An Afghan boy runs up to bowl

Is there someone at the other end? Does it matter?


Dear Cricket Monthly,

Cricket is an almost endlessly adaptable game. You can play it almost anywhere (and I have). In office corridors, on mountaintops or meadows, on beaches or in crowded gallis. No matter how confined the space, or how apparently inhospitable, cricket contains the resources to deliver a game that remains, recognisably, itself. Sure, the entire leg side may be off limits, or no stroke beyond the most restricted forward defence may be possible, but it's still cricket and you can still play it.

All these variants, however, rely on one basic assumption: there are at least two of you. Everything else can be worked around, but you need one to bat and one to bowl.

To the real lover of cricket, as opposed to the mere dilettante who contents himself with only playing in company, this is a significant limitation. There aren't always two of you. More frustrating still, even when there are, people make petty and specious objections when you propose playing cricket - things like, "I can't, I'm performing brain surgery", or "Maybe after sex, instead of during?"

I used to try to reason them into sense. But people are strange, curiously immune to my powers of persuasion, unwilling to change their minds despite being presented with conclusive arguments. It's yet another manifestation, I think, of this post-truth world everyone talks about. But what can you do? Sometimes life just gives you lemons, and instead of whining, the best thing to do is spin one against the flat of your palm three or four times, walk a few steps then explode into a powerful jump and hurl that lemon into the air, the arc describing a perfect parabola until that last vicious dip onto the perfect length, luring the batsman forward only to rip past the edge, a sudden rich aroma of citrus filling your senses…

People make petty and specious objections when you propose playing cricket. Things like, "Maybe after sex, instead of during?"

Sorry, I got a bit carried away. Where was I? Oh yes. Hell is other people who won't play cricket with you. There are ways of making hell better. Ways, in short, of playing cricket when no one will play it with you.

Book cricket
I believe every Indian schoolboy knows this game. It was handed down to me by my father, and if we calculate riches, as perhaps we should, in terms of hours of absorbed happiness, it may well be the most generous part of my inheritance.

You need a book, a pen and paper. Write down your two teams, in batting order. Then open the book at random. Any page ending with the number two is two runs, and so with four and six. Eight is a dot (when you get one, it's sometimes fun to clap your hands and say, "String those dots together, fellas"). Nine is one run. Zero is out. Fifteen-run overs with a wicket were common, which as a boy I found unrealistic. But with T20, even that problem has disappeared. If anything, the scoring rates are a little on the low side.

Car cricket
John Spencer, hallowed be his name, introduced me to this when he drove the school team through south-east England to cricket matches. Sheep are a single each (and not to be sniffed at - a good flock can take you up to 50 in a single blow). Cows are four, pigs six, and horses out. Adapt to suit the environment you are in. For example, in Berlin one might play the following game: Beards and tattoos are singles. People carrying vinyl, two. Someone in a suit, four. A political conservative, six. Overhearing an American or English accent, out.

Innings can be quite short in Berlin.

All dressed up and no game to play? Improvisation is your friend

All dressed up and no game to play? Improvisation is your friend © Getty Images

Air cricket
This is the purest form of the game, I think, because it doesn't require any equipment. I would advise starting modestly. When you're on the tube in rush hour, jerk your head to sway out of the line of a bouncer. Don't attempt anything more expansive, because a cover drive in a crowded compartment runs the risk of upsetting someone. Just play yourself in, twitching shoulders in between deliveries, widening your eyes, preparing for the next bouncer.

As you get your eye in, you can slowly broaden your range. The little tuck off the hips to get off strike - just cock your left wrist backwards (if you are a right-hander), and then at the last moment flick it left. Remember, even leg-side shots should be played with a straight bat, so keep your wrist facing the bowler for as long as possible. The dab to third man is also useful here, but requires two hands. Your top hand is on the handle, the bottom simulates the blade of the bat. You want to flatten out your elbow, tilt the top wrist to the right, opening out your bottom palm horizontally to guide the ball. If you're feeling your oats, a little flourish can be added at the last moment, the bat wiggling in a Pujara-esque manner.

