Sue Mott meets David Lloyd: Bumbling along with Commander Controversy(12 Sep 1998)
'DEAD flash!" said David Lloyd, the England cricket coach, on his choice of luncheon venue in Wilmslow
12-Sep-1998
12 September 1998
Bumbling along with Commander Controversy
Sue Mott
'DEAD flash!" said David Lloyd, the England cricket coach, on his
choice of luncheon venue in Wilmslow. "Greasy spoon!" said the
taxi driver on his way there. That is the story of his life. Sue
Mott reports.
Few characters in sport, or life for that matter, find themselves
in such fierce possession of opinions which are at
incontrovertible odds with virtually every other sane being on
the planet. He has a higher regard for the England cricket team,
for example, than anyone else on earth including, one suspects,
every member of the England cricket team. He is a short-fused,
high-energy enthusiast, an incorrigible Tigger, frequently
finding himself - aghast and bemused - in terrible, accidental
trouble.
He is just emerging from the latest bout. "I've just about coom
out me bunker this week. Oooh, gosh," he said, over his broccoli
and cheese something (which was dead, if not flash), yelling
rather to be heard above Kate Bush's Wuthering Heights on the
juke box.
"I've had two slight misdemeanours." You could say that. He has,
in fact, had two socking great public roastings. One, for saying
"we murdered 'em" of the Zimbabwean opposition (whom England had
just failed to beat) in Bulawayo, 1996. Two, for questioning the
bowling action of Muttiah Muralitharan of Sri Lanka (to whom
England had just lost) in the latest one-off Test match.
But how you square this seething, tempestuous, Heathcliffian
reputation with the evidently sweet, tousled-haired, twinkle-eyed
figure sitting across the table is anyone's guess. Especially
when you are talking about, believe me, Long Drop Tippling
Toilets.
"Ah, the Long Drop Tippler," he was saying, as we discussed the
days of his rather eccentric formation in Accrington 51 years
ago. "We lived in a terraced 'ouse. I remember like it were
yesterday. It 'ad an outside toilet and it wasn't an automatic
either. You 'ad to wait until enough water 'ad coom through to
floosh it. You did. But me uncle and auntie - they lived up on a
farm - and they just 'ad a dustbin. The council emptied it every
week. Oh god!
"So, I were 'ell bent on saying, 'right, I'm going to better
meself'."
His chosen route was sport. Or rather, it chose him. "At
football, I were David Beckham without the trimmin's." At
cricket, he showed such promise as a slow left-arm
bowler/opening-middle order batsman, and was signed by Lancashire
at 15. There would not have been many backward glances at his old
technical college. "I did art, metalwork, woodwork, geometrical
drawing - which I were absolutely useless at. I was frightened to
death. I didn't want all that messing about in fires and
furnaces, and banging about with chisels and that. I always had
the thought that if I 'urt me 'ands, I couldn't play cricket."
So, after 19,269 first-class runs, 237 wickets and 334 catches
for Lancashire, nine England Tests (1974-5), a spell as an
umpire, the acquisition of the hugely suitable nickname 'Bumble',
the coaching job at Lancashire, promotion to England, several Big
Bang controversies, regular convulsions of mirth and innumerable
bad golf shots, he only messes about with metaphorical fires and
furnaces.
"I were desperate not to say anything that would offend anybody,"
he said of the latest seismic upheaval over Muralitharan, who
will, ironically, play a few games for Lancashire next season.
"But I 'ad a belief . . . " A short demonstration is mounted of
arms straight, arms bent at the elbow, arms partially bent at the
elbow, etc. Not surprisingly, the waitress came over and said:
"Is everything all right?" It is now. After his reprimand by the
England and Wales Cricket Board, apology and genuine contrition,
Lloyd rightly remains in his post where he is genuinely prized by
the players.
The phone rang incessantly during his recent dark hour. Michael
Atherton: "Just ringing. You all right?" Angus Fraser: "You silly
old sod!" And so it went on. "Fraser just killed 'imself laffing.
Nass phoned. Stewie . . . "
The affection is understandable. "I'm a passionate believer in
England," he said, meaning the country in a patriotic capacity as
well as the team he is paid to inspire. "I don't see anything
wrong in that." In the dressing room before matches, he used to
play tapes that mixed Land of Hope and Glory, with Laurence
Olivier's Henry V, Jerusalem, and eight minutes' worth of Winston
Churchill. "We will never surrender, never surrender, never
surrender, never surrender," said the tape to a team who
sometimes went out and surrendered. Lloyd's gaskets probably blew
on such occasions.
But his loyalty is profound and paramount. The players know that,
none more so than Atherton. "I think Athers is an 'ero," said
Lloyd. "I've got great admiration for 'im and what 'e's done.
Anyone that knows 'im would pick 'is star qualities as
resilience, strength, bloodymindedness, cussedness,
determination, class and 'e's one of the best players in the
world. 'E's often in pain from 'is back but you'd never know it.
