***Official*** Great Articles of Cricket

[silentstriker]

Merged. Hopefully this stays fairly active. Already, it has been worth it.

 

[SJS]

I wish there was some way to be able to post articles from books without having to type them out

 

[Athlai]

I wish there was some way to be able to post articles from books without having to type them out

Scan them? Pretty sure you don't infringe copyright if you keep it to less than 5% of the book.

 

[Richard]

I wish there was some way to be able to post articles from books without having to type them out

Ever heard of optical character recognition?

Haven't a clue how expensive such software packages are, but they enable pure text which is scanned using a standard scanner to be converted to a text document.

It's the only option to avoid typing the stuff out, methinks.

 

[Richard]

Merged. Hopefully this stays fairly active. Already, it has been worth it.

Basically, any time you (you = anyone) want to share an article that doesn't particularly relate to anything "current", post it here. Simple as.

 

[neville cardus]

<cough>If anyone has anything esoteric about the 1882 Test Match and its participants, I'll love you forever.</cough>

 

[SJS]

<cough>If anyone has anything esoteric about the 1882 Test Match and its participants, I'll love you forever.</cough>

It will take some time but I will post it - promise.

 

[Pratters]

Herbie Taylor

Herbert Wilfred Taylor, who died at Cape Town on February 8, aged 83, was a great batsman on the matting pitches of South Africa, and a very fine one on those of England and Australia. He played over a span of twenty years for his country, beginning with the Triangular Tournament of 1912 and bowing out with the tour to Australia of H. B. Cameron's team of 1931-32 when he was rising 43. He took part in ten series in all, leading South Africa in four of them, and in 42 Test matches made 2936 runs with an average of 4077. In terms of length and distinction of performance it could be said that no-one ever served South Africa better. Herby Taylor made seven hundreds in Test cricket, six of them on matting pitches, and it was on the mat that he first established himself, in 1913-14, as the youthful captain of a South African side that was considerably out-gunned by the full strength of England at a vintage time. The confrontation between Sydney Barnes, who took the record bag for any rubber anywhere of 49 wickets, and Taylor, who averaged 50 in his ten Test innings against him, is always remembered as one of the classics of history. 'The English cricketers were unanimous that finer batting than his against Barnes at his best they never hoped to see,' says H. S. Altham, while Ian Peebles, who as a young man played two rubbers against him in South Africa, wrote of him in The World of Cricket that he was `the ideal model for all aspiring batsmen'. Perhaps his most extraordinary triumph was at Durban on that 1913-14 tour in the only game in which MCC were beaten. Natal made 153 and 216, and Taylor, keeping Barnes's bowling to himself as much as he could, contributed 91 and 100. The basis of his play was the straightest of straight bats, nimble footwork, and an almost unfailing judgment of length. His method was so sound that he remained a beautiful player when nearer fifty than forty, and it was in this autumn of his career that I met him and played a little with him. He was an inexhaustible cricket talker, and despite his own playing orthodoxy propounded unusual theories. One recalls him holding genial court under the oaks at Newlands, and at Lord's during frequent visits to England. He was a man of much charm and that modesty regarding his own achievements which is so often a virtue of the great. Growing up in the aftermath of the Boer War, he belonged to a generation devotedly loyal to England, and won the Military Cross in the war of 1914-18.

EW Swanton, The Cricketer

 

[silentstriker]

Always liked this:

From Sambit Bal:

Ashes 2005:

First, a warm thank you to England and Australia. For close to two months, they have touched us and moved us, roused our senses and stirred our souls, made us live through their joy and despair and feel good about ourselves. Sport at its best is high art, and as escapism, it is higher than cinema for nothing is make-believe. For so many hours in the last three months, these two teams drew us in to their captivating world, away from our worldly strife and drudgery. A pity that it had to end.

But above all, by playing out the series of their lives, they have dignified our beautiful game and furnished the most emphatic and compelling argument in favour of Test cricket. Cricket does not need to clothe itself in superficiality to remain attractive and relevant. What it really needs is to maintain its standards. The appeals of cricket are unique, and Test cricket, undoubtedly the highest form of the game, grows on you slowly. But played at a high level, it showcases cricket's central appeal. It is futile for cricket to try to appeal to all.

