The West Country boy
David Foot on Marcus Trescothick, the West Country boy
David Foot
19-Jun-2006
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Marcus Trescothick belongs intrinsically to the West Country - the clue is not just in his name or the occasional vowel but above all in the defining strands of his temperament. He is sparing in visible emotions, reassuringly Mendip-solid in the challenging way he stands upright at the crease, never cowed by bellicose bowlers' reputations.
He is no more fazed than Drake on
the Hoe when once there was an
Armada to fi ght. Horace Batchelor, the
publicity-conscious pools forecaster,
was Keynsham's most famous resident.
That was until Tresco came long.
Those with strong geographical
allegiance may argue that to some
degree he has been unjustly by-passed
for the highest accolade of Test
captaincy. He showed he could lead as
a schoolboy, for England Under-19, and
then as a caretaker skipper in place of
Jamie Cox for Somerset and the injured
Michael Vaughan for England. Maybe
he has less of the bravura and extrovert
appeal than Andrew Flintoff, less
of the flamboyance and certainly
fewer tonsorial permutations than
Kevin Pietersen.
Yet does he really need such
accessories of responsibility and
recognition? The undeniable qualities
he shows on the field, and those as a
team man he reveals in the dressing
room, are more subdued than for
instance those of Flintoff . The face and
demeanour are more serious. He does
not waste words on small talk. The
once carefree, chubby-cheeked antics
have mostly receded forever.
Like his Cornish forebears he is
inclined to be stubborn. He does not
want unqualified people telling him
how to play and says that, whatever
critics occasionally claimed was his
reluctant foot movement, he has not
changed his technique very much at
all. He used to walk out to bat with
Mark Lathwell for Somerset: "Mark was
such a natural player. He may have
done a few things wrong technically
but it worked for him." Likewise
Marcus, he implies.
Trescothick comes from a close-knit
family, with parents in the clothing
business. His dad Martyn, a centurymaker
and captain of Keynsham,
was around when Marcus scored his
fi rst hundred as an 11-year-old. "He
was in his 90s and, as I walked the
boundary, I pleaded loudly with him
to get them in singles." Father and
son were later to play in the same club
side in competitive Western League
matches. Marcus remembers: "Dad
was prepared to shield me a little from
the faster bowlers when I was only
14." Such paternal protection was not
needed for long. Mum Lin helped with
the teams' teas for 35 years. Cricket was
an obsession.
The same devotion some teenagers
with a musical bent bestow on their
violins Trescothick extended to cricket
bats, transfixed by their elegance and
linseed smell. His parents had given
him his first bat when he was two. As a
Somerset junior he prowled the home
dressing room, picking up the range of
bats, comparing the grain, the balance,
the weight. "I simply hated the thought
that some might be thrown away." He
was seen by some of his team-mates as
a bit of a bat doctor, as he carried out
superficial repairs. "Just give me some
sandpaper, glue and a Stanley knife,"
he used to say.
His Test record alone makes him
Somerset's greatest native batsman.
From the West Country boy's quiet,
unsophisticated manner is emerging a
more confident and articulate worldclass
cricketer. He plays golf and, when
here in the winter, watches Bristol City
as an honorary vice-president. The first
time I interviewed him at his home,
well before Test match selection, he
confessed how much he was enjoying
the new experience of staying in hotels
with his county team. And he said he
would never become cynical about the
game, a spontaneous and refreshing
observation. His affection for Somerset
- however limited his appearances
these days - remains as evident as ever.
He will hope to finish his career as their
captain.
This article was first published in the July issue of The Wisden Cricketer.
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David Foot has followed Somerset cricket for more than 50 years. He writes on cricket for The Guardian