Lloyd - Around the world in 80 pints: my cricket journey

For those of you who know me simply as that bloke off the telly, I have to let you know that being George Clooneys body double, and therefore a renowned international sex symbol, only forms a relatively small part of the Bumble package. And for Nasser Hussain, who for some reason refers to me by an alternative nickname, a lesson in pronunciation. There is no silent c in Clooney, for goodness sake, show some respect.

Yes, it is fair to say that I have been around a while now, and it was a lovely gesture of the England and Wales Cricket Board to present me with a lifetime achievement award at their annual England team dinner a couple of years ago to recognise the fact although I couldnt help thinking that receiving such an accolade was the equivalent of being pensioned off. Times up, mate. Put your mic down. Dare I say: Start the car.

It has been the fullest of lifetimes, too. During my playing days with Lancashire and England, I got the yips, was hit in the pips and suffered the dips (in form). More of that later, as I discuss the game that has been my livelihood since I first meandered through the potholes of Thorneyholme Road to Accrington Cricket Club as a young boy.

During school holidays, that is where you could find me, sometimes with others, sometimes on my own: in the nets, out on the centre pitches cut for practice, honing my technique, practising my bowling. But it is also the place where I first learned about the game, in a manner that so many have before me and since.

Over a drink or two in the bar, matches were dissected, knowledge passed down from older generations to younger, and in this way the games gospel was spread. For a northern cricketer this was a rite of passage. Cricket sets itself apart from other sports from a social perspective and it starts when you join your first club. In amateur cricket, the hub of the club has always been the bar. Its the place to meet friends, family and opposition. To chew the fat. To learn what is good about the game, what is bad, its etiquette, its rights and wrongs. Even now, these are the principles I fall back on when forming my views for you, the viewer at home. My judgements have been honed over a fizzy pop or a cold pint since I can remember.

Although things have changed a little bit now, traditionally there was a parochial element to this post-match education. Until recently there were 14 clubs in the Lancashire League, and the criterion for playing for one of them was that you had to reside within five miles of the ground as the crow flies. Being from Accrington, I was eligible for 10 clubs. That shows how tight-knit things were from a geographical perspective. The distance used to be measured assiduously, to make sure you represented your local team. All this helped instil the sense of togetherness and belonging from the start. You grew up with lads from your own town, learning the game from folk with similar backgrounds.

Socialising has been part of the fabric of playing cricket in England, and having a beer and a chat is synonymous with all levels of the game. The bar is the catalyst for making friends when you turn professional. You are just used to being in there, discussing the game; there is a social element to competing and in this regard its a bit like rugby union, I would say. Thats not a sport I know well, but the impression I get is that good performances are celebrated by opponents and there is a mutual respect for one another.

The attitude is that two teams play hard on the field, giving nothing, but once the game is over it is time for reflection. Move into the county ranks and you often mix socially both with rival players and the supporters of the two clubs in question. This is the ethos upon which the English cricket system has been founded from grass roots upwards. The bar supplies the social environment as well as the financial capacity for the club and the wider game to prosper.

Its also a place to make friends. There are genuine friendships that flourish year on year. One word synonymous with county cricket is circuit. Quite literally, what that means is that you are off on your travels around the country. Off you go to Hampshire, Glamorgan and Somerset. Sure, there is a match to be won, but there is a renewal of kinship with lads you might have played junior cricket with, been on foreign tours with, or just had some memorable on-field battles with in the past. Each season is like a social catch-up from that perspective.

You dont even have to be bosom buddies to engage in this most civil of ceremonies. Having a drink with an opposition team and although I enjoy an ale, I am not saying it has to be alcoholic for one minute reinforces respect. Trek the county grounds in 2018 and you will still witness people sat on balconies, gathered on benches, stood around Long Rooms. For those who have continued the tradition, I salute you.

Particularly in the longer form, of first-class cricket, it is a sport that lends itself to evening chat. You are not going home that night, so you talk. You are there, and so there is a social element that is rich for both supporters and players. I am 71 now and had a very short international playing career, but I still see some of the players I played against. A couple of those in question, Farokh Engineer and Clive Lloyd, became pals through us playing together at Lancashire, but whenever I go to Australia I meet up with Dennis Lillee, for example.

From a work perspective I am often pitched alongside Ian Chappell. There is always a yarn to be had and a beer to be supped. I am always looking forward to renewing friendships I wouldnt have made without cricket. It is a sport of stories. Now, after-dinner speaking is not me. But someone like Geoff Miller, who has an audience in the palm of his hand recalling the memories of his career, is brilliant at capturing the atmosphere we experienced. Cricket is a vehicle for a chat, a beer and a get-together.

It is also one that has helped me form friendships outside of dressing rooms and commentary boxes. I meet up with an actor friend of mine called James Quinn, best known for starring as policeman Phil in the BBC comedy Early Doors but who has also appeared in things like Coronation Street , Emmerdale and The Bill , who knows his own industry inside out. But his knowledge about cricket is better than anybody else I have ever met. Whenever we meet up for a drink in Manchester, he will recall a game from the seventies as if it was yesterday and knows its detail vividly. Hes just a punter. Some of the games I played in and some of the games he talks about, I remember. Some I dont.

Its a game of opinions. Who is West Indies greatest cricketer? It has to be Sir Garry Sobers, right? Which one of Sachin Tendulkar and Brian Lara was the better batsman? Who would you rather face on a turning pitch: Shane Warne or Muttiah Muralitharan? How good would the modern-day gladiators have been in the 1970s on uncovered pitches, sans helmets? Everybody has got their own opinions. Whether you are a plasterer, an accountant, a lawyer or a coalman, you are entitled to your own and you can argue your case. So-and-so is rubbish, whatsisname never got a proper chance, Id have played X over Y, John Smiths no good when the balls doing a bit.

Occasionally, people get too pushy with their theories and I tend to keep my own counsel when someone goes off on one down the pub. Ive only been involved for 50-odd years, maybe I dont know much. This bloke seems to, though.