident. The old roads have run through the town for centuries, and the railways and coal mining brought some prosperity. That is what you still see in spots.

The terraced houses are reminiscent of the North-East and are neat. Real care has been taken so that doesn’t happen everywhere. They show industry, and on the other side of town are 1930s semi-detached houses. The cricket ground might have given the place a new energy. It's past, and the history since the eighties has left it at a crossroads, but it isn’t a place you feel sorry for.

Like Durham, the River Wear flows through its smaller cousin. It winds and meanders in, looking for a way into the North Sea. From the train, you can see the Penshaw Monument in the distance, as if looking out towards ancient Greece or Italy.

You can see the greenness all around, and Riverside Park hosts a Parkrun on Saturday morning. The day I was there, a small funfair was taking place. It seemed incomplete, as if the whole fair wasn’t there. One of the rides was in motion, if not full, and an ice cream van looked on. Not so busy in the late April sunshine, but enough to stay where it had parked. It was an interesting thing to pass on the way to my accommodation for the night.

Lumley Castle has been around since the fourteenth century. The room had that hint of decadence about it, although the television in the room was out of keeping. It was a place that would more than do for the night. I put the TV on more for the company than for a show to watch. Surfing the channels, there was the classic music from the BBC. It was like it was subliminally saying that if Top of the Pops 2 had been around when the castle was first built, Cher would have been performing.

That history and legend are well known, although it is known as much for cowering Australian cricketers sleeping on their teammates' floors because of spooky goings-on as it is for being a place James VI of Scotland and I of England visited. Chester-le-Street had welcomed kings and the miners who marched from Jarrow.

If anything, that is what makes it special. It is a place that is still inhabited, like Durham Castle down the road. Lumley Castle was never invaded by Vikings, and a Scottish King of all people visited and was welcomed, which would have felt strange for this part of the country and the time it happened.

What I forgot, as someone who likes the medieval, is that the stairs up to my room were the narrow spiral kind you get in buildings of the period. Stairs that wind into the turrets. I had a heavy but small case to lug up two flights of steps, and with a real fear of falling from heights, it wasn’t an easy trip to my room.

My luggage is a small carry-on bag. It has wheels and a handle, and straps as well so it can be carried on the back. Halfway up, with the sweat dripping from my forehead, I had to admit defeat and carry the bag on my back. It made the thought of tumbling down the narrow steps easier to put to the back of my head, almost as if they were behind me. It was lucky that no one was watching. Maybe the ghosts were, and were having a good chuckle at my expense.

After that ordeal, I was determined not to leave my room until the morning when I was due to check out.

The room was everything you would expect: a high, comfortable bed; an en-suite shower and toilet; and portraits of big, tall birds, an emu or an ostrich, who knows, who cares. It was grand. It was comforting, and for the price, you bloomin’ well hoped so.

I pottered around the room reading, writing, and just taking in the atmosphere. I didn’t feel lonely, and the thought of the stairs again meant I was content to rest. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

It wasn’t until eleven that I realised how late it was. I heard voices in the hallway. They didn’t belong to ghosts. They had a North American lilt that was hard to place, and if they were Canadian, I wouldn’t want to disrespect them. It was time to sleep.

The previous week, I had been sleeping on a mattress in my sister’s living room so I could cover a men’s County Championship game at Hove. Despite some good cricket between two strong teams, the game, after the first day, seemed destined for a draw.

This week, I was on the softest mattress, still firm. The duvet had a weight to it, a hug without being too close or too warm. It was a bed that Goldilocks would have respected.

Nature’s alarm clock woke me in the morning. Despite staying in the most stately place I’ve been, I was still woken by the urge to pee. After that, I felt refreshed and ready for the day.

I was looking forward to another game at the Banks Homes Riverside. I’ve never been past the Ides of May at Chester-le-Street. It isn’t a ground that is renowned for its warm weather, even if you will receive a warm welcome.

My first trip over a decade ago was in glorious sunshine. That first time was a County Championship game with Sussex as visitors, and I left red with the heat of the sun.

