Needle (concluded) (I hope).

1. I sent them a conciliatory email apologising for the mistakes made by our team. I received a very kind reply - their supremo said he totally understood, that we clearly have a nice bunch of lads and that it can be hard to assimilate new players to the culture, especially if you have a new captain, which we do.

So far, so good. But he then puts my email up on their club's site. Now this isn't great for two reasons: 1) I criticise, albeit fairly (I hope), the players involved in the controversy on our team. None of it is stuff I wouldn't say to their faces, but then I'd rather that was the case, rather than read on the website of another club. 2) The email was an attempt to rebuild bridges and an apology for two specific incidents: I don't want it to be taken as the sum total of my views as to what happened that day. Had I wanted to offer that, I'd have sent them the post below (perhaps expanded) and no doubt a whole bunch of tedious arguments would have continued as a result.

I know why he's done it: he wants to keep the people within the club who are pissed off happy and prepared to play us again so he can get XI on the pitch in August. I don't really blame him. And actually that's something I left off the original post - there was, and isn't there always - a wide array of views in their team, from fury to mild amusement at said fury.

I tell him to make a few edits if he's going to use the mail, which he does promptly. I guess the matter's closed, albeit not in quite the manner I'd like - somehow I seem to have come out of it slightly worse than anyone else, what with looking needlessly obsequieous to the opposition and like a bit of a backstabber to my own team, but on the plus side the long term hassle has been kept to a minimum...result. Kind of.

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2: Update one day on: I told myself I wouldn't blog any more on this. But this is the issue that's exercising me. Being honest about this isn't going to do me any favours. But fuck it. I told myself I'd do a diary of a season and be as sincere as I could be.

To recap: Off my own bat, and even though I wasn't playing in the game, I sent the opposition the world's most contrite email, and not only do they fail to acknowledge they might not have been entirely graceful in their own behaviour, they put it up on their website. What the fuck? I mean, it's just shocking isn't it?

Well here's the thing. It's not in the slightest, not to me anyway. If I'm honest, I saw it coming. Like me, the person who did it has a huge interest in preserving the status quo, because he knows how hard failure to do so can make his life. But even so, to be completely unapologetic...well, play enough of this standard of game/deal enough with the people that run these teams and you come to be utterly familiar with this kind of behaviour. The mentality is simple: we may not win in the cricket stakes, but we shall absolutely dominate the moral high ground, and we'll do it with the kind of grit and determination that would make Steve Waugh shudder. Last season I saw a defeated captain walking off the pitch with his hand outstretched, taking huge offence at the fact none of our players were shaking it, even though he'd unintentionally/on purpose left enough space between himself and them so that they didn't notice him. In my experience it's just best to leave them to it.

But CC! What about your team's good name? What about your own reputation? Where are your principles? Your scruples?

Ah, my dears. They took a swan dive out the window and splatted head first on the pavement when I took on the fixtures job.

You spend six months emailing people, trying to get your dates right, trying to find grounds, swapping said dates dozens of times because X suddenly can't do that weekend and Y can't do that one and this ground is being used by a local blind team so you can't take that off them and that one's not available till June and the useless council worker's lost your booking form and...finally get to the season and all you're worried about is how your work's gone: is the pitch alright? Are the opposition too good? Too bad?  Does everyone like each other? Does everyone hate each other?

I've talked to loads of fixtures secretaries - I have to. Almost all agree: it's the easiest possible way to wreck your enjoyment of the game. And almost all say: they only do it because no one else will. Once the season gets under way, all they want is the quietest life possible. You want to sit astride the moral high horse? Saddle up, cowboy: I'm afraid I haven't the energy to ride alongside you.

Look at it this way: I'm not spending this week arguing the toss over a game I didn't play in. I don't have to try and find a new fixture for later in the year. When the two teams next play, not only will we not be that bunch of cunts that cheated: we'll be that team that apologised. I expect plenty of their players will feel a teensy bit guilty: good luck winning a fight with someone who's just bent over and spread their arse cheeks wide open in front of you. If it does get nasty, fine. I'll even join in the fun. After all, I've got all Winter to sort a new game.

So that's all great for me. Of course there was a bit of fallout on our club website. A couple of salient points were made, not least that the opposition actually lost because of their fielding (which they probably did) and that there's no moral responsibility to keep our own feelings private after they went ahead and published the email (how true). But then I made very clear in the email that this was just a personal apology from an individual. If other people in the club want to fight the good fight, there's nothing to stop them. Something tells me that, rather as I've concluded, they'll decide it's just not worth the bother. 

