Can Anyone Hear Me?

by Peter Baxter

  Trinidad was one place where we were combining forces. This occasionally presented the odd problem.

  Wednesday 14 February 1990

  I was at the ground just over an hour before we were due on the air for the first one-day international, in order to do the first report on conditions for Radio 2. Unfortunately no one from Radio Trinidad was there to unlock the box and I had the frustrating sound of my phone ringing inside, without being able to get at it.

  After the game was abandoned to the rain, our post-match duties were quite light but as I was having dinner later I was told that all our conversation with London as we waited to record at the close of play had been transmitted live over Radio Trinidad. I hope we were restrained in our language.

  Both the Trinidad one-day internationals were rained off. I was to discover over future trips that this was not at all unusual for this island.

  The Test match there on this tour was also affected by the weather in its latter stages. A tight game left England with only 151 to make in the best part of the whole of the last day.

  The West Indies bowling was as hostile as ever, but progress was encouraging until Gooch was hit painfully on the left hand by a ball from Ezra Moseley. He retired hurt and went off to hospital for an X-ray. Then, half an hour before lunch, rain brought them off at 73 for one, with 78 more needed.

  We waited through a frustrating afternoon. When conditions were again declared fit by the umpires, it was fairly clear that the West Indies players – and, indeed, a fairly lethargic groundstaff – did not agree.

  Wednesday 28 March 1990

  Because of a deplorable over-rate in the morning, there were still ten overs to go before the statutory last twenty started. Gooch’s hand had been announced as only ‘bruised’, but, having seen his agony, we did not expect him to bat.

  The West Indies bowlers started on a session of the slowest progression through overs I have ever seen. Those first ten overs took an hour and a quarter. You could barely see Ezra Moseley moving as he walked back to his mark.

  The light was fading, with the last twenty overs being started fifteen minutes after the scheduled close of play. And then wickets started to fall to Walsh and Bishop.

  Eventually, with only 31 runs needed, David Capel and Jack Russell, the batsmen, had to concede that it was now dangerously dark in the face of that fast attack and in these conditions, with five wickets down and Gooch injured they could even lose. So they accepted the third offer of bad light and the match was drawn

  As I walked down the ground to the pavilion for close of play interviews, I could appreciate that the bowlers’ run-ups were indeed, quite wet.

  Wednesday 28 March 1990

  In the usual bedlam at the end, I interviewed Gooch and Malcolm and discovered that Gooch’s hand really was broken, but he had not wanted either the West Indies or his own side to know. But he confirmed that, even with the injury, he would have come in next.

  Returning to the commentary box, I had to relay this to CMJ, who had recorded all his pieces and was ready to leave, but now had to re-do the lot. It was very dark when we left the Queen’s Park Oval.

  Four years later I was to leave the same ground in a state of shock after a devastating piece of fast bowling had shattered England’s aspirations.

  For most of the course of that 1994 Test, England had the upper hand. They had already suffered heavy defeats in Jamaica and Guyana, but here in Trinidad Chris Lewis and Angus Fraser first dismissed the West Indies for 252 and then saw the batsmen take a lead of 76, with Graham Thorpe to the fore. Six second innings wickets for Andrew Caddick meant that England needed just 194 to win. It should have been less, but for a late rally by the West Indies, helped by a couple of dropped catches.

  I was doing the commentary as England’s second innings started, after a brief shower had left fifteen overs of the fourth day’s play to go. I can still vividly remember my horror as Atherton propped half forward to the first ball from Ambrose and was lbw. And my cry of ‘Oh, no!’ is in the archives, as I watched the inevitability of the run out of Ramprakash in the same over. It was one for two and I was happy to pass the microphone to Vic Marks.

  Curtly Ambrose was bowling like a man possessed. Courtney Walsh was just his support act on this occasion, but the pride of these two great fast bowlers seemed like a force of nature, utterly determined to deny England their comeback victory. Robin Smith was bowled leg stump in Ambrose’s second over, Hick went in his fourth and Stewart in his fifth.

  Walsh at last got in on the act by removing Ian Salisbury, but Ambrose was back to dispose of Russell and, in the last over of the day, Thorpe. I was back on commentary for that one and I can still remember clearly the shell-shocked look on Graham Thorpe’s face as he was bowled by the sheer, blinding pace. In those fifteen overs the match had effectively been lost. England were 40 for eight at the close of play.

  The only question now was whether they could avoid their lowest ever score of 45. They did, but only by one, when Walsh cleaned up the last two wickets within twenty minutes on the final morning. The West Indies had secured the series – three-nil up, with two to play.

  England’s next performance was almost more horrible, as they slid to defeat at the hands of a West Indies Board XI in Grenada. With the Barbados Test to come next – on a ground where the West Indies had not lost a Test since 1935 – no one had any great expectations.

