Cricket in England, April 2024

Kent v Surrey, County Championship, 19-22 April 2024

It was such a good plan. I would begin in Canterbury with two or three days under the Spring sun before heading west to Bristol to watch at the County Ground for the first time since leaving for New Zealand in 1997. Then a day at Lord’s, where I had last been that same summer, when I put on my suit for a day in the pavilion on my Kent member’s privilege. But England was grey, wet and, above all, cold this April, so my return to English cricket after a five-year interval ended up as two (slightly-less-than) half-days at St Lawrence, where champions Surrey were the visitors.

It was wet on the first morning, but I made my way up the Old Dover Road regardless. I am drawn to this place of memories and happiness whenever I return to Kent, especially today, when tributes were to be paid to Derek Underwood, who had died a few days before.

With no score to show, the big screen was playing a reel of highlights of Underwood picking off some of the best: the Oval ’68 (how well I remember that long afternoon waiting for the puddles to be erased from the Oval outfield and the black-and-white tension of the last hour); Australia in ’72, with Knotty taking a smart catch or two; Eddie Barlow yorked in the 55-over final at Lord’s in ’78.

There was supposed to be a tribute before the start of play, but with the delay they decided to hold it at midday instead (it embraced Ramon Subba Row too). I hope that they do it again when the ground is full and the sun is shining, but at least the few who were there had mostly seen him play. None of the players obviously. For them Derek Underwood would have been as distant a concept as Tich Freeman was to us. But Alec Stewart was there. He played against him and will have let the Surrey team know something of the man.

Those of us who stood and remembered all had stories that we wanted to tell. Mine was of another grey and wet day at St Lawrence, much like this one, forty years before. There were even fewer there that day, but I was one of them. Mark Nicholas was another, one of Underwood’s victims as he made a nonsense of Nick Pocock’s gleeful acceptance of Chris Tavaré’s offer of 179 off 59 overs. You see, rain had got under the covers, and it was bows and arrows against bombs. At least Underwood’s passing was the cause of some fine writing, Nicholas again to the fore. I’m pleased that I was there, in the cold.

There were things to do to pass the time. For an extra fiver, there was a tour of the ground, conducted by a young volunteer called Sam, one of Canterbury’s official guides, but doing this recreationally. He was excellent. I learned more than I expected to, given that I have been steeped in the place all my life. It had never occurred to me to find out why it bears St Lawrence’s name. Thanks to Sam, I now know. He was the second Archbishop of Canterbury after whom a leper hospital on the site of the ground was named, replaced by a mansion called St Lawrence House, which was demolished early in the nineteenth century, creating space for the cricket ground.

The fiver also gave access to a teatime talk in the Chiesman Pavilion (which surely should be renamed the Stevo Pavilion: the great man was present, ready for recall) by Kent’s curator, Ian Phipps. This is intended to be a regular feature, the starting point of each being an item or two from the club’s collection. Here, we went back to the origins of cricket in the county by looking at one of the sticks into which notches were cut to record the scores. Afterwards, I chatted to Ian and he showed me the scorebook in which Colin Cowdrey’s hundredth hundred was recorded in the copperplate hand of Claude Lewis in 1973.

Kent are to be congratulated on these initiatives, which I encourage anybody going to Canterbury to take advantage of. Now, more than ever, there is a need to celebrate cricket’s story and heritage.

Last time I was there, on the final pre-Covid day of cricket in 2019, I was a bit concerned for the old ground, which looked a little tired and uncared for. I am pleased to report that it now has more sparkle about it. There are new seats around the ground and the Frank Woolley no longer looks as if it might crumble out of use. They have done a good job of integrating the new buildings on the pavilion side of the ground; the new dressing rooms are a great improvement on the old. As Andrew Miller notes on a piece that has appeared on CricInfo while I was writing this, even the new apartments look as if they belong; what was there before was only a car park, after all (Miller appears to have had the day in the sun that I was hoping for, but was denied). Only the magnificent old analogue scoreboard over the Leslie Ames Stand, installed in 1971 if my memory is correct, looks as if it may be reaching the end of its life. The biting northerly introduced a random element by blowing the numbers about in a way that would please the North Koreans who run the Basin Reserve scoreboard. Neither this board nor the big screen can be seen from the Ames Stand, but as this is given over to a bar and hospitality boxes, I doubt that anybody notices.

When the covers were rolled back, I experienced culture shock. Living in New Zealand I have become so used to a first-morning pitch being a palette of greens that one comprising colours of the desert rather than the forest came as a surprise. Perhaps this made the scheduled use of the Kookaburra ball in this game somewhat superfluous as a equalising factor between bat and ball. County cricket, under threat as it is, must be able to sort the good players out from the moderate. Dobbing seamers producing unplayable deliveries in the Spring does not do this, but neither do centuries from mediocre batters against emasculated bowlers. It cannot be beyond the wit of science to produce a ball that combines the qualities of Dukes and Kookaburra. Failing that, a machine like those that choose the Lotto balls could be loaded with an equal number of both and present the fielding side with the ball of the day after the toss.

Zak Crawley might as well not bother if I am in the crowd. I have seen him bat “at the ground” five times including this day; only once, in the second innings of the Greatest Test of All, has he reached double figures (25 in that case). Here, he nicked off to third slip on five off Dan Worrall, who followed up by trapping Ben Compton lbw to reduce Kent to nine for two.

Daniel Bell-Drummond is club captain this year. At 30, his chance of the international preferment for which he was mooted as a youngster has probably gone. This is to Kent’s benefit if he continues to bat as he did here. From the start he showed the touch and eye of a man who has made two centuries already this year. He hit six fours in his first 34 runs, this off perhaps the best attack in the Championship. He was more measured thereafter, but not troubled. It was a surprise when he was out three overs before the close, lbw to Tom Lawes. If he follows in the tradition of Johnson, Ealham snr and Jarvis, to name but three, giving service to county alone, it will have been an honourable career.