Needle

What was I saying? Oh yes - cricket - it's stressful enough without even playing.

So having arrived at the ground an hour into the game to watch the team play I'm informed by the spectators and batsmen waiting to go in that there's 'a bit of an atmosphere'. The short story, it seems, is that two of our batsman have nicked it behind and neither have walked nor been given out. The unusual thing about this is that there doesn't seem to be any questioning from our team: both of the men in bat were out, and yet both are still out in the middle. How on earth can that even happen? Surely at least one of them must have walked? 

The full story emerges by degrees. It goes like this....

In the first instance both umpire and batsman didn't think there was an edge. Once the umpire saw the fielders' reaction he knew he'd made an mistake, but there wasn't much he could do. The batsman still claims he hit his pad rather than the ball. However, no one else on the team agrees with him. Frankly said batsman is not a great judge of a cricket ball's whereabouts at the best of times. It was pure incompetence on batsman and umpire's parts. It's embarrassing and certainly annoying for the opposition, but frankly, my view would be that shit happens, especially at our level. 

The second instance is less innocent. Here the umpire wasn't sure if the batsman was out, and expected him to walk. Said batsman has only recently joined from higher level cricket overseas and to him walking isn't the done thing. Now this isn't great. Clearly words have to be had. I'm not claiming to be Adam Gilchrist, but if I think the harmony of a game's under threat and I know I'm out then I'll piss off. Evidently this chap has no such qualms.  

The real problem with both these events is that they happen within about ten minutes of each other. The opposition are massively fucked off, and it's understandable. Their captain calls me over for a chat even though I'm only there to watch. All I can really do is say I didn't see what happened - I didn't - but that the consensus is both batsmen were out, and we're sorry.

It doesn't help. Now from this point on the opposition take it too far, in my view. One of their batsmen goes out to umpire and refuses to give a thing. Every batsman who comes back seems to rant and rave about how we're a bunch of cheating cunts. One batsman plays a stunning innings and the game goes down to the final over, but the entire match is marred by a spiteful atmosphere. At least half our players apologise to their players, and the apologies are grudgingly accepted at best.

I never used to get rattled by this kind of stuff. Certainly back when I played league this kind of thing was de rigeur. Sledging, bowlers chucking the ball at batsmen's heads in their follow-through, near-fist fights - I've seen it all, and sometimes I was relatively near the middle of it. You cross the white line, go hell for leather and that's the end of it. You don't have to see each other till next year and if people are really offended then the league authorities can deal with the discipline.

But friendly cricket requires different behaviour. If this fixture is abandoned - which I think is quite likely - then the fall-out makes my life, as fixtures secretary, much more difficult. I have to find a new couple of opponents. A new team willing to host us in May. It doesn't help our reputation - this lot play a lot of the teams we do - which could make finding said new opposition harder.

The annoying thing is that in the cold light of day there was nothing malicious in what transpired - there hardly ever is in such cases. It's very, very rare that there's deliberate cheating. Test umpires get things wrong all the time. It's cricket. But if you put someone out there to umpire who a) Might not be that good at it and b) Is from the batting team, it's surprising there aren't more arguments. And on top of that cricketers - no, sportsmen and supporters generally - always take a ridiculously subjective view of what's playing out before their eyes. 

Maybe I feel my description of yesterday's events is objective for the simple reason I just don't care as much as some people involved. Maybe it's because I wasn't actually playing in the game. Or maybe - just maybe - my view is as biased and deluded as anyone else's. I don't know. But I do know I'm not alone in that regard.

CC's week - fairly typical

On Monday I thought I was going to play cricket: I was happy.
On Tuesday I realised we had 19 people available for our game. I ruled myself out hoping to get another game: I was happy.
On Wednesday the other club said they didn't have room. I was sad.
On Thursday I found another club to play for. I was happy.
On Friday it looked like the game was going to be rained off according to the BBC. I was sad. Then I looked at the Met Office site and it looked like we'd get away with it. I was happy again.
On Saturday I got on the tube to go to the game. I was happy. While on the Tube I got a call saying it was rained off. I was sad. Then my mate phoned to say he was going to watch the other team play and would I like to come? I was as happy as I could be.

Cricket: it's stressful enough without even playing.

Great Televised Cricket Matches of Our Times #2

Captain Mainwaring's XI vs ARP Wardens, 'The Test', 1970


This bit features a brilliant cameo from Fred Trueman. Hilarious. Part 1 and Part 2 if you want to watch the whole thing.

