Column 20, 2014 – The Spirit of Cricket

Printed in The Cricket Paper issue 92, Friday July 18, 2014.
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The spirit of cricket usually only gets dusted off when people behave badly or contentiously. This happens roughly once a year, to conveniently remind us that a) there is a spirit of cricket, and b) no one is entirely sure what it is.

This year we’ve had the Butler-Mankad brouhaha. Last summer, there was the startlingly hypocritical Broad-not-walking commotion. And the last time India were over, we had the Bell run-out-and-reinstatement kerfuffle.

Since 2000 the spirit of cricket is enshrined in MCC’s Laws as a ‘preamble’. This in itself is controversial, many believing that to attempt to pin it down is to miss the point. I’ve just re-read it, and if the preamble is the best we can do, I am inclined to agree.

Golf has an unofficial code of conduct which is both memorable and followable: “Play the course as you find it and the ball as it lies. If you can’t do either, do what’s fair.” Isn’t that splendidly concise? There’s a lot of ground covered there.

Maybe cricket would benefit from something similarly pithy. But cricket generally prefers to be ambiguous and waffley, which ultimately perhaps is part of its charm.

Usually the spirit of cricket is only brought up when called into question. Rarely is it arbitrarily celebrated. Well, I seem to have inadvertently spent the weekend doing just that.

In our Saturday league game I had a hugely enjoyable duel with a left arm over quick bowling with a 7-2 offside field and a packed slip cordon. Very infrequently he over-pitched and I drove him straight, but mostly he had the better of the exchange.

Eventually I drove at one that wasn’t quite there and snicked a textbook edge to second slip. The bowler ran up as I trudged off, grinning from ear to ear, put an arm round my shoulders and said “Batted mate! You and I could have done that all day, eh? That was great fun!” Grinning back despite myself, I had to agree.

And there, I thought, is the spirit of cricket.

What an excellent attitude. That’s what we’re doing here. When the ball is live, we are enemies. When the ball is dead, we are comrades, united by a shared obsession.

This was my one weekend a year when I was given special spousal dispensation to play both days. Sunday, a friend’s schoolmates, Old Purleians CC, came down the M3. One of cricket’s great strengths is that it is just as pleasurable as a process as it is as a contest. In friendly matches, winning comes a distant second to a good close game. Brilliantly, the game was tied, after which we sat in the pub garden, drank beer and swapped cricket stories until the sun went down.

In conclusion I am happy to report that, contrary to reports of its demise, the spirit of cricket is alive and well and living in the country.

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Column 19, 2014 – Local derby

Printed in The Cricket Paper issue 91, Friday July 11, 2014.
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There are several village teams near us who all play in Hampshire Cricket League Regional Division One. A couple of them we get on well with, and share players for nets, friendlies, Wednesday night cricket, and indoor winter leagues.

When the Saturday league fixtures are published in January, it’s these you check first, warming your feet by the crackling fire in the pub, daydreaming of long summer days, and even longer winter bragging rights.

Saturday was Damerham v Godshill. It’s a big one. My good friend and drinking buddy Clive plays for Godshill. As does his eldest, Ross, while his younger one, Ben, plays for us. Several other Godzillas have become mates off the field too.

On the field it’s all so intertwined that there was only one guy in the side we played against on Saturday that has not been a team mate of mine at some point in a Wednesday, indoor or friendly game.

Of course this lends the Saturday league derby a level of expectation that can only possibly result in disappointment. And this it duly delivered. In spades.

Ben had a post-A-level blowout with his mates, Joel had a dirty weekend, Al had a broken thumb, Andy had an anniversary, Pards had to work, Mark’s nipper had a football tournament. It went on. We did scrape 11 together eventually, Crispin valiantly hobbling out of retirement, and Gary roping in two fireman colleagues to rescue us, but it’s fair to say that it wasn’t our strongest side.

Speaking of strong sides, the other ‘Big Game’ on Saturday was the MCC vs ROW match celebrating 200 years of cricket at Lord’s. Few games this year can have had more hype and publicity, and the line up of legends was indeed impressive. Though I was at a loss to understand why it was laced with current internationals. Is there really a shortage of ex-players? Anyone knock on Sky’s door? Or were they worried the legends wouldn’t manage 50 overs without assistance?

They promised very different games, Lord’s and Godshill, but both were pretty much guaranteed to be a let down, for almost entirely opposite reasons.

