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I did warn you.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Tea, day 2. England are 503 for 2, leading by 331. The stallholders, barmen, security staff and grandees of the Home of Cricket have been charging the home balcony to plead the case for spinning this out, somehow, into day 4. Livelihoods depend on it. Relationships depend upon it. The ice cream parlours within the postcode depend upon it. ‘Steady on, Stokesy! Get the lads some batting practice – bring back Trotty or David Steele or somebody. Get Broady to extend his run. Get Stop Oil in to cause a ruckus. Just give us a fekkin’ fourth day!’

I did warn you. (Read yesterday’s post). Ireland had to do lots of stuff *ahead of* going after wide balls or ‘trying to be positive, form the get-go’. Firstly, probably, they had to be aware that – despite what the sports psychologist & the coach might have been saying – they had to give themselves some kindofa chance… by staying in the game. Priority Number One.

Instead, two or three of their better batters took on minor risks and paid a high price.

A brutalist view might be that the game was dead by lunch yesterday. And therefore England’s jolly romp (and Ireland’s wilting in the field) – whether that be through nerves, poor execution, or just the inevitable consequence of a strongish, in-form side meeting opposition of manifestly lower quality – has been a result of seemingly inconsequential, seemingly minor errors of choice. Cross-bats, slightly lazy movement, or unwise advances. (Bye lads. 20-odd for 3).

Now, live, Pope has smashed a six to get to the fastest double-ton by anyone, in England. Before dancing down and getting stumped; bringing the declaration, at 524 for 4. Meaning up to 30 overs of Broad, Potts and Tongue, tonight. It may well be thrilling – possibly even for the fans in green. But such is the squishtastic England advantage, any kind of restorative rearguard action from Ireland feels deeply unlikely. Sadly.

Broad starts with a maiden. No hooping; no real alarms. Then Potts.
Moor and McCollum are out there, trying to be grittier and doughtier than very gritty, doughty things. If you can separate things out, you might think that conditions are goodish, for batters. Lush sunshine, ball initially doing bugger all, pressure (bizarrely?) more off than on them. (The game IS dead, surely?) But clarity and separation and cool, cool-headed-ness are hard to find, eh?


Potts bowls an absolute peach for no luck. Then immediately McCollum whips to leg and misses. Concerning. Full enough and straightish but nipping too much. The Durham quick looks robust, skillful, sharpish: is he top, top level? (I mean in international terms?) Not convinced – but do like him. Time and opportunity will tell.

Moor is extravagantly ‘textbook’, in defence, to Broad. Good. Head, elbow, eyes. Forward when he can. McCollum follows the pattern, to Potts. Good. Some nip, for the bowler’s off-cutter; possibly tailing in, too. The openers reeking of watchfulness, encouragingly. McCollum breaks out when Potts offers a smidge of width – four. 16 for 0.

Enter Tongue, who gets Moor with his very first ball of the day: his pace telling. Maiden scalp for the bowler, who went well for no reward yesterday. Moor was late on it, but the speedo-thing is suggesting 82, only. Felt quicker to this viewer and was too sharp for the batsman.

Balbirnie, on a pair, drives Tongue smoothly enough… but then the Irish skipper gets a top edge to one and Bairstow can pouch. Two wickets in the over and a further sharp intake of breath for the Irish. They may not share the sense that the young quick *may have earned that*, with yesterday’s debut performance. They may just be crapping themselves.

A second look at that Balbirnie dismissal confirms the presence of what the pundits often call brain-fade. It was – for him, a seasoned international player – a bloody disgrace. Weak, lazy, glazed-over-eyes job. Unedifying.

If this was Newcastle or Arsenal, you might suspect that McCollum’s susbsequent, protracted injury was tactical. After all, Ireland need to ‘break up the game’ – ideally for about another 30 hours. But the poor bloke has twisted and fallen at the crease and is clearly in pain. We do lose ten minutes or so, before Stirling is whirling his arms at the crease. Tongue is fired-up and at him, slapping it in and drawing some cut from the pitch. Smothered. Ireland are 28 for 2 after 10 overs. With McCollum crocked.

Stirling is getting his eye in. Clubs Potts compellingly and boldly through the covers. He has 9 from 9, which is his way. He eases Tongue through point then takes on the pull next ball. Mis-times but no dramas. Drinks, a handful of minutes after that prolonged stoppage… in which everybody who needed one probably had a drink.

Leach will join us. Spearing with some purpose, again. Yet another good shout, from Stokes, you sense. Just looking to challenge, or re-challenge, at the right moment: spacing those changes immaculately. Leach rarely really turns it, we know that, but he’s extending that loop again, to get the ball right into the toes, or under the bat.

Tector, from nowhere, has had a thrash at Tongue. It goes for six, but heralds some testing short stuff. 58 for 2, Ireland. Big appeal, from Leach… but he will not push for the review: begging the question. Tector is notably fuller with his batswing, but mixing that with legitimate resolution. (Not sure the fella can bat, mind). 🙃

Bairstow and Tongue seem clear. Stirling has clipped it as the ball passes across his ribcage. Is it glove? It is. Gone for 15. 63 for 3. Tucker is welcomed by a real nasty one: Tongue, who now has three wickets, bending and slamming. Helmet. That’s an ugly, scary way to start your knock. Another interlude – understandably. Unfortunately for the newcomer to the crease, this will only encourage the chin-music.

Dreadful ball from Leach gifts Tucker a way in. Four to the leg boundary. Silly mid-off in, and slip. Lovely, evening light; rich shadows. Tector has battled to 23.
Tongue has three men back. Bowling about 84mph. Strikes me that though his movement has looked a tad restricted, Bairstow’s keeping has been good. Lot of leg-side takes as the quicks slap it in.

Leach has bowled one or two – and therefore one or two too many – gimmes, wide of leg stump. He concedes another boundary. Meanwhile Tongue has bowled eight overs ‘straight’, but this period has included those two breaks. Solid effort from the young fella. Has 3 for 27: looks bit tired, as he retreats to the boundary.

Finally, Leach rips one past the bat: Tucker helpless. Will we see late drama? Maybe. Broad is wheeling away, prompting knowing nods and approving gestures in the crowd. Here he comes. A thoughtful twiddle of the headband and he will come round, to Tector. Legside field. Highish percentage of bluff?

Two short ones, one duck from the batter. Then variable bounce becomes a factor – mishits or airshots. But no dramas. Two no-balls in the over as the old warhorse charges.

Things almost quieten. But then (of course) Broad makes something happen. Short ball, looks to have struck glove. But no. Chest: as you were. Tector can even respond with a smart pull, middled, to the boundary. 92 for 3, with the last over of the day approaching.

Leach is in again, bodies around the bat. Legstump line, by accident or design. Probing, but Tector and Tucker have manfully seen this out, with Ireland 97 for 3 at the close.

Decent and important effort from the surviving batters; just the small matter of 255 runs to find. With some luck we’ll see a meaningful lump of cricket on the morrow. Or, perhaps more exactly, the visitors might claw themselves towards respectability and extend the game-time. There is some value in that.

We are the crowds.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Life can be traumatic; we know this. Real Life and when we play.