My deep and abiding love for Robin Smith

1. The fear
The first cricket book I ever owned was Robin Smith's Batting Skills (Hamlyn, 1994). This was one in a series of two glossy editions - the other being Malcolm Marshall's Bowling and Fielding Skills - and they were both wonderful books. The editors had given both cricketers free reign in their production, and how much better they were for it. Both were beautifully illustrated with step-by-step photos from the Hampshire ground in Southampton (and there in the background was CC's coach, making the dream seem tantalisingly attainable). But it wasn't the production values that made them so special.

In terms of technique, the Marshall book was perhaps slightly less helpful - the product of an awesome natural athlete ('To get ready for a game I do 150 sit ups a day' - well, that didn't last very long for the CC, even as a bright eyed, bushy tailed, 14-year-old) and unconventional bowling talent (he explains his action in detail, but the truth is that 90% of people find a chest-on action hard to carry out, and those that do find it extremely hard to move it both ways like he did, never mind the 90mph pace).

It was the Smith book I turned to the most. In terms of technique it had little to say that the MCC manual didn't. But what made it fascinating were the personal touches. Smith's career was on the verge of ending when the book was written. He was honest about his struggles against spin, showed himself a keen student of the game (there were even little snippets of Cardus in there), was honest about some of the technical mistakes he had made in his career, and above all, he talked honestly about fear.

Now 'fearless' is the word most commonly applied to Smith. This video is something of a YouTube favourite for many a CC:

He describes it as his favourite session in bat. How on earth could anyone enjoy that? A broken jaw, bruises left right and centre, barely a run off the bat - it's more trench warfare than batting. Is the man mad? How could he not be utterly petrified?

Well now, here's the thing. As he explains in the book - he is. In fact, he says, he's as scared as you or I would be. But as he writes, the difference between Robin Smith and you or I (besides the supreme talent, natch) is that he's learned to use the fear positively. He talks about the psychological process by which he does so. He has a choice between fight or flight - and he manages to direct his thoughts towards the former. He talks about visualisation, but doesn't go into much detail as to how he achieves it.

Despite the lack of detail, it's something I've always tried to copy. I have many flaws as a batsman, but on the few occasions I've faced really quick bowlers I've done ok. Between every ball, I remember as many past failures as I can. This makes me feel angry, and somehow the nervousness shifts to something else. It's a subtle form of self-kidology. It's a tigthrope - it only takes a slight shift in thought - and getting hit by the ball is enough to do it - for those thoughts to become something entirely less positive.

This goes hand-in-hand with a technical point - if the bowling's really quick, I force myself to get in line as early as possible. It's a little like skiing - if you don't lean towards the danger (in that case the ground whizzing by at speed), then the danger comes to you. In terms of batting, you have far more time if you move into the ball early - either front or back foot - than if you decide late, or worse, back away to square leg.

As Smith also points out, the fast bowler is like a shark. You might be scared, but it's not just yourself you're deluding - it's vital to hoodwink the bowler too. If you don't, he'll see a weakness, and you'll get one of the two balls you're probably most dreading - a nasty bouncer or a yorker. Hook him for four and he's less likely to try the bumper again. And that's why body language and swagger are as important as silly Ian Bell said prior to the last home Ashes. It might sound ridiculous to boast to journalists about 'working on your body language', but it's all part of an elaborate, vital, double deception.

The other interesting point Smith makes is that a scary time at the crease can come when you least expect it. Who was the bowler who bowled him the most terrifying spell? Bishop? Ambrose? Walsh? No - the answer, and I'm not making this up - is hitherto-not-very-scary 90s trundler Mark Illott. Smith faced him on a dodgy pitch, and like many left armers he had a hard-to-pick bouncer. I suppose the lesson to take is that you shouldn't make assumptions about what it'll be like in the middle. I've definitely felt more fear on the skiddy indoor Oval nets against people bowling in the 70s (and the run-ups are shortened) than facing proper quicks outdoors.

Now this is all deeply relative. What I learned from Smith's book has worked half a dozen times against guys bowling low in the 80s. I've seen Brett Lee and Wasim Akram bowl live, and I can tell you without doubt: if I faced *that* shit, I'd run away. But the important point is this. If Robin Smith was scared of the quicks, it's ok for you to be. It's what you do with the fear that matters.