The Lord’s game was needlessly overstaffed, and no one gave a monkey’s who won. The Godshill game was catastrophically understaffed, and we probably cared a little bit too much about who won.

The Lord’s game was ruined by Saeed Ajmal, the best ODI bowler in the world, with an inconvenient spell of 4-5, and Aaron Finch, one of the international game’s hottest young batsman, smashing 181*.

Ours was ruined by a complete and total absence of Saeed Ajmal for us, and imperious knocks of 159* and 90* from Coops and Chris for Godshill.

But in our game at least, no one broke anyone’s hand with a beamer, and no one called a former team mate an effing c-word. That kind of stuff is best left to the pros.

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Column 18, 2014 – Being an England cricket fan

Printed in The Cricket Paper issue 90, Friday July 4, 2014.
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“Yes Jimmy! That’s it mate! C’mon!” I am perched on the very edge of the sofa. Hands clasped, elbows resting on knees that won’t stop jiggling. Jimmy Anderson has just blocked another ball, and is on the brink of the most incredible nought not out in the history of the universe.

This is what it’s like being an England cricket fan.

A day before I had turned away in disgust, unable to watch any more as innocuous medium pace tore through our top order like a dose of salts, leaving five wickets to bat out the last day. Surely it’d all be over before lunch. But it wasn’t. And suddenly, it’s thrilling.

This is what it’s like being an England cricket fan.

I got home in time to see Moeen Ali turn down run after run, protecting Jimmy from the strike, inching towards a maiden Test ton it looked like he was actively trying to avoid. He said afterwards “I had to fight myself a bit.” Yeah I bet you did Mo. And boy did you win that battle. “I’d rather have got 99 and the draw than a century and lose.” It’s easy to say stuff like that, but he said it with his bat. In his first Test series. What a prospect.

This is what it’s like being an England cricket fan.

Monday, England were dismal. Captaincy utterly devoid of ideas or imagination, and two of the best bowlers in the world suddenly, inexplicably, incapable of bowling a length ball. Not for an over or two – all day. We were beyond poor.

This is what it’s like being an England cricket fan.

And now Jimmy has faced 54 balls for his 0, and has just two to survive to pull off the most unlikely draw. This last hour has been epic, slowly becoming the most gripping, exhilarating cricket I’ve seen in years. They can’t do it, can they? Yes. They can. It’s going to happen. And then Jimmy gloves that brutally perfect Eranga lifter at his throat and it’s all over. No. They can’t.

This is what it’s like being an England cricket fan.

Since the rout down under there’s been a lot of talk about re-engaging with the fans. A lot of carefully briefed players parroting on about the honour of representing their country, how much they care, how much it means, how important it is to demonstrate their passion. A lot of words.

It’s a perfect irony that Jimmy’s post-match interview managed to convey all those sentiments so powerfully, precisely because he was unable to speak.

Fighting back tears, those 30 seconds with Mike Atherton had more emotional punch, more truth in them than a thousand corporate platitudes.

It took a selfless debutant and a seasoned pro with his soul bared, but amid the rubble of that game, there was a glimpse of a future worthy of the fans.

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Column 17, 2014 – Hat-trick

Printed in The Cricket Paper issue 89, Friday June 27, 2014.
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With his bizarre, unnoticed three-in-three at Headingly last Friday, Stuart Broad became the first English cricketer to take two Test hat-tricks.

Hat-tricks are rare. There have been only 41 in 2126 Test matches since 1877, the first by ‘The Demon’ Fred Spoforth in 1879. Broad is the fourth to get two.

In the eighteenth century, the game was basically a mechanism for gambling, and one etymological theory is that a hat was passed around admiring punters to collect for any player who took three wickets in consecutive balls. Another is that a player’s employer or club would have a commemorative hat made for him to mark such an achievement. Whatever its origins, the term was soon purloined by football, hockey, rugby and many other sports to mean simply three in a game – so the term has become familiar for feats that, while still impressive, are rather less difficult to achieve.

Though hat-tricks are rare in all forms of cricket, hat-trick balls are actually pretty common. We’ve had four already this season. When you think about it, most (maybe half) golden ducks will be followed by a hat-trick ball. And we all know how common they are, at every level.

