Sunday, August 14

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Australia are crying out for Steve Waugh and his trusty bat
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The Third Test is not over yet. Australia did not lose a wicket this
evening. The Old Trafford pitch is slow, and relatively benign. Strictly
speaking, quality should out tomorrow, and the top order click. But the
hunter is now officially the hunted. Today they had the thankless task of
waiting for a declaration, like an errant schoolboy awaiting the
headmaster's cane. They had the same experience eighteen months ago at
Sydney against India, but then there was the excuse of the absence of Glenn
McGrath and Shane Warne, and the reassuring bulwark of Steve Waugh. Someone
tomorrow must make a hundred; someone, consequently, must raise the standard
of their performance by a considerable degree.
There will be time to write a little more tomorrow. Today a little detour,
to the cosy bolthole of the Museum at the Lancashire County Cricket Club,
whose unprepossessing surroundings obscure some priceless antiquities, from
Ted MacDonald's monogrammed leather hold-all to Vernon Royle's 130-year-old
county cap with its blue felt faded but its rose still red. A ball presented
to Cec Parkin for his bowling in Australia in 1920-21, still scarred by the
spikemarks he left when he flicked it from ground to hand. Different times,
different habits: the new ball today is fussed and cooed over like a new
baby. Mind you, it's hard to imagine his captain Johnny Douglas, an opening
bowler, being all that enamoured of the custom.
The other different habit of which the visitor is reminded concerns bats.
Old Trafford somehow inherited a score or so of exhibits from the disbanded
Wisden Bat Museum, including those of half a dozen England captains, which
look heavy with oil and black with age. For locals, there is Archie
MacLaren's bat from 1897-98, twice blessed because it was a gift from Ranji;
for Aussies, incongruously, there is the bat with which Bill Ponsford scored
the first of his twin 400s, 429 against Tasmania in 1922-23. Both of them,
coincidentally, are Wisden Crawford Excellers, and painstakingly repaired
with layers of twine; Ponsford's, in the course of the mass manufacture of
2500 first-class runs, was put back together with six separate, tight-coiled
bands.
It is a remark on the mores that no one bothers repairing bats anymore. In
part this is an outcome of modern abundance. In a consumer age, we hardly
repair anything. `The more stitches, the less riches,' runs the slogan in
`Brave New World'; we seem to living in just such an age. International
batsmen, too, now favour bats that have not had their original spring
pressed from them for the sake of durability. They are happy to cop a few
breakages along the way. Mike Brearley yesterday told Cricinfo exclusively
- he was sitting next to me, reading a book by Edward Said - that one
Gray-Nicholls bat, sometimes a second, used to get him through a whole
county season. Graham Thorpe, by contrast, said on radio recently that he
expected a bat to last about 6-700 runs. Fifty years ago, state squads in
Australia still had team kits. Now everyone is knee deep in gear. When
Michael Clarke had his coffin lifted at Leicestershire a couple of months
ago, the inventory of its contents would have delighted any gear fetishist:
five bats, seven pairs of gloves, three pairs of spikes, two pairs of
rubbers. No wonder he's developed a bad back. Back to Australia's repair
job tomorrow.
Saturday, August 13