2. The man
From day one, Smith gave the impression of being a serious batsman. 'Stocky' barely begins to describe his build. He had forearms like York hams. Rather like Gooch, there's no doubt that he was at his very best playing raw, unsophisticated fast bowling that fed the hook, pull, and above all the cut - most famously, he demolished Merv Hughes at Trent Bridge in 1989 (Hughes: 'You can't fucking bat.' A great many fours later: Smith: 'A fine pair we make - I can't fucking bat and you can't fucking bowl').Unlike Gooch, he had a more orthodox technique and the swinging ball posed him less of a problem.

The story goes that, despite all the heroics against the Windies pace attack, Smith couldn't play spin. To which I reply: bollocks. Smith couldn't play Shane Warne. That hardly put him in unusual company. '93 was a bad year for Smith. Prior to coming up against Warne for the first time, he had gone to India and struggled against their triumvirate of spinners. But again, so did everyone else (with the bizarre exception of Chris Lewis, who hit a most improbable century). The most deadly was a lanky, young, bespectacled whirler called Anil Kumble. Coach Fletcher's appraisal prior to the series? 'I didn't see him turn a single ball from leg to off. I don't think we'll have a problem against him.'

No, Smith fell foul of coming up against two bowlers who would go on to be the world's best spinners in quick succession. Batsman learn and adapt - I have no doubt he'd have played Kumble better second time around, at least. There was a falling out with the management too - he was accused of 'having too many fingers in too many pies'. Well, no doubt he did - he'd opened an equipment firm (which still does great business in Hampshire) and was, I think, a shareholder in a number of other companies. He shared the entrepreneurialism of many South Africans, but was it affecting his performance? Didn't seem so to me.

I only saw him bat live once. It was at Taunton. The pitch was very good. Somerset's bowler's, it's fair to say, weren't. The ball vanished with a crack like a shotgun blast. No ground was big enough for him, on his day.

Robin Smith was a great player. That is all ye need to know.

Milichamp and Hall bats are things of beauty and wonder

Yes, I know I've made this point before. At least half the times I've been out drinking with any cricketers for a start. Anyway, one link, two plugs.

This fella's vlog is sadly discontinued but it's good fun. Certainly reminds me why I don't want to play league any more. But anyway - his bat: what a thing of beauty. Even though I'm only going to be able to play half the games I want to this season I'm still seriously thinking about getting one, as I do every year. £300? Pah.

Batting with the tail

It probably does Lagaan (Land Tax) a disservice to watch this clip if you've not seen the film. But then it does go on for longer than some T20 matches and nigh-on four hours of singing, dancing and hugely overwrought acting might not be to your taste.

Ten years on, I don't know if a film like this would get the funding now. India is still cricket-mad, of course, but the vague sense that a win against England is a strike back at the old colonial masters seems less and less relevant. The country is more bullish in every sense - politically, economically, and certainly in terms of its cricket. The series this summer will be interesting. I actually make us marginal favourites, but I expect most don't.

Anyway, batting with the tail. Last season I found myself in much the same situation as this guy. No.11 at the other end, two overs left, two to win. Safe to say it didn't go quite so well. I went for the low-risk policy and waited for the bad ball. It meant I played out a maiden, which I didn't see as all that bad, thinking we could scamper a bye off the opener and then with the scores level I could have a go at hitting it. Unlike the British in this match, the opener bowled his first one full and straight. In retrospect I should have risked the big shots earlier. But then cricket's an easy game in retrospect.

In retrospect...ah, well. In retrospect I shouldn't have tried to pull a length ball against Havant in 95, should have moved my feet more at the Hampshire trials in '96, shouldn't have tried to drive an outswinger against KES Southampton in 97, shouldn't have charged down the pitch against Bryanston in 98, *definitely* shouldn't have got bowled the ball after being bowled by a no ball against Seaford College in '98, shouldn't have hooked a bouncer outside off against Hudson Park in '99, shouldn't have driven at a length ball against New College in 01,  shouldn't have dropped two chances in three balls against Paultons in 03, should have scored quicker against Ryde in '03, shouldn't have turned up hungover to shit against Thebertons in '04, shouldn't have swung across the line against Old Whits in '10, shouldn't have....

Why do we only really remember the failures? Every single one like a little death, eating away at you. I'd like to think that the game after this one Bhuvan (the batsman in Lagaan) fished at one outside off stump and went for three off twenty balls. That would be about right. Any Test batsman with an average under 50 - in fact most averaging over - has failed more times than he's succeeded. What an absolute turd of a game this is.