When I was talking about the power of smell on the radio, Speth, a Welsh speaker from Manchester, got in touch to say that in Welsh you can hear a smell as well as smell it. At first this sounded charming, if far-fetched. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. While I can’t – in English, anyway – exactly hear the smell of that Black Country bike shop in 1977, I can smell, hear and see it very clearly. I can feel it too. I can feel the shop man’s grip as he lifts me into the saddle. And I can hear him saying to my grandad: “Blimey, he’s a lump, isn’t he?” Ever sensitive about my weight, that was a sour note. But I’ll let it pass, because all I can feel, then and now, is the general joy.
The logic is fairly simple: I don’t give a shit what you name your player object. I don’t care how deeply you bury it in a closure. I don’t care what class you instantiate it from. At some point, you have to call .play(). And when you do, I’ll be waiting.
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We did of course have a countdown first, because people love countdowns, because cricket is basically one unceasing countdown, an endless pencil stub ticking off names and numbers. There were 99 members of the supporting cast to be ushered to their spots, the non-Shanes of history, meat in the Ashes room.
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The event ended with the introduction of the 10th generation of the Pokémon mainline games: Pokémon Winds and Pokémon Waves.