S Hughes: Cup of plenty (18 Jul 1998)

18 July 1998

Cup of plenty

By Simon Hughes

IT WAS the Ashes series of 1968. I was eight years old. The moment I saw Colin Cowdrey on a black and white TV score a century in his 100th Test I was hooked. I destroyed my father's chrysanthemum's copying Kipper's cover drive in the garden and practised the way he raised his bat to acknowledge the crowd's applause. I even worked out a suitable autograph. Cowdrey was my hero, so we went to watch Kent play in the championship or Sunday League whenever we could.

A new competition began in 1972, the Benson and Hedges Cup, and we got tickets for the first final. It was a low-scoring match, Yorkshire managing only 136 for nine in their 55 overs, Leicestershire getting home by five wickets to win the trophy and UKP 2,500. But it was very exciting and I demanded to go back the next year when Kent made it to Lord's. They won and Cowdrey, batting down the order, made a stylish dozen. Between innings we played with a tennis ball on the outfield, trying to catch the eye of the players sitting on the pavilion balcony.

Thirteen years later I was actually playing in a Benson and Hedges final against a Kent team containing two Cowdreys. Chris was captain, 21-year-old Graham had made it into the team as a middle-order improviser. Chasing 200, Kent were in tatters but Graham rescued them with an innings that was the very antithesis of his cultured father.

He swayed outside leg stump and swatted the pace bowlers over square leg, carved the spinners past point, scampered up and down the wicket to play shots and steal runs. Colin sat in the pavilion wide-mouthed with awe and disbelief. (As it happened Madonna was No 1 that week with Pappa Don't Preach). With 14 required from the last over, bowled by me in pouring rain, Kent just failed at the last hurdle but the youngest Cowdrey had made his mark.

Now, 12 years on, he is retiring, bringing to an end a 48-year unbroken sequence of Cowdrey presence in first-class cricket (Colin made his debut in 1950, and overlapped with Chris in the mid- 70's). This is a significant moment, more so because Graham claims he is "disillusioned" with the game and suggests it has lost its appeal. This is tantamount to the Charlton family saying they've had it with football. And people deny cricket's in a critical state.

Graham Cowdrey has certainly been one of the game's characters. Known universally as Van for his total obsession with the music of the Irish vocalist Van Morrison (he even roadied for Morrison one winter) he was a charismatic presence on the field - explosive with the bat, a live wire at cover - and a wag in the bar on the days when he wasn't rushing straight from dressing room to car still in his whites.

His career has been like an Indian road - full of bumps and holes, occasionally hazardous, notably when Curtly Ambrose beamed him a few times during a streaky hundred - but with the odd memorable highlight. One was his maiden first-class century at Chelmsford, the morning after which he woke up to discover his hotel room-mate, Steve Marsh, had drunk the glass of water containing his contact lenses.

Another was the extraordinary partnership with Aravinda de Silva of 381, which is a record for Kent for any wicket. "Aravinda is the only man who has really helped my game," Cowdrey says. "His philosophy is simple. If you get a half-volley, hit it for four, even if you're on nought. Be positive at all times. Play your natural game. No one else really ever said that in quite the same way."

Driving back from a second team match at Taunton recently, Cowdrey decided he'd had enough. The game had become uninspiring, he was struggling to find any enthusiasm or anyone interesting to write about in his regular cricket column for the Racing Post. The equine world beckons. He is married to a female jockey, who herself has hung up her britches on 49 wins, and lives at Angmering Park Stud - the home of his father and second wife, Lady Ann Herries, the racehorse trainer. It is the end of a cricketing dynasty and it is a great loss.

It is also a sign of what we already know. Interest in cricket is dwindling. Look at last Saturday's B & H final. I didn't see too many gap-toothed eight-year-olds there, or MCC members for that matter. The Lord's pavilion was only half full, there were other wide expanses of empty seating, and Leicestershire, the cup's first winners, returned half their allocation of 4,500 tickets. Apathy is setting in.

The defection of the B & H Cup to Sky hasn't helped. Some sports have been marginalised in the public consciousness by being on Sky. The Ryder Cup is one, boxing another, the B & H is a third. If 70 per cent of the population don't see a major event live, it ceases over a number of years to retain its national importance and fathers aren't as compelled to encourage their kids to take up the sport. As they try to breed cricket in the next generation, the English Cricket Board might like to think on that.

Source :: Electronic Telegraph (https://www.telegraph.co.uk)