Cricket will never be football; for all of the ICC's expansionist ideas, it will never spread to 100 countries. It's a game that reveals itself in layers, it's a game that demands commitment and not fleeting indulgence. And, as this series has demonstrated, Test cricket, when it's a real contest, can keep large audiences thoroughly absorbed for days. What it cannot afford, however, is trivialisation and mis-matches.

What cruel irony it is to watch India and Sri Lanka engage themselves against Zimbabwe and Bangladesh immediately after we had been indulged by a series that bordered on the divine. Watching Muttiah Muralitharan torment clueless Bangladeshi batsmen on a raging turner, or Irfan Pathan smile away to a five-wicket haul against Zimbabwe, is a hollow and dispiriting experience.

On the second day of the India-Zimbabwe Test, we were treated to a television interview with Pathan on the occasion of his 50th Test wicket. It has rarely been beyond television channels to invent occasions, but consider the shallowness of this one: of his 50 wickets in 13-and-a-half Tests, 23 have come in two-and-half Tests against Bangladesh and Zimbabwe. Pathan is a swing bowler with promise, but let's get real: his six wickets against Australia in four Tests have cost 72.33 and despite his success in Pakistan, his 18 wickets against them have come at 41.77. For the moment, his career figures merely deceive.

The complexity of its format and its length are often held out to question the congruity of Test cricket in the contemporary world. But that's missing the point. Cricket's real allure is centred on its format. The real threat comes from reducing it to a charade. It's a miracle that a smattering of the faithful still turn up at games which shame the very concept of a contest. But Test cricket cannot afford to test the patience and loyalty of its followers. Are we expected to care for this tripe? Can we bring ourselves to?

The Ashes have done much more than re-ignite the passion for cricket in England, though that itself is an immense achievement. The bleak 1990s, when the most entertaining aspect of English cricket was the self-deprecating humour of English broadsheet writers, steadily chipped away at the game's support base. Cricket is a small society, and England is one of its big members. A weak English team hurt the game.

And Australia needed reining in. They had gone so far ahead that, barring India in two series, no other team came close to matching them. Australia have always been spectacular, but watching them in recent years had become a one-way affair - you felt awe and admiration for them, and pity for the other team. After a point, watching Matthew Hayden pulverize mediocre bowlers and Glenn McGrath dismantle batting line-ups became predictable and boring. Only India, with a combination of glorious batting and crafty spin, managed to look them in eye and subjugate them. But it was too little.

The most important outcome of the Ashes is that Australia have been beaten at their own game. True, they look a side in decline and some of their batsmen are ageing, but their failure cannot be explained away as a collective slump. Nor did their batsmen get caught out on turners. They were busted by pace and bounce, swing and seam. Their batsmen looked fearful, uncertain, awkward and entirely mortal.

It was a reality test for many of them; for the first time in their careers, they came up against a pace attack without an obvious chink. The Australians have been hustled by Shoaib Akhtar and Shane Bond before, but they have had easy runs to pick at the other end. With England, there was no getting away. Harmison pinged them; Hoggard kept them tentative; Flintoff challenged them incessantly; and Simon Jones kept them pinned to the crease. The big unanswered question during the West Indian reign in the late-'70s and mid-'80s was how great the West Indian batsmen really were. After all they never had to test their skills against their own bowlers. After they have been put through the wringer, we are now able to venture a guess about this Australian batting line-up.

For far too long, too many batsmen all over world have been able to plonk their foot down flat pitches and stroke away to big averages before coming undone against Australia. Now, with the rise of England's bowlers, the possibility of real contests between bat and ball has doubled. That calls for celebration.

 

[Richard]

Only shame is that the possibility alluded to in the final paragraph did not come to pass. But yes, I read that in September or October (whichever it was) 2005 and have enjoyed it every one of the times I've read it since.

