Spirit On The Water
Page 9
We spent the first day ‘acclimatising’ and were due to play the MCC (Mallorca Cricket Club) the following day. We woke to pouring rain and when we got to the ground it was under water. The irony of flying all the way from Manchester to Mallorca to have a game of cricket rained off was not lost on us.
The opposition sportingly agreed to try and play a game the next day. If it had been our home pitch under that amount of water then we wouldn’t have been able to play for a week. But this was Mallorca and we did indeed manage to play the following day. We performed poorly and were well beaten, but at least we had managed to get a game. It would have been a long way to go not to play any cricket at all.
For a few years afterwards, it was difficult to muster enthusiasm and, more significantly, commitment for another tour. When organising a tour, it is important to differentiate between ‘enthusiasm’ (“Yes, I’d love to go on a tour. Great idea.”) and ‘commitment’ (Actually coming up with a deposit for the flights and hotel, six months before the tour takes place.)
After several aborted attempts, I was given the task of trying to organise a tour in 2007. When I say ‘given’, what I really mean is that I made the mistake of saying something during a discussion about possible tours that had been interpreted as volunteering actually to do something about it. In short, I had been lumbered.
No matter, I had always wanted to go to the West Indies on a cricket tour, maybe this was my chance? If that was too much of a stretch for the less adventurous club members, I had been on holiday to Corfu many years before and had seen a cricket pitch there. Assuming it was still in action, Corfu would be perfect and also give me an opportunity to give the “What’s a Greek urn?” joke another airing. France was another possibility. Not too far. Good weather, good wine and good food. Despite the fact that the French air traffic controllers always seemed to go on strike in the summer, it was tempting.
So where was it to be? The West Indies, Corfu or France? We finally ended up going to …………….. Nantwich. Readers with a reasonable grasp of geography will have spotted that not only is Nantwich not abroad, it is actually less than thirty miles from our home base of Macclesfield.
I had failed to convert enthusiasm into commitment. Even a suggestion of five days in Devon had been met with a certain degree of misgiving. A trip to Nantwich was OK though. It was like a very extended away match but I still maintain that it was definitely, technically, a tour. We were travelling as a group. We were staying overnight. We planned to paint the town red on Saturday night (not in the High Plains Drifter sense but certainly trying to make sure we experienced everything a Saturday night in Nantwich had to offer). And we were going to play a game of cricket against Wistaston the next day. Well, it certainly beats cutting the lawn and washing the car.
The ‘tour’ took place in the middle of September and, although there was much mirth about a ‘world cricket tour to Wistaston’, at least some sort of activity involving travelling, drinking and cricket was taking place. The players rendezvoused at the Admiral Rodney in Prestbury. We had one late withdrawal when Tony was unexpectedly called away to Thailand. As excuses go, it was certainly more impressive than tea with the mother-in-law or tickets for a Boyzone concert.
While we waited in the Admiral Rodney, we took bets on who would arrive last. Every club has someone who is habitually late. The Ash Tree has two main candidates: Joe and Andrew. Joe shocked us all by strolling in well before the deadline; possibly the fact that we were meeting in a pub might have helped. Andrew however was not there on time. The driver of the minibus that we had hired was revving his engine, ready to set off. The ‘quick half before we go’ had become a couple of pints when Andrew eventually arrived with some bizarre story about having to catch some budgerigars that had escaped. You couldn’t make it up.
The minibus finally started on its Nantwich odyssey. We got as far as Over Peover, which is about five miles away and not really on the direct route to Nantwich. The reason for the slight diversion was the Park Gate Inn. You could buy seven pints of Sam Smiths and still have change from a tenner. With no worries about drinking and driving, it was too good an opportunity to miss. Rum babas in Barbados, martinis in Corfu and a glass of Chablis in France have all got their place but you can’t really beat a pint of Sam Smiths at £1.38.