It was a false dawn. On the next occasion, the wind blew across the open stands, and no matter how many layers I wore, the bitterness, outside and in, would not stop. You could feel the pain of the penguin buffeted by freezing breezes. Most of the journey home was spent trying to thaw out, and even now, thinking about that day still sends a shiver.

The last visit, The Blaze blasted away Northern Diamonds. Nadine de Klerk and Grace Ballinger delivered an opening spell of bowling that killed the game before the opening credits had finished. That meant a bonus trip to Sunderland, with the train booked for mid-evening and little appetite to hang around a place I barely knew, especially with Durham either closing down early or busy watching the King’s Coronation. To compound the Diamonds’ misery, it started to pour once the players had packed up and were getting ready to leave.

Today was a new day, though, and entering the ground, stewards were welcoming without being over officious, like happens in some parts of the country. Once in the ground, you get a sense of the steady rhythms of a day at the cricket. Spectators meeting up, some not having seen each other for months, and the realisation that the community you have been away from for part of the year is still there. Old conversations spark as if it were only yesterday you last spoke.

The clack of spikes on concrete has its own rhythm. Each player walks with a different stride, yet it all sounds the same. Like a band where the vocalists sound alike, if you’re in tune, you can catch the subtle differences. The player is in form. The one unsure how things will pan out. They are all there. You just have to listen differently.

You can see it in the quiet poise of Suzie Bates. She will be one of those mythical figures in a time long after I’m gone. One of the players who helped elevate women’s cricket all around the world. She did it without needing to shout. You can see her qualities through her cricket. She can do it all. A softly spoken New Zealander who is a competitor on the field, in her career, she has managed to pull off the seemingly impossible.

When she signed for Durham, you could sense a certain anticipation. While she is at the back end of her career, she still has real star quality.

It’s a shame New Zealand cricket hasn’t been able to match her ability. A player of her class should be able to say they played Test cricket, even if only once.

It was with these thoughts, and Sabrina Carpenter’s Espresso drifting across the ground, that I realised the time. I noticed Kirstie Gordon, not playing today, give a thumbs-up in my direction. I knew then it was time to make my way to the media centre.

 

Notts and Somerset battle out enjoyable days play

In a competition between in form batsman and an inform bowler, it was the latter that took the honours today at Trent Bridge.

Lewis Gregory who helped turn Somerset fortunes in the first round of the Specsavers County Championship was at it again returning figures of 6 for 68.

Somerset liked the look of a pitch with a healthy helping of green grass on the surface. It was more for decoration than anything that would cause batsmen any real trouble. Tom Abell the Somerset captain was happy enough to have a bowl first up and the was no toss.

Abell’s decision was looking a great one when Jack Brooks saw off Ben Duckett on of Notts inform batsman. Duckett was heavy footed to a ball that straightened and had nowhere to go but the pavilion.

It wasn’t a happy time after that for Brooks, his first spell would see his four overs dispatched for 29 runs as Chris Nash and Ben Slater tucked into the shorter of the two boundaries.

Notts were plundering on a pitch that offered assistance to the bowler who got it in the right areas but anything slightly offline was going to the fence.

The Notts second wicket partnership soon passed 50 from only 51 balls before Slater edged one behind off Josh Davey and Steve Davies taking a comfortable catch behind.

Joe Clarke who started the season with 112 and 97 not out against Yorkshire soon followed for 2.

Nash who has a very good record at Trent Bridge and that form looked set to continue. He has always been good on the drive and when Brooks fed him early on, he was intent on getting his teeth into the Somerset attack.

For the fourth wicket, Nash again shared a fifty partnership with Steve Mullaney. 52 were added before Mullaney was lbw to Gregory for 26.

The Notts middle order all made starts without going on Samit Patel was bowled for 33 again by Gregory who removed two of Patel’s stumps to opposite sides on the pitch.

Patel along with Tom Moores were looking comfortable in their 58-run partnership.

Once Patel was gone Moores started to play and miss and a number of deliveries before Craig Overton and Marcus Trescothick combined to send Moores back for 47.