'E reminds me of Brian Close. I once saw Brian 'it in the mouth
and all 'is teeth were broken. Aaargh, 'e was a hell of a mess
but 'e carried on batting and the next day one of 'is team
couldn't take the field because he 'ad toothache! Athers is brave
like that. 'E'll never show it.
"On the other side, 'e's a lad who cultivates this scruffy image.
D'you know 'e's still got the same shoes 'e 'ad at Cambridge
University." And, Lloyd might add, shocking taste in racehorse
flesh. For reasons that surpass all understanding, Atherton,
Lloyd and Lloyd's son, Graham, who plays for Lancashire, are
united in some kind of Bumble syndicate that owns a fetlock under
training with Venetia Williams. Has it won? "It 'asn't run yet,"
he said, revealing such depths of ignorance of the scheme that
the jockey could probably drag a tin of Kennomeat round
Cheltenham and convince Lloyd this was his horse. "It's just an
'arebrained idea," he said proudly. "All I know is, it's grey."
Unlike his life. Mischief and mirth are never far away. "I loove
Test Match Special and I am the phantom fax sender." "Y'what?" I
said, struggling hard with the notion that this is cricket's
equivalent of Glenn Hoddle the International Introvert, whose
sense of humour is as zipped up as his tracksuit.
Yes, Lloyd gains vast gleeful pleasure sending faxes to be read
out on the air from cricket-mad, fictitious characters with
dubious-sounding names. He sent one during the recent triangular
tournament between England, Sri Lanka and South Africa demanding
that national anthems be sung, signed "Gerupta Singh" of the
Gurkhas Regimental Band.
In the West Indies last winter, the sonorous voice of the public
address announcer innocently declared: "Would Mr Branston Pickle
on tour with Gullibles Travels kindly report to the car park
where his vehicle is sandwiched in." We have only had half a
bottle of Chardonnay each, but now we're both giggling
helplessly. Any minute now that waitress will be back saying
"everything all right?" with the slight chill timbre of Joyce
Grenfell in her voice.
"It's joost fun," said Lloyd, mindful he could be accused of
frivolity. Far from it, this is light relief in a dark business.
"It's deadly serious but it's good fun."
Fortunately, he is sufficiently well-adjusted to have a life
beyond cricket, where the buffets of his outrageous (and often
self-inflicted) misfortune can glance past his wiry frame
harmlessly. "The focal point of me social life is Bramhall Golf
Club where we've formed ourselves, about a dozen of us, into a
regiment. I'm the Commander and we've got a Brigadier, an Air
Vice Marshal, Major 'Shadow' Davidson - because we never know
what he's up to - a Rear Admiral and Squadron Leader E J Pimlott
- 'e's the local butcher. It's like a little society of men
be'avin' badly.
"I'm not saying I'm cocooned but I rarely move out of me circle
when I'm not with the cricket. I mean, nobody ever, ever
recognises me in the street. But, I must say, with all the
proceedings of the last couple of weeks people have been slappin'
me on the back. I'm only the coach but it were gratifying.
They're saying things like, 'you've got a really good team there,
keep it going'."
Whether England can keep it going, or even start it up for that
matter, in Australia this winter is a point worth mulling with
the coach. He, as you might expect, is game. "I want Shane Warne
to play," he said of the Aussies' large, potent, beaneating
spinner. "I 'ate the Australians the way they 'ate us," he said.
"It's a love-'ate relationship. Our game is terrific for forging
friendships all around the world.
"I've no illusions that they're the best team in the world by a
long way. We are complete underdogs and we will brace ourselves
for the usual 'this is the worst England team ever' stories once
we arrive. But never underestimate us. We're 'arder, tougher,
more ruthless than we ever were. This team doesn't lie down."
Lloyd rates Alec Stewart's captaincy as similar to Atherton's.
"Brilliant," he said. " 'E's got the same openness, the same
honesty. The only perceivable difference is that Alec will
always, always state the bleeding obvious. It's 'is way of making
sure. A double insurance.
" 'E's done very well. We 'ad to wean 'im off opening but it was
important for the team. It allowed Butcher to coom in as the
opener and you've seen the growth in the rest of 'em. We keep
saying to Ramprakash, 'yer in the team, yer in, yer in', and
there's lots more to coom from 'im."
Whether there is lots more to come from Lloyd, gaffe-wise, you
would have seriously to doubt. One more and he is out. Had he not
thought of consulting with the team's psychologist, Stephen Bull,
to find a means of dispersing his famous red mist. "No, but I
will, because it detracts from the team. If I'm in the papers for
the wrong reasons, it detracts from the team."
He said this with such gentle contrition and consideration for
the lads he regards as friends, only the hardest heart would
pursue his banishment from the England set-up. He'd be all right:
golf, fishing, faxes but one can imagine how much exile from the
game he so loves would hurt him.
On the other hand, the golf does need some work. "I've got a set
of them Callaway clubs. I play off 15. I think I've got
potential. I hit the ball a fair way but . . . " - he looked
crestfallen - "at times I can't find it."
Source :: Electronic Telegraph (https://www.telegraph.co.uk)