It was hot. The kind of heat that discolours your Shalwar Kameez.

As the tension mounts all kind of things go through my head. Will I make it time? What if someone sees me doing it? What if my dad finds out? Is it against my religion? What if my narha comes unloose? It's criminal isn't it?

I need a drink. Maybe some mango lassi will cool the mind and help me come to my senses again. The other stuff just made me puke and it tasted aweful.

The sweat begins to pour off my forehead again. I know I should have had a quick shave today it would have made all the difference - it's really itchy.

I look around for see if I recognise anyone familiar. My friends have deserted me, cowards or maybe they have come to their senses.

There's a big roar as the cricket game comes to an end and we're off.

I sprint for the fences and but there's a fat man in the way. He fails at the first hurdle when he crashes head first into an advertising hoarding. I want to stop to see if he is OK but something inside urges me to push on.

Another man has to stop when one of his chappals come off. No trouble for me there, I'm wearing trainers.

I overtake two women with three gigantic strides. As I pass them I turn to see if they might be interested. They aren't and I curse myself for losing my concentration.

Maybe that mango lassi wasn't such a good idea - I am beginning to feel the effects. I know I should have worn some boxers.

A man trips over his flag and takes three others with him. I should be in the clear now and with any luck I'll be the first to the centre.

But I'm in for a surprise.

I look to my left and I can't believe what I see. It's the legendary 'Three Stumps Saj' from Bradford. He got his name in the scrum of 92' when he became the first fan to take all three stumps, the bails and Waqar Younis's jersey. He hasn't failed since!

The race is on and we sprint towards the wickets.

Everything is haze now and I'm in the zone. I close my eyes for a fleeting second and imagine I'm Jesse Owens. Then I'm in Chariots of Fire, no Rocky, no Marathan Man.

I trained hard for this at the local park when a couple of my friends pretended to be the stewards. I even set a park record for the longest dive at the stumps.

As I near the centre of the pitch I am shocked to find I am too late. The stumps have gone. There's nothing there. What happened?

I catch my breath and collapse in a heap. It turns out the stewards got there before any of us this time and removed the wickets. What a waste of time and effort.

It used to be so much easier.

Maybe, I'm getting to old for this and decide to drown my sorrows with a kobeda.