It was a treat to watch cricket once more with my Blean correspondent, and to discover that the jokes and observations that originated in the glory years of the seventies have stood the test of time, as has our ability to clear the seats around us with the tedium of our conversation. But some things change, and we both found that the intense cold could not be shaken off as easily as it was in our (potato) salad days. It took us both the rest of the day to restore our body temperatures to normal.

This was my first time back to Kent since my mother passed away in 2021, so there were things to do and people to see. Nevertheless, a bright warm day would have brought about a change of schedule, but the weather continued to be delivered fresh from the Arctic.

We returned on the fourth morning with a short day in prospect. In the interim, Surrey had created a lead of 299, with centuries for Sibley and Lawrence. Kent resumed on 120 for five. It could all have been over very quickly, but the prospect of brevity was an incentive in these conditions. In fact, we found a place inside the Cowdrey Stand, where the bar was closed but the room open. It was much the same as watching from behind glass in the Long Room at the Basin Reserve. The company was similar too. Somebody was doing the stats and keeping us in touch with progress elsewhere. Football is a common topic. Given our location, and small numbers, a statistically unlikely number of the Basin faithful support East Anglian teams, creating an edge to proceedings when an Old Farm derby is in the offing.

There was an excellent discussion in Canterbury about the moral obligation on supporters to attend on days like these that could be all over quickly. It was agreed that it was an imperative for people in the city itself, and probably for Herne Bay and Whitstable, given the improved bus services. Those from the more remote coastal settlements were to be commended, and someone who had come down from Greenwich almost received a standing ovation. One odd trait shared in both locations is that applause continues to be offered as normal, even though we are behind glass and the players can’t hear us. A player who has done really well on a cold day at the Basin will know because the sliding windows of the Long Room will be unfurled like the unmuting of a Zoom call.

The money people who condemn the County Championship to the extremities of the season, and who plot to streamline/optimise/rationalise (or whatever business euphemism is in fashion) the number of matches, and the number of counties don’t know the currency that this stuff is counted in.

The cricket was better than expected, Kent fell only 33 short of making Surrey bat again. Ben Compton went quickly, but Joey Evison and Matt Parkinson put on 74 for the seventh wicket in 31 overs, taking us into an unexpected afternoon session. There was little that was spectacular, but I enjoyed it enormously. Two batters refusing to accept any inevitability about the result against a determined attack. I am pleased that Kent have signed Parkinson, more so that they are both picking and bowling him, even when he goes for a few. This will pay off as the season draws on.

Arafat Bhuiyan batted as all No 11s should, and took a six and two fours off successive deliveries from Kemar Roach, which few have done. Parkinson was out to the second outstanding short leg catch by Jamie Smith, and that was that. A pleasant day in good company.

The biting weather persisted, and I went down with the usual cold I get whenever I return to the old country, so I did not attend the County Ground in Bristol. I could have made a token visit but want what memories I have yet to form of cricket in England to be of shirtsleeves and lemonade, not bobble hats and Benylin. Lord’s was rained off, so I did not have to work my way through the 21 steps that the Middlesex website takes you through before sending you to the MCC website to buy the ticket.

I hope to be back one day, before too long, at a time of the year when the focus can be on enjoying the cricket, rather than the preservation of life. A gritty seventh-wicket stand and the chance to say goodbye to a hero will sustain me for now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

New Zealand v Australia, first test, Basin Reserve, 29 February – 3 March 2024

Scorecard

Spare a thought for Jeetan Patel, watching this test match in a hotel room in India, where he was as England’s spin bowling coach. There was every indication that this was his old stomping ground of the Basin Reserve, with a pitch that was Shrek–green at the toss and spectators huddling together against the southerly. But it couldn’t be. To prosper In two decades as Wellington’s lead spinner at the Basin, Jeets had to learn flight, variation in pace, clever angles, any trick at all, because the ball would not deviate. Here it turned like cream in the desert, even when propelled by an ex-wicketkeeper.

Think also of Ajaz Patel, the Flying Dutchman of New Zealand cricket, condemned to sail the seven spinning seas without ever making it home. This pitch was made for him. People who have been watching at the Basin for many more years than my 18 had never seen the like. None of this was apparent to anybody at the start of the game. New Zealand left out Santner and put Australia in. It was all quicker bowling until Ravindra was given a go before the new ball was due and immediately got one to straighten past Cummins’ outside edge.

I missed the first two sessions but was there for the rest of the game. When I arrived at tea the locals were reasonably content with 147 for four, all the more so with 279 for nine at the close, the acceleration down to Cameron Green, who moved from 50 to 100 in 46 balls while the wickets kept falling at the other end.

Green came into the Australian side in 2020, talked up as the next big thing, particularly by the Fox commentators, in full cheerleading mode. The delivery remained short of the promise, and he was dropped during last year’s Ashes in favour of the more rustic-but-reliable skills of Mitch Marsh. David Warner’s retirement gave him a way back, though at the cost of booting Steve Smith up to the top of the order, a project that is not going well.

So we started the second morning more optimistically than we had expected. Once the formality of dismissing Australia for under 300 had been attended to, the work of matching, or even surpassing that total would begin. What fools we were.

The pre-lunch session was excruciating, and ended only in the extra time that is statutory when nine wickets are down. Green and Josh Hazlewood put on 116 for the tenth wicket, two runs more than the McGrath/Gillespie stand at Brisbane in 2004 that many Kiwi fans mark as a nadir of our fortunes, the image of Gillespie leaving the field riding his bat like a horse being engraved into our subconscious. At least Green is a proper batter who had a century on the board at the start of the partnership. He is, however, a notoriously poor starter, so putting a bit of pressure on for the first few overs of the new day seemed the obvious move. Instead, New Zealand focused entirely on getting Green off strike and Hazlewood on. Why, when there is one wicket to take to end the innings, captains give up trying to get one of the batters out, remains a mystery, all the more so when Southee maintained the strategy even as Hazlewood unleashed cover drives of Goweresque languidity.

The New Zealand cricketing psyche is a delicate thing when it sees baggy green caps on the same field. The cautious optimism that it had taken all the first day to nurture was shrivelling by the drinks break and dead by lunch. It was a comfort to us up in the RA Vance Stand that one of our group is a psychiatrist. Had he brought a portable couch with him, he could have made a mint.

