Cricket

Michael Jayston is a huge fan of the game of cricket- so I thought I should have a page devoted to it! Personally I have little knowledge of the 'niceties' of the game, but I'm working on it.

Description of the game

IN CRICKET, there are two teams, the batting and the nonbatting. Nine members of the nonbatting team are in the field, one is the wicketkeeper, and one is the bowler, for a total of 11 players. The batting team designates the order of the batters, where the first batter is called the striker. A batsman tries to guard his wicket, while the bowler tries to hit it.

The batsman tries to keep the bowler from hitting the wicket with the ball, while also attempting to hit the ball hard enough to give him time to run to the other end of the pitch, before any of the nonbatting team picks up the ball and hits the wicket. If the wicket is broken, by a thrown ball or by the wicketkeeper or bowler, the batsman is dismissed. The striker does not have to run after he hits the ball, and a miss does not count against him. However, if he gets a hit and thinks he can score a run, he runs for the opposite wicket while the second batsman - the nonstriker - runs toward him. If they each reach the opposite wicket before a wicket is broken, a run is scored. Also, if the batsmen theing there is time, they may run back for two or more runs, crossing each time. If they score an even number of runs, the striker is the next to hit the ball. However, if an odd number is scored, the nonstriker will be facing the bowler and thus getting his chance to hit the ball. Any runs scored in this manner go to his personal score for the game.

When a hit ball goes beyond the boundary, the game is paused and four runs are added to the team's score. In order for the team's score to go up, several other things may happen other than the batsman scoring runs. A bye occurs when a ball from the bowler is missed by the batsman, but he can still make a run. A leg bye happens when the ball touches part of the batsman's body, but he can still make good a run. A wide occurs when the ball is out of reach of the striker, and this counts for a run. No balls occur when the ball is improperly bowled. Each of these extras add points to a side's score.

If a bowler bowls six balls, not counting wides and no balls, he completes what is termed an over. A new over is then begun by a different bowler at the opposite wicket. The field must also adjust accordingly. If a bowler bowls a complete over without a batsman personally scoring a run, it is called a maiden over.

A bowler may bowl either right or left armed, propelling the ball overhand without bending his elbow. He is allowed any number of steps to give a delivery, but he may not cross the bowling crease. A good bowler must be able to control length and direction, which includes the spin placed on the ball to attempt to deceive the batsman into being dismissed.

A batsman may hit either right or left handed, based on a vertical bat with its entire blade faced to the ball. There are many different batting strokes, including the forward stroke, the back stroke, the leg glance, and the cut.

Fieldsmen must be quick runners, with good hand-eye coordination and the ability to throw a cricket ball far. He should be able to guess the batsman's strokes, and act accordingly.

The wicketkeeper should have exceptionally good reaction time and sharp sight. He must concentrate fully on every ball.

Michael Jayston on Cricket

IF CRICKET as we know it is to pass from life into history we hope it will not be by the slow process of dispersion and decay. Radical methods of correction are needed to halt the process. Individuality must be encouraged, not stifled. We see in English football and tennis sterotyped ideas, bereft of imagination.

In the cricket sphere Botham has been the only home-grown genuine all-rounder to emerge for a long time. Not everyone can play with that degree of flamboyance, panache and skill, but if the seeds are sown in the right environment we could see a revival of English cricket.

We need decent wickets above all. On bad wickets an ordinary medium-pace bowler seems a world-beater. We need committees packed with ex-professionals, not staffed, as may of them are, with people who have bought their way to that position. We need captains who temper discipline with fairness. In 1960-61 (to visit the past once more) Frank Worrell and Richie Benaud captained their sides in one of the most exciting Test series ever seen. The attendance on the second day of the fifth Test was 90,800. Is it beyond the intelligence and capabilities of cricket's governing bodies to capture audiences of that magnitude again?

