Innings of the Day - Nasser Hussain, 207, Edgbaston 97

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I put it to you that when Nasser wasn't busy breaking his fingers or getting angry at pretty much anyone in his immediate vicinity, he actually had as pretty a cover drive as Michael Vaughan.

15/05/11 - HAC Ground, London

What an extraordinary place to play cricket. It's a massive cliche, but you really do forget you're in the middle of London. A potted history: the HAC traces its origins back to 1537 when Henry VIII granted a Charter of Incorporation to the Guild of St George, an existing guild of archers and handgun men which became known as the Artillery Company. It is the only link between the army of today and the medieval 'trained bands' of the City of London set up to protect its citizens.

Since 1641 the HQ of the Artillery Company have been established in the Artillery Garden which also became the headquarters of archery for All England. The first recorded match was on 31 August 1730, when Surrey lost to London by '6 notches'. London won 20 guineas as a result, according to the Grub Street Journal.

The first Laws of Cricket were drawn up by the London Club who played on the ground. Cricket was banned at the ground in 1773, due to the large number of bets being placed on games (those who worry about match-fixing today should count themselves lucky they weren't following the game 150 years ago). The ban was only lifted in 1834. In the early half of the Twentieth Century the HAC was one of the strongest clubs in London. Now it only plays friendlies, though still to a very good level.

Of the match, rather less to say. Turned up with yet another biblical hangover. Reached 10 without too many dramas, got a bit impatient, took a massive hoon at one, edged it behind. Umpire was umming and ahhing, so - irony of ironies in the light of recent events - I walked. In the pub he's pretty certain I hit the ground. Not sure I believe him. Either way, it was a fucking crap shot.

We make 240-odd courtesy of one guy hitting a ton while another stodges out one of the dullest 30s I've seen in some time (not out at end, believe he came in during the 12th over). We then roll them out for bupkis (apart from one very good guy who's inexplicably been put at 9 making a 50). The pitch is somewhat worn - there's some sharp bounce at the start, but by the time we get to their innings it's barely getting above ankle height and all but two of them are bowled. Nice chaps though, and good spirit. Enjoy the snaps.

Book review: Darren Lehmann - Worth The Wait

I know it's a bit of a random choice and I'm also the small matter of six years out of date with this. To be honest, it wasn't particularly high on my list of reading priorities. It had gone somewhere at the bottom of a teetering pile of cricket books I'd nicked on my final shift at a newspaper's literary desk, and I'd forgotten I had it until I stumbled across it yesterday. Anyway, was at a loose end so I thought I'd give it a go.

The first thing to mention is that it's as badly-written as you might expect. Mr Lehmann, who's not shy of mentioning the fact that he didn't exactly put in the hours in the classroom with quite as much diligence as he did on the sports field, appears to have dispensed with a ghost writer and elected to tell his own story. Or at least I hope he has - if he hasn't the publisher's been employing a borderline illiterate.

But a badly-written book isn't as terrible a thing as it sounds. The voice we're reading is authentic. There are obvious problems with it - for instance, there's a bit at the end where he discusses his tactics against Muralitharan and how he changed his guard every ball to throw him off-line. It's fascinating, and we'd love to hear more of this kind of stuff, but the overwhelming bulk of his innings are described thus: "I was pleased to make 50; X was bowling really fast." Lehmann has the classic sportsman's problem of just simply being able to do, rather than describe, most of the extraordinary things of which he's capable. And he's not a guy who's big on introspection at the best of times - in the spirit of Adam Gilchrist's foreword, he's a typical larrikin who likes a beer, a fag, and watching his Aussie Rules. He just happens to be really good at cricket. He talks about how, when he fails, it's because of pressure 'not letting me bat how I normally do', but he barely describes what that normal manner is or how it's changed.

If Lehmann's near-muteness on his own input into games gets annoying, he makes up for it with the way he recounts everything around them, and his preoccupation with everyone else's performances is charmingly humble. The book really takes off when he gets into the Australian team. He's fascinating on the people around him. He was on the fringes of one of the most remarkable sports sides in history. Some of the stories he has are stunning. Shane Warne's cricket brain has never failed to amaze me, but did you know that on the night before this famous incident he told the team not to be too quick to walk if Gibbs caught the ball because he often didn't look like he had it under control before he threw it up to celebrate? Apparently the rest of the squad laughed it off.

Even more extraordinary, Steve Waugh didn't actually tell Gibbs he'd dropped the World Cup - he told him he'd lost the game. If that doesn't sound so ballsy, contemplate this: the Aussies needed 120 runs at 6 an over for almost the entire second half of their innings. Waugh, hardly the most natural of one-day dashers by that stage in his career and a man who'd been struggling of late, finished with a brilliant unbeaten ton.