It’s usually an excuse to set a comically attacking ‘schoolboy field’, which almost invariably results in a poor ball that has no chance of taking a wicket. The unaccustomed pressure on a bowler who suddenly finds himself with five slips and men crowding the bat, often induces an anticlimactic wide.

I’ve only witnessed one hat-trick, when Henry blew away Boscombe one gloomy Wednesday evening, in a surreal 8-ball over of yorkers that yielded five wickets.

Broad’s seemingly went unnoticed because it was split across overs and had another wicket sandwiched in the middle, as Plunkett removed Prasad. This has only happened once before, also to an Englishman. Ryan Sidebottom’s hat-trick in Hamilton was rudely interrupted when Panessar dispatched McCullum at the other end, before the wild-haired one could return to finish off his three.

The most unusual hat-trick belongs to Australia’s favourite pantomime villain Merv Hughes, the only one achieved across three overs. The first wicket was the last ball of an over, and the first ball of his next over turned out to be the final one of the West Indies’ first innings. He then had to wait a day and a half to remove Gordon Greenidge with the first ball of their second innings.

Of the four players with two, Hugh Trumble’s and Jimmy Matthews’ were both over a century ago, and Wasim Akram has long been consigned to the commentary box. Broad has already been involved in three – he was Peter Siddle’s third victim at Brisbane in 2010 – but as it stands he is the only person on the planet who is just three balls away from a hat-trick of Test hat-tricks. Now that really would be worth a commemorative hat.

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Column 16, 2014 – Lord's vs Lounge

Printed in The Cricket Paper issue 88, Friday June 20, 2014.
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I love Lord’s. I love the buildings, the history, the look of the grass, the uniquely joyful sound of 20,000 people engaged in polite conversation. Is there a better place to watch cricket?

Well there’s really only one other contender. Thomas Lord’s place has to battle it out with my place. The home of cricket, vs the home of me.

Like most people these days, my home has a dirty great HD TV with a 1080p picture and 5.1 Dolby digital stereo. It has a large comfy sofa, which I’m confident would be worth well under £75 on the open market, and a fridge full of beer which is not only cold, but actually tastes like beer, and cost really quite significantly less than £4.60 a pint. It also boasts a choice of toilets with dry floors and no queues.

Last Friday I had the best seats I’ve ever had at Lord’s, (though my actual seat was wet and sticky, because the first thing I did was spill Champagne all over myself, but that’s beside the point,) right under the media spaceship, behind the bowler’s arm. The best possible view.

Except when something happens.

When something happens, there is little doubt that the best seat in the house is actually in your house.

At home I have Hawkeye, Hotspot, Snicko, super slow-mo replays – all the toys. On my sofa, I will scrutinise a contentious moment with all the veracity of any third umpire.

When Silva nicked Broad to Prior, there was some debate about whether it carried. But I only know this because I have since watched the highlights. At the ground, all you got was a five minute delay while people in the crowd asked each other if they had any idea what was going on, until the big screens dotted around the place finally sprang into action with six helpful letters: NOT OUT.

Quite why those at the ground are denied what those on their sofas are privy to is beyond me. Another of the modern game’s inexplicable foibles.

But never mind all that. I went to Lord’s with two old school friends I don’t see nearly enough anymore. One flew over from Ireland for the day, the other had a stand up fight with his boss about taking the day off. Without the pull of a Lord’s Test, at least one, possibly all three of us would have found it all too easy to cry off. But Lord’s is special, and we weren’t going to miss it.

We had a fantastic day, full of beer and news and cheese and wine, which just happened to have the magnificent backdrop of Root making a double ton and England declaring for 575 on a perfectly sun-kissed afternoon.

In terms of watching cricket – really watching it – telly may have the edge. In terms of enjoying cricket – really enjoying it – there’s just no contest. Lord’s wins hands down.

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Column 15, 2014 – The Butler Incident

Printed in The Cricket Paper issue 87, Friday June 13, 2014.
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England’s indignation at ‘The Butler Incident’ at Edgbaston last week feels a little bit like Australia’s indignation at ‘The Broad Happening’ at Trent Bridge last summer – an appeal of ‘Foul Play!’ directed at The Spirit of Cricket itself. That nebulous, indefinable arbiter of fairness which causes such consternation in the game at all levels.

The situation is muddied here by the difference between the Laws of Cricket, which govern us all from village green upwards, and the ICC playing conditions, which govern internationals.

