The hot and fiery summer

Grovel by David Tossell (Know The Score), 272pp, £18.99

The cricket world was a different place in the summer of 1976. Helmets were still limited to less adventurous motorbike riders, coloured kit was for footballers, and one-day cricket was an apologetic bolt-on at the end of a Test series.

But it was a watershed year. By the time the Ashes started 12 months later cricket had been rocked by the breakaway of World Series Cricket, helmets were being tried out and coloured kit was on the drawing board. On the field, it was the series where West Indies unveiled their relentless pace barrage - backed with an awesome array of batsmen - that was to terrorise and dominate the game for more than two decades.

Given the drama both on and off the field that surrounded the England-West Indies Tests, it's remarkable that David Tossell's Grovel is the first book to cover a remarkable series in what was the hottest summer of the century.

The title comes from one of the biggest gaffes by an England captain, and one which motivated West Indies into some terrifying burst of fast bowling. Tony Greig's boast that England would make West Indies "grovel" has gone down as the way not to throw down the gauntlet.

Tossell leans heavily on books for his material, which is not surprising after three decades, but he has also spent long hours interviewing as many of the main protagonists as he could. Greig himself contributes the foreword. The end result is a captivating and brutally honest account.

For me, as a teenager, the Saturday night at Old Trafford when England's forty-something openers were used for target practice, finally extinguished an ambition to play for England which my lack of talent had made clear to everyone else would never happen anyway. Even now, three decades later, I challenge anyone not to wince as the bare-headed Brian Close and John Edrich are peppered with bouncers. Tossell's account of what was happening behind the scenes is more reminiscent of a dressing room at a club, with players pleading they had headaches and others hiding in the loo.

Close returned the pavilion, one not out in 80 minutes, his torso covered in welts and blood, with at least one rib broken and with his box shattered. Someone suggested he go to hospital. "I'll be alright, lad," he grinned. "Just give me a scotch."

The game has moved on, but Tossell's outstanding story makes clear that the old players were hard as nails, not to mention as mad as hatters, and thoroughly entertaining.