The Debatable Land

Just Like Old Times

English cricket in shambolic farce. It's like Scottish football, except more important.

Halls of Fame

In general, I suppose I don't have too much against the idea of a cricket Hall of Fame though given that we've managed to get along fine without one for centuries there doesn't seem any pressing need for one. But if you are going to have such a Hall, then for god's sake include the right people. Via Patrick Kidd, I see that the ICC's new venture has found room for an initial class of 55 inductees that, bewilderingly, fails to include Victor Trumper.

While it's fine to ignore players who only retired in the last ten or so years the lack of recognition of chaps from the Golden Age (no Jessop, Fry or Ranji) to say nothing of the 19th century makes the whole enterprise look rather silly. The names on the list are all fine cricketers, but if you were to compile a list of the 55 greatest players you wouldn't find room for Colin Cowdrey while ignoring Trumper would you?

Bonus witlessness: the ICC site is running a "poll" asking for the "Greatest Test Captain of All Time". The choices? Greg Chappell, Clive Lloyd, Imran Khan, Steve Waugh and "Other". Seriously. I mean, Greg Chappell wasn't even the greatest captain in his own family...

Cricket Fans Reluctant to Embrace "Modern" Game; Insist Old Ways Best.

As a member of the English cricket team's supporters club (vital for snaring Ashes tickets next summer) I was pleased to receive this email from the ECB today:

‘Tests are best’ say fans – We received a fantastic nearly 3,000 responses to the recent online TwelfthMan survey where, amongst many other things, you indicated that although you love the razzmatazz and big-hitting of the Twenty20 game, Test cricket still gets the majority vote – a staggering 94% of you in fact. Full survey results will be with you in the new year. Thanks to all who took part as it really does help us at ECB understand the game from the fans point of view.

This, obviously, is encouraging even if it's also a survey of some of the most committed cricket fans. The problem is that the ECB are just as, if not more, interested in appealing to people who don't much care for cricket or, at best, have but a passing interest in the game. We may insist upon the primacy of test cricket but, of course, we would say that wouldn't we? That is, no-one should expect survey results such as these to have any great influence upon the ECB's approach to marketing the game. (And that goes double for the ICC of course whose every action generally seems determined to prove their overall lack of fitness to administrate the sport.)

Charm City Cricket

Accounts of cricket in the United States are always endearing, generally on account of the enthusiasm of the converts to the greatest game and the manner in which the poor old journalist charged with scribbling this account labours to explain the game to a generally uncomprehending audience. This piece from the Baltimore Sun about a school in Charm City that has taken up cricket, is an excellent example. Best bit?

A former pitcher, Cardinal Gibbons senior Will Foy says the national pastime simply can't compare with the age-old sport of cricket.

"It's pretty much baseball, minus the boring parts," he said.

Despite its mainstream popularity in dozens of countries, cricket in the U.S. is largely viewed as a relic. More than a century after giving way to its American-born cousin, however, the sport is making a bit of a comeback, with Gibbons students such as Foy hoping to lead the way.

"There are a lot of people who might say: 'Oh, that sport is weird. ... I'm not interested.' But once they see it, they love it," Gibbons senior Justin Bruchey said.

Damn straight.

[Via Norm of course.]

Cricket and ASBOs

Like Norm, I am entirely unsurprised by this:

The Phrase "it's not cricket" is reverberating again around state school classrooms. Good old-fashioned cricketing values have prompted an improvement in behaviour in schools, according to the evaluation of a project to promote the sport in schools to be published later this week.

The "Chance to Shine" scheme, designed to promote cricket in state schools by sending in club coaches to teach the game, has had a spin off beyond PE lessons. According to researchers at Loughborough University, schools which have taken part in the scheme report improved behaviour in school generally as a result of participating in it.

Admittedly even cricket cannot cure all. My own club, for instance, suffered a blow this summer when one young player - one, more to the point who could be relied upon to turn-up when he said he would - was sentenced to four months accommodation at Her Majesty's Pleasure after a regrettable altercation in the town market square. Even so, generally speaking, cricket is a force for good for the ASBO generation.

True too, mind you, that the game has never been as clean or as ethical as is often, or generally imagined. But it is the tension between the reality of cricket - and, for that matter, human psychology - and what Lincoln, in more trivial circumstances, called "the better angels of our nature" that is responsible for much of the game's appeal and, yes, it's usefulness as a "character-building" enterprise.

Norm is also correct to ask that something be done to train the Barmy Army how to watch cricket too. Fat chance of that, of course.

Farewell, Mushtaq Ahmed

Alas, Mushtaq Ahmed is retiring. Injuries and the grind of the county circuit have taken their toll on the amiable Pakistani spinner, leaving him just 93 wickets short of the magic number of 1,500. Though overshadowed by Shane Warne and (to some extent) Anil Kumble, Mushtaq's role in the revitalisation of wrist-spin should not be overlooked. And he had a better googly than either of his more illustrious contempories. More importantly, he played the game with a joyous enthusiasm that did him great credit. I prefer to remember his Somerset days, even if they were less successful than the six splendid seasons he's enjoyed at Sussex.

