Cricket? I've never understood it - with its silly names. As soon as anyone starts to explain the whole damn silly business to me, I stop listening straight away and wait for them to finish. None the wiser and no more interested than I was before. But they don't stop. They go on and on. Even from here, I hear them talking and I hear all those silly words and I know they're talking about it. And in the newspapers, and this little wireless I have beside me here. You can't get away from it. What is it with this cricket? I don't know I never have known and never will - but when I hear that boy throw that damn thing against the back fence, and I hear the fence giving way to the sheer force of whatever the boy's got in him - I know that there is something more than cricket going on. The fact that I don't know what that silly game is all about doesn't matter a bit - because I know there is something going on there that even he doesn't realise yet; something that, at the moment, he can only roll up into a red, leather ball and hurl through the air as fast as he can. Speed. That's all he wants. That's all any of them want, That's something else they can all have on their own because the faster you go through life, the faster you end up in a room like this with nothing much to do but sit around and think.
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