 

[SJS]

The greatest cricket "interview"/reminiscence

There are many great articles on Larwood but one of my favourites is a delightful account by Frank Keating of his visit to Sydney to [I meet the delightful octo- genarian who as a lad, not long out the pit, terrified Bradman with his pace and was a key player in the infamous bodyline series. He won't talk about it now, not unless you ask nicely and listen attentively[/I]

Here it is.

Read on and you will bless me for posting this.

AN Australian cricket side arrives tomorrow to resume the ancient challenge. 1993 is a notorious jubilee year in Ashes legend. Sixty years ago today an England team was making the same journey from the Antipodes - homeward bound on the high seas and celebrating the cruel capture of the tiny urn at the end of still the most infamous rubber of the whole sequence: the bodyline tour.

The shipboard celebrations took six weeks and the MCC team did not disembark from the Duchess of Atholl until May 6, 1933 at Greenock. ''Aye,'' remembers the still surviving chief protagonist of that whole infamous shooting-match, ''we got home on May 6 after near eight months away, had one night with our wives and then were off next day playing for Notts at Worcester or wherever.'' He was to play for Nottinghamshire for five more summers but after he had won, almost single-handedly and immortally, the Ashes in that bodyline series, the establishment turned their back on Harold Larwood, who was never again picked for England.

By gorgeous quirk of paradox, this now wizened elder - as small and sharp as a sparrow, blind and 90 next year - whose skills 60 years ago so stirred colonial passions and hatreds, has been settled happily in Australia for the past two-score years. Happily and almost anonymously, except that his surname more than any other remains an eponym for venemously hostile fast bowling.

Larwood lives with Lois, his devoted wife of 65 years, in a tidy trim Sydney street of splintery, sentry-neat colonial bungalows. You ring at the porch door. The bell plays an upbeat ''John Brown's Body''. The inside door opens a fraction. The eye which looks up at you may be blind but still manages a beady aggres- siveness.

''I'm not talking cricket - and I'm certainly not talking body- line,'' he says. The accent is still ripely Nottingham.

It goes on: ''Ask me one question about either and you're out. I can't remember a thing about the old days, and can't see a thing, so I know nothing about the present.''

You plead softly: ''I only bring greetings from England, sir . . .''

The door opens wider. ''Don't 'sir' me, I'm plain Harold, one-time coal miner and one-time professional cricketer.''

''Sorry, sir.''

''Well, I can tell you're from England all right. I suppose you'd better come in - but no cricket questions, mind, and certainly no bodyline.''

How can this tiny ancient have been the most feared in history - patron saint and forerunner to Lillee and Lindwall, Ambrose and Holding and Waqar? If he was scarcely 5ft 9in in his pomp, he is 5ft 6in in his dotage, but still proudly straight-backed. He and Lois brought five bonny daughters to Australia; now they have 13 grandchildren and ''five or six, I think'' great-grandchildren. The walls of his spotless little sitting-room are dotted with framed photographs - heroes in sepia. He hears you hum with pleasure and recognition, and you know he is suddenly glad that you do. Photos fade faster than fame.

''You can have a quick look at my pictures if you want,'' he says.

He stands by each one, like a museum guide - which, in a way, he is. He cannot see them any more but he knows exactly which is which and, in detail, who is who. Percy Chapman's happy 1928-29 MCC team in Australia gaze confidently at the camera. Sixteen of the 17 are dead.

''Now Les [Ames] has gone, I'm the only one left. Me, Les and Wally [Hammond] were the babies on that trip. Les remained my best chum and dear pal. He asked me over, all expenses paid, for his 80th birthday. Couldn't go, of course. Wally was always a funny fellow. Moods, you know.

''On tours, us kids would knock about together. One day you'd say, 'coming out tonight, Wally' and he'd say, 'course I am', and be the life and soul. Next day we'd say, 'what about tonight, Wally?' and he wouldn't even answer you. Funny fellow, Wally. Hell of a bat, mind.''

