S Hughes: When bowlers put their foot down (20 Jun 1998)

20 June 1998

When bowlers put their foot down

By Simon Hughes

IT was all because the umpire called 'no ball'. As Mike Atherton took the catch-that-didn't-count the irritated groans from the pavilion were audible, and not related to some ill-attired imposter talking during an over or an indecipherable clue in the Telegraph crossword. "Oh keep your foot behind the line man," they grunted.

If George Sharp hadn't exercised his vocal cords nanoseconds before a Dominic Cork delivery grazed Jonty Rhodes' edge on Thursday, England could be building a healthy lead by now instead of playing catch-up.

So why do bowlers overstep? In spite of taking numerous wickets with no-balls myself - including a certain G Boycott, the sight of whom contentedly re-marking his guard drove my long-suffering father into apoplexy - it took me 10 years to work it out. The solution is called discipline. Because landing on the very limit of legality is a habit like biting your nails or leaving the washing-up until later. No matter where they start their run-ups, bowlers subconsciously adjust their step, arriving at the wicket with their front foot straddling the line. It feels uncomfortable delivering from anywhere else on the crease, a bit like driving your car with the front seat in the wife's position.

No-balling starts as a rash and quickly becomes a disease. It practically became terminal at the Courtaulds ground in Coventry one year, when Gladstone Small sent down 11 no-balls in one over, despite progressively shortening his run. Eventually, in depair, he stood at the wicket and turned his arm over, trying to complete the over. The ball speared down the leg side and was signalled a wide. Happily, Gladstone recovered his composure, telling his captain later on: "Well, you said give me three good overs, so I gave you them all at once."

Modern bowlers don't help themselves by usually ignoring the line when they practice. Trench-like footholds in nets and batsmen's tendency to larrup less potent offerings way beyond the net area only further encourage the pacemen to steal a few inches. As England warmed up in the middle yesterday, every bowler overstepped by at least a foot, and the speed radar wasn't even on.

And the solution after years of trespass? Dean Headley marks out a box with sawdust where his front foot must land mid-run. Sensible. Mine was to take my wife into a park for several hours of measuring experimental run-ups, until a pattern emerged. The sight of a bloke charging about on open ground pursued by a girl with a ruler must have looked decidely odd, but my bowling was transformed.

THE sluice gates that are Collins Willow publishers have opened, with several new big-name offerings. The paperback of The Botham Report, El Beefsteak's ideological cure-all for English cricket, was launched on Thursday night in the company of Barry Gibb. Mercifully he didn't sing, but he does have a fine set of teeth.

You Guys are History is a protracted whinge from Devon Malcolm. The chapter headings "Racist Slur", "Still looking over my shoulder" and "On trial" are immediate evidence of that, though what he has to whinge about after 40 Test appearances and a £250,000 benefit is unclear.

He has, it is true, been the subject of some rather unkind stories, one of which - the time when he missed a catch, landed on his glasses and allowed the batsmen to run five while he relocated them - he declares is untrue. He was, however, often the subject of mirth at fielding practices, particularly when failing to lay a mit on skiers coming straight out of the Caribbean glare. "Why don't you get the other side of the sun?" enquired the coach, Micky Stewart. "How can I?" retorted Devon. "It's 93 million miles away."

The best of the offerings is Phil Tufnell's Postcards from the Beach, a punchy diary of the West Indies tour, in which his true paranoia is occasionally revealed. All the "is it coming out all right?" or "what should I have done differently?" neuroses are there, adding to the impression that his career has been one big question mark.

His anxiety scrabbling around for pads, gloves and armguards when suddenly there's a crash of wickets will strike a chord with any player. Like the actor who does not know the nightmare of drying on stage, or the undergraduate who has never woken up pre-exam in an information void, a cricketer is not a man until he has experienced the panic of being next man in without a stitch on.

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