1) It’s a squad game for Surrey

Durham were 69 for six at the Oval in the 13th over, so props to Bas de Leede, Michael Jones and Ben Raine who got the visitors up to 162 for eight, a competitive, if not quite taxing, target. Dom Sibley (an unlikely player of the match) and Sam Curran made half-centuries, with Rory Burns’ 10 the next highest score for Surrey, but it was still sufficient to cruise home.

On the one hand, it seems remarkable that Chris Jordan did not feel the need to call upon the bowling of Will Jacks, Jamie Overton or Jordan Clark, who would surely get into any other side in the country even if they played with an upside down bat, such are their skills with ball in hand. Call them all-rounders, call them bits-and-pieces merchants, call them a waste of a space that could go to a specialist, but bowling options are critical in this format. This embarrassment of riches makes Surrey the favourites to lift the trophy, even without the services of Jacks, Curran (S) and Reece Topley, required elsewhere.

2) Oh dear Lanky, Lanky

Phil Salt last played on 15 August, Liam Livingstone on 17 August, Luke Wood on 12 August, Saqib Mahmood on 18 August and Steven Croft on 19 July. Is it any wonder those five players could muster just 50 runs and two wickets between them on 4 September, coming into Lancashire’s biggest game of the season so cold? It wasn’t just the fault of those players, of course. Sussex’s ruthlessness in dispatching their opponents in 15.3 overs with bat in hand and 14.1 when the hapless Lancastrians had ball in hand counted for something, but surely a management that is also piloting the club to relegation in the Championship must carry the can. And pay the price.

3) Willey’s cock-up?

Somerset, put into bat by Northamptonshire at Wantage Road, did what they do best – hit sixes. Toms, Banton (75) and Kohler-Cadmore (63), smacked five each and there were a couple more as the visitors posted 215 for three, an imposing score. The home side’s skipper, David Willey, led from the front with 57 off 39 balls, but he needed more than 20s and 30s in support to bring 216 within arm’s reach. Somerset were always comfortable with the formidable Lewis Gregory, backing up his 20 off 12 with three for 35. I’m not sure they can expect to be invited to bat on Finals Day, even at 11am on a mid-September morning.

4) Teamwork triumphs over talent

When T20 was launched 21 years ago, it was a bit of fun, a circus coming to town, entertainment first and sport a distant second. When India eventually embraced the format, undreamt of money came in, things got serious, and the hit-and-giggle game began to reveal hitherto unsuspected complexities and depth. Sure it’s not Test cricket nor even the equal of a hard-fought, four-day match at Uxbridge, but it’s not bad.

Gloucestershire went off like a rocket against Birmingham at a raucous Edgbaston, 54 for one after six overs and eyeing 180-plus on a track that was true with just enough pace to embolden the stroke-makers. Soon, though, the spinners were strangling the batters and George Garton threw out two Bears to underline just how important, and watchable, fielding can be; 138 was a disappointing score, leaving a gettable target.

Gloucestershire had only one route to Finals Day – keep taking wickets. Birmingham had to put a sequence of quarter-final defeats out of their minds and just find a couple of batters who could make 30-odd, others needing only to chip in, the run rate sure to be comfortable for most of the chase. Senior pro, Moeen Ali, didn’t help matters, setting the chase’s tone playing out a first over maiden. He later caught up with a couple of sixes, but the visitors had the early boost to confidence they needed and David Payne got his man just as he was about to take the game away from the bowlers. What transpired was 15 overs of relentless focus and belief from a fielding XI stacked with journeyman cricketers, with just a touch of class from the tall left-armer, Payne, who added three more scalps to that of Moeen. Only Chris Benjamin crossed 30, and not by much, as Jack Taylor marshalled his resources superbly to deliver an upcoming day out to his adoring public.

5) Jannick and Jack, not Roger and Rafa

Straight after watching that low-scoring thriller, I turned to a ferocious arm-wrestle between Jannik Sinner and Jack Draper for a place in the US Open final. Cricket fans will have recalled Dean Jones’s distress at Madras in 1986, as Draper fought on with courage to a glorious defeat. A comment on the Guardian’s live coverage caught my eye, lamenting the match’s first set and whinging about the absence of the famous four of men’s tennis these last two decades or so. Sure, a peak Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal, Novak Djokovic or Andy Murray would have seen off these pretenders, but did that matter? The sport was competitive and compelling, new heroes being forged in the fire of the struggle.

If county cricket fans aren’t already used to the need to concentrate on what they have and not what they’d like, they soon will be. More and more big names will go franchise-international-domestic in ordering their priorities. But do the players missing from county cricket matter? Sure the stars bring glamour, skills and a chance to say, “I saw X bat, you know” but is that worth the gnashing of teeth? Maybe it’s an age thing for your correspondent, but it doesn’t really count much for me. I’m glad I saw Mondo Duplantis v Gravity at the Olympics (when the BBC deigned to show us) but once is enough. Give me a tight match between committed teams with plenty at stake and I’ll watch it if it’s tiddlywinks. County cricket is going to have to get that message across effectively in the coming seasons – not an easy sell, but it is possible. And it starts on Saturday with some of the finalists’ players away (absurdly so) with England.

6) What a game!

You could feel the tension through the screen. The Birmingham crowd had been down after Gloucestershire’s supercharged start, up after the fielding had led the fightback, higher still when Moeen lifted two sixes into their number, but now nervous as a straightforward chase became anything but. Kids in the crowd gawped for the cameras, men (yes, and women) screamed their acclaim for their champions or bit their nails eyeing the scoreboard, glasses were raised and impolite gestures were proffered.

Friday nights under lights in a big city. It probably wasn’t really a family atmosphere – but a half-competent parent should be able to explain the lure of the carnivalesque, the transgressive, the emotional release from workaday workdays. Kids are rather more resilient than might be imagined once you trust them. On the mics, Sky’s commentary team caught the mood beautifully. Nick Knight is head boy, Dominic Cork the cheeky chappie, Charlie Dagnall his sidekick and Lydia Greenaway, the older sister trying to keep them in some kind of order. But they know their stuff and they don’t talk down to their audience as the chemistry gels. It was the Blast at its best yet, for the marketers, it will never be enough. But, for the fans, it is.