Luck Wood who last week had been on loan at Northamptonshire and he ensured the lower order didn’t crumble with a 64 ball 52 before being the last man out as Notts finished on 263 just after tea.

It was an interesting innings by Nottinghamshire. They maybe lack a batsman that can slow things down a bit in the middle order. The batsman dominated in spells but lost their wickets at times where they should have just hung in the game for another half hour. Nash being the perfect case of this as he pulled Gregory straight to Jack Leach at deep mid-wicket for 58.

Notts have the type of bowling attack to pull things around on this ground and Stuart Broad did just that. Alongside Jake Ball, neither bowler tried too hard and bowled good lines and lengths to make the openers think about what was to come.

Each of Somerset’s top three were dismissed for 10. First to go was Azhar Ali lbw to Broad. Trescothick who had batted for the best part of an hour was to be Broad’s second victim in a spell of 2 for 19 from 9 overs.

James Hildreth who has moved up to third in the order was caught behind off Luke Fletcher’s first ball to one down the leg-side. Captain Tom Abell and George Bartlett saw Somerset to 74 for 3 at the close. 189 runs behind Notts.

Reflecting on the day’s play Nash summed up the day perfectly when he said, “It has been a really good days cricket on a good cricket wicket and a quick outfield.”

Day two promises to be more of the same.

My Sussex supporting origins

Have you not ever felt the urge to write

Of all the cricket that blessed your sight?

Is there no inspiration in the names

Of those that play our best of summer games? (Blunden, 1945)

1993 seems to have been a big year for me, it was the year that the sporting teams I would support for the rest of my life were firmly marked. I remember the day that I became a Norwich City supporter, I remember that feeling of finally having a team I could call my own. A team that whenever people I know hear them mentioned, it was me they were thinking about. I had dabbled with a number of different clubs, like Sheffield Wednesday but they never felt right. I mention this because it is rather more difficult to pinpoint when I started to support Sussex.

I was at one stage just happy to watch what was ever on T.V., which for the major part was England. There was one game from every round of the Nat West Trophy. This meant that it was down to good fortune who I would get to see. I remember teams like Northamptonshire and Worcestershire; who had an early favourite player of mine Graeme Hick.

There was a time when I would have associated myself with Hampshire, it is where I had spent most of my early life, before moving back for a second spell in the town I was born. Hampshire had players like David Gower, Robin Smith, Mark Nicholas, and Malcolm Marshall; It was an exciting possibility. I lived in the county borders, but Southampton was a world away from Havant, with its connections to Portsmouth it was never an easy alliance to make.

That isn’t to say I didn’t have some form of link with Sussex, I had lived in Crawley. It was a stop gap on the way back to Havant. In that year and a half or so, cricket had gone from something that I had a keen interest into a full blown obsession.

I was aware of Imran Khan, who had been a Sussex player. I wasn’t to know that he was never to play for them again. What I did know was that he was one of the world’s leading players. A rapidly quick bowler and hard hitter with the bat. He had just helped Pakistan win the world cup. I had been given a coaching book he had written one Christmas, it had photos of him in many text book poses, and I would look through it over and over again. I took it everywhere, even using it to show American tourists on a train from Gatwick Airport just how amazing this game was. I still have it and the curled up corners, and indentations of writings long forgotten about mark the front cover.

We eventually moved back across the Hampshire border, leaving friends behind. I know why we moved but I guess by becoming a Sussex fan I was clinging onto a sense of belonging, a sense of identity. I left with tears in my eyes as, fearing I would never come back.

Like most people with a passion for sport, it all started with a family member. My great-grandad was a cricketer and umpire, who died a long time before I came on the scene. My great-grandma lived on the bottom floor of a block of flats, surrounded by a huge garden and a park at the top.

It was the focal point for the family. We would visit most days; initially on holidays and then when we lived in Mansfield. It was strangely at a time when most sports were on free to air television. Sky sports had yet to corner every market. Most days on the t.v. that was only being half watched was some sporting event or another, snooker, athletics, horse racing, football and cricket.

