The goal posts move again

So, no cricket until the start of July now, according to the ECB press release this morning, closely followed by one from the counties themselves.

Nine rounds of County Championship cricket will have been lost, but there is still a commitment to get both red and white ball matches in, if at all possible. The Vitality Blast will be pushed as late as they can, to allow the best chance of the biggest county earner taking place, while a further discussion will take place next Wednesday on the new competition.

On the one hand there are grounds for optimism, perhaps some cricket to enjoy in two months, but the reality is that it will be unlike anything we have enjoyed before. I suspect that even the level of attendance we see at the average four-day game may be too great for safety, while the packed crowd of a T20 night is likely to have zero chance of taking place.

Streaming will be the way to go, but will commentaries and press boxes be possible? The games are likely to have less atmosphere than the quarter-final last year played at The Riverside, when Old Trafford was needed by England and Lancashire played Durham in a cavernous, empty stadium.

It will be not as we know it, but will be cricket all the same. Assuming it happens.

My own gut feeling, and it can only be that, as I am not trained in medical matters, is that July will in turn become September and we MAY see some sporting participation return at that point. I just have concerns that already some are struggling to observe the requisites of social distancing and if that continues, the curve that we all need to see flattened will take longer.

All rather ironic in relation to the weather, which is remarkable for the time of year. I sat in our garden yesterday and watched an array of birds swoop in and out of baths, a cold drink at my side and craved sitting in the stand at Derby, watching the action unfold. Or wandering around the boundary, chatting to friends old and new, joining in the applause for another boundary, another wicket. Better still sitting in a comfortable chair at Chesterfield, enjoying a cooling breeze on a hot day, remembering days and deeds over fifty years, as our heroes glide across the grass.

Oh, my Godleman and my Madsen, long ago...