Pain. Raw, recent pain. It hurts, doesn’t it? After such a dizzying high comes an epic low, a spike and trough in cricketing blood sugar that would furrow the brow of even the most laissez faire doctor.
The easy thing to do, the intuitive thing even, at this juncture would be to thrash around wildly like a newborn desperate for milk and indignant at being stripped ahead of a nappy change. Scrunch up the face, turn Dukes rouge and fire off expletives.
But let’s not do that. No, let’s not do that. Because what does that ever achieve? Let’s look for light, even if it is artificially assisted, amongst the Trent Bridge gloom. Because it hardly takes bat’s eyes to be blinded by it.
There is much credit to be dished out here. First, to the Nottinghamshire ground staff who worked tirelessly to ensure that when a window of opportunity arrived it could be grabbed with 22 pairs of hands. I was on duty at the Rachel Heyhoe-Flint Trophy Final on Saturday in Leicester. It was a ripper of a day but then, mid-afternoon, biblical storms arrived. For 48-hours, the heavens emptied. To have played any cricket amongst that is truly remarkable.
Then there are the officials: we should all doff caps in their general direction. For once, they and cricket applied a lick of common sense. The on-brand move for this sport would have seen Glamorgan bat 50-overs, the rain to inevitably return, and no result achieved.
Instead, while from a Somerset perspective the outcome was sub-optimal, defeat is infinitely preferable to the wholly inadequate idea of a shared trophy. Perhaps I am still scarred from the days when a local private school fudged a tied County Cup final that should have seen the mighty comprehensive cricketing force of Castle School anointed champs by virtue of losing less wickets? And as a non-paid member of the engraver’s guild, how on earth does one get two names in such a small space?
But those pre-conceptions - and cold, hard cash - aside, splitting the spoils means literally neither side wins. There can be no wild celebration, nor any learning from the devastation of defeat. The whole tournament, much like any overpriced service station sandwich, leaves a taste of general ambivalence, a thin layer of regret and a largely forgettable experience. Fortunately, we did not land there. Hooray.
Now one might argue that late September is no time for a showpiece cricket final, but that is another piece for another day. In fact, the general shoddy treatment of this great tournament is something I’ve covered on other pages.
Next, praise must go to Glamorgan. Worthy victors, the tournament champions who won their group and won more games than any other side. A proper cricketing county with a fantastic following. This competition has provided light relief in difficult times over in Cardiff and it is difficult – much like with Gloucestershire in the T20 – to begrudge them success. Consider this a nod firmly in the direction of Kiran Carlson’s side. Well played, lads.
But last, and foremostly, credit must go to Somerset, our Somerset. What a team. Yes, they stumbled at the last, but 20-over cricket is as much about luck as it is judgement. Sure, one could argue that picking and then not utilising Jack Leach was a touch odd. And sure, there are always things that can be improved with hindsight’s benefit. But forget that. Rather than pick the bones from defeat, let’s celebrate the success. And to be here, to finish second, as anguishing as it feels right now, really is a success.
This team has grown and flourished. It has flipped an expectation of defeat to an almost-as-strong chance of victory in the space of 12 months. It has proven a learning ground, a place for the likes of James Rew to prepare themselves to excel when called upon in a T20 semi-final and for Andy Umeed to show the world exactly how Andy Umeed bats.
It has enabled Lewis Goldsworthy to show off his newfound strut, allowed George Thomas to show what potential turning into output looks like, and for Archie Vaughan – despite an inauspicious (and completely fault-less) start – to prove his first-team readiness. If you’re reading this, you’ll know precisely how that is turning out so far. Would it have happened so quickly without the One-Day Cup? We will never know for sure, but it feels unlikely.
It has given 36-Test veteran Leach the platform on which to build his white-ball skills, to further his development in a relatively low-pressure environment. 10 of Leach’s 34 short-form appearances have come in this season’s competition. He has smiled through each and every one of them. Kasey Aldridge has continued to strive towards one day being a Craig Overton, or a Brydon Carse, while Alfie Ogborne has shown more than enough with his left-arm nippy-enough to cause ripples of excitement.
So yes, it is disappointing. Losing is, and always should be. And in the context of what else has occurred in the past seven days, it cuts a little deeper. But let’s instead celebrate. No other county, no matter their riches, their franchise associations, their location, has not just competed on but almost completed on all three fronts. Would you rather be a bridesmaid or an evening-only guest?
Sam Dalling