Memories from a bookshelf
A match of the one-armed v the one-legged, the bail that flew 211 yards, and other tales
The maestro: Neville Cardus • Getty Images
For some reason this got fried in my braincells. My first love was a book by Andrew Ward, Cricket's Strangest Matches. A dream book par excellence, it combined quirky tales with a generous dosage of cricket history. It did not have photos - which in my opinion makes a book cheesy rather than realistic - and ascribed to a painter's interpretation on the cover, befitting a vintage idealism.
Tim Killick's last over (which included 2 no balls) yielded 34 runs to a rampant Alletson (the record until Sobers smashed 36 off Nash). However, the two new bowlers introduced immediately after the over, Cox and Relf did seem to contain Alletson a bit, but Alletson was beginning to hit them as well when he was caught at the boundary (all reports say that the fielder was actually outside the boundary). In the course of 5 consecutive overs- 3 from Killick & 2 from Leach, Alletson scored 97 runs out of a 100. Notts was all out for 412 & nearly won the game as Sussex hung on for a draw at 213-8, needing 237 to win.
Speaking of apocryphal stories, although Cricket's Strangest Matches was my first book, it was soon followed by the purchase of a couple more from eBay and Amazon. The paper-thin Crucial Cricket (Fact Attack) kept me awake with many factoids, but what amused me most was a certain William Adlam who played cricket at the ripe age of 104 in Taunton, Somerset, in 1888.
Steve Waugh stole the show after pulling a calf muscle and being carried off the field in a stretcher at Trent Bridge. Far from being fully fit, he would promptly return to take part in the tour later on, and it seemed that through sheer willpower he limped his way to a century at The Oval. It was inevitable that I would learn of this forgotten tale after ordering the The Ashes' Strangest Moments by Mark Baldwin.
I knew that James Southerton was the oldest debutant, but Callow's book caught my imagination for the chief reason of introducing Wilfred Rhodes' name. Rhodes played a Test in Kingston in 1930 at 52 years and 165 days against West Indies. As the entry has it:
The Yorkshire all rounder went from playing number 11 in his debut Test [...] to opening the Test batting with Jack Hobbs.
A long break would follow before I picked up any cricket books. Gradually, I was getting disenchanted of an unknown sport in a testosterone-driven American culture. However, it was in America, from a used bookstore, that I would buy a book to learn of Morcom.
In the meantime, I also received my first Wisden when Dad came back from Calcutta with my list of cricket books to be bought. Imagine my thrill upon thumbing through my first Wisden. It surely wasn't like my first love but it was a Wisden! If reading fine prints can be a pain in the bottom, then I was a serene yogi on bed of nails. But it's not any of the tales featured in the 2013 edition that remain etched in my mind. The association the yellow brick always brings to my mind is about the story of how a ball got caught on a knife in the crowd, which I found from "Index of unusual occurrences" of another Wisden.
Dad also brought me Cricket, which always made me cringe because it was elementary, as if cut for a school boy. To add to that, it had a foreword by Harsha Bhogle, a not-so favourite commentator of mine. This book does, however, take me back to Saqlain Mushtaq's bowling when he had the whole field up close in one shot: the bowler, the umpire, the two batsmen, and ten fielders in a vulpine manner.
Another book I quickly picked up was The Picador Book of Cricket, edited by Ramachandra Guha. Ralph Barker's essay on Bart King remains my favourite. It would not do any justice to his style and prose to reproduce his piece in a span of few words and I strongly urge others to check out the incredible showmanship of Bart King.
How I envied others for possessing vintage cricket books, that I forgot I was sitting on a goldmine myself. When I saw English Cricket in the used bookstore and immediately knew I had to have it, and pounced on it.
"He's no batsman," said the Australian George Giffen, "he's a conjuror!" When he turned approved science upside down and changed the geometry of batsmanship to an esoteric legerdemain, we were bewitched to the realms of rope-dancers and snake-charmers; this was a cricket of Oriental sorcery, glowing with a dark beauty of its own, a beauty with its own mysterious axis and balance. Bowlers threw up their hands to high heaven as he made his passes of flexible willow and they say their thunderbolts enchanted from the middle stump to the fine-leg boundary - it was like a shooting star, all wrong in our astronomy, but right and splendid in some other and more dazzling stellar universe. "'e never made a Christian stroke in 'is life, ' said an old Yorkshire cricketer. And why should he have? His name was not Grace but Kumar Shri Ranjitsinhji.