Pete Langman
Why the wrong technique is sometimes right
Orthodoxy is all well and good, but sometimes you need to dump it in the interests of the spirit of play
Pete Langman
23-Feb-2017
Many cricketers play better when on tour than when they are knee-deep in the grind of another season, and part of it is because the games are less important, the scores kept are purely for club fines and forfeits rather than league position and points. When you add in the cameraderie built up by late-night drinking sessions, hangovers and lazy days getting to know new clubs and grounds, the game simply becomes fun again, and with the pressure off, your game can simply flow. The dodgy B&Bs can take off some of the glitz, but things could be worse. You could be in ancient Greece, where the dodgy B&B was raised to an art form: if it isn't Circe turning your team into a herd of pigs, then it's Polyphemus deciding to eat his guests. Poor form, I think you'd agree. It is perhaps Procrustes who, in his desire to have everything "just so", was the most unpleasant of the lot. He would adjust his guests so that they fitted his beds perfectly: too tall and he'd lop off your feet; too small, and he'd put you on the rack and stretch you until you were the perfect height.
In the same way, orthodox technique is often applied as a "one size fits all" method of coaching. But sometimes the heterodox approach can also lead to great success, especially when allied with that mysterious element called "play". In a previous life I was a musician and teacher, and spent hours with both individuals and bands, helping them sound better. I was a stickler for correct technique, within the boundaries of individual ability, but every so often I would simply ignore what a player was doing "wrong" because the noise they made simply worked. The same principle applied when working with bands, and while judgements as to which bands or players aren't technically adept but make great noise is a wildly subjective art - perhaps a few suggestions in the comments might help the debate - the point is, some people do things simply wrong, but get it oh, so right.
We are, in England at least, at that time when cricketers across the land are viewing the new season with a mix of trepidation and anticipation. Gymnasia resonate with the thud of ball upon shin, the metallic clatter of rebound stumps, and warning cries of "Heads!" as the five bowlers waiting their turn catch up on gossip, having forgotten about the batsman, who has decided the lofted straight drive is the shot of the day. Breakfast tables groan as those muscles that seem strangely cricket-specific take umbrage against their sudden and unprepared for re-deployment. But these nets are next to useless technically, the traditional "bowlers, form a disorderly queue; batter, kill the ball" approach doing nobody any favours, and they're hardly ideal preparation for an uncovered pitch in late April. They are fun, however, if you let them be.
Full postLet's make run-outs mundane
By making a simple, common-sense ritual standard practice, it is possible - at the lower levels, at least - to achieve a far higher success rate when seeking to catch a batsman short
Pete Langman
31-Jan-2017
It is a cliché universally acknowledged that while catches win matches, a timely run-out can help you take a game by the snout. It is not uncommon for it to be that piece of individual brilliance that breaks the unbreakable stand, dismisses the undismissible bat: just ask Ricky Ponting. But these moments really stick in the memory because of their rarity, especially in the lower reaches of the game. What I would like to do is make the run-out mundane, by making it happen more often.
There are two types of run-out: the spectacular direct-hit variety and the throw/gather/break stumps variety. That the latter is generally credited solely to the thrower is one of cricket's many injustices, but that is another blog. The direct hit is relatively rare, which makes it all the more tempting to attempt, and the occasional success glosses over the more usual miss. I would love to see some stats on the ratio of successfully executed direct hits to misses (and average overthrows per miss too), and the number of gather-and-break-stumps successes analysed in similar fashion. The stats aren't exactly comprehensive - though they do reveal that Viv Richards ran out more of his partners (3.39%) than did Geoffrey Boycott (2.9%). They also fail to differentiate between types of run-outs.
Attempted direct hits are, instinct tells me, high risk for low reward. The direct hit requires a throw at the base of the stumps to maximise the chances of contact, at least with regards to height, and this puts any fielder who stands ready to gather the ball in danger. The ball that gets to the stumps on the bounce and hits them is on an upward trajectory, changing direction with two or three feet left to travel before reaching any waiting fielder. Imagine if the ball simply clips the bails and travels not into the hands but directly towards the face. Is there time to move out of harm's way? No.
Full postSkating to midwicket, hiking to long-off
There's nothing quite like playing cricket in an unusual venue to reacquaint yourself with the essence of the sport
Pete Langman
05-Jan-2017
Cricket is a game so mired in tradition that sometimes it's the unexpected match that reminds one of its true beauty.