He talks also about the Shane Warne drug scandal.  I don't think many of us believed at the time that he was trying to enhance his performance - as Lehmann points out, such drugs can't be used to sustain an improvement over six hours of play. His description of Warne addressing the team shows the remarkable bubble within which Test players are forced to live. Everything they do - on field and off - is so closely monitored that the dressing room becomes a sanctuary. Warne breaks down in tears, and has to run out. He describes the faces in the room as 'shattered'. Ricky Ponting - a man so often vilified as a captain - immediately addresses them to say they still have the best team in the tournament.

In this current Aussie test side I think it's a reasonable claim that Lehmann would be their best player. But like so many others - Stuart Law the most glaring case - he didn't even play 30 Tests. It's to his credit he doesn't show any bitterness. In fact he  concentrates on why the players around him - for opposition or country - are so talented. To him batting is an extension of personality. Langer is hyperactive, bouncing around the dressing room, while Hayden locks himself away in a separate room like a gladiator going out to war. It's Shoaib Akhtar that brings the best out of him: Hayden is prone to letting balls hit him, telling him he's not bowling fast enough. It's a mindset that Lehmann - a man who was knocked unconscious in only his second first class game - can't comprehend. Martyn is neat and organised in everything he does. Mark Waugh is as laid back as he appeared at the crease, forcing himself to read the paper so he doesn't fall asleep while waiting to bat. His strongest praise is reserved for Gilchrist and Warne - two players who redefined their roles in Test cricket. Of Warne, he makes the telling analysis that he became an even better bowler when he lost some of his natural talent (the huge-spinning stock ball), and had to work on variations.

But perhaps the most interesting bit of the book is when Lehmann talks about an episode that came to define his career. During an ODI against Sri Lanka, he wasn't batting well and finally ended up run out. Upon getting back to the team dressing room, he threw his toys out of the pram. He says in the book that there was no real reason - there wasn't any needle between the sides, and Australia were winning comfortably. During his tantrum he uttered 'those two words.' (He called the opposition 'black cunts'). The Sri Lankan team manager was outside and overheard him. He complained to the Australian management. Lehmann went straight to him and apologised. He then entered the Sri Lankan team dressing room, explained what he'd done and apologised once more. Several of them shook his hand and thanked him for his honesty.

The match referee, Clive Lloyd, summoned Lehmann to his office, along with the Australian and Sri Lankan team manager. The Sri Lankan team manager said that it was clear Lehmann had not been seeking to offend anyone, and that his apology had been contrite and near-instantaneous. Lloyd gave Lehmann a severe reprimand, and the business was concluded in-house.

Except it wasn't. A journalist had somehow found out about the incident, and it made its way onto the Internet. Within a short space of time, the ICC had organised a full tribunal. Lehmann was vilified by the media. He attended the tribunal which, as he points out, is an odd process - a full legal process except the man presiding over it is not a judge or indeed any kind of legal expert. For Lehmann's case, the presiding officer was in fact the same man who'd given him a slap on the wrist back at the ground: Clive Lloyd. This time he received a six-match ban.

One would never condone the words Lehmann uttered, and he has nothing but regret for what he said. The fact he said it in the privacy of the team dressing room and that it wasn't addressed to anyone isn't much of an excuse. But I do think there's cause for a little sympathy. It seems hypocritical that the ICC representative's decision at the time should be over-ridden simply because the issue became public. As Lehmann points out, if he'd denied saying anything, it would have been his word against theirs, and they could have taken no action. Now  again claiming you could have done the morally wrong thing isn't much of a defence, but one can see why he might have been annoyed after his first game back. During the Australian innings Adam Gilchrist marched over to the square leg umpire to complain that Rashid Latif had just called him a 'white cunt'. Latif denied it and no action was taken. I'm going to stick my neck out here and say that, judging by their respective conducts on the field, I'm more inclined to believe Gilchrist.

Like the dressing-room argument, it certainly doesn't excuse a disgusting act. And Lehmann doesn't ask for that - as he says, all he can do is apologise. He received a suitable punishment - and what is punishment without forgiveness? Whatever you may think, time has healed this issue: he is currently a successful IPL coach.