Latham was the first to go, indecisive to a testing line just outside off by Starc, playing on. Two balls later, Williamson pushed to mid off and set off for a slightly risky single. One day, when gravity messes up and the moon crashes into Earth, those of us there at the Basin that afternoon will be reminded of the way in which Williamson and Young were drawn inevitably together in mid-pitch collision, leaving the former short as Labuschagne swooped in with a direct hit at the bowler’s end.

Three balls later, Ravindra drove at Hazlewood but did not get over the top of it and was caught by Lyon just backward of square on the offside. Whenever a batter under the age of 26 or so gets out in such a fashion early in their innings words like “impetuous” and “hot-headed” are bandied about, but the shot was a good response to the ball, but them went slightly wrong in the execution.

Up in the in the RA Vance we always note the passing of New Zealand’s all-time low of 26, but today did so with more-than-usual relief (we are not a cheery crew). But it was a grind. Mitchell went for 11 in 37 balls. Next ball, Young followed for a 50-ball nine. Twenty-nine for five.

Tom Blundell has mounted so many rescue missions for New Zealand that one expects him to be winched down from a helicopter at the start of his innings. He did it again here, in the company of Glenn Phillips. Before the match there was a discussion on the radio about whether Phillips or Young should take the last place in the New Zealand XI (as it turned out, the injury to Conway meant that both played). The expert vote went for Young because of his superior technique, but I would favour Phillips because of his obvious relish for the tussle. The kryptonite of the baggy green has no effect on him. He went on the attack, but judiciously so. His first six scoring shots were all fours, and all around the ground. Blundell matched him, and the 50 partnership came up in 48 balls.

Nathan Lyon now entered the attack. Phillips took him for three boundaries in his first two overs, but in his third over Lyon deceived Blundell coming down the pitch, resulting in a straightforward bat-pad catch. Two balls later, Kuggeleijn was caught on the legside boundary from a witless slog. Kuggeleijn should not be in the New Zealand team. First, he isn’t good enough. Geoff Lemon and Daisy Cutter explain the other reason.

The second and fourth balls that Matt Henry received from Lyon both went over the legside boundary for six. He made 27 of the eighth-wicket stand of 48, which ended when Phillips was caught at deep-square leg off Hazlewood. Southee copped the third duck of the innings, bamboozled by Lyon. Henry’s final flourish was 15 of four balls from Hazlewood before New Zealand were all out for 179.

The grim fact is that in the last four tests between these teams, the only time that New Zealand have avoided the follow on was in the final test in 2020, when five runs that Australia were penalised for running on the protected area of the pitch in the second innings saved it retrospectively.

Though the result of this match camouflaged it effectively, Australia have problems with their batting. It has a vulnerability to it that was absent a year or so ago. Moving Steve Smith to the top of the order has not yet paid off. Here, he played on to Southee for a duck from the third ball of the innings. The New Zealand captain also got Labuschagne with a legside strangle before the close of the second day, but the three fours from three balls that nightwatchman Lyon dispatched off him the following morning were a more accurate measure of his current form. I am always reluctant to write off quick bowlers since telling people that Willis was obviously done and should be dropped the week before Headingley ’81. But it does appear that a fine career is at its dusk, if not a little later.

At 81 for three it appeared that Australia were on the way to a big lead. Enter Glenn Phillips, New Zealand’s second choice part-time spinner after Ravindra, a bowler who has taken under one wicket a game in his first-class career, in the first part of which his second string was keeping wicket.

In his fourth over Phillips tossed one up well outside off—let’s say deliberately—and Khawaja came down the pitch to it, only for the ball to turn for Blundell to make an excellent stumping. Listen carefully, and you could hear the sound of a tea cup crashing to the floor in India.

After lunch, Phillips took the next four. Travis Head holed out at long off, Marsh was caught at short leg first ball, Carey drove a tempter outside off—let’s say it was deliberate—to short cover, and Green went to a bat-pad catch. Thus Phillips had his first five-for in any form of the game, and his test bowling average is half his first-class average. He makes things happen, and his celebrations (those of a six-year-old according to Phillips himself) became more exuberant with each victim. It would have been six had Cummins not been dropped twice in the deep. Matt Henry finished the innings off.

New Zealand’s target was 389 (273 without that tenth-wicket partnership). Frankly, there was never a chance. But many of us had been there a year before to see a triumph against England in the face of no lesser odds. It’s the hope that keeps you going, hope that was by no means extinguished when New Zealand finished the third day on 111 for three.

Ravindra had batted beautifully, reaching his fifty just before the close. It was better value than his double hundred against the own-brand South Africans a few weeks before. Now he was looking comfortable against the best attack in the world. He was shortly to be named New Zealand’s Player of the Year. Those of us who have been watching him for the last five years or so now share him with the world. Ravindra was well supported by Daryl Mitchell.

It was less surprising that the fourth day should be Nathan Lyon’s, than that the third belonged to Phillips. He had dismissed Latham and Williamson the previous evening. In the seventh over of the morning, he snuffed out the hope. He packed the field square on the offside, then dropped one short to Ravindra—this one we can say with some certainty was deliberate—but it was not quite what it seemed, the shot was marginally mistimed and the catch taken.

The rest was a procession, and we were done by lunchtime, only Mitchell resisting until he was caught and bowled by Hazlewood to finish the game. Lyon finished with ten, just as he did when I watched the previous test between the two sides, at Sydney in January 2020. By the end of the series, he had 530 test wickets, and until his injury at Lord’s last year had played 100 consecutive tests, which he would not have done had he been from England or New Zealand. The Australians do not look at the pitch and ask “do we need a spinner?”; their question is “who are our four best bowlers?”. A few weeks later, I shared the frustration of supporters in Somerset and elsewhere when Shoaib Bashir was left out of the first Championship game of the season in favour of a sixth dobbing seamer. Of course, allowing pitches to turn without the ECB reaching for the smelling salts and the points deductions would help.