During practically every game of Sunday cricket, one of the younger members of the batting side is sent out to umpire with strict instructions from their captain regarding sportsmanship, even-handedness and honesty: "Now remember, with an lbw shout, just take a deep breath, count to five, consider all the possibilities and then... give it not out." Cricket, by dint of its astonishingly reactionary nature, has a "say no first, contemplate perhaps maybe having a flirtation with indulging in some independence of thought later" attitude towards change. And yet, for all its "I'm sorry, sir, but you appear unencumbered by any hint of a patterned silk neck ornament" punctiliousness, it is difficult to imagine a game that is played in a greater range of circumstances or on a greater variety of surfaces than cricket.
From the shifting sands of Godwin to the minutely manicured strips at Lord's, via (or so I'm told) the car parks of Beirut, cricket can be played anywhere, and it often is. It is indicative of cricket's downright perversity that for all its suffocatingly comfortable swaddling in tradition, when it does go off-piste, to mix my sporting metaphors, it does so in style. Cricket doesn't finesse the cover drive, it switch-hits.
Full postLet's hear it for the ump
A large percentage of umpiring decisions are invariably met with indignation and angst. It shouldn't be that way
Pete Langman
17-Dec-2016
"How the bloody hell was that?" went one of the more memorable yet printable appeals to which I have borne witness. We've all been there - the intractable umpire, the dead-in-the-water appeal, the shake of the head, the muttering. Then there was the one that resulted in a long silence from the umpire, followed by the words "I was waiting for you to walk." It may be a friendly game, but when the batsman is caught flat-footed and back in the crease as the ball raps the pad, plumb as plumb can be, and is yet again given not out, tempers can begin to fray.
But then again, any lbw decision is always a travesty so far as one side is concerned: for the bowler, it's always out; for the batsman, never. In between these two certainties is the grey area of discretion in which the poor and increasingly beleaguered umpire must wallow, knowing full well that while one side will congratulate them on an excellent decision, the other will scowl and mutter vague imprecations. Not only this but their decision will continue to be questioned during tea, over a pint, the breakfast table, even the end-of-season dinner.
At school, maybe (oh lordy) 40-odd years ago, I was told, "The umpire is right whether he's right or wrong", but the times they are a-changin'. Not only has master Zimmerman become a Nobel Laureate, players now challenge decisions as a matter of course, there are plans afoot for a red-card system, and apparently they even let women umpire now.
Full postShould we judge a player by his gear?
Whether you have a bat that cost more than your house or one that's older than that house, the important thing is that you enjoy playing with it
Pete Langman
20-Nov-2016
Once upon a time, when Sundays were as cloudless as our clarity of purpose, we would have donned our whites and taken to the field, and there the modern world would be held at bay for a few sweet, sweet hours by its great antidote, village cricket. But the wheel of fate is ever spinning and before long we slid off the teamsheet, distracted by family, work and the myriad other calls upon our time. Sulking in our tents like so many modern-day Achilleses, we could only slowly appreciate when the game might fit back into our lives, or we might fit our lives back into the game. And when, finally, we are tempted back into the fray, we search for our old armour in vain.
And there's the rub: what do we do about equipment? Do we kit ourselves up to the eyeballs or just stroll out with the barest of bare necessities? There's a fine line to be walked here, and it's the one between the pavilion and the middle. And back.
As we all know, cricket is played largely in the head (certainly my best innings have taken place there), but it's not just our attitude or expectations that count: the opposition has a part to play here, too. No one wants to be that player, do they? The one whose journey to the middle (and back again) is accompanied by the fateful words "all the gear, no idea".
Full postBe your own role model
If there's a gap between what you think you can do and what you can actually do on the field, you won't be a match-winner
Pete Langman
28-Oct-2016
The Temple of Apollo, where the Oracle of Delphi plied her trade, was renowned for having the maxim "know thyself" carved into its stone. This, along with Polonius' parting words to Laertes in Hamlet, "to thine own self be true", is perhaps the best advice that a cricketer can be given. For cricket, in all of its infinite variety, relies on judgement more than any other skill, and if there's one judgement that is absolutely vital, it is that of the self.
Geoffrey Boycott, for all his faults, knows a thing or two about the game. One of his mantras is "Make your opponent do something they don't want to do." He says this because it's true.
If you're bowling to Alastair Cook, you don't pitch the ball short and wide, or on his hips, you pitch it outside off... and when he's struggling, when his footwork isn't just so, or he's overbalancing, he'll invariably have a nibble. When he's in form, however, his judgement is impeccable. Ignoring practically everything that isn't in his arc, he simply waits for the bad ball and puts it away, and his leave is a thing of frustrating beauty. He's not the most elegant, attractive or technically proficient member of the England set-up, but one look at the numbers show just how effective a cricketer he is. This is because he knows his own game.