While supping our beer, we had an enlightened and intellectual debate about the environment and carbon footprints. The talk moved on to polar bears and farting elks, and went downhill from there. As well as the incredibly cheap Sam Smiths, the food at the Park Gate was good too and at one point it looked like the tour wouldn’t get any further than Over Peover. Only iron discipline from the tour manager ensured that the tour party got back on track.
Mark was still salivating about his Black Pudding Tower as we drove through Crewe, which to be honest is usually the best thing to do with Crewe. We arrived at a Travel Lodge just outside Nantwich which, as luck would have it, was next door to a pub called the Peacock. No expense was to be spared on this trip.
After booking in and a quick drink at the Peacock, we headed off in the direction of Nantwich. It’s a delightful town with many fine hostelries, some of which we sampled before having a late evening meal.
Once we had eaten, we had one final port of call on our Saturday night Nantwich adventure. Our destination was Nakatcha, advertised as “the newest and hippest nitespot in Nantwich.” Just five minutes walk and we found it. Outside the door were four bouncers dressed in their ubiquitous black. These bouncers are trained to spot troublemakers at twenty paces and they obviously knew they were on to something when they saw a group of veteran Taverners cricketers approaching.
As we entered the club, one of our party was apprehended by a bouncer and told that he couldn’t go in. Was it the red stains on his jeans where some wine had been spilt during the meal? Was the faded denim shirt just a bit too passé for their establishment? Was he simply too old? No, it was the footwear that was unacceptable. During their training, these bouncers have part of their brain removed and a small microchip put in its place, which says ‘NO TRAINERS ALLOWED’.
Nantwich farmers wearing wellington boots were allowed in. Fourteen-year-old girls in flip flops were OK but very expensive, top of the range Salomon trainers were not. We tried to reason with the bouncer: “Look you fascist bastard, what’s wrong with them?” It didn’t work. Some people just won’t listen to rational argument. Then we tried some acerbic wit: “It looks like a bit of a shithole anyway.” Things were beginning to get out of hand.
At this point Mark, the Ash Tree Chairman, came over to try and calm the situation but it was too late; something had upset the bouncers. “We’re calling the police,” they said. “It’s all on CCTV you know.” With armed response units being mobilised all over Cheshire and the prospect of ten years in Strangeways looming, we decided to cut our losses. We hailed a minibus and headed back to the Peacock.
Having got back to the pub, Mark and Andrew announced that they refused to be dictated to by a bunch of bouncers and, singing “The boys are back in town”, they set off again for the wild streets of Nantwich. Their footwear was deemed acceptable and so they were allowed into Nakatcha. They chatted up the fourteen-year-old girls in flip-flops and danced with the Nantwich farmers. Ash Tree honour had been satisfied.
At breakfast in the Peacock next morning, Crawford, our captain, reawakening memories of Ash Tree tour captains of yesteryear, was heard to say, “What time does the bar open?” I think he was after a hair of the elk that farted, or something like that. David asked for Bloody Mary but she refused to serve him. We scanned the Sunday papers but could find no mention of any major crowd disturbances in Nantwich. We then reminded ourselves that we were on a cricket tour and prepared for the impending battle against Wistaston.
Mention of a Chairman and a Captain will indicate to you that the Ash Tree is a proper cricket club with all the appropriate club positions. As well as the Chairman and Captain we have a President, a Club Secretary,
a Treasurer, a Vice-Captain, a Fixture Secretary, a Social Secretary, a Press Officer, an Assistant Press Officer and a Fines Chairman. In fact, almost as many positions as we have members who pay their ‘subs’. All these positions are ‘democratically’ elected at the AGM in November. In all the years I have played for the club, I don’t remember a single contested election. The Ash Tree cricket club has more in common with a communist state than a democratically run organisation and I suspect most cricket clubs are the same. John is President for life and Mark is Chairman for life, albeit nominally elected each year.