Spot the difference: MCC Law 42.15 “The bowler is permitted, before entering his delivery stride, to attempt to run out the non-striker.” ICC playing condition 42.11 “The bowler is permitted, before releasing the ball and provided he has not completed his usual delivery swing, to attempt to run out the non-striker.”

Senanayake’s front foot had landed before he turned round and knocked the bails off. In a one day game for club or county, Butler would not have been out.

That in itself is daft. Why are they different? Anyone think of a reason? I’d love to hear it.

Despite this pointless ambiguity, the ruling on the main issue is very clear. If the non-striker is out of his ground and the bowler legally breaks the wicket, he’s out. There really isn’t a lot to argue about.

Except some people think that to enforce this rule is the depraved act of a dishonourable lowlife, a crime against the game, worthy only of contempt. There’s no shortage of this opinion among cricket’s retired professional classes. Though some might say that grizzled ex-pros who think nicking off and not walking is an inalienable right, are perhaps not best placed to pontificate on the game’s ethics.

I nearly didn’t write about this, because pretty much everyone has already pronounced their considered opinion on it, one way or the other.

But then I hit upon a new angle: the unconsidered opinion. The uncluttered perspective. The pure judgement of the unbiased witness, unclouded by prior knowledge, unencumbered by the baggage of tradition.

My wife, as I may have mentioned, does not like cricket. She views it primarily as my feeble excuse to avoid weekend family time and dog walking. Her brain, usually sharp and analytical, instantly switches off when it comes to cricket. She is stubbornly ignorant of the rules.

I showed her ‘The Butler Incident’. This was her response: “So if he goes past that white line and the bowler-man hits the sticks with the ball, he’s out, is that right? Well he’s out then. How could he not be out? Of course he is. What’s all the fuss about?”

She paused, as if thinking deeply on some overlooked subtlety, before adding: “If you’re watching the rest of this, I’m off to bed.”

So there it is. If we don’t like it, we’d better change it, because as it stands, it’s pretty cut and dried.

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Column 14, 2014 – Let me tell you a story...

Printed in The Cricket Paper issue 86, Friday June 6, 2014.
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A couple of summers ago I was having a beer in Salisbury with a few cricket buddies. The New Inn has an outside fire pit, sort of a cross between an open fire and a bonfire, which lends conversations around it an appealing, ‘gather round’ storyteller type vibe. Anyway we were talking cricket, inevitably, when someone from outside our little party chimed in with a cricket story of their own.

It turns out that The New Inn runs a friendly cricket team, and the story he was telling concerned the derring-do of some young Aussie kid who was over for the season. This kid was contracted to South Wilts, and was casting around for any cricket at all when he wasn’t engaged with them. So he’d turned out for the pub.

We all leaned in around the fire to hear the tall tales of houses being cleared, and the look on old whasisname’s face when he stuck one in the field beyond the river, etc. The conclusion of this story was that apparently this kid was playing the T20s for Hampshire.

What did you say his name was? Greg something? No: Glen. Glen Something.

A month or so later we were at the Rose Bowl to witness Glen Something – tall and whip-thin, looking hungover and in need of a shave and a square meal – get out cheaply and have his off-breaks tonked all over Hedge End.

Another maybe-kid found wanting at the next level up? Well, hang on. Don’t go to the bar yet. The story’s about to get good.

In February last year, he’d just got out for a golden duck and was busy kicking the furniture at the back of the changing room, when Michael Clarke broke the news to Glenn Maxwell that he’d topped the IPL auction at $1m, making him the most expensive cricketer in the world. Within the month he’d made his Test debut for Australia.

Fast forward a year and he still looks like a skinny kid who doesn’t get enough sleep.

But he also looks like world cricket’s form batsman. Inventive flips, outrageous scoops and reverse whatevers, effortless drives and monstrous cow corner smashes translate regularly into thirty-ball fifties or fifty-ball nineties. Despite the fizzle rather than bang he went out on, he was this year’s highlight of cricket’s own highlights package: the Indian Premier League. Few currently would bet against him following Warner’s career path from T20 upstart to destructive Test staple.

He still looks like he likes a beer, too, and could probably spin the tallest of tales around that storyteller’s campfire.

And now the IPL has crashed down from its manic sugar high, ‘Maxi’ is on his way back to play the T20s for Hampshire again. I might have to pop down for one or two, see if he can’t do better than last time. I reckon he just might.

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