Often, in the latter, we get sucked in to ‘traumas’ and ‘dramas’ that are so patently manufactured or disproportionate that we should be bloody embarrassed, yes? But hang on. Describing or critiquing levels of authenticity and place and value, as though there’s some hierarchy or league table of meaning? Na. We’re neck-deep in the febrile and the tribal, even us brainy-bums. We’re not gonna escape into clear philosophical waters – not whilst we’re bawling at the telly, coz those footballers are cheating.

It may be true that somehow the universe is conspiring more than ever towards some swamptastic mania, or that we’re falling into it more readily, but perhaps that suspicion is more revealing of my own relative superannuation, than any quantifiable truth? (You Statspeeps, am I right? Can we measure this out? Do ‘socials’ and the surge towards intense, short, highly-colo(u)rific events sling us with developing and increasingly irresistible force into the whirl? Are they doing it more than before? Is everything about lust and intoxication – was it always? Or am becoming a Daft Old Sod?)

Flitting between screens and sports over recent days, it strikes me that the roaring at Elland Road and Goodison, the insane closeness of mountain-stage fans at the Giro and the parallel, if changeful calm at many cricket grounds is an absolute wonder, in its breadth and its signalling of the human condition. We are mad. We are both unhinged from the actual sport and inseparable, just tossed into a capricious mind-stew. We are watchful and equitable and off our heads. We can judge with either crystalline brilliance or the feeblest and most outrageous dishonesty, the shift of a hand or foot. Depends whose team. Depends which player. Depends how many sherberts.

Everton, Leeds, Forest fans. Mad as a box of frogs – and also wonderful. But seething and on the edge, with that rather disturbing sense that they want something to hate. (That’s a bit dark, yes? Sits quite close to the fear that violence may erupt). On the footie scene, was it just me, or, at this season’s end, were there more players and managers conspicuously whipping up the crowd? Sure that’s part of the theatre but… is it a thin bit, a look-at-me bit, or something more unhelpful? Get that it’s inevitably of the now but is This Frenzy a concern – or when is it a concern?

Many of you will know that I have worked in cricket, for years, as a coach. And that I follow the game – in particular England and Wales Women. I’m fascinated by the contraflows around that whole ‘traditional’ cricket narrative and the epoch-changing turbulence currently turning the game upside-down. Again the richness is extraordinary. Go to a well-supported county game at Taunton or The Oval or Headingley and soak up that restful vibe. Check out Glos v Glam, in the Blast, on the live feed. All will be well, in the moment. But wow, behind the scenes…

The times are impacting. Politics, economics, changing fashions, greed and maladministration internationally are impacting – or have. The madness and short-sightedness of (Indocentric), 21st century capitalism is of course the particular and extraordinary context. Some would say that big-money corporatism has replaced glacial imperialism as the controlling force, and that national and county or regional boards have been sucked-in or squished, in the race to provide sexier fayre.

Plainly, in the UK, the fabulous mix of Old Money, ‘traditional support’, exclusion, inclusion and the mass of what I’m going to call *actual cricket-watchers* has been (as they euphemistically say) challenged by the bolt into newness. Things are complex but also heartfelt – so simple. Most County Cricket fans are deeply insulted by the fact of and manner in which the Hundred was parachuted-in. They find the gaudiness offensive, the PR insulting and believe it was part of a plan to slim-down the Counties, by making the Blast non-viable. They think the ECB were suckered or bundled into changes which ticked boxes but utterly disrespected those who most obviously, in their view love and support the game.

The counter-arguments are that a) change had to happen because (for example) the County Championship (and therefore the Counties) is/are not sustainable and b) cricket must grow and find a new audience. In simple terms, not enough people go to watch Four Day Cricket and the game needs re-invigorating, to draw in a further wedge of TV money.

Few of us would argue that the status quo was entirely fit for purpose, pre- the Hundred, but this not the same as backing it. (Of course we live in our own bubbles but a strong majority of the Cricket People I know think it was not just divisive but flat unnecessary… because the Blast was improving and improvable at massively lower cost, both in terms of cash and goodwill). I would also place myself in the admittedly lower percentage of people dismissing the idea of growth itself. Growth in terms of inclusion – yes, absolutely. But think it’s unrealistic and unnecessary to think in terms of a HUGE GAME. Enough can be enough – not to exclude folks – but because cricket might just always have a lower profile than football. And that might be ok: make the game better, not necessarily bigger.

It’s possible that some of those who voted in the Hundred genuinely want more diverse and younger audiences for cricket, because they feel that is right, as well as smart. It’s possible that some just fell for an attractive power-point. Either way, it was a big moment; one that has not, because of the explosion in international franchise or short-format cricket, secured the future of the game. Far from it. The wider game – the world-wide game – has lurched into another crisis. Everybody wants to own, run, or play in an IPL.

The Indian Premier League is The Beast. Now featuring a women’s tournament, its seemingly undeniable clout and import have sent cricket somewhere else entirely. The money – because of the massive Indian cricket audience, largely – is colossal and life-changing, for players. Revenue from TV and advertising is stupendous. Owners and broadcasters relentlessly ladle on the noise and the colour. It’s febrile; appropriate to the age; possibly defining it.

This affects all of us in cricket. The young players on our pathways are aware of it, administrators the world over are trying to replicate it or ‘factor it in’ – whether that be to corporate planning or junior training. Elite players are right now deciding whether to go all in on ‘franchise opportunities’, ‘stay loyal’ to their national sides, or maybe burn out, trying to do the lot. Heads are being turned, by the numbers, the dancing girls and the dosh. It’s baseballification-plus, with different-level money.

We’re all different and all the same: rubbing shoulders, raising a holler. Being part of the tribe. It’s magic; it’s scary; it’s dumb; it’s wonderful. We all do it, and we sportsfolks do it compulsively. We ‘go ballistic’. It may even be a necessary part of the congenital daft-punkism that drives all games and supporters: essential to the energy and the craic. (And by the way surely something in that fervour drives performance – maybe as much as the eight zillion hours of practice?) I love the crazy difference between Evertonians and Glamorgan Travellers. I love that we both lose ourselves and yet we also have the power. Because we are the crowds.

Pic from Danehouse/Getty Images.

Binaries.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Let’s face it, friends, neither cricket nor the administration thereof strikes us (historically) as any kind of springboard for revolution. Not typically. (@StoneDunk may have a view on this; no doubt I’ll be hearing from him, shortly). But as I sit and write – 7th March 2023 – it’s difficult to escape the sense that everything’s gone next-level radical and colorific. As though high-octane reds and yellows are being catapulted over the barricades and all of us have fallen into a single, vituperative mode of exchange. Some folks find the fact that we’ve been #hashtagged sexy and invigorating: others park their banners only momentarily in delirious confusion, before hoisting their Shield of Incontrovertible Truth. Either way it’s unhelpful: The Horn versus yaknow, The Sacred.

To zone into my own, immediate experience, picture an I-pad, a fresh, understated but also zesty West-Walian café, a Sky feed from India and the best women players in the world – Lanning/Shafali Verma/Kapp, etc, etc – flashing their blades in the cause of… erm… Delhi Capitals. Meaning, amongst other things, cricket of a very high order and at an intensity unthinkable last Wednesday week.