The essence of a great game, at the highest level, should be indeed not only the exhibition of technical excellence, but the character and personality of the players involved. When style and individuality are not encouraged the game becomes soulless. The sickness facing cricket is obvious for all to see. If it is not cured soon, cricket will become a third-rate game, played by automata, watched by the ignorant. The situation can be saved, but it will need a monumental effort by all those who love the game for this to be achieved. If the spirit of renaissance can be generated, there will be some hope of seeing, once more, sportsmanship, elegance and humour and a great game restored to its rightful place.

Of all the players of whom my grandfather spoke, the name George Gunn occurred most frequently and was mentioned with awe and reverence. He had first played for Notts in 1903 and was the strangest figure that the game has given us. He possessed a genius for batting but his attitude and a quirk of temperament prevented him from achieving his full potential. He seemed to delight in annoying bowlers and fieldsmen. His contemporaries said he could score a century in an hour or in four hours under the same conditions, depending on his mood. Recuperating from TB in Australia in 1912, he replaced an injured batsman and scored a century on his Test debut.

There was one story about George Gunn of which I suspected my grandfather of embellishment, and it puzzled me until I was about ten years of age and first starring to attend matches at Trent Bridge. One day when rain showers had stopped play for a while I was sipping a Dandelion and Burdock in a sweet shop opposite the ground, when I saw an elderly gentleman slip on the wet kerb and fall into the road. I helped him to his feet and then across the road. He thanked me and gave me sixpence: "Here lad, buy yourself an ice cream." As he handed me the coin I realised that here in the flesh was one of the legends of whom my grandfather had enthused. I stuttered, "You're George Gunn." He laughed and then with a quizzical look said, "Now, young feller me lad, how the devil do you know that, you could never have seen me play." I recounted everything I knew of his career. He seemed modestly pleased that I knew so much about him, and after that first meeting, when I saw him from time to time, he always had a smile and a cheery wave of his stick for me.

That September, on the last day of the season, I had my cricket bag with me after a game at school. As I strolled round the ground I came to the nets, and who should be there but George Gunn. "Hello, it's the Good Samaritan," he said. "Have you got a cricket ball in your bag?" I said I had. "Come on, you can turn your arm over and we'll see how good you are. . . And you can see if I'm any good," he added. For a good half an hour I bowled to the great man. He didn't use a bat, he used his walking stick. He missed one ball during that time, whereupon he picked up a Stump. "This is a bit better," he said. "My eyes aren't what they used to be." He was then over seventy years of age. He could have gone on for much longer but I was tiring, and I jokingly said, "Don't you think you ought to declare, Mr. Gunn?" He looked at me oddly. "That takes me back a few years- what you just said." He then told me a story which I had only half believed when recounted by my grandfather, but which I have subsequently verified.

In 1919, a local amateur cricketer of meagre ability had the audacity to challenge George to a single-wicket competition for a £ 100 side wager; a considerable amount in those days. George, not being avaricious and knowing that the game would be completely one-sided, refused the invitation. The amateur persisted and badgered George for weeks. Eventually, George, out of sheer exasperation, agreed, reducing the wager to a fiver, but determined to teach the fellow a lesson. The match was played on the Trent Bridge practice ground from five until seven-thirty in the evening. George won the toss and decided to bat. At the end of the first evening he had scored exactly 300 runs. By the end of the second session he was 620 not out. At this point his opponent suggested that George might like to declare. George declined, saying he never declared in a single-wicket match, but adding that the amateur, if he so wished, could replace the stumps with a heavy roller which was six feet wide! The amateur shamefacedly agreed to this generous offer. It made not the slightest difference. George continued on his merry way and halfway through the third evening he had increased his score to 777.

He had run nine off one ball when the amateur finally cracked. Perhaps the realisation that he could be bowling to George until Doomsday eventually decided the issue in his mind. He threw the ball down, jumped on it, conceded the match and stomped off to the Trent Bridge Inn, from where he was seen emerging, many hours later, in a deplorable and maudlin condition. He never paid the wager. George did, however, top the national averages for that year and he maintained that the practice over those three days had had a lot to do with it. "I hope I didn't ruin his enjoyment of the game," he was heard to say, with a wicked twinkle in his eye. 0, rare and wonderful George Gunn.

Links

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