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We used to wait

So the day has come.

The team sheet doesn't have the name.

At the usual early wicket (being 100/0 is anathema to our openers, apparently. In India. Against NZ. Heaven help them abroad), the name doesn't appear at number 3 any longer.

No one strides out of the pavilion, practising the straight-drive with metronomic accuracy.

The umpire is not politely asked for the middle-off (lately middle-leg) mark.

The side stance, head back and straight, is gone.

The bat has stopped tapping in an ever-increasing tempo.  

Grace has left.
Technique has bid adieu.
Reassurance has retired.

Test cricket feels strange and incomplete. 

Song for the moment: Who knows where the time goes - Nina Simone 

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