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Rain meant only 14 overs on the third day at Old Trafford
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The day begins with a haiku in my inbox from the poet, biographer and
Oxfordshire Amateurs XI representative Simon Rae entitled 'On Enforcing the
Follow-on at Old Trafford':
You don't take your boot
Off a snake's neck in order
To stamp on its head.
The weather, however, was fit for neither cricket nor snakes, and the
follow-on remained as indistinct as the Pennines. Rain tumbled down;
terraces were deserted as the capacity crowd sought shelter; Peter Marron's
minions busied themselves in their various duties and errands. One of John
Arlott's most famous snatches of commentary was a vivid word picture of the
covers being shuffled round the Lord's square; you can find it in David
Rayvern Allen's splendid biography. As it's already been done far better
than I could, I feel no obligation to match it.
When play then finally began at 4pm for the first of two fleeting
interludes, the follow-on quickly faded from calculations. Michael Vaughan,
in fact, did not seem to seek it with any eagerness: Simon Jones bowled to
the passive Gillespie without a short leg, and to the busy Warne without a
second slip. England got one glimpse of the possible when Warne (55) ambled
amiably down the pitch to Giles and ended up so far from his crease that he
needed almost to mail his bat back. In the end, there was no need: Geraint
Jones performed his party trick of palming the ball into space. Warne then
sustained a crack in his bat, sought a replacement from his kit, and found a
sweet one, hefting three boundaries down the ground to ensure that
Australia's record of not following in Ashes Tests since the Bicentenary Test remained
intact.
The follow-on can be like that: an alternative one would prefer not to have,
which is why what used to be compulsory enforcement was eventually made
voluntary. It requires a gamble on the fitness and form of bowlers and a
belief in the zeal of fielders - rather more of a speculation since the
gradual eclipse of the rest day, which used to afford recovery time between
innings, but is now considered as archaic as Sabbath observance. Because it
is an undertaking to bat last, enforcement of the follow-on also requires a
certain trust in a pitch's integrity, and a cross-breeze at Manchester has
already stirred up a good deal of dust from this one. England would
probably prefer this to be Giles' to exploit rather than Warne's: the snake
might be pinioned, but it's still poisonous.
By the close, Jones's keeping had entered the realm of embarassment. His
attempt to catch a straightforward edge from Warne (68) in the penultimate
over was a shambles. He can now hardly be trusted to carry a helmet from one
end to the other without dropping it. The finish of the Edgbaston Test
grows more miraculous with each passing day.
Friday, August 12

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Shane Warne - manful
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Shane Warne should give his teammates a go of his wristband. He bowled and
batted manfully today, reinforced by the word 'Strength' on the strip
girdling his wrist, a gift from daughter Brooke. But where was the support?
What grounds these reputations? Australians experience soft dismissals
like every other cricketer; but seldom, if ever, can there have been so many
on the same day. The game was not drifting from Australia. It was bolting.
And nobody said: 'Hang on a mo, digger!'
Out the back of Old Trafford at tea, Mike Gatting was busy re-enacting the
ball of the century, with Merlyn standing in for Warne. A cute idea, but
sooooo last century. Ashley Giles, of all people, threw in a candidate for
the ball of the 21st, landing a ball in the left-armer's G-spot on leg stump
and disturbing Martyn's off bail: he can be forgiven for looking as wired as
a character from Irvine Welsh in its aftermath, and even for referring to
himself in the third person at the press conference. England might even be
grateful for Giles' post-prandial duck. No purpose was served by the home
team's tail lingering today. Especially if rain sweeps in, as is expected
tomorrow, time will be of the essence.
Even as we are gripped by the possibility that the Ashes might change hands
- and I can't tell you what a strange and sublime sensation I experience in
writing that line - a reminder is in order of how this series has turned on
a sixpence. Had Glenn McGrath stepped six inches or so either way during
the pre-match warm-ups at Edgbaston; had any one of the chances Australia
dropped there been taken; had there been one fewer Aussie no ball and Justin
Langer not run one short in the second innings, the Premier League season
would have annexed the sports pages and those Freddie Flintoff cardboard cut
outs would be piling up in some ad executive's garage. The cardinal
principle of biography is that life must be lived forwards but can only be
understood backwards; interpretation of cricket perhaps involves something
similar.
Thursday, August 11

