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“Yes Nigel, Cartwell is certainly on his form today, a true finger-spinner in the classic sense.”

“However the Pakistan batters appear up for the challenge – but of course at any moment you can be caught searching for our boundary and loose your wicket.”

“Well, that goes without saying of course, but with any luck it looks as if they might go for at least four sessions, finishing up sometime around teatime tomorrow…

“Oh, and there is a sweeping pull shot but a bit of bad luck as Simpson is there quicker than a flash to bring it in and limit Mussaf to a single…”

“That form reminds one of that tremendous run against Australia where Picarde went 281 for an over… and as we all know, the Australians are no shrinking violets…”

“Without a doubt everyone remembers that 281, but few will recall that Johnston actually went for two centuries that day… ‘tis a pity. But still, it’s not every day that a side comes from 350 down with two to play and pulls out the match.”

“Here, here. Well said. And I simply must comment on the new scoreboard here at Lord’s…”

BBC Three broadcasts into France over the long wave radio. Before coming to Europe I had heard of short wave, FM, and AM radio – but never long wave. But there it was on my car radio and I am very grateful for it. Most of the time the radio programs are quite interesting and I can actually understand them (having proven myself terminally inept at French). So I blissfully listen to radio plays, tips on gardening, news reports, discussions on the economic implications of inter-African rivalries… and occasionally, much to my horror, cricket.

I enjoy the BBC because it is in English and it is intelligent. Cricket, however, is neither. I listen to what they say, but I haven’t a clue what they’re talking about (I could watch French talk shows for that, at least they always have pretty women on them). It is an endless game of nonsense where nothing ever seems to happen (sort of like watching Congressional hearings on C-SPAN, except the players are fit).

I have to assume that cricket is great fun to play. You get to wear those cute white schoolboy uniforms and stand around in a beautiful green field (or pitch, I should say) for three or four days. Periodically everyone breaks for tea… all quite civilized. But watching it on television is a sure cure for insomnia and listening to it on the radio is a lot like listening to the shipping reports (which, by the way, are also broadcast on BBC 3… “Dingle seas at 3 to 4, Malin Head northwest 2 to 3, Skibbereen south to southwest fading 1 to 2 increasing to 2 to 3…” and on and on. Fascinating stuff…

But (and this I hate to admit) it becomes a bit hypnotic after a bit. The pleasant melodic voices of the announcers saying nothing of importance, the hushed periodic excitement… it must be what a child feels when his parents play “peek-a-boo”. It is simple, friendly and reassuring.

Growing up, I always wondered why my mother was such a big fan of watching golf on television. She had never played the game, didn’t really follow it, but watched nearly every Sunday afternoon. The game would be on, and after a few minutes, she would be sitting fast asleep in front of the television.

She explained that golf was a wonderful sport. The lawns were always perfect and lush green. The men were athletic and nice looking – and polite. The announcers always spoke in a soothing hushed tone. It was like meditating without the effort.

And thus it is now, an ocean and several decades away, with cricket. The words are nonsense, the game incomprehensible, and for three days two announcers with beautifully trained and proper British accents engage each other with stories of past performances of people I have never heard of. They can talk for hours about the new scoreboard at Lords. Just thinking about it, I suddenly feel quite comfortable and a bit sleepy.

written by Jay Warmke - August, 2002

BBC 3 - Long wave