The dawn (and endless re-dawn?) of ‘short-format/franchise/white-ball/baseball/circus’ cricket is swarming all over us, whether we choose to wallow in its stirring brew or fight it off like some pesky wasp. I get that it’s precisely this that challenges and indeed troubles many on the side of Counties and tradition. Is the world not dumber and less patient, more fraught and more bought – and less (not more) wonder-full – with the advent of the Age of Boom? Is that not our suspicion? I get that. We love cricket and that love is deep and complex and loaded. But how do we appreciate all things and avoid naff oppositionism? More difficult still: how do we do that when our crown-jewel-equivalents, our non-negotiables are apparently unseen, by them on t’other side?

I’ve seen the word ‘symphonic’ to describe whackin’ a cricket ball abart. I’ve heard the word ‘soul’, repeatedly, movingly linked to this leather on willow thing. I was there when Jimmy-Jimmy and Monty kept out the 400-year assault from our Antipodean brethren, at Cardiff. I saw Bob Croft clamber up the stairs at Glam for that final time. Part of my sexual-political-philosophical education shunted forward, in a good way, when I watched Anya Shrubsole bowl in an Ashes double-header at the same venue.

The essence of this cricket stuff is rich and nourishing and gloriously multi-dimensional, so god knows, we are entitled and even likely to be ‘precious’ about it. The hinterland of feelings and patience and faith-through-the-downpours is not reducible.

Having worked in Cricket Development for many years, I have some knowledge of the machinations of Corporate Cricket and a bundle of enthusiasms and opinions for and upon the game. Only some of these can I share, prompted by cricket on the tellybox – well, i-pad – right now this minute. What I’d like to do briefly is note to the universe some urgent thoughts, in the hope that this can in some way contribute to intelligent discussion: this may throttle back some of my own partisanship and even rage. What it probably won’t do is reinforce the allegedly binary nature of things.

(A pre-emptive strike: the next wee chunk, despite appearances, is *still about cricket*).

Many of us are neither conservatives nor free-market ideologues. We may both accept some things had to change and resent the direction, process, content, language and apparently narrow destination towards which we were suddenly being corralled. Despite being ‘all about growth’, this bright new colourful future might have felt weirdly fascistic and force-fed. As per the august world of politics, much has depended on whether us heaving masses were in a position to believe the guys (mainly) at the top.  (Just me, by the way, or do we sense some movement, on this? A more conciliatory approach? Or more respectful?  It’s a welcome development: the entrenchment into ‘betrayers’ and ‘visionaries’ was never a good look).

With that polarisation in mind, here’s a starter for ten, in the University of the Open View. With no conferring, how does the following land with you? (Because I was conflicted but this next sentence is, or feels true): today I saw quite possibly the finest gathering of female players ever – or certainly the most dynamic – going head-to-head, as the pundits probably said… in the WPL.

Okay. On a scale of one to furious, where are you?

(Note from the author: I mean the stuff about finest players; it may seem inflammatory but the athleticism, power and sometimes outrageous skill of the main protagonists was extraordinary. I had not set out to watch this fixture – for the record I virtually never watch the IPL – but from the first over it was tremendously watchable).

We can surely see (and surely say?) that this is good? Good that the cricket was about as thrilling as it can be – Ismail v Lanning; Ecclestone v Kapp – and that this monumental lurch, forward and up (in terms of cash and exposure, in the Women’s Premier League) may be triggering greater sport.

However… because this is something of a symbol, yes?

We all know that qualifications may be in order. The almighty powerhouse that is the WPL may or may not either be in itself sustainable, or support the women’s game more widely. Indeed – obviously – it may (may) patently undermine it, at both the international and domestic levels. Where there is unrivalled clout, there lurketh often the ‘brutal realities’ of capitalism. Good can be bad; answers can foist cruel questions upon us. Like this one.

How then do we stitch together the various needs, in the face of rapacious, diametrically-opposing competition… and in the Age of the Televised Auction? Are we, as some have speculated, watching separate games drift apart? If Those Who Govern are simply overwhelmed by Those Who Franchise does this leave the historic game fatally exposed? Might the fate of Kent really be contingent upon the good will of tycoons in Kolkata?

My ‘answers’ – responses might be a better word – are on the existential side: vague, perhaps. They come back to intelligent, generous, joined-up action: and I am realistic about this.

To bundle us forwards, let me throw you a curve-ball, or variation, because that word generous feels apposite and so do bigger abstractions. (In fact, re-reading, I am struck that live action on the screen stirred a minor revelation, which though it unsettles arguments for allegiance towards any particular format, needed to be in here. So sorry… and not sorry. Again we are going to be floundering around in territory that may stir the tribal within us. Look out).

It’s likely that the majority of you, my sagacious readers are drawn to Test Cricket – or should that be Test cricket? – and in particular to following England (and Wales). Me too. Whilst being massively conflicted about everything else, from choice of coffee to choice of barnet, I am refreshingly, reassuringly, spookily clear that there is somehow nothing quite like top-level five-day cricket. Even though I appear to be one of the dwindling number(?) of folks who also really love One Day Internationals… Tests are it.

This of course means that following your own tribe takes a kind of precedence – though fascinatingly, we may not be clear that what we might call the National Machismo is the sole driver, or even the main driver, for this. There are delicious complexities and possibilities in play, many of which contradict the notion at the heart of the following, bold statement: that there is nothing wrong with patriotically bawling your support for your own country. (Further note: qualifications are assumed). But…

Let’s get back to Sophie Ecclestone, and her side, UP Warriorz – yep, I know – versus Delhi Capitals. In a genuinely fabulous Capitals innings, one of the most striking things for me was the utter dissolution of national rivalries. The truly brilliant English left-arm-spinner could not have looked happier or have gotten heart-warmingly cuddlier than when her Aussie or Indian team-mates had their moment. Truth is, they (UPW) were getting battered around by Lanning in particular, but wickets were celebrated with notable, secular joy. This, surely, is good?

A world-wide audience – admittedly one paying for the privilege – was witnessing apex-predator-level sport shot through with colour-blind, one-world generosity. With full-on sisterhood. In an environment characterised and generated more by filthy lucre than political or cultural enlightenment.

Sport, we know, can do this. But challenging as it may be to our sense of pride and self-determination, we cannot – I cannot – escape my responsibility to etch into the cosmic tablet that the richness of this extravagant, heritage-deficient gathering may even have been exacerbated (not undermined) by the mix of nationalities on each side. Circus or no circus. The ‘Enemy’ or antithesis of (say) County Cricket can therefore deliver something profound (too).

Do I need to add that this is not an argument against either international cricket or our own, much-loved County format? Of course I don’t. Because you get that things, in their wonder and their many colours, are complex.

Doing this.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

I know you guys can barely believe that I’m not in South Africa, on extravagant expenses, lapping up the vibes and the cricket… but I’m not. I’m in a ver-ry grooovy caff in West Wales (cos have no internet yet, at my new farmtastic place of residence). In between coffee and molesting an outrageous sausage, bacon (and I’m afraid black pudding) sarnie on sourdough, I hope to cover Eng v South Africa in my usual inimitable style. So with and without apologies: let’s do this.

