A cricket pilgrimage

Real mistakes, the ones that shape you, don’t happen in classrooms.

School matters. Nobody seriously argues otherwise. But there’s a moment—different for everyone—when the walls of structured learning feel like the outdated cuffs of constraint.

Real mistakes, the ones that shape you, don’t happen in classrooms. They happen in the wild, where the consequences are real, and the lessons land harder.

The last few weeks, I’ve been working with a young Geelong cricketer who finished school in the summer. His game is good—it’s not yet clear if he bats better than he bowls, or whether he’ll develop into a genuine allrounder. He did well at school and will likely enter tertiary education soon. But not yet.

Today he’s heading to the UK to play a season of club cricket. Not yet 19, it presents a remarkable opportunity to further his cricket, yes, but, more importantly, to live and work in a community very different to his own. This ‘cricket pilgrimage’ is a well-trodden path, and one that can accelerate a young cricketer’s IQ immeasurably.

For me, it happened at the same age, four decades ago—1984—leaving South Manchester for Napier, New Zealand, and the Taradale Cricket Club. It was an extraordinary experience on and off the field. I went back for the next two seasons, and then to a life in professional cricket. I’m still forever thankful my parents let it happen, and that I was hosted the way I was.

When he boards the flight today, I hope he feels the same way I did. He will.

Photo by Wood Hong on Unsplash

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Napier, New Zealand