The bright southern sun from the window illuminates the little shrine. The blind man is unaware of it as he steers you proudly to a framed, faded, official scroll. It marks a long-ago appreciation for his cricketing feats from fellow members of his Miners' Union at Nuncargate, the mining village in which he was born in 1904.

''I left school at 13, down the pit at 14, driving a pony. Oh yes, lots of crawling along them tunnels. 'Old Joe' Hardstaff lived in our village. When I was around 17, he said I should go down to Nottingham for a trial. I didn't want to go, I was quite happy mining. In the end my dad took me on the bus. They set me to bowl at Art Staples and Ben Lilley [two county pros]. After a bit I went over to dad and said, 'I'm no good at this lark, dad, let's go home'.

''Just then they sent over to say I was wanted in the committee room. Mr Dixon was the president. He owned half Nottingham, didn't he? He says, groundstaff at 32 shillings a week.'

''Outside, dad was fair livid I hadn't asked for more, especially when the secretary gave him a list as long as your arm for stuff I'd need like a bat, flannels, new boots and all. It came to pounds 9, a hell of a lot for us, and on the way home I said, 'Dad, if I make the grade I'll make it right with you.'''

Late one Friday night, in the midsummer of 1925, the 20-year-old received a telegram at home: ''Proceed to Sheffield. Be prepared to play - Carr.'' The county's long-time and autocratic captain was AW Carr.

''They put me at square leg and Yorkshire's Edgar Oldroyd kept playing the ball towards me and feinting to run, you know 'kidding the new kid' sort of thing, teasing me.

''Any road, he tries it a fifth time or so, and I'm in on it fast and lets fly - and knock all three down from square leg. He's out by a mile. Mr Carr walks over slowly and says, 'Good throw, sonny, but never ever do that again.' 'Why not, sir,' I say, 'he's on his way, isn't he?' it'll be four overthrows.' He were right, too.''

In that last half-summer of 1925 he took 73 wickets at 18 each, and word was around that a gale was blowing. The following June England blooded him at Lord's. His first Test wicket was Macartney's. For The Oval Test England recalled the 49-year old Wilfred Rhodes. The old man blindly shuffles a hand around in a drawer and pulls out a parchmenty old newspaper cutting.

''Is this the right one?'' he asks.

It is - from a Sunday Express of August 1926,

Now he directs you to a framed scorecard on another wall - and back all of 67 years. Of the 22 he is the sole survivor, but what giants were comrades of this lovely old man - Hobbs, Sutcliffe, Woolley, Strudwick . . . the Ashes were clinched, Rhodes took six in the match and so did young Larwood.

''Rhodes were pure genius. I got Woodfull for a duck and after a bit Rhodes came on. That Ponsford was a vicious cutter of the ball, vicious. I was at point but Rhodes keeps signalling me closer to the bat. Still fetching me up till I'm almost standing on Ponsford's crease. Sure I'm a bit scared. Rhodes comes up, just two paces from behind umpire. But he stops dead, and stares at me.

''I'd involuntarily taken a pace back from Ponsford's crease. He fetches me in again. First ball nips through and smacks into Struddy's gloves. Second ball breaks back - and Ponsford, surprised, pops it up and I jump across and catch it left-handed. Rhodes walks down the pitch to me and says softly, 'you can go back a bit now, sonny, we got him.'

On the mantelpiece is a small silver ashtray. I tap my pipe out on it. The old man hears the clink.

''I think you've just emptied your ash in my most treasured possession,'' he says, though without any trace of admonishment. >From a Grateful Skipper.'' The blind eyes mist over and stare at the wall in a reverie.

''Mr Jardine gave me that when we came back. His inscription still means an awful lot to me. He was a real leader of men. I'd bowl two or three overs for him on that tour and he'd come up and say, 'anything in this wicket for you, Harold?' and I'd perhaps say, 'yes, quite lively, skipper.'