The artist formerly known as Brunt. Gets the away-swinger going – but too short and wide. Four: Wolvaardt. But then good and straight: so nothing else. Bell will follow. Bright sunshine, decent breeze. Looks to me as though coach has been telling the young strike bowler to *really run in*. Have no issue with that but that can lead to ill-discipline. Not here. Another goodish over; South Africa 8 for 0 after 2.

All the talk pre-game has been about how South Africa have to raise their level of dynamism. They’re under-achieving again, early doors, with Brits in particular playing lovely shots at the fielders. England will engage GO HARD from the get-go – you just have to. Risk is more about avoiding stasis than avoiding the loss of wickets. 9 for 0, after a fine over from K S-B. A lovely situation for Ecclestone to enter the fray.

Brits slog-sweeps the spinner powerfully: much-needed. But still the locals are being contained. Dean comes in to bowl the 5th and surely Brits and Wolvaardt must attack her? They do raise firstly the energy and then Wolvaardt smoothes a beauty high and handsome for six runs, over extra cover. Fabulous. 28 for 0 after 5.

Nat Sciver-Brunt is in – so five bowlers used within the powerplay. Interesting. Think Knight is merely trying to tinker with the opposition’s expectations. Unusually, N S-B, despite mixing short-balls with slower back-of-the-hand efforts, is relatively expensive. Powerplay yields 37 for no loss. So even, you might say?

Sarah Glenn. Pitch looks dry but she tends not to get a bundle of spin: is more about loop and consistency – lots of balls hitting the stumps. 7 from the over. Ecclestone in again, unusually; skipper often looks to hold her back for mid and late bamboozlery. Looks to be a beautiful day, in Cape Town. Six singles bring up the 50, with 8 overs now done.

Wolvaardt clouts N S-B, highish on the bat but well beyond the on-side ring. She has quality: a long knock from her and some real fireworks from A N Other – Kapp: Tryon? – could put the home side in a strong position. But they have to build the dynamism rather than allow things to flatten. Brits clumps Glenn hard and straight, to go to 25 off 28. Wolvaardt goes past 1,000 international T20 runs. They both look comfortable but arguably – arguably – this is still closer to a cruise than a launching. It may be more than acceptable but is it match-winning?

Dean will bowl the eleventh. Despite the lack of wickets, England are likely to be content – and content to be patient. Knight is a past-master of slowish, ‘tactical’ games. They will believe that they can and will ‘make something happen’ and also that they will score more quickly than the high sixes – where South Africa are firing, currently.

Wolvaardt targets Bell, interestingly. She drives hard, repeatedly, forcing aerial, slightly fortunate runs and disrupting the bowler (who goes wide). Eleven from the over. Run rate 6.92 after 12. The batters have to sustain something around ten, you suspect, to get to 160-plus. Any less and England, on a pitch that looks very true, with impressive batting depth and explosivity, should come through this. (My hunch is that the scoreboard may need to read 170 or more, for England to fall short, here).

Ecclestone – who else? – draws the error. Wolvaardt mistimes and the leading-edge flies to Dean. A gift. A very fine 53 for the South African opener. Kapp – one of the great players of the modern era – marches in. She has a fabulous, aggressive temperament and the physical presence to lead a charge.

It’s Brits, however, who thrashes Glenn straight for six, to bring up the 100. Then, importantly, you sense, the batter repeats. A ragged, wide delivery allows the batter to climb in to a slash through cover, to raise her own 50. Big Moment? Possibly. 18 from that 15th over. South Africa 116 for 1: meaning they are in this.

Brits is inventing stuff, now: is into fearless mode. Kapp tries to match that, but utterly miscues the drive. Again it falls safe. Rightly, nearly everything is getting the hammer, typically up and over the circle. Batting in reserve – in particular, you might want Tryon in there for a decent lump of balls. So absolutely go at it. Wickets falling does not matter now.

Dean fails either to catch or stop a dying ball: Sciver-Brunt K is unimpressed. It was poor. A poor throw from the same player to the same bowler, with Kapp scampering, elicits a similarly tart response – again understandably. Not good, from England.

We’re back to a block of pace, as Bell follows the raging Brunt. Run rate goes past 8 for the first time during the over. Brits smashes another one straight but S-B K is austerely cool under the dropping ball. Makes the testing catch look straight-forward, as if making a statement to some of her young colleagues.

Tryon is in, briefly. She mistimes one then clumps the next rather clumsily, straight to Nat Sciver-Brunt. 145 for 3, suddenly. Ten balls remain.

Now quality tells. Ecclestone is bowling fluent, floaty deliveries which the batters, under pressure, cannot cope with. De Klerk plays all round a peach and is gone. Three runs and two wickets, in the over. Sensational. South Africa jerked to a halt. Kath Sciver-Brunt, who has bowled well-enough today, will see this out. She starts with an outrageous, loopy, back-of-the-hand delivery. Luus takes one to square-leg.

Ah. Another wild slower ball arrives at the crease about a foot above waist height. Shocker. Dismissed for four. Free hit. Feels like the End of Something – meaning Brunt’s career. England try to move the field but can’t. A discussion. Bouncer: Kapp takes two. Another short one – single taken. Classical-but-violent cover drive brings up the 160, with a single ball to come. Kapp middles through midwicket. 164 for 4 posted. Game wonderfully alive with possibilities.

Both sides will probably feel they could have done a tad better. South Africa might have added 20 to their score if they’d been more positive earlier. England were o-kaay but not special in the field – Dean, Capsey, Dunkley and Ecclestone are all fallible, eh? – and only the left-armer looked a real threat with the ball. 165 is a strong score but England’s intent is rarely in question, now. This may, then, be all about levels of composure. That and where the pill flies, as England hit with freedom. The pitch appears to offer the batters a chance.

Wyatt swings Mlaba over her shoulder for four, then the bowler contrives to sling one about two feet down leg – truly appallingly. But England are scrambling, suddenly. Is there an early gift? No. Eleven from the over – a messy one. Dunkley will face Ismail.

The batter swats one through the fielder at mid-on. Four. Then offers the maker’s name but just grabs the single. A short one beats the keeper to her left and England have 21 from 2 – not what the home crowd would have wanted. Can Kapp straighten-out the early sloppiness?

Wyatt swishes and gets most of one outside off. Ismail does well to haul it in. (Or does she?) Not quite. The bowler is going bold and full: she may have got a touch of away swing on one occasion. The all-rounder is unlucky, though, as Dunkley chases a slower ball and under-edges through slip. England are 30 for 0 after 3. (South Africa were 9 for 0).

Dunkley comes at Khaka. She gets another edge through slip – four more. Then Wyatt is slashing cleanly and characteristically over cover. Wolvaardt does get a fingertip… but middled, deserved the boundary. 40 for 0. And England continue to charge. Mlaba concedes consecutive boundaries: make that three. 52 for 0 after 4.4 overs. Stunning, from the favourites.

The hosts need something and here it is: Ismail tucks Dunkley up just enough. She hoists and is caught for 28 off 16, at square leg. Capsey will join Wyatt, who has 16 from 15.

