FIELDING
I've never enjoyed fielding close to the bat. When I was twelve, Denis O'Kelly told me that he would beat the tar out of me unless I stood at short leg. He seemed honest so in I went and three balls later Cathal McGrath rapped one off my kneecap. That finished me with short leg.
Perhaps as a result of this, I have a lot of admiration for those who volunteer for this position. The grim determination, the way they stick on the helmet and the box and crouch down. Fielders in this position really focus on the job at hand. During the recent league match against Carlisle, I suggested to lan Synnott that, as the bowler ran in, he could either rugby tackle the batsman from behind or else take a bite out of the back of his leg. Synno just stared at me as though it was the most moronic idea ever thought of. Then he fixed the helmet and settled back into the firing line. That's close fielders for you, they have a sense of purpose.
Fielding close to the bat is terrifying, fielding away from the bat is boring. It's a relentless, aggressive boredom. Four hours of it. One after the other. It's impossible to relax. Because you're standing at long on and all of a sudden everything seems to go silent and the clubhouse and the spectators and the surroundings all seem to merge together and above that you see the sun, a blue sky and a few puffy white clouds and this immense serenity comes over you and though you've just been through three and a half hours of torture you never felt more at peace. Then the ball lands on your toe, your stomach ties itself into a knot, and people begin to shout at you. Like I say, impossible to relax.
For the reluctant fielder, the scoreboard can be an enemy. Definitely best ignored for the first hour or so. A particular state of mind is necessary, a type of semi-coma where the overs seem to drift by. Regular checks on the number of overs bowled can be depressing. The secret is to try to surprise yourself when you're finally brave enough to take a look. Few things are worse than discovering that only three overs have passed since your last check.
I hate fielding. I hate it with a passion. In Senior cricket these days it is possible for the team batting first to bat sixty-five overs. When I discovered that I cried. Sitting on a 15A reading The Irish Times and I burst into tears. Other passengers were concerned but I found it hard to explain.
I've given a lot of thought to the best way of negotiating those hours. Originally I suspected that the slip cordon was the place to be. It seemed easy. No running. Very few balls to field. But a slip fielder needs sharp reflexes and keen concentration. I possess neither. I never caught anything. Took a couple on the shins, that was the closest I came.
Having been banished from the slips I suggested a move to the covers but captains generally want more athletic fielders than I in those positions. I was offered a stint behind square on the leg side. A brute of a position, this one. The batsman plays what looks to be a respectable enough straight drive and just when you're getting ready to fold your arms again, the ball appears, bounces and spins past you at an impossible angle. Clearly not for me. Stints at mid-on and mid-wicket were only moderately more successful. I found myself being singled out by the scamperer, the type of batsman who never uses the middle of the bat but who insists on taking a run for every shot he plays. As if fielding wasn't a miserable enough pastime. A couple of dropped catches at midoff and a misfield behind point and it became all too clear that something would be done, I was destined for third man.
I'm now one of the few officially recognised specialist third men. A rare breed. While still pretty miserable down there, the position is undoubtedly the most peaceful on the cricket field. The ball comes to you in a straight line and batsmen are reluctant to take two if the ball is in the air. It doesn't matter if I've fired it straight over cover point's head. They still shout 'No!!!' and turn back. Indeed I've developed a particular technique any aspiring third men might like to take note of. Wake up, charge towards the stumps, look up, focus on the ball, down on one knee, fumble, pick up and fire in the direction of the play. It can be very rewarding: if you're a spoon in the field your team mates will applaud anything that doesn't cost them runs. Cricketers are nice enough in that regard.
There are, however, other benefits to the position. Firstly, you can chat to the spectators, or if you're not in the mood, you can stride in with the bowler until they've passed. No need to share your sweets since no one can hear the rustle of the wrapper. You can move around down there, the captain never remembers exactly where he placed you. 'It's not really working for me here,' you can say to yourself and move two yards to the right and see how things progress from there. You can sing country and western songs to yourself or you can stand on one leg and pretend you're a stork. Nobody notices since concentration is always focussed on the play. You can imagine you're a knight on a chessboard and move three steps forward and one to the side. Or if you'd rather be a bishop you can charge diagonally towards the pavilion and back again. You can hop in with the bowler or walk like a duck. If you want, you can dive full length into the hedge. The possibilities are endless and I recommend it to anyone struggling in other positions. Third man is indeed the place to be.
The drawbacks are few but still worth mentioning. In the race for tea you've a lot of ground to make up. Paddy Lee has usually finished the apple tart by the time I've reached the fence at the pavilion. That and the solitude. Third man can be a lonely enough station. I recently suggested to the captain that he employ two third men so we could chat and take turns throwing the ball back, but he just offered that vacant look of his and said, 'I think I'm going to get runs today.' Perhaps someone else might speak to him on my behalf. Either that or a change in rules so that one run is automatically awarded for a ball played within ten yards of third man, two for anything hit wider. That would allow me to read or to sit in someone's car and listen to the radio. And maybe a shuttle service could be introduced to allow me to occupy my position at both ends.
Still, it would be churlish to complain. Third man certainly beats the hell out any other position on a cricket field and anyone wanting further information knows exactly where to find me. Other suggestions as to how to pass the time will be welcomed. Don't be shy. It's unlikely that I will refuse a conversation.
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