Still, even accepting that Mushtaq was vital to Sussex winning the county championship for the first time (securing three titles in all in his time in Hove), modern cricketers' ignorance of history remains depressing. Here's the Sussex captain, Chris Adams:

“Mushtaq’s legacy at the club is that he leaves us statistically, romantically and emotionally the best player to ever pull on a Sussex shirt.

"In view of the impact he's made, it's difficult to think of another cricketer who has achieved or done more for one county. "

Where-oh-where to begin? I cannot speak for this mysterious "emotional" stuff, but the rest of Adams' assessment is terrible tripe. Mushtaq took 600 or so wickets for Sussex. Not bad; even, for the modern era, very good! But not quite up to Maurice Tate's record, is it? And as for romance, no-one in their right mind would put Mushtaq ahead of, say, Ranjitsinhji would they? And I rather seriously doubt you could really elevate him above CB Fry either.

That's no slight against Mushtaq who was, as I say a fine and lovely cricketer. But it would be nice to think first-class cricketers knew at least something of cricket history.

The Don's Final Century

On to more important matters than the Democratic convention. Today marks the centenary the birth of Sir Donald Bradman, perhaps the greatest sportsman who ever lived and a man whose brilliance becomes more, not less, mysterious as the years pass and no fresh pretender emerges to challenge his claim to the crown.

The numbers peak for themselves: Bradman's test average of 99.94 runs per innings is a summit beyond reach. No-one before, or since, has come close to his record of scoring a century every 2.75 innings. His closest comeptitor - of those who have played a serious amount of top-class cricket - is George Headley and even the great West Indian only scored a test century every four innings. Or, to put it yet another way, if one uses the traditional yardstick that any batsman with a career average over 50 has a claim to greatness, Bradman's brilliance was such that he was, quite literally, twice as good as even great batsmen.

To give an idea of Bradman's supremacy, American readers might consider him an amalgamation of Babe Ruth and Ty Cobb. Verily, there's not been anything like it, in any major sport, before or since. It is the distance by which Bradman outstrips his challengers that elevates him above even the greatest practitioners of other sports. Only Ruth comes close.

Norm assembles a good collection of links, including this fine conclusion from Australia's greatest contemporary cricket writer, Gideon Haigh:

With the freedom to review Bradman's life backwards, we regularly overlook that he lived his life forwards, that deeds seemingly inevitable were achievements of flesh, blood and spirit. As a result, his legend has begun to fade, a Pindarian ode recited a shade too often, and too solemnly. While Bradman lived, there remained a sense of wonder that such a small, frail, soft-spoken and self-contained man could cast such a long shadow. Now, as the Australia of whch Bradman was part recedes into antiquity, he is at risk of becoming a mere statistical outlier. Succeeding generations have found fresh and deeper meanings in Anzac Day; Donald Bradman awaits rediscovery.

More good reading from Christopher Martin-Jenkins in the Times, Nick Hoult in the Telegraph and, last but by no meas least, my father in the Scotsman.

UPDATE: I hadn't realised Bradman was born on the same day as Lyndon Baines Johnson.

A Sadly Predictable Picture...

There's the theory - and history -  of cricket in Scotland. Then there's the reality...
 
Scotland vs England, The Grange, Monday August 18th, 2008. Match abandoned.

It is never difficult to distinguish between a batsman with a grievance and a ray of sunshine...

Scottish cricket is a tough school. Not so much because of the standard, but on account of the conditions cricketers must endure north of the border. The climate is not, to put it mildly, suited to the greatest game. And this summer has been especially bleak; my own club, Selkirk, haven't played since mid-July, rain forcing our last four fixtures to be abandoned without a ball being bowled. And that's in August. Early season play, in shivering April and biting May, is not for the faint-hearted. Playing cricket in Scotland one can never entirely escape the sensation, even under blue skies, that fate is lurking around the next corner, armed with rain...

In that sense, then, Caledonian cricketers must endure more difficult conditions than their comrades in other, more sun-favoured climes. Then too, there's the fact that plenty of folk still consider cricket a foreign sport in Scotland. Worse than that, an English sport. Hence articles such as this one by Jim Gilchrest in The Scotsman which must point out that the sport has been played in Scotland for more than two centuries. Selkirk, by no means the oldest club, were founded in 1851 and many Scottish cricket clubs are much older than their sister rugby and football squads.

I know this sort of piece, mind you; I wrote one of them for The Scotsman as far back as 1992. Back then, the idea that Scotland might one day have full international status seemed far-fetched. The idea existed however and it has grown to the point that, today, Scotland play England at cricket for the first time. Weather permitting, of course. And even though I rather deplore one-day cricket, I shall be there.

Though if you were to ask me whether I'd rather see Scotland take part in the next World Cup or England regain the Ashes next summer, I'd always take the latter, I'll be hoping the Saltires can cock a snook at the world rankings today and record an entertainingly embarrassing victory.