The role of Captain is the key position. It is by a long way the most onerous job in any cricket club. It is not so much what he has to do during a match, it’s the getting eleven players on to the pitch in the first place that’s the difficult bit. Each year, someone will be persuaded, cajoled, blackmailed if necessary, into taking the job. This all happens before the AGM. God forbid that we should get to the AGM and not know who is going to be democratically elected to the key positions.
County cricket captains are appointed by ‘the committee’, so not much different to the Ash Tree really. They just don’t bother with the pretence of democracy. Quite the most astonishing appointment came in 1946 when Surrey offered the captaincy to Major Nigel Bennett, by mistake. Evidently, the original choice of captain, Monty Garland-Wells, had to withdraw because his father had died. The committee decided to offer the captaincy to Major Leo Bennett, a well-known club cricketer. While this was going on, Major Nigel Bennett turned up at the Oval to renew his Surrey membership. The clerk took his papers in to the Secretary who happened to be with the Chairman and they offered Major Nigel Bennett the captaincy. He accepted!
Sir Alec Bedser called it a “cock up” and blamed it on the post war confusion at the Oval which, among other things, had been prepared for use as a prisoner-of-war camp, although never actually used as such. During an early season game, Major Bennett did not endear himself to Alf Gover, Surrey’s opening bowler, when he twice rolled the new ball along the ground to him. Later, he asked Jim Laker, who had just joined Surrey, to open the bowling. When he replied that he was an off break bowler Bennett said “But you bowl quick too don’t you?”
Major Bennett did manage three fifties, including 79 against Kent and scored 688 runs in the season, so he obviously knew which end to hold the bat. The Surrey players, on the whole, seemed relaxed about the situation. “I reckon we can cope with him for the summer,” one apparently said. “His wife’s a real cracker.”
I imagine that if you have come through six years of war you are just happy to be playing some cricket instead of being shot at. Surrey finished joint 11th in the County Championship, their lowest position ever, and Wisden, commenting on Bennett’s performance as captain, noted that “want of knowledge of county cricket on the field presented an unconquerable hindrance to the satisfactory accomplishment of arduous duties.” Which I’m sure is exactly how the Sun would have put it if it had been around at the time. Errol Holmes, who had been captain before the war, was invited to take over for the 1947 season.
The Ash Tree captain in 2007 was Crawford. He is not normally lacking in negotiating skills but came back from the toss with the Wistaston captain to announce that local rules applied and we would be playing 40 overs per innings. We normally only play 30 overs each innings and, while ten extra overs may not sound much, several of the team were still feeling a little tired and emotional. Suffice to say, not everyone welcomed the extra overs with open arms.
Wistatston batted first and we actually did quite well to begin with, considering they seemed to have one or two Saturday league players obviously looking to improve their runs aggregate for the season. Those extra ten overs predictably took their toll and Wistaston finally ended up on 230 from their allotted overs.
After a very welcome tea to sustain us, we started our innings. It looked a tall order from the outset and so it proved. At 133 for 6 and with more than ten overs to go, the rain came to our rescue. Crawford assured us all that the alacrity with which he accepted the Wistaston’s captain’s offer of a draw was no reflection on his faith in the batsmen still to come.
The champagne moment of the match was shared between Joe’s excellent diving catch at cover, cigarette still in mouth and Chris’s imperious pull for his second consecutive boundary, the bowler having changed from gentle Sunday Taverners leg breaks to fierce Saturday league pace after the first boundary.
England had started that summer with a series win against what was arguably the worst West Indies team ever to tour this country. A long running dispute between the West Indies Cricket Board and the players was still continuing when they arrived and can not have helped the team’s frame of mind. They only had one warm up match before the First Test. This was rained off and the West Indian bowlers arrived at Lords without having bowled a single ball in anger. It was Peter Moores’ first Test series as England coach and he could not have asked for an easier introduction to international cricket.
