Waking up to the alarm ringing at 7am.
The Starbucks Mocha Frappucino before the start of the game because in some delusional part of my brain I think that’s good enough to suppress my hunger for 60 overs.
The futile announcement of “Let’s warm-up!” right after we reach the ground. No one ever warms up. I’m an eternal optimist.
The encouraging shouts to the opening bowler. Actually shouts dissing the opening batsmen. Same difference.
The sign from the captain to get ready to bowl. It’s a universally understood sign, that.
The long hop to start the spell off with. A half tracker begging to be smacked into the trees. That’s why I never bowl without a deep mid-wicket.
The right fist punching the left palm. My sign to the keeper to get ready for the quicker one.
The constant reminders to myself to not get distracted by the cover fielder’s horrible sledging (“He couldn’t touch the ball there!” Of course, I couldn’t. It was a wide. Idiot.)
The unnecessary flinging away of the helmet and gloves after giving away my wicket.
The team lunches after we lose a game.
The team lunches after we win a game.
All of these I’m gonna miss. At 3pm tomorrow, when I’m done playing my last game for the Longhorn Cricket Club.