The Basin continued to embrace its new status as a spinner’s paradise with a convert’s enthusiasm. In the Plunket Shield against Otago a couple of weeks later, 21 of the 30 wickets fell to spinners including eight for 41 for Michael Bracewell, another ex-keeper. We learned that Bruce Edgar, the former New Zealand opener who is Wellington’s director of cricket, did indeed receive a message from Jeetan Patel asking what the hell was going on.

Skullduggery at the Basin as the North Koreans return

Wellington v Central Districts, Basin Reserve, 50 overs, 2 February 2024

Scorecard

We knew that it would rain. The forecast wes decisive. Yet still we turned up at the Basin. Rain is to cricket people what death is to everybody else. We know that it is inevitable, but we carry on as if it wasn’t there. This game at the Basin showed why we behave in this curious way.

The match was abandoned, as we always expected it to be, with the points shared. But we saw some fine batting and bowling, some terrible batting and bowling, collapse, recovery, and (possibly) skullduggery. A brilliant day.

Wellington won the toss and chose to bat, defying the convention that when Duckworth, Lewis and Stern are about you bat last so that they show you their working as you go. Central demonstrated later why that is a good plan. 

Nor did the top and middle order justify the decision. When the rain first came, after 20 overs, Wellington were 76 for six. There was some good bowling, notably from Basin Reserve anti-hero Blair Tickner who nagged away on an off stump line and conceded only eight from his first four overs. Central skipper Dane Cleaver (cousin of Kane Williamson) maintained attacking fields, thinking that rolling Wellington cheaply would be the best chance of beating the weather. 

This was the first round of matches in the resumed 50-over competition following T20s that started just before Christmas, but the home batters seemed unaware of the change of format, apparently competing in recklessness. There was Severin’s hoick to deep mid-wicket, Kelly’s shovel to deep third, McLachlan’s first-ball waft outside off and Smith’s catching-practice glide to slip (all of which can be viewed via the scorecard link, above).

The rain came first after 20 overs, causing an interruption of 70 minutes. As they resumed one of the Basin regulars asked which of us would take 130 as Wellington’s total. I was inclined to accept. Resuming for Wellington were Muhammad Abbas and Logan van Beek. Here, readers need to be aware of a backstory. A week before, Wellington played Canterbury in the elimination final of the T20 competition. With an over to go, Canterbury required 21 for victory. Van Beek was the bowler. He has been Wellington’s death bowler of choice, but the memory of his being hit for 33 off an over at the end of the match against Central a week earlier fluttered at the back of my mind. 

The first two balls both went for a single, so with 19 wanted off four, Wellington’s place in the final seemed booked. The trouble was that van Beek relied completely on yorkers, but could not quite land them, so it was all low full tosses, two of which Matt Henry hit for six, and as in that disastrous over at the Basin, there were a couple of wides. With just a single from the penultimate ball it was Zac Foulkes who faced the last, needing three to win. Another full toss was sent to mingle with the trees, and Wellington were out. So if redemption was available, van Beek wanted a share. 

In the T20s, 20-year-old Muhammad Abbas has made a name as a strokeplayer. Here he showed that judgment and the ability to bespeak his game to the occasion is part of his package. Van Beek matched him in restraint; no boundaries were hit, or attempted, in the first seven overs after the resumption. 

Gradually, they increased the pace. In the 30th over Abbas twice straight drove Small to the boundary. In the 41st, Abbas went down the pitch to hit slow left-armer Lennox for six over long on. Van Beek did the same from the last ball of the over, and hit seven more sixes in the remaining six overs. The Central bowlers, so disciplined and accurate earlier, now became the opposite. 

Abbas was out for 65 from 77 balls. His seventh-wicket partnership with van Beek was worth 159, beating the previous Wellington record of 130 by Bell and Mather against Northern at Blake Park, Mt Maunganui. I was there for that one, on New Year’s Day in my first summer in New Zealand. 

Van Beek was out in the final over, for 136 from 99 balls including 11 fours and eight sixes. It was the second-highest score ever made by a No 8 in List A cricket worldwide, beaten only by an innings in the domestic competition in Bangladesh. 

DLS got to work on Wellington’s 281 for eight, and reduced it to a target of 274. Usually an interruption to the innings of the team batting first results in an increased target, but the loss of so many early wickets meant that the algorithm determined that to have fewer overs in which to preserve scarce resources was an advantage. 

It was clear from the start of the Central reply that there was no chance of the innings lasting its course. It is essential in these circumstances that the players have accurate information about DLS targets; it is with regret, therefore, that I inform you that the North Koreans are once more in control of the Basin Reserve scoreboard. 

Long-time readers will recall that for some years the amount of fake news purveyed by the board led me to believe that Kim Jung Un and his mates were using it to undermine the moral fibre of the western world. It has improved more recently, but now they are back.

What do we ask of a board? The basics are the team score; who the batters are and what they have; and who is bowling. Only the first is consistently available at the Basin this season. Batters’ scores flash on for six seconds before disappearing; the bowler’s name does the same, except during the second half of the T20 innings when it was not shown at all. A miscellany  of other information is there instead, including what had happened earlier in the over, a comparison of progress in each innings (always a useless statistic), even how many balls were left after one over of the 47 had been bowled, and the weather in Pyongyang, all instead of what we actually wanted to know (I made the last one up, but the rest were there). At one point, the number of wickets lost was shown in three places, but the batters’ names nowhere. People who knew anything at all about cricket would not commit these atrocities of misinformation, so the North Koreans it must be.

In the circumstances the DLS target, updated every ball, would also have been useful, but this was left to the hand-operated board, and was changed only at the end of each over. With the rain getting ever closer, the Central openers, Boyle and Heaphy, made good use of this information, and made sure that they were ahead as they approached the 20 overs that are the minimum needed to allow a win by one side or the other. This is when the trouble started. 

The rain was timing its approach as precisely as the Central batters. As the 20th over began we were in the transition from damp to wet. Nathan Smith was bowling from the southern end, into the northerly (I had not mentioned that a gale was blowing at the Basin as regular readers will assume that). Three runs came off the first three balls. The umpires were starting to look at the sky, each other, and the sky again, but were prepared to stay long enough for the bowler to run in three times more to give us a match. The first of these was a legside wide. 

