It was good to get away from league cricket . Read the last post to see just what a lot of berties league cricketers can be. At some stage I’ll show you the letter/pack of lies written by Barnet Barclay’s to the Middlesex league. Thank god I tape some of these games. The mendacious boghouse banisters didn’t know it was all on film.
The following Saturday I sought out schoolboys to bully on a flat track. Easy prey yeah. Except the deck was full of snakes and I got out-thought by a schoolboy medium pacer. The new ball less than 8 overs old in a declaration game and coming off ma bat crisply, this kid bowled me a bloody good slower nut; the type where the arm comes through at the same pace but the ball is just a few yards slower; not the loopy Franklin Stephenson version but still a well disguised bit of trickery. Damn! Another kid watching too much one day and IPL nonsense. When I was young, you were always told not to bat like Richards or try anything the pros did. Coaches are wollies aren’t they? These days they encourage kids to try things; well they do at Marlbrough it seems.
This is the first league game I’ve blogged about this season. After what happened on saturday, you might understand my reluctance to write about league cricket. I joined a new club. They’ve been fair. They gave me starts in first team cup games but told me to work my way up their four teams. So I started in the 3rds, got dropped to the 4ths, went up to the 3rds, scored 85, took five wickets v Harrow 3rds , into the 2nds where I’ve remained. There are three 2nd team divisions. We play in league one. The standard’s good.
Shame then that the standard of umpiring up and down the country, outside first team club cricket, can be awful, dishonest and incompetent. All because independent officials cost money and clubs only fork out for first teams. For everyone else, you bring your own umpires or you bring your own cheat. Clubs that bring an umpire, bring a decent man or woman who’s going to do their best; give decisions against you, for you. Or they can bring a partial supporter who works on the rule “don’t give theirs because they wont give ours.” Which can be summed up as we’ll cheat because we believe they’ll cheat.
I remember playing for Brentham 2nds v Wembley 7/8 years ago. There was a clear run out. Wembley’s man was 5 yards- lets call it 10- out. Their umpire, a player, said “not out”. Our captain threw him, literally threw him off the pitch. You get use to this kind thing; though rare, you get use to it.
I’ve only seen stuff like this in league cricket but I doubt it’s exclusive to it. On Saturday v Barnet B’s there was a little trouble. I’ve been reported to the league for abusing the umpire after he gave me out. I have also been accused of approaching Barnet B’s hon secretary and saying “you should take that bloke to all your games… you’ll win a few more games… you won’t be bottom of the league for long.” My dismissal is on film. I did linger and ask in a civil tone, how on earth he could give that decision ? It was half a foot outside leg stump and insult to injury it struck me on the thigh. Got a bruise to show for it.
I shouldn’t have lingered; shouldn’t have questioned the decision. Umpires make mistakes. But this fella really enjoyed giving me out. Watch the film. I’d said nothing to him all day. I hung around for 6 seconds after he gave me out and there was no abuse. Something I’d never do even if I felt, no not felt, even if I knew an umpire had made four incorrect decisions in one side’s favour.
It was hard to take because I took to the field with a few prejudices. Barnet Barclays CC fielded an entirely British- Asian team. Most of them were of Pakistani descent I think. Batsmen and fielders all spoke Urdu to each other; could have been Serbo-Croat though. I reckon 2 0r 3 were third generation. That’s a guess because the rest who spoke English at the end to say ‘well played’ did so in that lovely sing song accent of the subcontinent.
As a black African who’s spent some of his cricketing life in leafy white clubs and seen such London clubs change to reflect the diversity of the city, it was really sad to play a team as monocultural as say Teddington CC 10-15 years ago. I was certain there’d be a stitch up. I don’t know why. Diverse and predominantly white clubs bring cheating umpires with them as well. So I’m a racist then. Up against an Urdu speaking cricket team from Barnet, I was quick to think the worst. Yes shame on me, shame on, shame on me.
There was real heat and passion during the game; It felt like Lagaan at times. You see there’s further proof I’m a racist. Lagaan is a story about the suffering doled out to Hindu peasants and villagers by a villainous whitey imperial tax collector. Barnet Barclays were made up of Brit-Pakistanis. Yeah they are all the same to me; Hindus, Muslims, Zoarastrians, Nubians, etc.
I did want to make sense of it all; the menace in the air that came with constant appealing; fiery, constant mass appealing, from square leg to fine leg, mid wicket to deep mid wicket. I asked a reliable source; an Indian ex girlfriend who knows nothing about cricket and she said don’t worry “it’s not you….. it’s a Pakistani thing.” My old Pakistani amigo I grew up playing cricket against on the streets of west Sexual (Ealing) will be chuffed to hear that.
Barnet Barclays gained one point and we got four for the draw. Btw I wasn’t the only one they reported. Of course, our side, the victims of their disputed decisions did not report their umpire to have him banned for life.
All this stuff took place last tuesday and thursday. I turned up for nets and there were Pakistan; training at the Walker. White balls disappeared. Not mine though. I sat out Afridi’s onslaught. I think the best bit was talking to Pakistan’s bowling coach about my third team dobbers not knowing who the hell he was. All wavy black hair, he looked like a bollywood star. So he ran up, put it on a length where you couldn’t get under it as they say. Then it all came back to me, “Aren’t you Aaqib Javed mate?”
The Wanderers game on the 4th was an aussie and saffie fest. Wanderers got stuffed last year and we only had 8 players. Seeking revenge they came with every Aussie, Saffie, Kiwi league pro they could find. On the day I was one of 5 English cricketers out of 22 and I’m not english ; learned my cricket here though. Country’s going to pot. I batted with some Aussie under 19 player called Toddy who was insane. He had an imaginary friend who he ‘talked’ to while he was batting, fielding and eating. Lovely fella. He got a very easy 90.
