Tour Diary

One would be surprised if the book in the picture were not the biggest ever written on cricket, in terms of height and weight. The ‘monster’ weighs “21-and-half kilos” and needs a separate table for itself. When it was presented at Lord’s, John Arlott called it a “pocket battleship of a fleet”.

You’d be hard pressed to find anyone who knew more about New Zealand cricket than the man holding the book, or much more in volume about cricket in general. Don Neely wrote Men In White, a comprehensive history of New Zealand cricket, played first-class cricket for Wellington and Auckland, led Wellington to the Plunkett Shield in his first year as captain without the services of John Reid, Bob Blair and Bruce Morrison, became a national selector, and is now the NZC president.

Is it a sign of professionalism gone mad or evidence of mollycoddling taken to a new level? It’s difficult to know how to respond to the news that Ireland’s cricketers are being subjected to breathalyser tests, an Irish journalist learned a few days ago. Even non-alcoholic fizzy drinks have been banned and the coach, Phil Simmons, along with Ireland’s manager, Roy Torrens, have also joined in the non-party. Alcohol is not the most forgiving fluid, admittedly, but even in a coaching era that treats and analyses players like precious Formula 1 cars, this is a surprisingly bold move. It does reflect, however, how importantly Ireland’s coaching staff are taking this tournament; how crucial it is that they’re players perform at their maximum capability. Though surely there is a level of trust involved; I can't imagine most of these players would sink a crate of Castle after each game for the hell of it. Or would they? Their chief executive, Warren Deutrom, was none the wiser about the new policy.

"I didn’t know about it until last week, and it made me smile," he told Cricinfo. "It reminded me a lot of what Adi Birrell calls the one-percenters – those little details that make the difference in preparation. It strikes me as a really clever idea.

"After all, no-one will want to be the one to break it, so everyone will look out for each other, ensure that no-one will let each other down, that they’re all preparing as assiduously as each other, thereby bringing the team closer together."

Even as New Zealand discontinues daylight-saving on Sunday, and moves all its clocks and watches behind by one hour, time will continue to stand still at the Basin Reserve. It is an old-world venue, situated bang in the centre of modern and hectic Wellington, almost oblivious to the mad traffic outside. There has been talk a few times of bringing it down to facilitate smoother flow of traffic towards the airport, the eastern suburbs and the south shore, but the Basin, protected by the Act of Parliament, has defied modernity.

If any more proof of this is needed, just step inside the New Zealand Cricket Museum in the Old Grandstand. From the triumphant to the funny, from the tragic to the quirky, from the brave to the under-hand, from the Addington bat (the third-oldest bat ever, used in 1743 and bought for 1600 pounds in 1987) to the aluminium bat (one of the few Dennis Lillee got made, he may or may not have used this dented piece of furniture), it’s all here.

And then there is David Mealing, the curator of the museum, whose beard rivals WG Grace’s. David tells every tale depicted in the museum so delightfully as if he has just come to know of it.

Even Associate cricket needs security, apparently. But is it really necessary for a match that has attracted roughly five fans for there to be four green-jacketed officials to protect the pitch from an invisible invasion? It is searingly hot in the sun today, yet each of them are dutifully stood at each corner of the pitch, eyeing the phantom crowds warily, just in case there's a sudden monsoon of fans flooding onto the pitch.

At least it's not raining.

There may not be any advertising or signs promoting the forthcoming Indian Premier League but, like an impending lunch with inlaws, it looms large in the back of your conscience. Here in Benoni, where Ireland are taking on Scotland in the World Cup Qualifiers, the crowd can generously be described as a smattering. Less complimentary an adjective might be paltry, for there are only 40 people on a glorious sunny day. In contrast my spies tell me there are already hordes of media, BCCI officials and IPL administrators loitering around one of Johannesburg’s more opulent hotels.