Smith ran in for the second time, only to pull out as he reached the umpire, protesting at the gale, the King Lear of the South. At the next attempt he managed to let go of the ball, landing it mid-pitch, then watched it bounce high and wide to the boundary for five wides. This was enough for the umpires, who called a halt, rightly given the strength of the rain. 

Words were exchanged between the teams, with Smith protesting that (and I remove a couple of adverbs here) the wides were not deliberate, and that the last one slipped. Here it is; decide for yourselves. Had the incident become more widely known, the keyboard protectors of the Spirit of Cricket would, no doubt, have had little sleep over the last few days. Up in the RA Vance Stand we thought it rather clever. Had a Central bowler done the same we would doubtless have been outraged, but so it is with most of these tests of the game’s tenuous morality. 

It was a good day at the cricket.

The Cricketer. December 1973 and January 1974

These days there is cricket everywhere you look. A few days ago here in New Zealand we could watch great finishes to simultaneous test matches overlapping with the finals of the domestic T20s (we are spared coverage of the franchise competitions in South Africa and UAE). 

It was not always thus. The Cricketer for December 1973 has virtually no cricket on which to report. The only account of a match is Alan Gibson’s on the final of the inter-diocesan Church Times Cup (triumph for the Gloucester diocese), though John Edrich files from South Africa on the tour of DH Robins’s [sic] XI of which he was a member. This report is notable for the absence of the word “apartheid”, a triumph of omission as striking as Basil Fawlty’s failure to mention the war, or the sabbatical taken by “sandpaper” during the recent canonisation of David Warner as he ended his test career, 

The magazine struggles to fill its 32 pages, and the grainy photo of Keith Fletcher is well below the usual standard for covers. The contents page contains promise, but this rarely translates into anything memorable. I was naturally  interested in Colin Cowdrey’s piece on Kent’s season, with wins in the 40 and 55-over competitions, but it was no more than an efficient summary that arranged the obvious into a cogent order. 

Much the same applies to Gordon Ross’s look at 11 seasons of the Gillette Cup, in which the first person singular shoulders far too much of the burden. 

There is a note from Australia on the waiting lists for membership at the MCG and the SCG, respectively 55,000 and 15,000 at that time. Those numbers have increased in the intervening half century; more than 200,000 now await their MCG member’s pass. A friend of mine had an application form for Melbourne Cricket Club membership filled in on his behalf as an infant, as so many Victorians do. Years passed. When he was 18 his mother rang him, distraught. She had found the application form, unposted, in a draw. This is the saddest story I know. 

There is poignancy aplenty in this edition. Jack Iverson’s death would feature in David Frith’s chronicling of cricketing suicides, but Frith does not mention cause in his obituary of the ultimate mystery spinner here. Sir Leonard Hutton contributes a coda in which he does not overwhelm Iverson with praise. The key, according to Hutton, was to play Iverson as an off spinner. He says that “most of our batsmen found themselves over-positioned to cope with this type of bowling” so does not appear to have shared this insight with teammates. 

David Frith interviews Colin Milburn, who had returned to county cricket in 1973, four years after the car crash that cost him an eye. The tone is optimistic, but there are enough portents that there would be no happy endings to the story of Milburn’s cricket, or his life. 

 

Back in the Northamptonshire middle order, there were a series of 30s and 40s, but not until the final game of the season did Milburn pass 50 for the first time, scraping an average of 20, which was double what he managed in 1974. He told Frith that batting at No 6 made things difficult and that he did better when opening because the shiny new ball was easier to see. In Perth when interviewed, Milburn hoped that the bright Western Australian light would have the same benefit and had hopes of playing in the Sheffield Shield, a fanciful notion even in a place where he was as much a hero as he was in Northampton.

Milburn was part of the BBC TV commentary team in 1969, when he must have still been in some sort of trauma following the accident, but was not asked back (though he was an occasional summariser on BBC Radio in the late 80s). At the time of the interview he was recently engaged, but that came to nothing. The considerable sum for 1973 of £19,000 from his testimonial was in trust: “on his own admission it would have been ‘chaotic’ to have given him the lump sum”, another sign of future troubles. 

In 1988, when I worked occasionally for Cricketcall (I had turned down the Gloucestershire contract, but that’s another story) one of my colleagues had recently worked with Milburn and reported that he gave the impression of having slept rough. He died in a pub car park in 1990, having inspired a love of cricket in so many so saw him play.

The January edition has tributes to Howard Marshall from EW Swanton and Alan Gibson, following a three-paragraph obituary in December. As Gibson says, had Marshall died in 1938 “there would have been a headline about him on the main page of every newspaper”. Marshall was then one of the BBC’s best-known voices, and was the leading commentator on cricket, rugby and ceremonial occasions. He was the first to give extended ball-by-ball commentary, famously on Verity’s match at Lord’s in 1934. 

Marshall devised the grammar of cricket commentary, and did the same for radio news reporting as the head of the BBC’s war reporting unit. He reported from the Normandy beaches on D-Day. But after the Victory Tests of 1945, and the occasional ceremonial commentary, he gave up broadcasting in favour of a career in commerce. He might have continued for another 25 years. 

Howard Marshall deserves a biography; he is important enough as a broadcaster and led an interesting private life. He left his first wife for the film critic Nerina Shute, who later deserted him with their French maid. 

The January edition is richer in content than its predecessor, and includes a couple of interesting investigations into cricket history. Gerald Brodribb, whose niche was the evolution of six hitting, questions the veracity of what the Guinness Book of Records and Wisden long accepted as the longest hit with a cricket bat, Walter Fellows’ 175-yard smite during practice at the Christ Church Ground in Oxford in 1856. Brodribb looks for evidence that the hit was measured properly and verified, and finds none.

David Frith’s ability to find sad stories in cricket’s past is further illustrated. Here, his subject is Billy Bates of Yorkshire and England. Bates toured Australia with great success. At Melbourne in January 1883 he made 55 at No 9, then took seven wickets in each innings as Australia followed on, taking the first English test hat-trick in the process. His name appears  on the Ashes urn, presented to the England captain, Hon Ivo Bligh, after on the tour. 