WOW! Capsey – perhaps unwisely? – fend-hooks away a short one and Brits takes probably the catch of the tournament. (Full stretch dive and claw. Thrilling). Two minutes ago, England were saying ‘hold my beer’. Now the locals are in the cricket equivalent of Gazza’s dentist’s chair. Two wickets, two runs, in the over. The mighty Nat S-B has joined us. 55 for 2, after the powerplay.

Wyatt looks good. Can play within herself and still get 9/10 an over. Sciver-B hits harder than almost anybody in the game. Runs are still coming, even after the losses. Run rate just shy of 10. Kapp.

Tidy over but inevitably N S-B drives one clear of the circle and clips and clubs to leg. When Wyatt glides to third, another eight runs have been added. 75 for 2 after 8: England ahead on the rate. Mlaba has conceded 22 from her first two overs. No wonder she blows hard, before coming in to Wyatt. Boom – four!

De Klerk follows. N S-B is a wee bit sloppy, but no dramas. Wyatt has 33 from 26: is dropping and running. Off-cutters, from the bowler – staying lowish. Just three from the over. Drinks.

Did the break bring the wicket? Who knows? But it’s Wyatt that perishes. Awful ball, simply hoiked round at the grateful fielder. Good knock, mind. 86 for 2. Enter the captain – meaning the best two batters are together, at a key time. In some ways I reckon Knight could/should come in earlier, but understand why the youthful vigour and all-round boomtasticism of Capsey and Dunkley takes precedence.

The required run-rate has crept closer to 9 and the crowd is back in the game. De Klerk has gone well: England now need 73 from 48. Tryon will bowl the 13th. A reverse, from Knight. Might be the inning’s first? Then N S-B absolutely demolishes one for six. All parties engaged, as we get those Denouement Nerves a-bubbling. 63 from 42 needed.

Kapp will bowl the 15th and N S-B will pull her to midwicket. An extravagant slower-ball is biffed impressively past the fielder on the circle and will beat long-off – just. Marginal misfield from Ismail allows the second. Ten from the over. 48 from 30. Ismail. (Great part of any game. Two of the best batters in the world against two of the best bowlers. Fab-yoo-luss!)

N S-B garners two boundaries – both behind her. Feels huge. Ismail responds with a tremendous yorker… but of course N S-B digs it out. Aah – error from the keeper, who has been mixed. Crucially, Sciver-Brunt squishes the last ball around to the boundary at fine leg. 10 from the over.

De Klerk, statistically the leading bowler on the day, draws N S-B into an error. Brits takes the catch at long-on. Felt like this batter was carrying her team home yet again… but off she must trudge. Jones will replace her.

Fascinatingly, de Klerk bowls two consecutive full-tosses; presumably that’s pressure-related? England need 28 runs from the last three overs: Khaka returneth.

Jones drives her, off-balance, head-high, to mid-off. Easy grab. Now the locals have a chance. Ecclestone is in, and she can hit, but is she a batter? No. She nearly offers a caught and bowled, first up. Sciver-Brunt K is next… and she has been decidedly average with the bat for an age. So Knight is important, now. Especially as Ecclestone fails – miscuing to mid-off. The home team marginal favourites, now.

Ah. Sciver-Brunt K is plum. England are scrambled; they review ver-ry late. (Even if it’s plum, they surely must review!) THREE WICKETS IN THE OVER. Game done? 25 from 12 needed. Glenn will face Kapp. Later in the over, Knight strikes just big enough for six, but no doubting who’s ahead on points.

We get into the last over and Knight can’t get Ismail away. Suddenly England need 12 from 4 balls. The skipper swings hard but simply misses… and the bowler can wheel away in triumph. It clipped the batter’s thigh on the way through but nobody cares. The Proteas are home. Neither Glenn nor Dean have the power to clatter this bowling and they don’t. It’s a home final and no argument.

The book will say that’s a win by 6 runs. De Klerk and Ismail and Khaka central to it. Let them enjoy the moment… and here’s hoping they can find some of that inspiration for the championship finale. England will be foaming and sad and angry and regretful and *all those things*.

Wyatt and N S-B and to a lesser extent Dunkley are entitled to be disappointed that no-one backed them up. Despite the allegedly strong batting line-up, the side again looked vulnerable beyond Our Nats. Jones failed, Kath S-B is shot as a bat, Ecclestone will only occasionally biff a few, and Glenn and Dean are bowlers who can contribute in longer formats (maybe). So the likes of Capsey must contribute for this to work. They will, often, but today not so much.

It would be remiss of me not to register that for big chunks of this tournament, England have looked a very good outfit. Even now they remain the biggest competitive threat to Australia. But as with the Commonwealth Games, those of us cursed and blessed with Supportive Realism find ourselves notching this one into the Underachievements column. Shame. But hey – what a great day for the locals! For them the three wicket over and the incredi-catch from Brits will live long in the memory.

Rising?

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Facts are rare, in sport, but I’m happy enough to gamble on the following: that Australia are the best side in the world, by a distance. Still: after an age – the Age of Perry and Manning. But the lurch towards Big Animal status occurring right now in India and the sometimes convincing but mostly game chase from Ingerland offers hope of a meaningful tournament (as opposed to another procession) in South Africa. India are finally rising – or the profile, the lakh, the strengthening of commitments is – and England are arguably close-ish to Aussie strength in individual terms. What Australia appear to have is an implacable will, depth and a culture of winning that may again be at a higher level than either of the two leading contenders.

I fully expect Australia to win this competition, but it’s not only tribal allegiances that raise the notion that some other name on the trophy might be a good thing for the wider game. Today we had the opportunity – as did Australia – of sizing-up the only real threats to Southern Stars dominance, as England and India met, at St George’s Oval.

Here’s how it felt: I note that my sense of this win – a ‘five out of ten performance’ – is significantly less appreciative than a) Heather Knight’s and b) some other pundits. I stand by what I said live. This game was a little dispiriting, in the sense that it depressed aspirations for a change of personnel at the prize-giving.

India will surely brew a clutch of world-level players, within the next couple of years. They have to – not just to justify *that monster investment* but to claw their way past England and up to Australia’s higher stratum. In Thakur they may have the finest and most skilfull quick on the planet, but Sharma/Vastrakar/Pandey too frequently present as passable international bowlers rather than worldies. And batting-wise, if Mandhana and Verma don’t fire, up top, there is too often that sense of drift or diminishing dynamism through the order. The WPL – & the belated support and acknowledgement of the women’s game, from India/Indian corporations/Indian blokes at large – has changed things. Values. There should now be a full-on production-line of well-trained professional athletes, equipped to thrive in the New Era of heightened expectation and exposure. Aus, look out!


Wyatt dabs and fails. The excellent Thukar, a rising star of the world game – rising, that is, with India, who are surely finally gearing up to *actually challenge* Aus and England? – slaps one in on a decent length and the England opener, in trying to open the blade and ease to third (man?), misjudges. Barely gets a tickle and the keeper can dive to her right to pouch. 1 for 1 and the slow walk back.