Probably the most interesting question is why he said those words at all. He can't explain. As he says: 'I don't see people as black and white - only as good or bad.' There's enough of a philosophical distinction there to keep Aristotle happy for weeks, but if we skirt round that, there's still an interesting question as to why he lost control in such a way. Cricket is a very strange game in that regard. My biggest dummy-spitting episode in recent years was after a decision which, in retrospect, was probably out. I've no idea why I was so annoyed at the time - I'd received far worse, and it was a particularly unimportant and friendly game. I still can't really explain my tantrum - like Lehmann, I was batting badly, and quite annoyed with myself. The concentration required to bat well evidently takes a toll on other parts of one's personality.

Anyway, that's the book. Probably not worth reading, especially now I've done it for you. Next week: CLR James. Slightly different.

(Council) Misery (contd).

Finally received an invoice for some pitches this morning. Have been overcharged to the tune of two extra dates I never booked. If I know my council officer, said games are up on her calendar, in three-inch-high felt-tip writing, with "CC'S CLUB PLAYING TOODAY" written there.

Emailed her to say there'd been a mistake. Out of office reply says she's on holiday for three straight weeks. No doubt she needs the break. Thought about trying to track down one of her colleagues, but couldn't face the thought of dealing with yet another total fucking spanner.

Have managed 13 hours' sleep over the past three days due to work. Every health issue I have - a surprising number (my medicine cabinet currently looks like a fucking sweet shop) comes to the fore when sleep deprived. None of them are particularly serious, but urticaria (internal and external), folliculitis, benign muscle fasciculation syndrome and mild IBS (possibly not helped by the fact I'm staying awake through judicious use of Red Bull, nicotine, coffee and Diet Coke) do not a happy marriage, nor CC make.

Today I thought I was going to vomit in the office. Logged on to club website to find more criticism re emailgate. Ended up calling someone a cunt on there. That made me feel a good deal better.

Then my line manager decided he wanted to talk to me about my cricket team and being ever the enthusiastic recruiter and possibly delirious from sleep deprivation I sent him a link to the site. With any luck he'll work out I spent a large portion of this afternoon on there calling someone a cunt.

Truly fantastic week so far.

That said, Somerset are flying against Durham. I watched Compton bat at Lord's, and my gut spectatoral instinct said, 'very good, probably a bit of a flat track bully'. So perfect for us then. I'm inclined to think Hildreth is the better batsman, but then I was also convinced Ian Blackwell would be the best batsman in the world not so long ago so that shows how much I know.

Perhaps - FUCK YOU COMPUTER I DON'T WANT TO RESTART TO INSTALL UPDATES YOU CAN DO THAT SHIT WHEN I'VE FINISHED DOING WHAT I'M DOING YOU HECTORING BASTARD.

...Perhaps some thoughts on why I love Somerset. I love Somerset because I love Taunton. I love Taunton because I've never seen a team so destroyed by the crowd as the Australian Test team there in the late 90s. They might have pooped all over us in the Ashes but they weren't laughing when a little-known teenager called Marcus was slapping them out the ground and an entire stand of pissed up yokels was chanting 'Ooh-AAR Glenn MCGRAATH!' Steve Waugh gave us all a V-sign. Also the song "Shaaaane Warrrrrrrne......Shaaaaaaane Warrrrrrrrrne - 'e's fat, 'e's bent, 'is ARRRSE is up fer rent' is almost charming in a West Country accent.

Disappointingly the stand then turned on my dad. He was going through a bit of a mid-life crisis (possibly) and some scrumpied up farmer pointed at him and shouted: "EE'S GOT A BADGER ON HIS EAD!".

It wasn't a badger. He'd grown a pony tail.

So there I was, aged 14, pretending not to know my own father sitting beside me as an entire stand started chanting "He's got a badger on his head" for what seemed like years.

I also love Taunton because it's tiny: it's like watching a professional game on a club pitch. When I was sitting behind the action and Caddick was in his prime I used to watch him and genuinely feel a bit scared that if the keeper missed it the ball would only take a milisecond before skipping the boundary and smacking me in the face.

I love Taunton because the main food and drink options are cider and hog roast.

I also love Taunton because it is a natural home for fat left handers who don't move their feet and just like hitting it. In fact it's just the natural home for anyone wanting to hit it. Which frankly is what you go to see when you watch a game. Even Rahul Dravid gets a motor on there.

And so, at 19.26 (whatever this shitty blogger programme thinks it is), to bed. Fuck me.

My favourite batsman of all time....

...is Marcus Trescothick. But I'm not doing a post on him until I've got through his book. My second favourite batsman, however, is Brian Charles Lara of Trinidad and Tobago. Give me anyone - he's the one I'd watch. Yes, Sachin is a better player - technically, in terms of consistency. But hell, we watch these guys for their raw talent above all, and for me, Lara's the best. Easily.