Bates’ first four tours of Australia were all successful. It was on the fifth that his life went suddenly wrong. He was hit in the eye in the nets, an injury that ended his career at the top level. There are parallels with Milburn here. The rest of Bates’ life was a struggle. He died at 44. 

On Scorecards, we have often talked about the Rest of the World series in England and Australia in this era. The January edition reminds us of a third, consisting of two matches in Pakistan to raise funds after devastating flooding. The World XI was a mix of English and West Indian players, topped up by a couple of locals. The Caribbean contingent were mostly world-class, or something near it, but has an unexpected opening partnership of Mike Brearley and Harry Pilling. Keeping was Keith Goodwin, then Farokh Engineer’s deputy at Lancashire.  

There were centuries for Brearley, Kallicharran, and Asif Iqbal, and two for Zaheer Abbas, as well as attractive innings from Clive Lloyd, Rohan Kanhai and Colin Cowdrey, though the fact that Cowdrey’s rarely seen leg breaks nabbed two victims suggests that the level of competitiveness waxed and waned. Pakistan won both games.

Early Adventures in the New Zealand T20

Circumstances have proscribed my cricket watching quite severely so far this season. I missed the first two Plunket Shield matches at the Basin for the best of reasons: we were in Canada with our new grandson (it was also a much better timezone for watching the World Cup). My sporting spectating was restricted to an NHL game between the Ottawa Senators and the Buffalo Sabres, a cacophonous experience that was the precise opposite of first-class cricket at the Basin Reserve.

 

Between Christmas and the New Year I had scheduled two days at the most beautiful ground I know, Pukekura Park, New Plymouth, but Covid caught up with me and my wife at last, so my cricket watching in the 2023/24 season thus far has consisted of three domestic T20 double-headers at the Basin Reserve. 

 

The first of these, just before Christmas, saw comfortable wins by both the men and women over Otago. The highlight of the day was 139 by 21-year-old Wellington opener Tim Robinson, the second highest score in New Zealand T20. Robinson has shown flashes of great promise, but this was the first time it all came together. For strokemaking, it evoked Martin Guptill at his best. Like Guptill in his World Cup quarter-final double hundred, Robinson was dropped before he had scored, but did not let it worry him. With Rachin Ravindra and Mohammad Abbas, Robinson comprises a batting trio that could produce sackloads of runs for Wellington and New Zealand over the next 15 years (and for franchise teams too numerous to mention, I suppose). 

 

On Saturday 13 January, Wellington’s double-header opponents were Central Districts. It was a day that produced more excitement, statistical landmarks and memories than you might reasonably expect in a season, or two—

• The second-best bowling performance in New Zealand women’s T20 cricket
• A spectacular opposition collapse, which is always fun
• A tie
• The best catch I have ever seen
• The most expensive over I have ever seen.

 

Wellington Blaze v Central Hinds

 

Despite their dominance of the competition, the Blaze have sometimes fallen short when batting first, usually to be rescued by the bowlers in general and Melie Kerr in particular. Against Central Districts, 82 for two from 15 overs turned into 109 for seven off 20. 

 

Central were cruising at 89 for three with five overs left. Perhaps it was disbelief at being on the brink of overturning the mighty Blaze, or maybe it was simply the sheer quality of Melie Kerr, but they collapsed as if Liz Truss was suddenly in charge: six wickets for nine runs. It might be added that a couple of the decisions looked dubious on the replay (there is no right of referral in domestic games, though umpires can check some things, as they did later with the catch of the century).

 

Kerr took five for 13. It would have been the best ever performance in women’s domestic T20 cricket, had it not been for her five for ten against Canterbury the previous week. She is the leading wicket taker in the competition this season, and, with four fifties, the second best runscorer after Suzie Bates. It could be that the Blaze are over-reliant on her; here she was out for 26. They miss Maddy Green, who has returned to Auckland, and Sophie Devine, who is not playing in this tournament.

 

The ninth wicket fell from the first ball of the 19th over, bowled by Xara Jetly, who celebrated with a double cartwheel. Twelve were needed from 11 balls. In came No 11 Claudia Green, none of whose previous 23 innings in this format had resulted in a double-figure score. 

 

From the first ball she faced, Green was almost caught at backward point, and almost run out as she hurtled half way down the pitch and back again. 

 

At which point Green discovered her inner Wallter Hammond. She danced down the pitch to Jetly’s next delivery, turning it into a half volley and driving it to the cover boundary. Down she came to the next ball, driving sweetly to long on for a single. From the non-striker’s end Green—the same Green who had reacted to the first ball of the over in the manner of Lance Corporal Jones—now called her partner for a sharp single when the keeper fumbled a legside wide as if there was ice in her veins. The transformation in the space of a minute from a player who couldn’t get away from the strike fast enough to one who demanded it was astonishing.

 

Down the pitch she danced again, hitting a full toss to the straight boundary to level the scores.

 

The normal rules that control the cricketing universe, having popped out for a moment, now returned and hurried to wipe up the mess. Green charged again, but this time was bowled and the game was tied. 

 

There was no super over. We don’t like them because of…you know.

 

Wellington Firebirds v Central Stags

  

What is the best catch you have ever seen? If pressed, I have always gone for Alan Ealham to dismiss Nirmal Nanan of Nottinghamshire in the Sunday League at Canterbury in 1973. The Times thought it worth the headline on its summary of the day’s games: Ealham’s catch keeps Kent at the top:

 

Nanan fell to a wonderful catch by Ealham, who ran nearly 20 yards round the long-on boundary to dive and take the ball low down, tumbling over and over.

 

Ealham was stationed near the lime tree and ran towards the sightscreen at the Nackington Road End. I’ll bet that he was also responsible for at least one of the run outs on the Nottinghamshire card that day. 

