April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Players mix memory of previous seasons' triumphs or injustices with their desire to perfect that leg glance, or to acquire a new bat, or to dismiss a deadly rival from a neighbouring side who blasted you to every corner of the ground last year.
Doughty groundsmen are examining the dull roots, hoping for the signs of growth that will give an even covering to the wicket and excite bowlers and batters alike.
TS Eliot certainly knew what was in the mind of a cricketer. This is remarkable for he never played the game. But that's the great artist for you.
Further on in this section is the line
Summer surprised us, coming over the Pavilion
With a shower of rain;
Pedants will point out that the printed edition of the poem does not mention pavilion, but refers to the Starnbergersee. But that is obviously nonsense for there is no cricket ground with that name.
Fantasy Bob has examined Eliot's manuscript. It is ambiguous. But pavilion makes considerably more sense, and is regrettably a accurate description of cricket in Scotland.
FB hopes this summer will surprise us.