This bit of nonsense came about from an Ask on Tumblr from alice1nwond3rland.

“Here’s to the “Never Have I Ever” ask (this will be a silly one)! Well, you’ve written all sorts of CtM and Turnadette (even a bit of AU)  😍! So, have you ever written a category of AU in which Patrick gets to live out one of his childhood dreams? For instance, Patrick being the Captain of his own ship or traveling to space!”

(Any mistakes regarding the game of cricket are wholly unintentional.  While I have a vast appreciation for the traditional attire of the game, I understand few of the rules.  If you see something, say something.)

Once upon a time, Patrick Turner dreamed of such a moment.  As a young boy, the makeshift pitches on the cobbled streets of Liverpool had been his Lord’s, his dusty wool knickers and cap his whites.  The old shed in his parents’ garden wore the scars of his years of bowling practice bore witness to a young boy’s tenacity.  Those dreams faded as new ones bloomed, but never completely disappeared.

Today he stood at the edge of it all.  His eyes roamed the stands as fans poured in for the test match that could help turn everything around for England.  They had a fighting chance, he knew.  Australia was strong,  but he knew better than to underestimate an underdog.  

“Ready, then, Dad?”

He turned to look at his elder son and nodded.  “As I’ll ever be.”

Tim smiled in return.  “Imagine, Dad.  If you’d been on time to meet with my teacher, we’d never have been there when Mr. Baxter fell into that ditch, and none of this would be happening.  We’d just be home watching on the telly.”

At that moment, Ted Baxter, England team captain approached them. “We’ll be off to the toss in just a moment, Doc, then it’s all you two.  Father-and-son first bowl–God, it’s what cricket was made for.”  

“I can’t thank you enough for this, Ted–” Patrick began.

Baxter slapped Patrick’s shoulder. “Don’t thank me–you’re my good luck charm.  It was our quick thinking saved my ankle.  Why I wouldn’t be on this pitch today without you.  Must say, the whites do you credit, old man.  I’ll bet the little lady found you a treat, the ladies always do.”  

Patrick thought of the blush that flooded Shelagh’s cheeks when he came downstairs that morning.  “She’s become more of a fan than I expected.”

The team captain winked.  “Perk of the job. Now, don’t you grimace Tim.  You’ll see one day.  You can’t fight the lure of the flannels.”

Tim’s eyes rolled skyward.  “Really, Mr. Baxter, don’t encourage him. It’s bad enough Dad’ll be walking around like this for weeks.”

A voice called the teams out to the field.  “Come on, then,” Baxter whistled to his team. Patrick and Tim followed to the pitch, and shook hands with the two captains and umpires and called the toss, sending the players to their positions.

Patrick took his place and let his eyes scan the crowd.  He knew Shelagh was there, though he couldn’t see her in the stands, and tipped his cap in her direction, then turned to face his son crouching behind the wickets. The load roar faded and he could hear the shouts of children in the streets of his old neighborhood, he could feel the cobbles under his feet.  He clenched his fingers around the seam of the ball and delivered.

A/N:  Now come on. Would it be so hard to write a cricket scene or two, HTMcG?  Throw a fan a bone!