There's no real reason why Englishmen should be aware of Scottish cricket, though a number of Scots have played a part in the the game's history and two, DR Jardine and Mike Denness, have captained England, though with rather different degrees of success. Of the other Scots to have played the game, leg-spinner Iain Peebles was good enough to be one of Wisden's Five Cricketers of the Year in 1931 while Bradman's contemporary Rutherglen-born Archie Jackson was a stylist in the tradition of the magnificent Trumper who might have achieved greater things still had he not died from tuberculosis, aged just 23. 

Domestically, the old Scottish County Championship enjoyed a healthy following until television and changing leisure patterns changed all that. Still, as late as the 1950s the Perthshire-Forfarshire derby drew crowds of more than 5,000 while my father often reminds me that as a youth in Aberdeen special buses would run bearing signs that proclaimed they were traveling  "to and from the cricket". And in 1948 it was at Aberdeenshire's home ground, Mannofield, that Bradman scored his final first class century, as the Australians finished their tour with a match against Scotland.

So it's irritating when some would-be wag or sneering hack (normally representing a Glasgow paper, admittedly) scoffs and decries the playing of this "English" game in Scotland. After all, plenty of the qualities demanded by cricket - the acceptance of fate (even while you alone bear responsibility for your downfall), the finality of the umpire's decision with no court of appeal, the certainty that past good works count for nothing once the match begins and the brooding knowledge that even now, in this game, a single mistake can undo everything - why, all these qualities, to say nothing of the sport's merciless habit of exposing its practitioners' sins for all to see in a pitiless demonstration of human frailty, positively reek of a stern and presbyterian ethic that, you might think, would be quite at home in Scotland...

Of course, we have golf instead. Like cricket, it's a sport that relishes comeuppance. Then again, the duality of cricket - the tensions between bat and ball, attack and defence, prudence and adventure, hunter and hunted, individual and team - might be considered ripe matter for the famous Caledonian antisyzygy...

It must be the weather. Rain is forecast.

England Our England

So, after a nip and tuck South African affair, Norm and I finish the week by selecting our teams to represent a post-1945 England. As always, players need only have played for England after 1945 to be eligible for inclusion and the merits of their inclusion are to be judged on the totality of their career, not just the part of it that took place after Hitler's War. As alaways, you can follow the action here or at Norm's Place

The Battle for South Africa

Episode three of the Geras vs Massie cricketing showdown is underway. It's Norm's turn to pick first and, as I feared he might, he's exploiting his greater knowledge of South African cricket. Getting my excuses in early, I consider myself the underdog in this game. Anyway, the rules are the same as ever: only chaps who have played post-1945 are eligible for selection... You can follow the action here and, of course, at Norm's place too.

Prime Hutton

Lovely story told by Simon Hoggart in his Guardian column at the weekend:

The death of Simon Gray lets me reprise a favourite story. He was a close friend of Harold Pinter, a great cricket lover. Once Pinter wrote a poem about his hero Len Hutton. It read, in its entirety "I saw Hutton in his prime / Another time, another time." He sent it to several of his friends.

Soon afterwards Pinter and Gray were at the same dinner party and Pinter asked what he thought of the poem. "I don't know, Harold," said Gray. "I'm afraid I haven't finished it yet."

[Hat-tip: Stephen Pollard]

Australian Summary

Having come-off second-best in our West Indies game, I'm duty bound to suggest (gently) that I've had the better of Norm in the Australian leg of the series. In large part, of course, this reflects the luxury of being able to select Don Bradman with the first pick, just as Norm benefitted from choosing Gary Sobers first last time. In each case the player picking first has been able to acquire two players for the price of one. That's quite an advantage.

Having Bradman in my side permitted me to pick Keith Miller second, to provide balance, and my two favourite Aussie fast bowlers with my third and fourth selections. After that, the bonus was remembering that Bill O'Reilly was eligible for selection, thanks to a solitary test in 1946. His presence, plus that of Ritchie Benaud, ensures that my side is also stronger in spin-bowling than Norm's. 

Norm's side benefits from Gilchrest's presence obviously, but Healy, Benaud and Lindwall ensure my team bats down to 9. I'd also suggest that in Miller, Morris and Harvey my team also has the cricketers to play with greater style and panache than Norm's (Warne and Gilchrest excepted).

I was all set to make Keith Miller skipper - even though he never captained Australia - until I remembered that I had in fact also picked Richie Benaud who must, the claims of Bradman and Chappell notwithstanding, be given the job.

Playing Australia

After the West Indian misfortune, in which my selection was, I'm afraid, bested by Norm's we move on to episode two of our series in which we select cricket teams, playground football style, from players who played at least some test cricket after 1945. This time I have first pick of country and player and, this being so, choose to play Australia. This being the case, it will not surprise you that with the first pick in the Australian draft, I select Sir Donald Bradman.

Over to you Norm...

The West Indian Draft

Readers awaiting the announcement of my M XI of test cricketers should fret not. It will appear. And soon. In the meantime the estimable Norm has challenged me to a game of fantasy cricket. As he explains, the idea is that we shall each select a side, playground style and then see how the XIs may match up against one another in a subsequent, enjoyably imaginary, series.

You can follow - as I imagine you'll want to - the game here and at Norm's place.