I used to develop tv docs and there were programmes you’d pass up a hundred to sell. Series 2 of Empire of cricket last night was one such programme. I recieved a review copy last week and it was brilliant documentary tv. The opening film on English cricket was a tough one to start with. 1 hour to cover the history of English cricket without being simplistic; 1 hour to set a political, social and historical context, all aired at the crazy hour of 10.30pm sunday night. The schedulers love cricket at the BBC. The Windies film made it to 9pm this week. Thank god. Because it was a better film. It was a story of biblical flavour; slaves, masters, freedom, equality and men seeking respect from their fellow men, all played out through god’s game:Cricket.
It wasn’t without some bizarre views though. Apparently the “physical strength required for working cane fields meant that slaves developed a more athletic physique” than their white masters.
I saw a sign, banner, poster somewhere once. It read “lord protect me from what I want.” I wanted a Millichamp and Hall bat. I got one. It got me out. The bat was too good for me. I was caught at deep mid on the Walker ground. Proper boundaries. The ball flew, effortlessly for 60 and more yards. I hardly hit the damn thing.
Joined a new league club; new one is only a few stops on the underground. Must be my 3rd, possibly 4th. After rude preseason form in the indoor nets at Lords- lovely surface- I fancied a batting spot in the top teams of my old club but our new aussie captain said he saw me as a bowler! I’ve taken six wickets this century.
He said he hadn’t seen much of my batting . Though I remembered him in March nets approaching me to ask if I always batted that aggresively. I loved the buzz of the Milverton road gang. It was a relaxed, diverse, fizzy club. It was organised chaos at times but great fun.
To Somerset, to Taunton, for help, for salvation from the finest craftsmen in the world. It was time to change bats, time to blame your old tools and get better, newer ones. I went to buy the most treasured object man can hold; a bat made by Millichamp and Hall.
In a modest workshop, bat Mecca lies hidden in the county ground at Somerset. As you near their doors, your ears prick to sounds of whirling saws, singing planes and screeching willow as another cleft of wood is drawn, shaped and fashioned into a work of art. Who needs fancy orchestras when some of us would pay the earth to hear the arrangement from this chamber.
When it was time to go home I was sad. Sad because I’d just spent some of the best hours of my life; all the while mourning the years I’d lost. 14 years in education, child to teen, followed by 4 years reading rot and nonsense at an obscure medieval university on the Fife coast; all for a career but all for what? When I could have been apprenticed to a batmaker; learning to rasp handles- a new euphemism for Onan’s adherents surely? if I knew what I knew now I’d be a batmaker today. Give me those years again and I’d be a batmaker. I could have been a batmaker. I could have been a batmaker.
They should call this place Cowdrey School for cricket. While I was batting- for a three ball duck- Cowdrey’s grandson was bowling, Cowdrey’s son was watching. Back inside the pavilion Cowdrey MC, Cowdrey CS, Cowdrey JC, Cowdrey GR- they were every where you looked; on the honours board, photos, potraits etc. When I took ma pads off, guess who was staring down from the Rugby XV of 1950? MC Cowdrey.
And the 3 ball duck, not by a Cowdrey thank god but death by dibbly dobbler; caught at mid on. Excuse 1: the ball stopped. Excuse 2 : It got caught up in the wind.
To Cambridge, down Grantchester lane, past Geoffrey Archer’s gaff, past the Rupert Brooke, to play the first game of the season with Hassan; my Jamaican, Welsh, Bengali and Irish mate. At 11.30, the start of play,156 days 3 hours 20 mins 15 sec had passed since my last knock.
Two questions might have entered your head and in what order I’m not sure. They are does Hassan exist and is the time that’s elapsed since my last innings real? Which do you think is more likely ? That I’d be driven to a cricket match through quintessential Blighty by a quarter Jamaican, Bengali. Irish, and Welsh man or that I’d be potty enough to have kept a countdown since my last knock. I hope I’ve suprised you by telling you that Hassan is real and that there’s has been no flipping countdown.
If you don’t know already Crusaders are Cambridge University 2nd XI. Unlike Middlesex’s one day team they’ve not had to change their name for fear of offending a billion strong religion. Alleujah day today. The sun shone all day. Some April. Bet you it pisses down all August.
I’ve written this much about other stuff because I got 1 run of 12 balls. 99 short of my target with 38 balls not faced. You have to start somewhere don’t you? 100 of 50 balls is still on. What’s the rush? By the way, I forgot to place my £10 at 100 to 1 bet with Billy Hill.
On the eve of the first game of the season, I should be labouring on a poetic, prophetic perhaps, sweeping possibly, opening statement but all I can think off is this picture I found on ‘Flickr’. It’s a game of cricket at a mental hospital in Ontario Canada in 1904. The Mimico Asylum team were highly regarded in their day and they nursed- in the metaphorical sense but who can tell; if anyone knows whether inmates made up the team please get in touch) several Canadian internationals. It turns out that quite a few asylums were built with cricket pitches for inmates. And I believe they’ve played cricket at Broadmoor for a century. I wonder if the misunderstood violent psychopath Charles Bronson is a batsman, bowler or all rounder? Now there’s one man no Aussie would dare sledge. I’m hoping someone will explain to me who in their right mind would recommend cricket for the mentally ill. Is this madness itself? Cricket is a testing game for the sane never mind the troubled and the insane