The fabulous Capsey follows shortly, beaten rather too easily by another goodish ball from the same bowler. ‘Playing across’ as the Old Guys might say. Sciver-Brunt is in, at bugger all for 2. A fine start for Thakur and her team, undermined a tad by a shocking review for a ball missing leg stump by nine inches-plus. Whatever; India are over the parrot, at 14 for 2 after 3 overs. The ball is both swinging and seaming, too.

Vastrakar bowls the fourth. Good athlete. Dunkley slashes at an outswinger with some width and is maybe a little fortunate to hoist safely to third. Nat Sciver-Brunt treats the bowler with some contempt, gliding her over the leg slip area, middling her scoop.

Thakur – an obvious threat, here – will bowl her third consecutive over. She castles Dunkley. Again the ball does a bit but the batter looked even more unwieldy than usual, through the shot. (Weird, given she ultimately looked to play straight: she was reaching and feet were blocked). Real trouble as Knight joins, on 29 for 3. Thakur nearly does her, first-up, with a cute slower ball.

Deepti Sharma will bring her finger-spin… and her deliberately irritating habit of abandoning deliveries. But she has Knight concerned about a review, for a sweep which ultimately was judged to have flicked glove: minimally, it has to be said. N S-B has gone to 16 off 11 balls, as her partner grabs a boundary. The sense that this is the game may be premature but plainly these two batters really are worldies who may represent England’s best chance of building a genuinely competitive total.

Gayakwad brings some slow left arm. Knight crunches her for four, with a crisp reverse-sweep. There is help here for the bowlers but both batters are looking good. The skipper doubles up on the boundaries, clattering a poorish, shortish ball to leg. England are recovering – impressively so. 61 for 3 after 9.

More changes; Verma, drifting one wide outside off but N S-B, already committed to a heave to leg, does just that. Even easier pickings soon come: a full-bunger dispatched. 11 from the over. Pandey will hope to do better. As they reach the 50 partnership (and I am again about to put on the record that Heather Knight and Nat Sciver-Brunt are both bloody brilliant) Knight errs. Kinda from nowhere: caught and gone, mistiming to mid-off, the bowler almost embarrassed. Could be huge.

I may written more contentiously (and maybe just more words?) about Amy Jones than any other cricketer on the planet. She is potentially dynamic and fluent… but faaaaar toooo often she bombs out – and *the feeling i*s this happens most frequently when the pressure is on. She looks watchful (to say the least): can’t get Pandey away. England are 86 for 4 after 13.

India again fail the Realistic Review test, checking on a stumping that, yaknow, just wasn’t. (Seriously, they will need to work on this: have no doubt they will, or are). Games may depend upon it, and currently their enquiries are consistently wild.

100 up, with N S-B on 47 from 35 and Jones 10 off 12. Vastrakar bounces the latter. Jones responds by belting her a million miles for a shockingly emphatic six. (She can do this; always been a ver-ry pure hitter. More please, Amy).

The run rate is a touch below 7. These two will naturally look to take fifty-odd off the last five overs: if they do, the total will be towards 160. That would be a strongish return from where England were… and in an environment where the bowlers should go well, it should be competitive.

Deepti Sharma is bowling wide to off, in the 17th over. N S-B takes her half-century, before painfully offering catching practice to short third. (It was a slow-motion reverse, marginally miscued, that dollied to the fielder). Real shame – and potentially important, should Ecclestone fail to fire and the run rate drop away.

Jones, to her credit, has risen to the challenge. She is 29 off 20. Sharma gets clattered for two further sixes. Thakur – the best bowler we’ve seen, by a distance – will bowl out, with England approaching 150. Jones tries to invent something but can only dink tamely to the keeper.

K Sciver-Brunt is in with two balls remaining. She clumps straight to long on, giving Thakur her 5-fer. 147 for 7 as Glenn marches out to face. The final ball beats everyone for pace… but runs away for four byes. 151 the total: ‘something’, for sure, but less than England would have hoped for – the curse of wickets falling. Could be fabulous and fascinating, mind, with both Brunts and England’s strong spin attack likely to tease the Indian batting line-up.

The truly magnificent K B-S bangs ‘e m in hard, in the first over. 70 mph. Smriti Mandhana and Verma come through; four from it. Bell will bowl the second. Marginal, swinging wide – to leg. (She does have a ravishing inswinger). Nasser on comms is right, however, to note her relative inconsistency. The bowler, fearing further wides(?) stays too far out there and Verma can glide her away with some comfort – the first boundary. Neither bowler has quite found it: India are 11 for 0 after 2.

Brunt – not known for her quiet magnanimity – is bawling to the gods. She’s been biffed to the boundary four times, on her second visit. As always, Hussein calls it out: poor bowling strategy, never mind poor bowling. England have been short and often wide, on a day when the ball is working for them through the air and off the pitch. Rubbish thinking and/or execution. Bell returns, with reputation(s) to restore.

Tough chance, perhaps, but a beauty of a slower delivery from Bell is flying to Dean’s left. She dives but fails to claim. Late in the over, Verma offers again. This time K S-B can’t help but hold on. England barely deserve the breakthrough. Can it be the start of something? Dean will bowl the fifth.

Mandhana greets her with a straight on-drive; ambitious and aerial but safe. Four. Rodrigues has joined her skipper. Awful wide, from Dean. I reckon that’s five straight, mixed overs, from England. 36 for 1, India. Bell starts with another wide – to off. (Coach and bowling coach have just left the country).

Ecclestone. On the button and getting turn. (Alleyloo). Just the 3 from the over. Then Glenn. Dunkley fluffs a chance, mid-over, then Dean slaps it back from the boundary – the Ugly and the Good. Mandhana is 30, Rodrigues ambling on 7; India 50 for 1 after 8. However, almost imperceptibly, the run rate is drifting towards England. 95 needed off 66 balls. And you feel there will be wickets. (*Fatal).

Glenn will bowl the 10th. She gets a strangely ‘regulation’ wicket, as Rodrigues – experienced international and something of a short-format specialist – bunts straight to Kath S-B at long on. Momentum-shift? Maybe not, when we consider that the incoming bat is Harmanpreet Kaur. This is the Knight/N S-B partnership-equivalent: two goddesses. 62 for 2 at the halfway point.

MOMENT. Kaur slashes rather lazily at Ecclestone, given the spin available and evident, and lifts it exactly where Capsey is loitering – in the off-side ring. The England starlet almost does the horlicks horror-thing… but no. Gone. Presenting us with a likelihood, now, that England, who have almost been rubbish, may win this. Enter Natalie Sciver-Brunt.

That sense is both reinforced and contradicted, when two fielding errors – the latter a howler by Capsey – offer runs. 75 for 3, after 12. Reminder; target 152.

Smriti M creams one from Dean through mid-off. Four. Then goes over the same area. Good over for India. Glenn returns and starts again with a beaut, to pin Richa back in her crease. Three great balls in succession; something of a rarity in the innings. Then Brunt senior – if I may call her that? -pulls off an outstanding diving stop at the rope. Better competitive energy from all parties.

Ecclestone. Ragging it, by her standards. Draws an error but the ball lands safe. But rain. More miscues… but again Mandhana clears the circle. 15 done and India are 93 for 3. Need to go big quickly.