  Over the last twenty years, for England at least, playing in Barbados has become almost like playing at home, as far as support goes. This is also the part of the tour when the families arrive. Who can say whether it was this, or shame at what had gone before, but suddenly it was a different team.

  After the collapses in Trinidad and Grenada, England were put in to bat, understandably, by Brian Lara. It was well over half way through the day before they lost their first wicket. Atherton and Stewart had started with a stand of 171, Stewart going on to a century when Atherton had gone for 85.

  A burst of Ambrose on the second morning kept the total to 355. But now came Angus Fraser’s finest hour. He recorded the best figures ever by an England bowler against the West Indies, who could have been out for a lot less than their 304. But, as in Trinidad, Chanderpaul, batting with the tail, helped to see too many runs added by the last two wickets. The innings ended with Phil Tufnell, never traditionally the safest pair of hands, waiting under a skier. He caught it and it gave Fraser his eighth wicket, for 75.

  Angus Fraser is known for a slightly gloomy expression and that might owe something to occasions like this, when his great bowling effort was pushed out of the limelight by Alec Stewart’s second century of the match – the first England batsman to achieve that feat against the West Indies. With the contributions of Thorpe and Hick, England were able to declare shortly after tea on the fourth day and set the West Indies 446 to win.

  This time it was Andrew Caddick who took the honours, with five wickets. Tufnell took three and after 59 years, England had at last won in Barbados

  The two countries where we decided to mount our own commentary in 1990 were Guyana and Antigua, both places where the politics seemed to be closely woven into everything, radio broadcasting being no exception.

  We came to Guyana from Jamaica, where a shared commentary with Jamaica Broadcasting Corporation had worked very well. England had not visited the South American country since their enforced exit in 1981, following the row over Robin Jackman’s inclusion in the team, so this was a big moment. Tales about the country were not encouraging, but the welcome we received was genuine and the Pegasus hotel on the sea front turned out to be much better than anticipated, even if it did have the world’s worst pianist in its restaurant.

  Communications were still fraught, with (we were told) only eight international telephone lines out of the country. Getting a call on one of them was a hit-or-miss business and required a lot of patience. And
trying to get through from the hotel was, we quickly discovered, a waste of time, because all the eight international lines had been transferred to the cricket ground for the duration of our stay.

  Money changing was to be another interesting business. The official government rate for Guyanese dollars was wholly unrealistic, so illegal deals had to be struck with taxi drivers in a remote corner of the hotel car park.

  One other thing marked the start of our time in Guyana – for me, at least. Our journey from Jamaica had been tortuous. While a direct flight might perhaps have taken a couple of hours, we landed at Puerto Rico, Antigua and Barbados in turn, before having to overnight in a rudimentary airport hotel in Trinidad. Then early next morning it was the short hop to Georgetown.

  Just to spice up proceedings, as we backed off the stand at Kingston I had seen a number of cases left on the tarmac and recognised mine among them. The passenger sitting immediately in front of me had also seen his. His name was Viv Richards, so the cabin crew were instantly alerted and they reassured us that our cases would catch up with us. It was to take a fairly unpleasantly sweaty 36 hours, however, before they did so.

  The hotel was a pleasant surprise – as indeed Georgetown was after its build-up. I even had the press liaison officer at the airport come up to me and say, ‘We must meet at the ground this afternoon, to site your commentary position’. I was greatly encouraged.

  My optimism was entirely misplaced, as the man failed to turn up at all and the local radio sports producer who was going to be in charge of GBC’s broadcast seemed unaware of our intentions, although we had corresponded on the subject long before I left England. The politics kicked in on the following afternoon, when I was taken to the GBC offices to meet the general manager.

  She denied that they had heard anything from us about our plans, even though I was holding a copy of their letter of reply. Eventually their line was that they had passed everything on to the cricket board. The Georgetown Cricket Club themselves, the owners of the Bourda ground, turned out to be much more helpful. They allocated me my preferred space and I engaged a carpenter to make the required alterations.

  However, GBC were to have the last laugh when the one-day international started. We were still dependent on their technical support and the engineer arrived late and with no idea how to work their equipment. Then I was told there were no lines. Then that ‘There is some question of payment’, that ‘There are negotiations’ and finally, ‘There has been no booking’.

  Meanwhile, on a lucky hit with a call to London, I discovered that on the line that we had been told did not exist, intermittent GBC commentary was being heard.

  The local telecom company promised better things for the Test match which followed. In the event, it didn’t follow. Days of rain caused the ground in what is a city below sea level to flood. Fish were found swimming on the outfield as the drainage ditches round the ground overflowed.

  Sunday 11 March 1990

  I have never seen a wetter cricket ground than this. More rain all night had left the press box and commentary box marooned. It was impossible to get to the press box without wading through water at least six inches deep. The commentary box could be approached – with difficulty – along the stands. The engineer arrived, wired up the mixer and then disappeared. I discovered how to connect the solitary microphone and switch the antique equipment on and we gathered round CMJ to do a half hour’s chat for TMS, before returning to the rather drier hotel.