As you go further in the game, you can start involving other people. The leave is the place to start. Walking down the street with cars to your right is the ideal situation to practise knowing where your off stump is. Leave with a flourish, bat lifted high above your head. Or, more ambitiously, you could start leaving people. As they walk past you, go right forward to the pitch, and leave. Sometimes you might just want to drop your hands and give them a little nod, acknowledging a good delivery.

Wall cricket
This is the one I'm fondest of, because I came to it all on my own. I'm sure other people have played it, but I invented it for myself rather than learn it from someone.

In Berlin one might play the following game: Beards and tattoos are singles. People carrying vinyl, two. Someone in a suit, four. A political conservative, six

You need a wall and an uninterrupted strip of space facing it. In the simplest version, you throw a ball at the wall with your right hand (again, if right-handed), while holding the bat in your left hand (this is also excellent for practising top-hand dominant technique). When the ball bounces back, you hit it.

This can keep you happy for hours. But it's only the start. I could have made the entire letter about the various ways one can develop this game, but as it is, I'll have to restrict myself to a few suggestions.

It helps, I found, to play competitively. Two teams, whichever happen to strike your fancy at that moment. Being an artistic and sensitive youngster, I once played an entire County Championship season. This requires scorecards (handwritten, in those pre-computer days).

Your enjoyment is much enhanced if you add a soundtrack. As you play, commentate in the voices and accents of your favourite commentators. Extra points if you manage to have a vigorous argument.

You need a bat in your other hand, lad

You need a bat in your other hand, lad © Getty Images

Different balls are good to simulate different conditions. When I took on Ambrose and Walsh, the rubber ball was essential. As the pitch flattens out, you can switch to tennis balls. Tennis balls in different states of repair are helpful.

Don't throw away old carpets. You know the lumps that disfigure a previously pristine rug? Perfect for a raging bunsen.

Where possible, try not to break the light fittings. If you do break them, attempt a more convincing lie than "I don't know what happened, it just fell down." Maybe I have an especially sharp mother, but she didn't buy that even once.

However. Sometimes… sometimes it's the last ball of the World Cup final, India are nine down against Pakistan, the young debutant (Pranay Sanklecha, in case you were wondering) is on strike and on 94. India need six to win. Wasim Akram is steaming in, the stadium is hushed, filled with that rapt silence that bespeaks greater excitement than the most feverish chanting.

Your enjoyment is much enhanced if, as you play, you commentate in the voices and accents of your favourite commentators. Extra points if you manage to have a vigorous argument.

You look around the field, sizing up your options. Third man and fine leg are up, he's not going to bowl short. Deep midwicket, long-on. Deep cover. Mid-off is up.

Benaud softly mentions the remarkable composure of the young man.

A six over long-off is where the tube light is. You broke its predecessor two days ago. You wipe sweat off your brow. Nod to Venkatapathy Raju, standing on his bat at the non-striker's end.

Akram starts running in …

It just fell out, Mum.

Yes, again.


Why don't you believe me? You never believe me.



PS: Sorry, Mum.

Pranay Sanklecha is Assistant Professor of Philosophy at the University of Graz





  • POSTED BY Tim on | March 3, 2017, 10:19 GMT

    We also used to play a highly competitive form of dictation cricket in school. We had an old English teacher who used to dictate to us a translation of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales into modern English - presumably in the hope that the act of writing it down would cause at least some of it to remain in our memory. He was punctilious about punctuation so we devised a form of cricket whereby scored runs for different forms of punctuation. I can't remember the exact scoring methodology, but for example full stops and commas might be a single, a question mark four and a colon six - with a semi-colon being the fall of a wicket. This proved vastly entertaining for my friend and I - and more so as the rest of the class became aware of what was going on and asked the teacher to repeat sentences every time a colon or semi-colon was required. Hat tricks and 20+ run overs became common place!

