Tim Maitland has been scanning the skies. Not for a sign of divine intervention, but for a more prosaic question: when will anyone actually play any cricket? The Met Office radar, that great oracle of English summer, offered its verdict.
Blackpool might hold until lunchtime. Scarborough is dodgy. Nottingham could see a brief window around 2pm, if the clouds feel generous. This is county cricket on day two of the Championship: a meteorological thriller with occasional interruptions for bat and ball.
England's victory hangover
Last night, England thrashed someone in a World Cup opener. It was stonking, apparently. The sort of win that makes you believe in the future of the sport. But this morning, the real world intervenes. Four World Cup games are scheduled: West Indies v New Zealand, Australia v South Africa, India v Afghanistan, Scotland v Ireland. Tim de Lisle is watching things unfurl at Old Trafford.
Meanwhile, back in the counties, the players are doing what they do best: waiting. Waiting for the umpires to inspect. Waiting for the covers to come off. Waiting for the light to improve. Waiting for the season to start properly, which may never actually happen.
The tactical genius of rain
The real strategist in county cricket is not a director of cricket with a laptop and a whiteboard. It's the jet stream. It decides when matches start, when they finish, and whether anyone will remember them. Today, it's playing a blinder. Nottinghamshire v Somerset could be a washout. Yorkshire v Warwickshire might be a damp squib. The only winner so far is the groundstaff, who will get overtime and a quiet sense of satisfaction.
There is a specific irony here. County cricket is supposed to be the breeding ground for England's success. The place where players learn to handle pressure, adapt to conditions, and develop the resilience to face Australia. But if you can't get on the pitch, you learn nothing except the art of patience. And the location of the nearest decent cafe.
What happens next?
If the rain relents, someone might score a century. Someone might take five wickets. The Spin newsletter will have something to write about. But the more likely outcome is that we'll be back here tomorrow, checking the radar again, wondering if the covers will ever come off for good.
County cricket, everyone. It's not the World Cup. It's not even the IPL. It's the quiet, damp, stubborn heart of the English game. And somehow, we keep watching.
But if you want to escape the drizzle, there's always the telly. Four World Cup games today. No covers needed.