t20

And so to the cricket. Yorkshire Vikings (dreadful name) beat Leicestershire Foxes (somewhat better name) quite easily in the sunshine last night and it was all very pleasant; especially given that it was free. It wasn't quite like the IPL - we are British after all. There were no dancing girls, but the choice of music used to celebrate boundaries and dismissals was rather amusing and biased towards the home team.

The Foxes were basically rubbish, especially in the field. The highlight for me was one of their batsmen stepping outside his off stump to sweep and doing so straight on to his stumps. The Vikings (dreadful name) were as good as they needed to be although they did take one absolutely spectacular catch; the fielder running towards the boundary at full speed and taking the ball over his shoulder.

Nothing pleases me more than blogging about something that is of no interest to anyone other than me and what an opportunity this is. I could write about the last time that I went to Headingley, which must have been the England v Australia world cup semi-final (Gary Gilmour's match) in June, 1975; between the first year exams and the results. If I remember right we just turned up on the day and paid at the turnstiles. Happy days.

But instead I shall write about the last time that I saw Yorkshire play, which must have been in 1977 at Bradford Park Avenue, relatively early in the season as well. Two memories stand out. Yorkshire were fielding and every time that the ball went near Geoff Boycott the old men that made up virtually all the sparse crowd would rise unsteadily to their feet and shout "Mind your hands, Geoff, mind your hands.". The other thing was the presence of Joe Cooke, Bradford City's, er, combative centre forward, as a spectator. He was recovering from an injury and during the periods that the ball didn't follow the great opening batsman the same members of the crowd would turn to Cooke and ask him anxiously whether he would still be kicking people for Citaaay next season.

Joe's the one getting stuck in from behind; he'd play about five minutes a match these days before getting sent off