  • POSTED BY Tim on | March 3, 2017, 10:07 GMT

    Great article, but for me the best form of car cricket, in England at least, was pub cricket. For each pub you pass you score a number of runs equivalent to the number of legs implied by the name of the pub. So "The Green Man" would be 2, "The Red Bull" 4 etc. In cases where the number of legs was open to interpretation, the picture on the pub sign is used as a guide - so "The Coach and Horses" might be 8 or 16 depending on the picture. But the way to a quick century was where the pub was named after a battle. You can make your own rules up here, but for us and for reasons that are entirely unclear, a land battle was 100 and a naval battle 200 - so "The Waterloo" was an instant century, but topped by "The Trafalgar" which gave you an instant double century. Any pub whose name indicated no legs - of which there are a frustratingly large number ("King's Head", "Bull's Head" etc) - was out.

    Can't see it dragging the current generation away from iPads on long journeys though!

  • POSTED BY Nikhil on | March 2, 2017, 11:40 GMT

    I can go on to the extent of saying that "Book Cricket" is one of the main reasons why Indian boys outclass the rest of the world in mental math. Years of mentally calculating 2,4,2,6,6,6,2,4,0 (out) = 32 in less than 3 seconds at the backbench of the classroom (or else the teacher would find out! has produced countless mathematicians, scientists and computer geeks across the world :) Superb post!

  • POSTED BY adnans8655787 on | February 28, 2017, 5:14 GMT

    This article totally led me back to the memory lane, and showed me how I did it when I was a kid. I used to shadow practice in front of a mirror to get my shots and stance right. There are many more things that I did just for the love of game as a kid who rarely played with others. #GoodTimes

  • POSTED BY Khurram on | February 27, 2017, 13:32 GMT

    Great article for the real lovers of cricket! I like the wall cricket concept. I developed my book cricket to such a level that I was playing full seasons of two forms cricket (ODIs and tests at that time) all around the world. I would choose venues. I would play two teams and keep track of both batting and bowling records. The bowlers proved to be very expensive. Batsmen would frequently get out close to 50 or 100. I would manipulate the rules a bit here and there so Javed Miandad can get to his 100 or Waqar can have a 5 for. I literally have played over 10 seasons of the game. Fun times!

  • POSTED BY ravikanth on | February 27, 2017, 10:10 GMT

    My version of book cricket had no '9' (it was either 8 or 0 as you counted only even-numbered pages. On the other hand, white pages such as the ones that come between chapters are a no-ball. BTW, I still play it.

  • POSTED BY Ehab on | February 27, 2017, 8:10 GMT

    Simply great article! I knew I was not alone. A kindred soul. God bless you brother.

  • POSTED BY cricfan30359008 on | February 26, 2017, 23:58 GMT

    Lol! Great read man. Substitute in the West Indian cricketers and radio voices of fazir mohammed and the simon crosskill, and this is my childhood! Ball stains on the wall and broken lights

  • POSTED BY David on | February 26, 2017, 21:55 GMT

    Been there done that! Could totally relate, enjoyed this article immensely!!

  • POSTED BY kartik on | February 26, 2017, 19:28 GMT

    Great article, full of nostalgia! Let me add, there were variants such as the 'one-bounce catch is out' rule, 'french' cricket which required no footwork (the Indian team of the 90s would've excelled at this). The best were the ones you played by yourself indoors on those rainy days with a 'sponge' ball where you had bat in one hand ball in the other and you were simultaneously a shuffling michael slater and a fickle venkatapathy raju..

  • POSTED BY Chris on | February 26, 2017, 17:11 GMT

    ah yes. i had a table tennis ball with a slightly crushed side. the seam was still intact. i set up a draughts board at one end of a strip of carpet in the middle of our drawing room and bowled magnificent swinger and cutters with that semisphere. getting within a couple of cm of the draughts board was caught behind; full toss was 6, half-volley to the board was 4; good length to the board was a holding-esque catapulting of the offstump. an even better game was furniture cricket: i leaned small boards against the front of one of the wrought-iron porch chairs, leaving the chair legs exposed. the sofa was cover point, daddy's rocking chair was midwicket, the other chair was extra cover. leg spinners, offspinners came through and hit the boards, deflecting away to whichever fielder or boundary was in its sights. if the ball hit one of the thin chair legs that was bowled. bruce laird took some stick from clive lloyd in particular, but ian chappell retaliated with a fine 50. WI still won.

  • POSTED BY Ameya Patil on | February 26, 2017, 9:52 GMT

    This is beautiful... I can completely relate to it :)