Those permitted accreditation for the IPL would comfortably outnumber the loyal Ireland and Scotland fans here at Willowmore Park. It was ever thus for Associate cricket; crowd-numbers are never enormous and it struggles to gain global coverage, though the local media from the representing countries are always in attendance and do their best to promote the game back home. Still, it remains a disappointment that a tournament as prestigious as this – and it is, for the development of cricket – is about to be dwarfed in publicity by an event whose Man-of-the-Match cheques alone could transform some of these countries’ facilities and ambition.

My half Welsh blood came rushing to the surface this morning. On my way to Willowmore Park in Benoni to cover Ireland and Scotland's first match of the tournament, we happened to drive down Tom Jones Street. Could it really be? Was Tom here? If not now, then at one point? My Serbian taxi driver, demonstrating a surprisingly broad tonal range, broke out into a ropey but guttural version of Sex Bomb, showing little or no respect for Jones's greatest hit, It's Not Unusual. A Serbian-born South African, who is borderline tone-deaf, singing a song from the Pontypridd preener? It was undoubtedly unusual.

Sunil Gavaskar and Kapil Dev didn’t exactly get along famously during their playing days, but far away in the Southern Hemisphere, in one of the plushest residential areas of Wellington, the two icons of Indian cricket stand next to each other. About a 15-minute drive from the city centre, streets named after them stand 50 meters apart and overlook the capital from a high ground on one side, and green higher hills on the other. The view is breathtaking.

The houses look luxurious, with classy wooden doors, rich gardens and big cars. Not many venture out of their houses, at least during the 15 minutes spent there. A walker-by doesn’t really know when the streets were named, or who came up with the idea. The city council is not of much help, or perhaps they have got more important things to do. But they do suggest Wellington Museum could be of some help. The Museum directs one to the Wellington City Archives, where the only thing that can be established is, the streets were named before 1992: the earliest mention of the names in the archives is in 1992, and it is not about their naming.

There is an interesting pattern to the signboards of the street names. Gavaskar Place is written only on one side of the board, and Kapil Grove on both. Could it have anything to do with Gavaskar being a just a batsman and Kapil being an allrounder? The streets of the Khandallah area, where these streets are, are winding as opposed to the straight bat of Gavaskar.

Who says cricket attracts only Bollywood stars? Cricket in New Zealand gets its fair share of “local” movie stars too. Russell Crowe, for one, but that interest could have been because of his cousins and former New Zealand captains, Martin and Jeff Crowe. Matches in Napier attract a movie star whose interest in cricket comes from inside, he doesn’t need his cousins to bring him to the cricket.

Well if not a star in the real sense of the word, Mark Greatbatch did play a cameo in the movie version of The End of The Golden Weather, a book from the seventies, and one of the most enduring theatre in New Zealand - the story of a New Zealand summer in the thirties. One of the characters in the book is a dreamer. In one of his many dreams, he is bowling, and in one instance, to WG Grace at Lord’s. Grace hits almightily into the air, the kid runs all the way, and dives and catches it.

The final had long been won, but one England player was still on the pitch, practising her batting for fun with a group of mates. Ebony Rainford-Brent, the talented allrounder-turned-batsman, typifies the keenness of her side and the competition for places - also demonstrated in the dropping of vice-captain Nicky Shaw for the final before her fairytale reversal of fortune with four wickets and 17 not out.

The floodlights even came on to light up the winning girls’ smiles, by which time a disconsolate New Zealand team had slipped away, only to emerge brighter and ready to celebrate a good tournament at the teams’ hotel later on.

There the England girls celebrated in the piano bar where only the night before, fourth-placed Australia had bashed the keys merrily and heartily sang their woes away. It also acted as a goodbye tribute to Leonie Coleman and 23-year-old Emma Sampson, who had announced their retirement to their team only hours before.

Sampson can yet come back. Whether she will is a different story, something that I mulled over with a fringe Australia player whom I bumped into on the ferry to Manly (“Seven miles from Sydney, a thousand miles from care” according to the old advertisement) the next day. We both concluded that she was brave and wished her well on her travels.