RICHARD CLARKE AKA The Grumbler

If Jerry Springer was still on the telly, my relationship with the County Championship would be worthy of an episode.
I would whine about how I had waited all winter, suffered a month of early-season rain, two rounds with a Kookaburracum-Cuckoo in the nest then, when I finally started receiving the excitement and attention I deserved, the red-ball game had ‘dawg gone’ abandoned me.
With the audience baying, the Championship would enter stage left, slump into a chair and sheepishly explain it has been working long hours for months and ‘the man’ has decided it...