Richards in 1978 (Oct 1995)

In the recent thread regarding fine cricket writing I mentioned "The Best Loved Game" by Geoffrey Moorehouse, and one of you suggested I might post an excerpt. In the spirit of pleasing as many as possible (in the light of last month`s Viv Richards discussions), here is Moorehouse`s description of IVA, batting in what was then the Gillette Cup final, for Somerset against Sussex in 1978. By the way, Moorehouse`s book is published by Pavilion Books Ltd in paperback, and if you want to read more of this wonderful prose, buy it!.

"Richards has walked to the wicket crisply, buttoned up at the cuffs and almost to the chin, with none of the rangy slouch of Clive Lloyd, who otherwise most resembles him in a cricketing sense. Richards is compact, a man built of coiled muscle that lets fly with lightning force if need be, though a glittering eye generaly allows time for more leisurely action than that. Off Imran`s third ball he drives 4 runs to the long on ropes so lazily that I almost expect to finish the stroke with hand to mouth, stifling a yawn. The last ball from Imran he hooks at wickedly, perfectly executing the stroke except that it doesn`t connect. That one over shows all the temper, all the spectacular reflex and all the flowing ease of the man" [Richards made 44, and despite 80 by Botham, Somerset lost by 5 wickets]

A second description is from the Second Test vs Pakistan in the same year, where Ian Botham made a spectaculat 100, which he followed by taking 8-34 to almost singlehandedly win the game by an innings.

"But, more and more, it is Botham who gladdens Lord`s in the heat of the late afternoon. Here is England`s greatest gain since Kerry Packer`s blandishments enticed that quartet of regulars from the national team. His rise to international rank has been pure Boys Own Paper ever since that day in 1974 when he had his teeth smashed by Andy Roberts, refused to leave the field, and went on to win the match for Somerset with two 6s into the bargain - and him only eighteen years old. He bats the way small boys dream of batting, with his shoulders opened wide whenever he decides to hit, with great swings and sweeps of his blade that sends the ball bounding past fieldsmenwho can only stand and gape. Where David Gower touches and strokes and elegantly clips the ball, Ian Botham bangs it about with muscularity and lust. The one excites the mind and shyly discloses grace; the other makes the heart leap and truculently has his way. When Botham is in the mood of this innings, when he is faced by bowlers who are unable to turn him off, he takes almost all the attention from whoever is batting at the other end. We are tempted to watch Botham merely backing up so that we, too, can savour the pause before his assault goes on."