Full postWhen is cricket like a marriage?
Your relationship with your club might be more like a romance than you thought
Pete Langman
05-Oct-2016
For those of a certain generation, the words "you have been selected" at the head of a letter meant one thing, and one thing alone... the Reader's Digest, ever the Jehovah's Witnesses of the magazine world, had gained control over your personal details, and wanted more. Everyone, but everyone, received one of these "specially selected" letters. The thrill lasted about as long as it took to register the sender's provenance.
For a cricketer, the first time you read these words marks the beginning of a lifelong love affair with the game, an affair rekindled every time the selection represents a new level of achievement.
There's a point in every cricketer's career, however, from casual Sunday player to Test stalwart, when they are no longer the first, or even the 11th, name on the team sheet. This is the point when you first fail to make the cut, and it's a little like being dumped. At least the Reader's Digest made you feel wanted, unlike the inevitable message which starts with the words "I'm sorry..."
Full postThe beat of cricket
Getting the timing right, when playing and elsewhere, sets you free
Pete Langman
08-Sep-2016
Time, as a wiser man than I once said, is the author of authors. No matter how fast we run in the hope of outpacing it, it always catches up with us. This is because it is attached to our heels with elastic. And it always has the last word, just as it does the first.
Cricket also has an elastic view of time, packing its excitement into barely a quarter of the actual minutes available. In Test match cricket, each ball bowled is in motion for between six and 12 seconds, with the important bit, from hand to bat, taking up barely an entire second. A typical hour's play, containing, say, 13 overs, thus involves barely 15 minutes of action, of which around two minutes are ball to bat to field. They also serve, as Milton would say.
And yet, within this game of contradictions built on dichotomy, this game that challenges us on every level, forcing us into unnatural positions, demanding fluidity when for the greater part of every match the entire field is almost entirely still, within this game the great players appear to manufacture their own time. Time is the umpire of umpires, if you like.
Full postSunday cricket: no country for a pro
Why the top-drawer player's basic strength would work against them at a lowly level of cricket
Pete Langman
11-Aug-2016
My cousin Ben was a good cricketer. A right-arm quick, he played for the combined services, often counting county 2nd XIs and Minor Counties as opponents. On reading my book, he told me this story about playing at Arundel some years before (apologies if I get it wrong).
On arriving at the ground, he finds a new keeper in the pavilion, rummaging in an old bag. Said keeper triumphantly extracts a pair of gloves and prises the palms apart before turning to Ben, introducing himself as Paul and saying, "This should be interesting, I haven't played for three years."
Cut to Ben's opening spell. Two balls into his first over, the keeper runs up to him saying "Ben, Ben... mind if I stand up, mate?" Ben nods, a little bemused as he considered himself pretty pacy. Running in for ball No. 3, Ben sees an arm waving frantically towards square leg. "Wide down leg? Sure, I can do that," thinks Ben. Wide the ball flies, at pace. Out pops a glove, snatches the ball from thin air, and whips off the bails. The keeper turns to the umpire, "How was that?", and then to the bat, "I'll give you a clue: on your bike, mate." All in all, he stumped three bats standing up to a bowler flinging it down at speeds well over 70mph.
Full postThe cricket shots we actually play
Drives, pulls and cuts are for pros. In the real world, things are different
Pete Langman
02-Jul-2016
"You won't see that in any coaching manual" is one of those obliquely slippery phrases that manages to deliver its core message of admiration wrapped up in a cloth of mild distaste, and is rarely heard other than on TMS or one of its many simpering fan progs. Visit a village green on an April Sunday, however, when the long shadows cast by the pavilion can preserve the frost until tea (or in this wettest of Junes, visit a field so cut up by a winter's worth of football boots and a month's worth of spikes, it would be flatter if freshly ploughed), and you may witness res and verba in perfect metaphorical alignment. That is to say, batsman and commentator conspire to give the term "agricultural" a bad name.
In village cricket, of course, the commentator is a collective comprising the occupants of the "office", namely the close fielders arranged around the wicketkeeper. It is traditional for manager and staff to keep up a running commentary on the batsman's efforts to send the ball hither and thither in order to hasten his own journey back to the warmth of the pavilion, and to start each idiosyncratic snippet of song that subsequently travels around the outfield in a sort of Mexican karaoke.
"What the f*** was that shot meant to be?" is perhaps the village equivalent of the professional commentator's "coaching manual" barb. Invariably the response runs something along the lines of "four runs". After all, there's unorthodox and unorthodox, and in cricket, a shot's value is ultimately considered in direct proportion to its outcome. Even by Sir Geoffrey.
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