Any fan of cricket can remember their first big match; a major ground with real star players, a huge crowd and all the associated excitement and drama. Thanks to the performance of Lancashire’s covers, the umpires and the captains of England and Australia I know a seven-year-old fan who will have no such misty-eyed tale to tell in a decade or two.

Driving east from our home some 60 miles away in North Wales to Manchester for the second Twenty20, all eyes were on the sky and it was hopeful: a bit grey but clearing in the right places and enough wind to ensure the rain could be moved along. Arriving around 6:30pm the sun was actually shining so much that many people in the east side of the ground were sheltering their eyes with the large sponsors’ cards with a big ‘6′ on them.  After six months waiting and one excited sleepless night it seemed things had turned out OK for his first game. How wrong I was.

Minutes after taking our seats the delayed start announcements came; due to a storm a few hours before, the ground was wet and there would be an inspection at 7pm, accompanied by that creeping evening chill as summer gives way to autumn. The game could and should have been abandoned then and there (if not before) as there was zero chance of drying in the conditions, even with 10 super-soakers rather the the two on the pitch. Instead, the soul-splintering merry-go-round of inspection – announcement – inspection continued until 7:55pm when a friend of mine watching on Sky texted to tell me it was off. At 8pm the whole stadium knew.

I was angry, of course, but that anger was nothing compared to the apprehension I felt at having to tell the boy that there would be no cricket. It went something like this:

“It’s been called off mate.”
“What does called off mean?”
“It means they won’t be playing cricket.”
“Why?”
“They say the ground is too wet.”
“Does that mean we have to go?”
“Yes love.”

At which point he dissolved into tears.

Following on from my lad having his excitement shattered, we had to suffer apologist drivel from Collingwood and Michael Clarke, such as “When you’ve got a lot of people in the crowd, it’s a brave call to make but it’s good that they are making those calls.” Good for who, exactly? Also, there was nothing brave about the call; the truly courageous course of action would be to start playing with a view to taking the players off should safety become an obvious issue. To not even try to play is cowardice.

A number of suggestions have been ventured that would have seen some sort of game played – use of matting, replacing turf, bowling spinners, using the good end only – and many have said in rebuttal that this would lend the match an element of farce. More farcical than 20,000 people going home on a dry, clear night? More farcical than leaving a young fan with a first memory of international cricket and cricketers as things that let him down?

On the journey home he broke his sullen silence to ask: “Why couldn’t they put football boots on and play?” It was difficult to think of an answer that would make any sense to him. Or me.

Lee Calvert is a freelance sports journalist and editor of rugby blog www.bloodandmud.com