It was the room I watched my first F.A. Cup final; Manchester United versus Crystal Palace. It was a place where the family would meet for tea on a Saturday afternoon. The living room would fill up with aunties, uncles and smoke. It would get too hot. The kids, consisting of me my sister and a cousin, would play in the bedroom, bathroom, or the big field outside. We would play our own games of football and cricket. Or go to the park and play on the playground.

It was at this park that I met kids slightly older than me who actually liked cricket.  They were two brothers, both at the middle school, while I was at the first school. They were surprised to see me when I went on a school trip to see the school we would move up to. Apart from the fact I knew, I wasn’t going to that school and we were moving back down south.

It was over the course of these days at my great-grandmas that cricket became part of the consciousness. It took a while to pick up the rules; it took even longer to be certain of the fielding positions. My great-grandma watched keenly, most of the time. A selection of England players would come out to bat and soon disappear, to the disapproval of my grandma. On more than one occasion this would lead to an ‘oh you bugger’ slipping form her mouth, only to turn around and see me, much to the amusement of my mum.

It was difficult to get my school friends to show any interest in cricket. I took a bat and ball to play in the playground, although it was soon stopped by teachers who saw it as dangerous; more to do with a swinging bat than a rouge tennis ball. So it was back to being pinned to the floor and having my pants pulled down, in front of the girl everyone had a crush on. She did get that one boy to stop doing it, as she wasn’t impressed by it.

I started to collect any articles I could find on the sport. Unburdened by any affiliations I could read without bias. However, it was limited to copies of The Sun which my granddads bought. It wasn’t long until I moved on to The Times and The Daily Telegraph with their coverage of the county game in some detail. I would even rummage through the newspapers at school that had been donated for painting time. Fellow students would bring me anything with a cricketer on. I had started to get a bit snobbish, they are only ‘club cricketers’.

I started to read about Worcestershire who had Graeme Hick and an ageing Ian Botham. Even players such as Steve Rhodes, Stuart Lampitt, Tim Curtis, David Leatherdale and Tom Moody. They were a good one-day side and must have been on television a fair bit. Worcester seemed to be so far away. It is a decent journey even now.

 I got to see these players close up in my second ever game. A Sunday League game at Portsmouth, on a gloomy day I followed Hick around the boundary edge, eager but silent hoping for his autograph. One of the supporters, gave me an encouraging ‘go on ask him’ at the fall of a wicket; to which I could only whimper a ‘Hick’. It was in a shy reluctant way in which he turned and signed my autograph book.

They were in a number of one-day semi-finals and finals, as were Northamptonshire. When Northants beat Hampshire in the semi-final of the 1990 NatWest Trophy by 1 run I cried. Not that I would cry at a Hampshire defeat now-a-days.

 Another NatWest Semi-final that sticks in the memory was the following year when, Northants again played Surrey. It had gone into a second day, and Surrey defending 208. It was the first time I was aware of Waqar Younis, he ran in with such venom and it was thrilling to watch as he dismissed five of the Northants line-up, every close chance he would clench his fists and grind his teeth so often, he was soon nicknamed Gnasher in our house.

Shakeup at Sussex expects results

At the end of the 2015 season Sussex were relegated in deflating style at the hands of Yorkshire, coupled with a surge of form from Hampshire. It was a different mood from the start of the season where they were some people’s outside tip to win the LV= County Championship.

Disappointing exits in both the Royal London One Day Cup, and blasted out of the NatWest T20 Blast by an extraordinary innings by David Willey meant that the south coast club came away with nothing.

There is change in the air at Hove this year, with the retirement of Michael Yardy, Luke Wright replacing Ed Joyce as captain in all formats and Mark Robinson leaving as coach to take on the challenge of the England Women’s side. Mark Davies steps up from the second team to coach the first team, while Keith Greenfield will become Sussex’s first director of cricket.

With the tragic death of Matthew Hobden at the start of the year left the club in a state of shock. Hobden was such a promising young player who could have thrived in Division Two of the Specsavers County Championship.