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Shane Warne acknowledges the crowd after picking up his 600th Test wicket
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Before lunch in the Old Trafford Test of 1902, Australia scored 1 for 173, Victor Trumper a hundred. At the rate this series has been played, I half expected this mark to come under challenge today, and it was a kind of relief when England dined at 93 for 1. It may sound strange to regard a day of 341 runs as taking place at a leisured pace, but such is the way it seemed: Australia again bowled their overs at a gentle recreational stroll despite 36 overs of spin.
Shane Warne's 600th Test wicket was not perhaps the collector's piece of legspin for which he might have hoped: a blur of Trescothick's pad, thigh, gloves and edge, adeptly caught by an alert Gilchrist. Mind you, he became Australia's highest Test wicket taker much the same way when he dismissed Paul Wiseman five years ago, and it wasn't entirely an inappropriate means of reaching the milestone. Nobody takes wickets on their own or in a vacuum, even though we are apt to examine statistics as though they are
comparisons of static mechanisms with all other variables suspended.
Consider a comparison of Warne with his wicket shadow Muralitharan. Muralitharan is clearly the outstanding bowler in a mediocre attack. He bowls an extraordinarily high proportion of Sri Lanka's overs, which maximises his opportunities to take wickets but also reduces him to a stock bowler. He enjoys most of his success at the start of series; with ample opportunity for study, batsmen can get used to him. Playing for Sri Lanka, Muralitharan must also defend smaller totals, strive more often in losing causes, and be supported by less adept fieldsman. How would he have fared with a keeper like Ian Healy, or catchers like Mark Waugh and Mark Taylor, making wickets out of half-chances?
Warne, a great bowler in an omnicompetent team, has faced considerable competition for his wickets from the likes of Glenn McGrath, Jason Gillespie and Brett Lee, who have, for instance, restricted him to bowling on three fifth-day pitches in the last year. But he has also been able to bowl to attacking fields backed up by many runs with positive captaincy and consistently good fielding. If anyone can reconcile these differences they are welcome to set up a rival to StatsGuru called StatsGod. Until then, we may have to keep on watching the game.
Wednesday, August 10

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Stuart MacGill is unlikely to play at Old Trafford. Will this spell the end of his career?
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It has been grimly sunny for the last two days in Manchester, but today it
is more satisfyingly overcast after some overnight rain. Coming from
Melbourne, I feel an instinctive throb of meteorological kinship for
Manchester, both cities having hosted abandoned Tests. Thankfully, the
forecast is variable for the next few days, for who wants balmy sunshine at
Old Trafford? Another tradition, however, may be under challenge. Peter
Marron's pitch is expected to be bouncy, not the traditional turner. As
Brett Lee has bounced back from injury in time, Stuart MacGill may not make
the starting XI.
The lot of the eternal reserve is a lonely one. Bob Taylor once told me of
bumping into Bill Lawry at a cocktail party in Melbourne during MCC's
Australia tour of 1970-71. "Gee, I'd love a job like yours," said Lawry.
"Reserve keeper? You never have to worry about playing. You can just go
out and enjoy yourself." But, as Taylor continued, not playing only looks
enticing when you are, and are perhaps under pressure or feeling for form.
Otherwise it is like being cast in an endless rehearsal of a play that never
runs. With modern tours featuring a preponderance of international
fixtures, one can easily grow rusty with disuse. Matthew Hayden once went
through a whole tour of Sri Lanka without playing a single game.
This was the Test which MacGill was always expected to play. He was brought
along as Australia customarily picked an extra spinner for the West Indies
to play at Port-of-Spain. A groundsman's preference may, as it were, have
queered his pitch. It was the end of Colin Miller when he visited England
without playing a Test four years ago. One wonders what this might mean for
MacGill. A frustrating game, no?
Tuesday, August 9

