Michael's calling

Oh dear. It seems that Michael Vaughan has battuus interruptus, otherwise known as premature dismissal syndrome, that often embarrassing condition to which stylish batsmen are peculiarly vulnerable. It is very easy to spot the afflicted: they walk confidently out to bat and begin with a few sweetly-timed boundaries but then get out for not very many, and the onlookers who were contentedly setting themselves down to savour some delectable batting haute cuisine get no more than a mouthful before an over-zealous waiter whips their plates away.

Even though today’s innings was probably cut short by an over-zealous umpire, Vaughan’s chances of appearing in the Tests this summer are receding daily. Which means that those of us who were hoping that Headingley would resound in July to the Barmy Army’s version of “Kumbaya” while the former captain’s cover drive simultaneously completes his hundred and clinches the Ashes are liable to become very boring as we intone sentences beginning “If only …” at every conceivable opportunity, so be warned.

On the other hand, we have this week heard the welcome news that, barring unforeseen disasters, he intends to play cricket next summer (at least) whether or not he gets picked for England along the way.

That declaration of intent presumably contains a bit of selector-nudging, since he would understand that the Strauss-Flower regime might prefer to go with the batsman who certainly has a future rather than an imminent retiree if it comes down to a toss-up between two plausible candidates, but since he said it to the Yorkshire club magazine, it really amounts to a promise to play on in first-class cricket after his international career is over.

It’s not that he needs the money. As a senior professional of considerable stature he could expect a pretty decent wage for playing county cricket, but he would probably get a similar amount from the former-England-captain pension scheme run by Sky TV, which involves a great deal less effort even after taking into account the bother of having to share the occasional commentary stint with Sir Ian Botham.

There are plenty of reasons to decry the English system as bloated, but in its favour is the opportunity that young players get of playing with and against players whose exploits they marvelled at when they were kids and learning from their experience. There is probably a lad in the Hampshire dressing room whose earliest cricket memory is of Dominic Cork laying waste to West Indians in 1994, and now there is the man himself just across the dressing room. Not so much a dream coming true as fantasy made real.

The truth of “class is permanent” is nowhere better demonstrated than on the county grounds of England. The reactions may have slowed a little, the eyes may be less sharp, but most of the veterans are capable of stepping up to something near their former best for at least the odd innings or bowling spell; even when they are in cruise mode you can usually see that they were once a cut above the rest.

So, since I’ve lost faith that he will return and win us the Ashes, here’s hoping that Michael Vaughan gets over the battuus interruptus, his zest for the game remains undimmed and the knee holds up for several years. Unless, that is, the likes of Joe Sayers, Adam Lyth and Andrew Gale improve enough to insist on being picked for Yorkshire ahead of him.