Well, well, well, what a day at Trent Bridge.
Thank goodness for a courageous man!
Was Ian Bell out? Yes.
Did Ian Bell make a schoolboy error? Yes.
Did MS Dhoni do the right thing? Yes.
Three out of three ain't bad? Well let's get into the nitty gritty shall we.
There will be many our there, especially in India who will call for their captain's head on a pole. He was weak they will say, he was wrong they will say.
Firstly let me ask the question what would have happened if this was Sachin in Mumbai who had endured such a thing? It would never happen I hear you say. But what if?
What MS Dhoni showed today is that the game of cricket supersedes all those earthly common frailties of greed and control. It shows us that there is a better way. It is an example to our children of how to win or lose. I don't think that Sir Alex would ever react like that and that is why football teaches young children that it is all about greed.
Cricket and in particular today MS Dhoni have shown children that it is a game and it should be played in a certain way. He showed children there is a better way.
And it reminds me of the words of Kipling in the poem.......If you ....
Sunday, 31 July 2011
Wednesday, 27 July 2011
Victory but with a tinge of sadness
Now some people will say that I am going a bit soft in the head in my old age. As a young fast bowler You never gave an inch they will say. Victory at all costs they will say. And they would be right.
As a youngster I didn't really understand the beautiful game. Sure I knew that it was about batting as long as possible or getting 20 wickets but the finer nuances escaped me. Even when I took over captaining Huddersfield after Barry Wood left it was still about victory. All I knew how to do was scrap. And it was street brawling not karate.
And then I moved to London through work and joined Old Whitgiftonians. Cricket in Surrey on fine fast tracks was far more polite than the brass knuckle stuff of the Huddersfield and even the Yorkshire League. Tea was finer, proper tea cups even, not the mug that we'd get served up at a cold windy day at Hall Bower when I was a whippersnapper.
I only played a short time in Surrey alas as I was offered the professionals role at Lockwood in the Huddersfield League so every weekend I would commute back up the M1 to have a brawl again. However I had learned a lot in that period of time down South. I had learned most importantly it is not simply about the victory but about how you win. Gordon Gekko was preaching greed is good but the real deal was all about the game. Because without the game you have nothing.
And so to Lords this last week, the very epitome of the beautiful game and one of the greatest batsmen the world has ever seen. The pressure must have been enormous on the Little Master but his grace and strength is a lesson to us all. He missed out on the honours board and India lost the test. Yes well played England, a fine victory with some inspired bowling and backs to the wall batting.
Yet at the back of my mind and in the depths of my heart there is a little sadness for the Little Man with the most gargantuan talent. So remember all you budding Sachin's or Shanes or Swanns out there it is never victory at all costs because the game should always be the winner.
As a youngster I didn't really understand the beautiful game. Sure I knew that it was about batting as long as possible or getting 20 wickets but the finer nuances escaped me. Even when I took over captaining Huddersfield after Barry Wood left it was still about victory. All I knew how to do was scrap. And it was street brawling not karate.
And then I moved to London through work and joined Old Whitgiftonians. Cricket in Surrey on fine fast tracks was far more polite than the brass knuckle stuff of the Huddersfield and even the Yorkshire League. Tea was finer, proper tea cups even, not the mug that we'd get served up at a cold windy day at Hall Bower when I was a whippersnapper.
I only played a short time in Surrey alas as I was offered the professionals role at Lockwood in the Huddersfield League so every weekend I would commute back up the M1 to have a brawl again. However I had learned a lot in that period of time down South. I had learned most importantly it is not simply about the victory but about how you win. Gordon Gekko was preaching greed is good but the real deal was all about the game. Because without the game you have nothing.
And so to Lords this last week, the very epitome of the beautiful game and one of the greatest batsmen the world has ever seen. The pressure must have been enormous on the Little Master but his grace and strength is a lesson to us all. He missed out on the honours board and India lost the test. Yes well played England, a fine victory with some inspired bowling and backs to the wall batting.
Yet at the back of my mind and in the depths of my heart there is a little sadness for the Little Man with the most gargantuan talent. So remember all you budding Sachin's or Shanes or Swanns out there it is never victory at all costs because the game should always be the winner.
Monday, 25 July 2011
From Father to Son
August 1977, I woke early, very early for me. It was dawn. I crept into my parents bedroom and my father was awake smoking his customary cigarette. He told me to look out the window and see what the weather was like. It was OK and looked like it might be a glorious day.
"Well I'd better get up" he said. "Time to make some sandwiches and get off"
It was really going to happen I was going to my first Test Match, to Headingley, to the home of my beloved Yorkshire County Cricket Club, to see my hero.
We arrived at 5.45 having driven from Huddersfield. There was a queue already. The early editions of the papers were being sold. Just one story on the back pages. Just one thing that mattered.