Ah, where do we start? A bit like Asif, he's probably best dealt with in a pure sporting vacuum. Like Asif, there are plenty of stories that suggest that in his prime he certainly knew how good he was, to say the least. Nope, probably not the easiest chap in all the world to get on with.

But then, more than any other batsman in the history of the game, he was responsible for his side's fortunes. He contributed a fifth of the West Indies' runs. Factor in extras and that's almost an absurd proportion. He was his team's only batsman aged 23, when he made a stunning 277*. If he announced himself with that knock, then this innings defined him. It takes some skill to singlehandedly win a Test against anyone, let alone possibly the best Test side of all time. It's the best effort in a fourth innings chase of all time.

Why was he so good? Let's ignore the 'simple' stuff - lightning reactons, a brilliant eye, an ice-cool temperament - and concentrate on technique.

It's extremely unconventional. The MCC style book advises a back-lift about a third the size of his. But actually there's no real reason for that, beside the fact that it's incredibly hard to do. That scything back-lift gives him a huge amount of freedom in his choice of shot. From that starting position, with the bat way above his head, he's in the perfect position to play the ball any way he likes. The ball slightly back of a length is fair game for either the cut or the pull or even, preposterously, the back foot on-drive - it was his choice, a decision that seemed to be made more on inclination than the actual line of the delivery. The bat is coming through from that height at such speed that anything vaguely full can be driven for four, assuming the balance is right. That was what made him extremely hard to set a field to, or to know what line or length to bowl.

Notice though, that despite the back lift, the actual swing itself is completely orthodox, often with a high left elbow and rarely across the line of the ball. You'd think it would make him vulnerable to yorkers, but the speed of his reactions, I guess, compensates for that. It was particularly noticeable in the 2000 series - England had a bloody good set of swing bowlers regularly bringing it back into him, but Lara was very rarely bowled or LBW, because he played with a much straighter bat than the other left handers in the West Indies batting order.

It's a completely natural, uncoached technique - I doubt anyone could really learn it, even if they wanted to, though interestingly he doesn't appear to bat in quite the same way aged 15. Oddly enough, another batsman with an unconventional back-lift was Don Bradman. Like Hashim Amla, he kind of whirled the bat in a circle before bringing it down.

It was even harder for the spinners. Lara was ridiculously fast on his feet. A fraction short and he'd leap back and pull or cut, but if they gave the ball any kind of air at all he'd be down the track and sticking it out of the park before you could say 'Take that Shane.' There wasn't much wrong with this over, and look what happened. It's pure balance, reactions and coordination...Sachin is a marvellous player of spin, but far less instinctive.

We should mention the world records. Yes, Antigua is a particularly flat track. And yes, England's '94 attack wasn't exactly terrifying (though it had knocked over a decent West Indies line up in the previous game). But the 400* is, quite simply, a fitting testament to Lara. Hayden's innings never really felt like a World Record. He was in loco Rex - the King wasn't all that far off retiring, but still he came back to retain his throne. Against Harmison, Hoggard, Jones, Flintoff and *ahem* Richard Dawson.

And there's the 501*. What to say...perhaps it's best summed up by Chris Scott, the Durham wicketkeeper who dropped him early in the innings: 'I suppose he'll go on to get a hundred now.' That's the definition of genius - it never fails to surprise the mere mortals around it.

Bowling of the day: Richard Hadlee, Perth, 1986 and Alan Donald, Melbourne, 1997

Hadlee and Donald are quite different beasts, but they also have plenty in common. Both started out as tearaway fast bowlers. Both shared a natural athleticism, a Rolls-Royce of a run-up and an implausibly smooth side-on bowling action. Hadlee only got better with age - he lost at least a yard of pace, but his accuracy, bounce and variations almost made him a better bowler. For some reason the same couldn't quite be said of Donald, despite the fact that he was also uncannily accurate and had the ability to move the ball both ways. I guess it's because Donald was always more of a strike bowler at heart, whereas Hadlee had to lead a pretty second rate attack and was both the team's offensive weapon and its tool for keeping the runs down.

That said, I'd rather watch Donald in action. It's to my great regret I never saw him live. This is a fantastic spell of bowling on a flat pitch:

But he was at his best when it came to the mano-a-mano, gladiatorial duels.  Withness him battering Steve Waugh and Mike Atherton. Magnificent cricket.

Margins

Michael Vaughan once made the point that if Bowden had noticed that Kasprowicz's glove had come off the handle then Australia would most likely have won the Test and retained the Ashes. No MBEs. No open-top bus tour. He might well have lost his place in the side either during or after the series.

I guess it's fair to say international sport is a precarious form of employment.