Gooch doesn't live up to expectations

Graham Gooch was standing at ease, bag in hand, and smiling. Surely that's not Gooch (or as my grandfather used to say, Goch). There was a celebratory piece on Gooch recently, written by Patrick Kidd, a staff writer with The Times, where he spoke about Gooch's bottom: "The backside thrust out towards square leg". And that's the Gooch we remember: ram-rod straight stance, high bully-like back lift, Zapata moustache, that steely determination in the eyes and the statuesque seriousness.

Against India he turned plunderer, rudely ravaging 333 at Lord's and sweeping 115 at the Wankhede in a World Cup semi-final. He was the perennial villain but unlike the movies the bad guy always won. In 1990, on India's tour to England, I'd agreed on a pact with granddad to study till Gooch was at the crease and only then listen to the cricket on radio. By the end of the series, when he amassed three hundreds and two fifties, I was doing well at school. That didn't stop me cursing both my granddad and his dear 'Goch', though.

How the mighty have fallen. He's courteous, jovial and witty, a fine talker and a good analyst. As he offers a handshake, you hesitate fearing for your fingers but all you get is a normal, firm grasp. He's ready to answer a variety of questions and talks in specifics. He's a nice man. Gosh, what a let down.