 

More recent contenders took their catches at the Basin Reserve, which is not surprising, given that is where I have watched the great majority of my cricket for the past 20 years, an era in which fielding standards have reached new heights. There was Kane Williamson’s three grasps to dismiss Angelo Mathews in 2015 that became ESPN’s worldwide play of the day. Trent Boult’s gymnastic removals of Ramdin and Rahane in 2014 and 2015. Also Logan van Beek’s successive pieces of invisible tightrope walking to defy the boundary rope in the 2020 T20 final.

 

Against Central Districts, Troy Johnson pulled off a catch that was better than any of them, the best I have seen. I was in the RA Vance Stand, right above where the catch was taken, a perfect view. In the video you see the full-length dive to take the ball coming down over the shoulder and the contortion necessary to avoid the rope, during which the ball was successfully delivered to Nick Kelly (who is therefore credited with the catch). What you don’t see is where Johnson started from—a few metres inside the circle—how much ground he had to make to reach the ball, and the fast pace at which he was moving towards the boundary rope. From the stand, there appeared to be no chance that he would get there until he did. Neither does it show how strong the wind was, more than enough to introduce an element of randomness into the flight of the ball as it fell. It was magnificent.

 

When Logan van Beek came on for the 17th over, Central Districts required 33 with six wickets left to pass Wellington’s below par 147 for eight. They were ahead, but it was still a contest.

 

No 18th over was needed. All 33 came off van Beek. I am pretty sure that I have not seen as many runs off one over before, the benchmark being 31 from Graham McKenzie’s disastrous 14-ball over in the Sunday League in 1971.

 

Van Beek’s was a mere eight deliveries, starting with a legside wide that went through to the boundary. The first legal delivery was a single to deep square leg, followed by another to deep mid-wicket. Continuing the short-ball strategy, van Beek got a next one wrong and it was called as a high wide. So far there had been eight from the over, with four to bowl.

 

The next was a slower, fuller ball that Doug Bracewell sent bouncing off the toilet block into the traffic around the Basin. In the time it took to bring out a replacement ball the umpires agreed that Wellington had had too many fielders outside the circle, and called no ball. Bracewell duly dispatched the free hit over the sightscreen. Another wait for a ball. 

 

The remaining 12 required were an administrative detail that Bracewell addressed efficiently with two legside sixes. 

 

This was the same Logan van Beek who had hit 30 off Jason Holder in a World Cup qualifier super over a few months ago. As far as I can tell, van Beek is the first to score, and be hit for, 30 or more in an over across first-class, List A and the T20 equivalent. 

 

All this was available free-to-air on TVNZ. New Zealand Cricket finds itself in the enviable position of having pay TV revenue and free-to-air exposure. In 2020 Spark (New Zealand’s leading telecommunications company) bought the rights to cricket in New Zealand for six years. However, the company was unable to obtain sufficient rights across sports, particularly for winter codes, to make its streaming sports service profitable, and pulled the plug in mid June 2023. Its cricket rights were divested to its free-to-air partner TVNZ, though Spark continues to pick up most of the tab. 

 

There is a black lining to this silver cloud. TVNZ could never hope to make a serious bid when the cricket next becomes available, which will leave New Zealand’s Sky TV as the sole bidder, unless there is an unexpected development in our small market. Sky has used this position ruthlessly of late; its recent bid for renewal of the rights to netball (a significant sport in the pay TV market here) was for about half the amount it paid for the current contract. 

 

My third day at the cricket had more disappointment for the men, who collapsed to 27 for six before partially recovering to 102 all out, a total that gave no trouble to bottom-of-the-table Northern Districts. The successive defeats cost Wellington automatic qualification to the final and the hosting rights that go with it. 

 

A seamless unbeaten 73 from Melie Kerr took the women to an easy win. They win the group and go through to the final, which will be played at Eden Park, Auckland, home of the men’s group winners.

 

The Cricketer, November 1973

 

The cover has action shots of two young cricketers who had done well in 1973 and were both off to the Caribbean with MCC and England. For Bob Willis, his home debut in the last test of the summer was an early step on the path to 325 test wickets, the England captaincy and Headingley ‘81. For Frank Hayes, the best was already past. His century on debut at the Oval accounted for almost half his test-career runs, made in nine tests, all against the West Indies. 

The November edition of The Cricketer was the Winter Annual, the centrepiece of which was always the Journal of the Season. Over the years, this was the work of, among others, John Arlott, Alan Gibson and Tony Lewis. In 1973 it was in the hands of Mike Brearley, in his second year as captain of Middlesex after returning from academia, and not yet the deity that he was to become. The rules for the Journal were its author wrote a weekly reflection on the cricketing events that were then posted to The Cricketer so as to prevent the application of hindsight.

Brearley isn’t quite in the class of those other writers as a stylist, but we go to him for insight, of which there is plenty, for example this analysis of Ray Illingworth upon his loss of the England captaincy.

He is very open, a lover of argument; he will have a dispute out with anyone, face-to-face. He supports his players, but expects 100% at all times. He is a devoted captain, never losing concentration, confident in his own ways; he has done marvellously at critical moments. He respects hard work in others, having worked hard himself. He has been a symbol for many cricketers and cricket followers in a still class-infected game.

Brearley, along with Peter Walker and Jack Bannister, had negotiated the first disbursement of TV rights money to the Professional Cricketers Association, all of £3,500 per annum for four years. More significantly, they persuaded the TCCB (the predecessor of the ECB) to initiate a non-contributory pension scheme for county cricketers. 

They were not afraid to deploy the confrontational approach to industrial relations typical of the seventies. 

,,,it was also decided, after a ballot of all members, that if we did not reach agreement we should take action to prevent televised cricket from being as attractive to the public as it normally is.

In this light, we must reassess the career of Geoffrey Boycott. We have clearly been wrong to see him as self-serving accumulator, grimly placing  his own average above the interests of team or paying public. In truth, this son of the People’s Republic of South Yorkshire was waging class war with the willow, making the bourgeoisie regret their colour TVs. 

Boycott is the recurring theme of the Winter Annual. Alan Gibson writes, in his Cricketers of the Year piece:

I cannot help wondering whether Boycott will ever make a good captain. He does not seem able to capture and control the inner man.