Conditions may be a factor, now. Dean may have misjudged the flight of a half-chance but hard to tell. No arguments with the blow that takes Mandhana to a fine fifty, though. Middles and nearly claims the six. But next ball, she’s gone. Glenn the bowler, N S-B the fielder catching in front of her chest. HUGE. 105 FOR 4. Two a ball needed, with Deepti joining.

Nat Sciver-Brunt beats her all ends up, twice, before she finally manages to cuff away to third. Good, skilfull over from the bowler. Can Bell follow and reciprocate?

She bowls an extravagant (but solid) back-of-the-hand delivery which Deepti clumps to off, for two. Then another peach which draws an airshot. Richa *really collects* one over long-on: it’s a decent ball which goes for six. Shit happens. Good over, from Bell. 118 for 4, meaning 32 need from 12. Ecclestone.

Deepti is LBW, but not. Clearly struck glove/bat. Ecclestone knew and the umpire has to accept her error. India have to scramble and they are. Racing in vain for two, Deepti Sharma is well short. Notably smart work in the field, from N S-B. She is amongst the best at everything she does. It’s maybe only now that England look organised and proficient. Ecclestone was miserly and threatening. Bell did well, at the death. Now India need 31 from the last over, which will be bowled by K S-B.

She starts with an awful, wide full-toss. Then one which is worse… and a no-ball, for height. Extraordinary. Richa Gosh has 38 and has the ‘all donations kindly received’ sign out. But she can only club the next for one. So 20 off 3 needed. Then, incredibly, 14 from 2, as K S-B plops one right in the slot and is punished for six runs. The bowler is angry and somewhat humiliated but moments later England are home, winning by 11 runs.

An oddity. They’ve been somewhere between lousy and mixed: Australia might even be giggling. Only Natalie Sciver-Brunt and Amy Jones spring to mind as folks who can be satisfied with their contributions. (O-kaaay, and Ecclestone). Yup, conditions were helpful to the bowling attacks, but Wyatt, Dunkley and Capsey were faaar too easily undone. And too much of the bowling was slack or ill-thought-out. A five out of ten performance, from England. Fielding was ordinary. Batting only convincing when Knight and Nat S-B found a rhythm and began to dictate. And yet the league table says…

India calling. Loudly.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

So cricket then. And women. Women finally getting Kraazy Kapitalism’s blessing, in the form of lorryloads of lakh. The blessing and the obscenity that is an explosion of crore… and all the game-changing and life-changing stuff around that.

India – all-powerful in those fuggy committee rooms – has pressed ‘detonate’. The neon, the napalm, the jazzed-up slave-market bidding-war boogaboog is ON. The Frenzy has leaked across to the Women’s Game. Shafali Verma can buy Guadeloupe. Nat Sciver can buy Andorra. Ebs is out of retirement. March.

Of course much of this is wonderful. Elite cricket for women has been surging for years, ahead of  the typically tepid investment, (but) most obviously/and/or pretty much exclusively in Australia and England. Even India, until very recently, has felt adrift, as though unable to cut through the raw sexism and superannuated conservatism of The Authorities. Outside of those Big Three, the environment, resources and playing standards may have been building, in some cases nobly or thrillingly, but flickering; developments of every sort were stymied by a lack of support.

Often this felt willful; that is, a ‘natural extension’ of #everydaysexism. Despite it being common knowledge in Cricket Development (and beyond!) that the female universe was ABSOLUTELY THE PLACE for growth and investment, *somehow* this rarely translated into anything approaching equity, in terms of opportunity, pathway progression or a viable career. (Plainly this is still the case, in many ‘cricket-playing countries’).

It’s got better. Australia have led the way, ‘morally’, strategically and in respect of playing standards. England have followed. Now the TV-sales-rights-thing for the Women’s Premier League – in India, yes? – plus the cost of the *actual teams* means there is a previously unthinkably Giant Wedge allocated towards the game.

Interestingly, I note that Arjun Sengupta in the Indian Express is reporting that because the WPL salary cap is relatively low – at Rs 12 crore – the players, despite obviously getting waaaay more than they are used to, will get a smallish percentage of the revenue accrued. This is not necessarily a male/female issue: the IPL players – that is, the blokes, salary cap 95 crores – are believed to receive about 22% of the overall revenue. For comparison, NBL stars get 50%, NFL players 48% and god knows what Premier League footballers get, because there is no wage cap in the Beautiful Game.

In short, cricket, quite possibly because there are effectively no unions – or no effective unions? – underpays generally, compared to other leading sports. I wonder how long this will continue?

 *Puts call in, to Mick Lynch*.

But back to the clear positives. This is a massive incentive for women’s cricket. It’s historic. It’s a statement from which huge philosophical and political developments might spring. The value of things has shifted. Possibilities have opened up, in and beyond what happens on the pitch.

I imagine the likes of Heather Knight (hopefully) and Danni Wyatt and Issy Wong (certainly), will be tingling at the financial implications, feeling somewhat suddenly blessed *and yet* bearing some awareness of the responsibilities ahead. They may well still be trailblazers, of a sort – women exposed to a higher peak, a lusher, wider, more colorific screen. Let’s hope they enjoy it in every sense.

                                                                           *

That whole concept of ‘deserving’ is a conflicted, spurious beast, eh? But Knight has been a genuinely brilliant (England) captain and player for a decade or more. Wyatt similar. These women have been driving and ‘starring’ for their regional or international teams without, frankly, much reward or much of an audience as their cricket transitioned painfully slowly towards Real Professionalism. That may be changing – has changed – but of course it’s the New Generation – the Capseys, the Wongs, the Bells, the Charlie Deans – who will be alighting into this transformed landscape.

(If selected), I’m pretty sure they will be thinking of Brunt, Shrubsole, Sarah Taylor and the like, as they run out into the roar, at Bengaluru. For them – and for the wider women’s game – there will surely be a palpable sense of arrival?

                                                                                *

But where does this leave a) red-ball cricket… and b) the international game?

We can’t pretend there will be no implications.

In truth, we don’t know yet, whether the lurch towards Big Money Tournaments and their expansion around the globe will shred traditional formats. Plenty fear that.

Plenty of players talk a good game about recognizing Test Cricket as ‘the pinnacle’ but it’s not just an increasingly rammed schedule that seems likely to complicate matters here. Money chunters loudly, and whether we choose to couch that as players ‘seeking security’ or players being greedy or disloyal matters little to the net effect. Player A – who can get a gig in two or three out of the IPL/Big Bash/Hundred/the new South African Wotsit – may not need to even contemplate either any longer format cricket or the international game. At all. You might need a County or Regional Side of some sort to kick-start your career but… after that? P’raps not.

The raw truth of it is that as of NOW, professional cricket players (at the elite level) can choose to make a good living by hot-footing around the New Events. Most will know they can make a whole lot more moolah as a ‘hired gun’ than as ‘an honest County pro’ at Leicester or Glammy.

Culture and tradition can either be vital, or completely bypassed. There are New Choices. Doesn’t matter if I (for example) *kinda rate* the IPL but never watch it – and don’t, for tribal reasons, give a toss for Rajasthan Whatevers – because (for example) my son’s all over it. It’s MASSIVE. So the Very Best Short Format Players can feast on it, without me, or you, or what we might call the traditional audience. Their choice – and no problem.