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McGr...err...Stuart Clark aims for the top of off stump with a hint of away movement
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The New South Welshman Stuart Clark, who has been playing for Middlesex, has
been called up by Australia as cover for the injured Brett Lee: a county
picking an Australian as a pro in an Ashes summer must always regard this as
a possibility. Shaun Young was called up from Gloucestershire in 1997, a
tour that also saw Darren Berry and Shane Lee reinforce the team from league
cricket. It is also another step in the interesting history of Australians
leading first-class careers in England
In these have-bat-will-travel days, we tend to forget the ambivalence,
sometimes bordering on outright hostility, with which itinerant foreign
professionals were once regarded. At the County Cricket Council meeting of
December 1888, laughter greeted the possibility of the Australians Turner
and Ferris joining Gloucestershire. Wisden itself heartily opposed
Australian Test cricketers accepting the county shilling. Few aspects of
the 1902 season pleased Sydney Pardon more, for example, than Victor
Trumper's decision to decline overtures from Lancashire: "Incidentally I may
express my extreme satisfaction that the efforts to secure him for an
English county failed. It would have been a paltry and unworthy thing to
deprive Australia, by means of a money bribe, of her finest batsman." Such
remarks struck a strong chord with antipodean readers like Tom Horan,
'Felix' of The Australasian: "I am sure we all agree with Wisden in
expressing extreme satisfaction that they failed."
Even then, though, there were pioneering professionals in English cricket,
and the almanack was not only reporting their doings but applauding them.
Albert Trott, who joined Middlesex in 1898 after his omission from the
Australian team, was a great Wisden favourite. He was part of its first
intake of Five Great Cricketers of the Season, while his unique straight
drive off countryman Monty Noble at Lord's in 1899 inspired one of the more
unusual advertising testimonials to appear for John Wisden & Co's cricket
balls: "Dear Sir, You may like to know it was one of your Special Crowns, I
hit over the Lord's pavilion in 1899. Signed Albert Trott."
Trott's example as professional cricketer was not immediately followed.
Though he was succeeded at Middlesex by another Australian, the
well-travelled Frank Tarrant, the likes of Alec Kermode at Lancashire, Alan
Marshal at Surrey and Edmund Dwyer at Sussex remained out of the ordinary.
For the three Oxford University Aussies Philip Le Couteur, Reg Bettington
and Roger Kimpton, meanwhile, cricket was part of their being in England
rather than being in England part of their cricket. The real harbinger of
the imported superstar was Ted McDonald: a gilt-edged investment for both
Nelson and Lancashire, worth rewarding with a stellar 500 pounds a year and
a benefit after five years rather than the usual ten for his 1040
first-class wickets.
Not everyone became a VIP. Because of the rules of residential
qualification, playing county cricket for many years involved renouncing
Test opportunities. But this proved no disincentive. After World War II,
county cricket abounded in transplanted Australians: Jock Livingston, George
Tribe, Bruce Dooland, Ken Grieves, Bill Alley, Jack Walsh, Vic Jackson,
Colin McCool, Jack McMahon, Jack Pettiford, Alan Walker and Keith Dollery.
Livingston grew so attached to his surroundings at Northants, David Frith
told me at Lord's, that half his ashes were sprinkled in England and half in
Australia.
Relaxation of residential requirements in 1968 then presaged a new era.
When Alley compiled his last century for Somerset that season, it was in the
company of Greg Chappell: a young man to whom county cricket was not an end
in itself, but part of a twelve-month-of-the-year cricket lifestyle. With
Leicestershire's Westralian Graham McKenzie as its pioneer, it became the
way of the future, with Tom Moody and Darren Lehmann among its most recent
representatives. Stuart Clark may be a member of a new generation: an
Australian to whom county cricket becomes, thanks to happenstance, the
gateway to an international career.
Monday, August 8

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Was it or wasn't it? And does it really matter?
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Michael Kasprowicz has said that he will replay the
final ball at Edgbaston in his mind forever.
Apparently he's not the only one. Some sound and fury
has been generated by a replay suggesting that
Kasprowicz's glove may, as the ball glanced it, not have
been in contact with the bat handle - the kind of
sound and fury that signifies nothing.
It is an obscure part of the Law: I doubt the majority
of cricket fans know it. It is also difficult to
apply: as good an umpire as Shep got it wrong in 1987
when he upheld a caught behind by Imran Khan against
Chris Broad. Umpire Billy Bowden made the judgment
on the basis of his own eyes and ears, as he had to,
not being permitted to consult the third umpire. No-one
watching the game saw anything wrong with the decision
at the time, and it may not even be wrong: the replay
is not definitive, merely inconclusive.
Some barrack-room lawyers - perhaps it should be
"dressing-room lawyers" in a cricket context - have
been uttering the expression "benefit of the doubt"
with the solemnity usually reserved for habeus corpus.
This is meretricious reasoning. If you're going to
be pedantic about the application of the Law, be
prepared to have it pedantically pointed out that the
extension of a "benefit of the doubt" to the batsman
has nothing to do with Law: it is simply a custom,
unwritten, and stressed to greater and lesser degrees
by different umpires. If anything, umpire Bowden is a
"not outer", while his Edgbaston partner Rudi Koertzen
is an "outer". Not so long before his final
judgement, Bowden spared Kasprowicz from an lbw appeal
that looked as though it was missing off and leg...and
you know the rest. On the third day, by contrast,
Koertzen gave Pietersen and Bell adjudged caught at
the wicket on the basis of evidence that might not
have convicted had Bowden been its assessor. No,
leave the replaying to Michael Kasprowicz, and even he
shouldn't do too much of it. If you can't enjoy
Edgbaston, you should find another game.