BI Gunatunga, on the letters page, disagrees, and thinks that Boycott, not Denness, should lead MCC to the Caribbean. Like many another fan of the Fitzwilliam’s finest, he does not go in for shades of grey in his assessment.

I consider Boycott to be a much-misunderstood cricketer mainly because he appears to be so different from other players. He is an immensely gifted cricketer, whose constant striving after perfection bespeaks a character well-suited to leadership. 

Geoffrey Boycott is the brightest star in the cricket firmament. Is it not, to say the least, a short-sighted act to deny the honour of leading England to a man whose present role in the England team has a classical parallel in that of Aenas in the destiny of Rome?

Mr Gunatunga wrote from Sri Lanka so may not have had his opinion tempered by the experience of watching Boycott bat too often. 

Boycott also turns up in Irving Rosenwater’s survey of 1973’s statistical oddities. During the second test against West Indies, he retired hurt from separate injuries from two successive balls, which Rosenwater thought to be unique. 

Back to Gibson, who was summoned for a nightcap with EW Swanton during the Headingley test.

This turned out to be a delightful occasion, though abstemious and informal. I am pleased to report that his theological position is still sound.

Gibson’s selections as Cricketers of the Year include a British Rail employee. 

…on a crowded train between Bristol and London, I was pleased, but surprised to find myself adopted by one of the buffet car attendants, who plied me with food and drink throughout the journey, when I never stirred a step from my seat. When I thanked him afterwards, he said, ‘Always a pleasure for you, Mr Arlott’.

There is an interview with Bishan Bedi, poignant given his recent passing. The tributes presented him as a man of firm views and strong principles, characteristics on full display here. 

Cricket should be an exciting game with batsmen playing their shots and bowlers trying to get them out. In England, however, too many captains want to keep the game tight. They keep the fielders back to save singles when they should have them up for catches. 

Bedi would have approved of Bazball.

On Sundays we see bowlers like John Snow bowling without a slip. This is ridiculous. Even I must have a slip. Sunday cricket is rubbish in my view. It is not real cricket. People come to watch it because it is Sunday and they have nothing else to do. It is not attacking cricket at all, but defensive cricket. 

No fines then for criticising the product (as he would never have called it). 

David Foot writes about Gloucestershire, focusing not on their Gillette Cup final win against Sussex, but on their Championship game against Glamorgan, a week later. I often finished the season at the County Ground in Bristol, and recognise it from Foot’s description.

It was the last afternoon of the season at Bristol, a ground which had been likened to a mausoleum a little too often for comfort, and more recently to the sands at Weston (by Somerset’s captain Brian Close). You don’t expect stirring sport on the final day. 

The home team were chasing a target of 267, but when the ninth wicket fell at 210 it seemed that the season’s end was only a few balls away. No 10 John Mortimore was capable enough, but he was now joined by Jack Davey, perhaps the only genuine challenger to Kent’s Norman Graham for the title of worst No 11 in county cricket. Davey’s 13 innings thus far in 1973 had produced 29 runs. Yet he had become something of a cult figure for the locals, particularly in the Jessop Tavern. Alan Gibson would leave the press box to shout “put them to the sword Jack” when Davey approached the crease. How fortunate that Foot was there to immortalise his heroics that day. 

The first one he received was right on a length, doing a bit off the seam. He stretched forward and pushed the ball back. The classic defensive forward stroke. Feet and bat positioned exquisitely, elbow up for the gods to see. The MCC coaches could have been inspired to poetry on the spot.

Davey equalled his career best of 17 in a partnership of 57 with Mortimore to take Gloucestershire to victory, and they “returned to an ovation as genuine as anything in the Gillette final”. The win moved Gloucestershire up two places to fifth in the table, but short of the prize of £500 for fourth place. It meant nothing, yet it meant everything and if any of the few that bothered to make their way to the cricket on a dank autumn day are still above ground, they will treasure the memory yet. 

The summarised scores of the Indian Schoolboys tour is replete with names that were to become familiar in the decade to come: Briers, Gatting, Hignell, Parker, Slocombe, DM Smith and the great CJ Tavarḗ,What a treat it would have been to be at Bristol to see 150 by VJ Marks. A King’s School batter name of Gower made 50 against visitors from South Africa.

Geoffrey Howard who was about to retire after a quarter of a century of first Lancashire, then Surrey, provides an informed summary of the changes that he had seen and, in some cases, instigated. More than that, he looks forward with some prescience, foreseeing—

• a sponsored, 16-match County Championship of two divisions (though he doesn’t approve of the latter; for some years he put together the fixture lists and says that this would become “a nightmare”)

• ODIs with every tour

• world cups in England

• neutral umpires.

Scyld Berry writes about lob bowling. I don’t recall seeing Berry’s name in The Cricketer before this, so it may have been the start of one of cricket journalism’s most distinguished careers. He gives us an entertaining history of the art of lobbing, which he suggests has some science to it, with greater variety than overarm can offer. After running through the options for seam, swing and spin, Berry lists more exotic alternatives. 

Then there is the second-bounce yorker, and of course the daisy cutter; the full toss straight to the shoulder…and as a first-ball speciality the harmless low full-toss to the off-stump that is tentatively driven to extra-cover.

GH Simpson-Hayward of Worcestershire took 23 wickets with lobs against South Africa in 1909-10.

With his low trajectory and ample turn off the matting he could not be “lofted” with safety or even driven along the ground with confidence; pushes and pokes were the best means of resistance. 

Did not Brearley once turn to lobs on the last afternoon of a county game? I suppose that Trevor Chappell might be regarded as the last international lob bowler if the daisy cutter is in the lobber’s armoury. 

What I miss about the seventies is how easy it was to infuriate those who deserved to be infuriated. Here is JF Priestly of Kent on the letters page.

I was appalled at the general turn-out of the two teams in the Varsity match at Lord’s. Only one Cambridge player was wearing his coveted light blue cap when fielding…one player had an unruly beard, long hair generally was the vogue, some of the players had not even bothered to clean their boots, flannels were different shades, and the only good thing to say about them was their good bowling and most excellent fielding.

No doubt when Mr Priestly went to the cinema he judged the film by the straightness of the ice cream seller’s tie.