We finally got into the ground at about 9am and positioned ourselves pretty much at mid wicket on the hallowed Western Terrace. Just in front of us sat a group of Castleford miners who had taken the day off to be there. They didn't have seats but that wasn't a problem as the hundred or so Watney's Seven party packs that they had brought would make a fine substitute and later on in the day keep us all entertained no end.
Out came the captains and the toss was completed. The tannoys raged out and the cheer went up, England to bat.
Out they came the great Greg Chappell in front. Out they came captain with plastic skull protector, hero with collar up. And then it started with old tormentor Jeff Thomson winding up and like the trebuchets of old sending down a vicious missile he promptly did for captain Brearley. Woolmer in, soon Woolmer out and then came the hero of the Centenary Test, Derek Randall, the clown who four days later would take the catch that gave brought home the Ashes, that healed the scars of Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust if Lillee don't get ya then Thommo must!
The day crept on he kept his nerve, Labrooks were getting nervous the miners had a bet on. Past his 50 sun getting hotter, bitter being drunk, noise getting louder sandwiches consumed, first day cover bought, atmosphere becoming tenser, Randall gone and Grieg in. Six over fine leg for the big man. Still he kept going.
Collapsing beer cans for seats led to continual laughter from the terrace. More laughter as the miners tried to put them back to no avail as they collapsed causing the domino effect.
And then Grieg gone, Gooch in running out of partners would he do it. Chappell to bowl steps forward stroked down the ground, four, eruption, Vesuvius in the shape of massed Yorkshiremen flowing onto the pitch.
I wanted to go, I so wanted to go but my dad's hand on my shoulder stopped me. Oh how I wished I had gone.
Day ends off we trudge hero not out, memories etched. Miners five hundred quid richer.
That was the day my dad took me to Headingley to see Geoffrey Boycott score his Hundredth Hundred.
And why have I told you this. Well listening to Aggers today before the start of play going around the crowd at Lords listening to all the stories reminded me of that day when my passion for the game of cricket exploded, especially when a little six year old lad told us about his hero, and how 1 billion Indians were hoping and longing for their hero to score his Hundredth Hundred. And secretly I think all cricket lovers too!
"Well I'd better get up" he said. "Time to make some sandwiches and get off"
It was really going to happen I was going to my first Test Match, to Headingley, to the home of my beloved Yorkshire County Cricket Club, to see my hero.
We arrived at 5.45 having driven from Huddersfield. There was a queue already. The early editions of the papers were being sold. Just one story on the back pages. Just one thing that mattered.
We finally got into the ground at about 9am and positioned ourselves pretty much at mid wicket on the hallowed Western Terrace. Just in front of us sat a group of Castleford miners who had taken the day off to be there. They didn't have seats but that wasn't a problem as the hundred or so Watney's Seven party packs that they had brought would make a fine substitute and later on in the day keep us all entertained no end.
Out came the captains and the toss was completed. The tannoys raged out and the cheer went up, England to bat.
Out they came the great Greg Chappell in front. Out they came captain with plastic skull protector, hero with collar up. And then it started with old tormentor Jeff Thomson winding up and like the trebuchets of old sending down a vicious missile he promptly did for captain Brearley. Woolmer in, soon Woolmer out and then came the hero of the Centenary Test, Derek Randall, the clown who four days later would take the catch that gave brought home the Ashes, that healed the scars of Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust if Lillee don't get ya then Thommo must!
The day crept on he kept his nerve, Labrooks were getting nervous the miners had a bet on. Past his 50 sun getting hotter, bitter being drunk, noise getting louder sandwiches consumed, first day cover bought, atmosphere becoming tenser, Randall gone and Grieg in. Six over fine leg for the big man. Still he kept going.
Collapsing beer cans for seats led to continual laughter from the terrace. More laughter as the miners tried to put them back to no avail as they collapsed causing the domino effect.
And then Grieg gone, Gooch in running out of partners would he do it. Chappell to bowl steps forward stroked down the ground, four, eruption, Vesuvius in the shape of massed Yorkshiremen flowing onto the pitch.
I wanted to go, I so wanted to go but my dad's hand on my shoulder stopped me. Oh how I wished I had gone.
Day ends off we trudge hero not out, memories etched. Miners five hundred quid richer.
That was the day my dad took me to Headingley to see Geoffrey Boycott score his Hundredth Hundred.
And why have I told you this. Well listening to Aggers today before the start of play going around the crowd at Lords listening to all the stories reminded me of that day when my passion for the game of cricket exploded, especially when a little six year old lad told us about his hero, and how 1 billion Indians were hoping and longing for their hero to score his Hundredth Hundred. And secretly I think all cricket lovers too!
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