Pietersen, Prior, Vaughan, Collingwood and Cook all averaged over 50. Even Sidebottom averaged 49, admittedly with the help of some ‘not outs’. That Panesar should be the leading England wicket taker in a series played on the green wickets of May and June was a reflection on both the West Indies’ batting and England’s seam attack.
The Lords Test was a draw due to rain but England won the three remaining Tests. Shivnarine Chanderpaul was a lone beacon of resistance for the West Indies. He top scored in every innings that he played and ended with an average of 148.66 – the highest ever Test series average for an overseas batsman in England. He left Don Bradman, Steve Waugh, Viv Richards and Garry Sobers in his wake.
With the Test series over, the West Indies Cricket Board continued to do their best to disrupt their team’s progress. The selectors wanted to offer the job of one-day captain to Chris Gayle. The Board rejected this initially and said they wanted Daren Ganga, who had stood in for the injured Sarwan in the Tests, to continue. Eventually Gayle was appointed but it was yet another example of mismanagement by the West Indies Board and hardly conducive to team morale.
With Chris Gayle finally in charge, the Twenty:20 series was drawn one apiece. In the first ODI, England struggled to a total of 225 but the Windies were shot out for 146. Once again Chanderpaul stood alone, with 53 not out. Somehow the West Indies managed to recover, perhaps responding to Gayle’s laid back Jamaican charisma. They won both the next two games comfortably and Paul Collingwood had lost his first one-day series as captain, 2 – 1. Chanderpaul got a century in the second ODI, unbeaten of course. In the deciding game, it was difficult to know which was the more surprising: Chanderpaul being out for only 33 or Chris Gayle taking forty-two overs for his 82.
It was a season of two halves for England. The three match series against India that followed the games against the West Indies had everything. Good cricket from both sides, bouncers, beamers, barging and jelly babies.
None of the Ashes winning bowling quintet of 2005 were available for England against India. Flintoff, Harmison, Hoggard and Jones were all injured and Giles had retired. With no ‘all-rounder’ to take Flintoff’s place, England reverted to a four man bowling attack made up of Anderson, Sidebottom, Tremlett and Panesar.
Bad light and rain ultimately thwarted England in the First Test at Lords but did not prevent it from being a very exciting game. Had Hawk-Eye been the umpire, Panesar’s imploring appeal for LBW against Sreesanth would have been upheld and England would have won. As it was, Steve Bucknor turned it down and a few minutes later, the teams came off for bad light.
In the Second Test at Trent Bridge, an England player placed some jelly babies near the stumps when Zaheer Khan went out to bat. Although there was no TV footage to support it, some of the newspapers named Ian Bell as the most likely culprit. Ian Bell?! Up to that point, the general impression was that geese could confidently approach Bell without any fear of a boo. Could it really have been him and if so why did he do it?
During the same Test match, Sreesanth seemed to be on a one-man mission to rough up the England batsmen. He shoulder barged Michael Vaughan, bowled a beamer at Kevin Pietersen and overstepped by two feet to bowl a bouncer at Paul Collingwood. He was fined half his match fee for the barge and apparently given a talking to by Dravid, the Indian captain.
This is how it should be. It is part of the captain’s job to set the standards for the team and if a player transgresses, then it is right that he should have a word with him. Cook missed a trick when he pretended that he hadn’t heard Graeme Swann say “F**k off” to Siddique when he finally got him out in England’s second Test against Bangladesh in March 2010. Maybe Cook is an Arsenal supporter and had been taking lessons from Arsene Wenger? An Arsenal player could take out a Kalashnikov and gun down the entire opposition midfield and Wenger would say he hadn’t seen it.
To Swann’s credit, he apologised unreservedly afterwards. His outburst was born of tiredness and frustration having bowled 49 overs in Bangladesh’s second innings. All Cook had to say was that Swann had said it in the heat of the moment and he was sure that he regretted it. If he had done that then, not only would he have maintained the moral high ground, but also shown himself to be a leader with a mind of his own. The ‘Wenger approach’ did him no credit.