  Eventually the Test was abandoned to an extra one-day international on what should have been the last day.

  On subsequent Caribbean tours I was to grow quite fond of Georgetown, which is a unique place. The government was to change before our next visit, which seemed to open the place up. Certainly communications improved beyond all measure. The city is defended from flooding by a sea wall, built by the Dutch, and by a system of drainage canals. The buildings are mainly of wood, using the greenheart hard wood from the abundant rainforests.

  Since my last visit there, Bourda has been replaced as the main cricket ground by a new stadium, built with Indian money for the 2007 World Cup, but the old wood-built ground had so much charm, particularly in its large, airy pavilion.

  On that last visit, in 2004, for a one-day international, our usual hotel was full and, along with three other journalists, I was placed in a remarkable hotel on the sea wall called the Emba-Sea. The significance of the name did not strike me until I discovered that it was a former part of the Russian Embassy. This enormous compound – needed, I suppose, in the Cold War days – had been divided by a chain link fence and what had once been diplomats’ apartments were now hotel rooms. It was austere but roomy and throughout our four or five days there the rain lashed down, completing the impression of the Soviet era. As I set up the small satellite dish to broadcast, directing it over the embassy roof, I could imagine suspicious eyes watching me.

  With all the rain that had fallen, the secretary of the Guyana Cricket Board assured me 36 hours before the event that there was no chance of play in the one-day international. Next morning, looking at the ground and talking to the West Indies stand-in captain, Ramnaresh Sarwan, I could only agree, and my reports reflected this situation.

  Saturday 17 April 2004

  Late in the afternoon I had a call from Reds Pereira about the postponement of some awards ceremony.

  ‘Sorry if it’s a bit noisy,’ he said. ‘It’s the helicopter.’

  ‘What helicopter?’ I asked.

  ‘They’re drying the ground with it.’

  ‘But surely there’s no chance of play?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘They’ll play tomorrow.’

  After my own inspection, I was hastily on the line to London to change my previous assessment of the situation.

  Amazingly, after another intervention from the helicopter, they did play and gave us an exciting finish, with England winning with three balls to spare from an unpromising position.

  After our Guyanese experiences on the 1990 tour, I decided that we needed to be more self-sufficient for our next separate commentary, scheduled for the final Test in Antigua. My wife was due to join me in Barbados just before that, so I arranged for her to bring the necessary extra kit. Ultimately it proved to be an advantage for her at Gatwick, when she was asked at check-in what it was. ‘I don’t know,’ she said and to calm her distress at this, British Airways upgraded her to business class.

  In Antigua the obstruction to our doing our own commentary was more open, involving both the Antigua Cricket Association and the Antigua Broadcasting Service. I had to get the cooperation of my colleagues in the written press to allow us to take over the front row of the press box as a commentary position, which is never a popular idea, but on this occasion they could appreciate the crisis. (They probably also hoped there might be some lively diplomatic action played out in front of them.)

  Having arrived early and set up my equipment I had a visit from the vice president of the Antigua Cricket Association.

  Thursday 12 April 1990

  People had mentioned to me from previous tours a rather difficult individual called Victor Michael, who now appeared, in order to tell me that I would not be allowed to broadcast from anywhere inside the ground. ‘You would not allow it at Lord’s,’ he declared.

  ‘We frequently do,’ I told him. ‘In fact in two months time we shall be laying on full commentary facilities there for All India Radio.’ He also seemed genuinely surprised to be told that we have a substantial contract with the West Indies Cricket Board to broadcast this series.

  ‘I will check on that,’ he said.

  He was back a few minutes later to tell me that there was no contract. I told him that was rubbish, but he was now into telling me that he didn’t like us because he hadn’t liked CMJ’s attitude on the previous tour.

  We had done the deal for the broadcas
ting rights – at the time the biggest rights deal we had ever done for an overseas tour – with an American executive of Trans World International (TWI), Bill Sinrich. He had made the mistake, once the deal had been done, of telling me to come to him with any problems on the tour. This seemed like one, so I sought him out.

  Thursday 12 April 1990

  Bill presented himself to Victor Michael, as our rather undignified meeting continued in the car park behind the pavilion.

  Michael was not prepared to believe him as he had never met him, so we had to await the arrival of Steve Camacho, the secretary of the West Indies Board.

  In the meantime I spoke to the Cable and Wireless operations room, who were not prepared to make the final connection to our line without the Antigua Cricket Association’s permission.

  So the Test Match started with CMJ on the phone in the press box and me being hauled off to yet another meeting behind the pavilion, on the fringes of which stood the local Cable and Wireless director, with a walkie-talkie.

  Steve Camacho knew the local politics and I realised that his speech was to please the locals, rather than to worry me.

  ‘There was no agreement for your own commentary,’ he said, ‘only feeds of local commentary.’