''Sometimes he might wait for Bradman to come in, then he'd clap his hands and everyone would move over and suddenly my field would be Les, at wicket standing back, not a slip, just a short gully to stop the sort of jump and jab, then a mid-off, and every one of the rest in a leg-trap ring. I just used to watch Bradman's feet as I bowled. If he shuffled slightly to leg I'd follow him, if he moved across his stumps I'd follow him there.

"No, the barrackers never got at me, just at Jardine. They detest- ed him."

Larwood came into the final Test at Sydney, the Ashes already well won thanks to his 32 wickets at 19 apiece.

''Bradman comes in. At once my foot went and I'm collapsed in agony. Jardine picks me up and says I must finish the over. 'I can't, skipper, I'm finished.' He orders me. So I do, in terrible pain. '''Can I go off now, skip?' I say. 'No,' he whispers, nodding towards Bradman, 'not until the little bastard's gone. Let him think you can come back for another spell any time. I want you to stand at short cover-point and just stare at him. So Hedley [Verity] comes on at my end and that's where Bradman loses his head, thinking to cash in while I was 'resting'.

''He dashes out at Hedley's second ball, head up, and it bowls him. At once Mr Jardine signals me off. He'd done the trick - and Bradman and I walk off beside one another and neither of us spoke a word.''

Larwood never played for England again.

''Well, I wasn't about to apologise, was I? I had nothing to apologise for, did I? To tell the truth, from the moment we got home from that tour I've been fed up to the back teeth with the word 'bodyline'. Still am all these years later. Vow never to talk about it - except for a little chat like this. Well, you're from England, aren't you? Not many from over there comes to see me now. Well, I'm totally for- gotten now, aren't I ?"​

''

 

[SJS]

I also particularly like the following limerick which came during the bodyline series from Her Majesty's Theatre in Sydney:

With a prayer and a curse
They prepare for hearse​

Undertakers look on with broad grins

Oh! They'd look a lot calmer
In Ned Kelly's armour​

When Larwood the wrecker begins."​

 

[neville cardus]

It will take some time but I will post it - promise.

<cough, cough>

 

[SJS]

<cough, cough>

Right now I am travelling in the UK. Let me get back home with access to my books and I will fish out something.

By the way, when you say 1982 Test Match, I presume, you are refering to the solitary match played in England that year, right?

 

[pasag]

Special request for anything on the man in my avatar SJS

 

[SJS]

Special request for anything on the man in my avatar SJS

Done.

I get back in the first week of |July. After that.

 

[neville cardus]

Right now I am travelling in the UK. Let me get back home with access to my books and I will fish out something.
By the way, when you say 1982 Test Match, I presume, you are refering to the solitary match played in England that year, right?

No, I mean the solitary Test Match played in England 100 years before that. Thanks a bil'.

 

[SJS]

No, I mean the solitary Test Match played in England 100 years before that. Thanks a bil'.

Ok got it.

 

[fredfertang]

<cough>If anyone has anything esoteric about the 1882 Test Match and its participants, I'll love you forever.</cough>

The 1882 test was the 30th game of the tour and was played at the end of August

If you take the batting averages of the Australian eleven for the season up until immediately before the test started and put them in descending order, and carry out the same exercise for the England XI then in each of the eleven “head to head” comparisons the Englishman had a better average

Do the same with the three leading bowlers and again in each comparison the Englishman was having a better season.

Of course Australia won a low scoring game by seven runs – and some people don’t understand the fascination of the game!!

 

[neville cardus]

The 1882 test was the 30th game of the tour and was played at the end of August
If you take the batting averages of the Australian eleven for the season up until immediately before the test started and put them in descending order, and carry out the same exercise for the England XI then in each of the eleven “head to head” comparisons the Englishman had a better average
Do the same with the three leading bowlers and again in each comparison the Englishman was having a better season.

The gumptious Henry Luff drew up that table for the 1883 edition of Wisden. He is, from what I can ascertain, the last man to have seen the missing Australian scorecard.

Of course Australia won a low scoring game by seven runs – and some people don’t understand the fascination of the game!!

I am well nigh obsessed with it. Almost every week I find something new and invigorating to distend the story.