The Surfer

For the foreseeable future, Cook is here to stay, and it would not be in the England management's nature to jettison him for a long while yet. They genuinely believe, unlike a plethora of pundits, that he can lead them to sunny uplands.

The recent tournament in India, Sri Lanka and Bangladesh was neither highly successful (although it did make pots of money) nor universally acclaimed. A better résumé would be to say that the 2011 World Cup was not as disastrous as its predecessors in 2007 in the Caribbean, 2003 in Southern Africa or 1999 in the United Kingdom. But 2011 was still flawed. The first month would have been a complete waste of time and energy but for England's travails in their attempts to qualify. Even then precisely the eight teams anticipated qualified for the quarter-finals. That part of the tournament went on far too long.

My first encounter with him was as a 14-year-old when he was representing Trinidad and Tobago at the West Indies regional under-15 tournament ... With a smooth run- up and nippy pace for his age, he impressed me with his ability then and his willingness to learn. As manager of that team, I occasionally jogged back to the hotel from the ground and he, with one or two others, would come along. Any bowling advice given to him at practice sessions he would immediately try and implement ...

One day during the tournament I said to him, ‘ do you know that you have enough talent to play for the West Indies some day?’ His look was one of astonishment, as if to suggest, ‘ who, me? Are you mad?’ While his response spoke of his naivety then, as it probably would have done to most 14-year-olds at that time, it also speaks of his humility which has been his hallmark right through.

Searby – virtually everybody called him Searby – worked on the county cricket circuit when press boxes still bristled with purpose and a sense of self-worth and, after he had filed repeatedly for five evening papers, mostly ad-libbed with uncanny accuracy, and three radio stations, he had worked up quite a thirst.

The International Cricket Council (ICC) could have struck another blow for bowlers this week by banning the use of Nos 9, 10 and 11 as cannon fodder on occasions when top-order batsmen don't fancy doing their job because it's a bit dark or there are only a few minutes to go before close of play.

When I think of Javagal Srinath, I think of ’97. India v Sri Lanka in Mumbai. Final Test. India pushing for a win, trying to wrap up the Sri Lankan first innings when Srinath ran in and smashed the wicketkeeper Lanka de Silva in the face. The bouncer sneaking through the helmet grille, pummeling his left cheek and sending him to the hospital where he would need ten stitches. That was the first time I saw an Indian bowler do anything remotely violent. I felt bad for Lanka de Silva but I was perversely thrilled. An Indian fast bowler was smelling blood. Srinath probably apologised. I didn’t notice. But there was reason to hope.

It is a debate that has been rumbling on for several years, brought to a head perhaps by the issue not of pulled muscles or, say, a foot damaged by a special from Lasith Malinga, but of cramp, something particularly highlighted in a Centurion Champions League match between South Africa and England a couple of years back, when the South African captain, Graeme Smith, cramping after scoring a century, was refused a runner, AB de Villiers, by Andrew Strauss who reasoned that after a long innings in hot conditions, a batsman is going to be drained and that it wasn't that serious anyway.

His [Tendulkar's] maturity had long since marked him out and he quickly acclimatised to the Yorkshire dressing room. After only a few weeks the coach, Steve Oldham, said: "They are all better players for his presence. His confidence is infectious, they all want to bat with him." ... A decade later, when he was inducted as one of five great Yorkshire players, Tendulkar said: "I will always remember this as one of the greatest four and a half months I've spent in my life."

So much is growing within this New England that they can beat India — perhaps by no more than 1-0 in the four-Test series — and set off towards global supremacy for the next half dozen years.

England not only have a talented and settled line-up but perhaps the best reserve strength since the mid-1950s when Peter May and his selection panels could leave out highly skilled men like Fred Trueman, Peter Loader, Frank Tyson, Tom Graveney, Willie Watson and a dozen more and still beat Australia and anyone else in sight. Look at their skill base of 2011 in detail and you will see what I mean.

It was 1948, the year of a severe thrashing by one of the greatest Australian teams that I became fascinated by the descriptive power of the men without pictures, reporters who clearly loved every minute of what I realised must be an ideal life telling anyone who would listen just what was happening in the wonderful world of sport.

I can remember their phrases to this day. “His name is Fred Titmus and he is on his way to the wicket, marching like at a good pace like a light infantryman, which is only appropriate since he is on leave from his Army unit.” That is just one line from the Arlott book of thrilling words.