🏏 Our lane cricket tournament, and my son's first match

Our colony held its yearly cricket tournament on the open ground last weekend. Tennis ball, 6 overs a side. I've played on that ground since I was 8. The dip near second slip is still there. Rules are local. A ball that hits the water tank wall is out. A ball in a tree is 2 runs. Nobody outside our lane would understand any of it, and nobody here has ever needed it explained. We reached the semi final with the same group of guys, all of us slower and wider. We lost to a team of 17 year olds who'd clearly practised on weekdays. Their captain shook my hand and called me uncle. I said, I'm 38. He said, sorry, uncle. I've decided to stay angry about that for at least another week or so. The big surprise was my son. He's 11, and he played in the under 12 match for the first time. He stood at fine leg in exactly the spot I used to stand at his age. I had to look away for a minute. I told the man next to me it was dust. He took 1 catch, dropped 2, and came home saying he was nearly the best fielder. One of our sixes landed in Aunty Farida's garden again. Same garden as 25 years ago. So I went to apologise and get the ball back, like I did at 12. She opened the door, looked at me and said, you're a big man now, same mistake. She gave me a glass of water and kept the ball. I think that's fair.

I'd say semi final losses to 17 year olds are the best kind. You don't need to explain anything.

Our colony does the same every year, and the water tank rule is almost identical. A tree is 2 runs here too. Teenagers calling you uncle hurts, but wait till they start offering you a chair. My own son dropped 3 catches in his first match. I clapped louder for those than for the 1 he took.