The restructuring of the County Championship from 2017 means that there is only one promotion spot available. Sussex will be expected to challenge for that one spot but the likes of Worcestershire will be close challengers.
There is a feeling that a number of the younger players will get a chance to challenge for first-team places, with an emphasis to improve form in the limited- overs arena. There is no reason that this cannot be achieved.

With Steve Magoffin now qualified as an English player Sussex have been able to recruit an extra overseas player and in Ross Taylor signed up for the first half of the summer it looks like they will have added strength in the batting department which has seen the loss of the experienced Yardy.

The fact that Murray Goodwin is back as batting coach will see a focus on scoring not only a large amount of runs but runs when they matter. With the likes of Ed Joyce, Chris Nash and Luke Wright they have players of doing just that. Last year was a breakthrough season for Ben Brown who was even mentioned as a possible candidate to take the gloves for England.

The signing of Danny Briggs will strengthen the spin department that has never fully replaced Mushtaq Ahmed. It feels a little unlucky on Will Beer. Beer is a match winner in white-ball cricket but has not really been given the opportunity in the championship.

On the bowling front much will rely on the fitness of a number of bowlers, Tymal Mills will be limited to the short forms of the game as the pressures of four-day cricket is not good for his back. Ajmal Shahzad showed in the small amount of cricket he was able to play that he is a real asset. Much will depend on James Anyon regaining fitness as he is a good strike bowler who takes wickets at regular intervals, if not a little expensively.

One real find last season was Ollie Robinson, who was really on his final chance in county cricket, over perceived attitude problems. He scored a hundred batting at nine and took a bucket full of wickets. There may be hopes that George Garton the England under-19 player will be the next player to make their impact at Hove this summer.
In terms of bowlers in T20 there is the signing of Mustafizur Rahman the Bangladeshi pace bowler who has impressed in a much improved Bangladesh team.

So while there are a number of intriguing questions to be asked about just how well Sussex will consolidate and improve, much will be expected of them in the championship even though it will be more difficult with the restructuring on the county championship for 2017.

County Cricket is back!

It wasn’t long ago that the traditional curtain raiser to the county cricket season was staged in front of a sparse crowd at Lord’s as the MCC take on last year’s county champions. Things have moved on. Abu Dhabi now hosts the game and last season a pink ball was used.

There is a special breed of person that looks forward to another season of county cricket. Some may not venture into any of the countries county grounds, some may follow it in the daily paper and others on the internet, but their passion isn’t any the less because of it.

Last year I started this website with the intention of covering as much of the county season as possible. This died a death rather quickly as new ventures came to the fore. I want to revive it. But with a different intent. I will update when possible maybe not as in-depth and missing games that you would figure have more prominence. Some of it will be from games I have been to, watched on television or read about.

One thing you get will be my opinion. I don’t support a county with a test venue for a ground but I wouldn’t have it any other way. You may get fed up with my opposition to Franchise T20 in this country, but that is the way I see things.

So, for now, what am I looking forward to this season?

1.       The new Specsavers County Championship – A new sponsor means it will take a while to get used to. But the same intrigue will be there. Can Yorkshire make it three from three? Who will go down? And who will come up? With only one team being promoted ahead of a shift in the structure of the county season from 2017, it will be a hard fought season with a Worcestershire and Sussex heading the queue.

2.       England – The rebuilding of a young side continues, and it is an exciting prospect. With Sri Lanka and Pakistan, the two touring sides will offer some interesting battles, which England would expect to do well in. There are still places up for grabs at the top of the order which will keep things interesting.

3.       England Women – A new coach in Mark Robinson and a new intent about an already talented line-up will be looking for more consistency that saw them lose last year’s ashes series.

4.       Women’s Super League – After the success of the WBBL over the winter, it will be interesting to see how a first franchise style league plays out in this country. It will also hopefully help grow the international talent pool outside of the centrally contracted players.

5.       Ireland – I have followed the Irish side for a while now and am a big advocate of more opportunities for the associate nations.

6.       Sussex – I am a big Sussex fan, so I will always have something to say about how they are getting on. I will be at Northampton to see them kick-off their county championship season of April 10^th. It is a time of rebuilding. Much is still expected of the side captained by Luke Wright.