It barely matters that the various other monster gigs are currently lower-profile than the IPL/WPL. They’re still big enough. They compensate well. The number of options (for explosive/dynamic types) is increasing. So this moment of incredi-boom is become, also, a moment of existential crises: what is right? What is sustainable? Are there not – yaknow – too many? How the hell do we manage this?

                                                                               *

Test Cricket takes time. It takes a particular kind of preparation. It implies a particular kind of understanding and investment (not necessarily financial, but that, too) from supporter… and governing body… and player. Can Test Cricket be, or where can it be, amidst the New Schedule? And who gets to design that schedule? What freedoms or responsibilities or contracts will players typically have? Utterly individual, to accommodate everything? And what about four day cricket? Will the Hundred kill off County Cricket – was it covertly designed to? If you’re not a Hundred venue, how do you recruit players/stay afloat, when the circus calls ever more loudly and more often?

Ultimately, how many players will want to be County Cricketers, or even England cricketers, if Route A to security/fame/glory/razzamatazz is making that inessential… or possibly irrelevant? How many are better-suited, in every way, to gallivanting and booming?

I love that Sophie Ecclestone is going to be rich. She’s a fabulous, hard-working cricketer. It’s wonderful, but not straightforward, that the universe may be offering playing opportunities denied to Ebony R-B, Isa Guha or even Katherine Brunt. Whilst it feels overwhelming likely that Ecclestone (and her rough-equivalent megastar, Buttler) wants to and will continue to play for England, extravagant new choices are emerging. And where you have choices… and Big Decisions… you have consequences.

Special.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Go elsewhere for the 5 Moments of Greatest Garethness or the 5 Whitchurch Women Who Withered, Unwanted. For the goss and the factoids, go elsewhere. We’re gonna talk about poetry. Bale the Blistering Wingman of Doom; Bale the Arch-archer of Dead-Ball Wizardry. Gareth the Flier and Gossamer Druid.

He raced in to our lives and lifted the sport and the bloody, blood-red country. More direct, more threatening and winningly more committed to the cause than Giggs, Bale really did seem to ooze Welshness; it was inseparable from his outsize talent, bleeding across a series of developing Red Armies until a Qatar seemed inevitable. And he did it all crocked.

Isolate a few goals – haring down the wing for Tottenham/clubbing obscenely overhead, for Real – and you may have the sense of the generationally-spectacular talent: but there will always be a tension in the wider world around the Bale Enigma thing. By its nature it’s probably unresolvable but that won’t stop the lads on TalkBollocksFM blathering, between farts…

  • How crocked was he, for how long?
  • When did he know he would have to ‘manage his way’ through?
  • (Or) was he just one of those blokes with a lowish pain-threshold?

Not sure many Wales fans were asking or will ask these questions but…

  • Why did the Real die-hards hate him – did he really spend most of his life on the golf course?
  • Was he really such an Ex-Pat Air-head that he failed, over all that time, to join in?

Minor fascinations for some. Much of the evidence for his relationships with colleagues points to a good, funny, humble bloke. So an admittedly weird mix of convivial laddishness and excommunication. It’s feasible Bale was both chirpy and ‘quiet’. Certainly he was a low-octane captain for his country, sure enough or quiet enough to single out his moments of import or intervention *at interval*. Meaning he neither blazed nor bawled: he was a god of stealth and inspiration.

Wales has felt blessed to carry him and Bale, wonderfully, has deeply understood and reciprocated. He’s poured what he had back into the surge towards legitimacy. For aeons, the national side simply had no players, or so few that even the crackle and hwyl of their honesty and pride would not, could not get them to the tournaments that mattered. Not quite. Then Bale and Ramsey found themselves amongst a matrix of goodish, competitive individuals. Yes they still had to punch above but the squad could hold their own… and wait for one of those moments.

Gareth Bale provided and kept on doing it. ‘Til the good folks of Abertillery and Aberaeron could finally stop talking about ’58.

If we say little about Qatar it’s because Wales plainly underperformed. The skipper himself was peripheral; unable to string things together, never mind electrify the campaign in the way he and His Country had hoped. But Gareth Bale had already passed into legend – in that sense his work was done. He was bard-like, he was totemic, he was a real Prince of the People already.

Some of us said (and wrote), immediately after the tournament exit that the lad from Whitchurch Comp should call it a day – that it was right and that he deserved to stop. Enough of that nursing.

Feels good that he’s listened. He’s been special.

sportslaureate.co.uk 2022 Review.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Wow. Best part of 30 posts, on the site and all but four on cricket. I suppose that’s the legacy of a worldview targeting my former Cricket Man audience. (For newbies, I was @cricketmanwales and cricketmanwales.com for some years, before I decided to freshen this baybee up and use the sportslaureate appendage. I am still proud to work on the Cricket Wales Pathway, as a coach, but may be preparing the ground – honestly dunno – for a combination-thing with bowlingatvincent.com sometime in the future). Anyways. Twenty posts on women’s cricket: perversely proud of that.

Let’s blaze through the oddities. Two posts on important, interesting and influential cricket books – ‘Hitting Against the Spin’ and ‘Different Class’. (Buy and read: simple). The annual (blokes’) Finals Day pilgrimage. An appreciation of Phil Bennett. And four posts on England in Qatar and one on Lionesses v Sweden.

The year started, perhaps appropriately, with something on Bairstow:

Is there also a sense that, being drawn to drama, Bairstow’s juices simply don’t always flow? That he responds to situations which demand heroics? Despite being plainly a mentally and physically tough guy, his contributions seem fickle – less reliable than his personality and grit and gifts would suggest.

If we squint at the notion of the Year As A Whole, somehow Jonny B has retreated into the steamy-glorious wake of Stokes and McCullum.. but this absolute Yorkie, this ‘broad, bellowing, beautiful battler‘ owned, or should own a powerful chunk of our sporting memories.

Because of my traditional support of women’s international cricket, the Hand Grenade of Lurv that Stokes and McCullum have rolled under Test Cricket is woefully under-represented. In Worthy Winners, (December), I do finally capture something of the generosity and yes, wonder implicit in England’s lurch towards fearlessness and out-living.

I may need a month away somewhere exotic, or a pint of poteen, or a long, deep sleep. To find the words, the New Superlatives. But there’s that over-riding urge, is there not, to record it now – the thrill, the love, the stand-up-and-raise-the-rafters-ness? Stokes. Anderson. Robinson. Bazza. And a Great Moment in Sport.

This was Rawalpindi but it could have been every time England stepped on the park. It was a travesty of some magnitude that Stokes didn’t gather-in the BBC’s Sports Personality of the Year Award: he certainly gets mine.

My broad choice to deliberately shun men’s cricket in favour of Knight, Sciver and co weakened at two further points. I was there, in Bristol, when things got ‘obscene’ to the tune of 234 in twenty overs and wrote on arguably the sporting performance of the year, when Buttler and Hales carted India into history, in that World Cup semi.

At Gloucester County Cricket Club – or whatever we’re supposed to call it – I went live, as per, as England went ballistic. (Brizzle again. With the blokes – July). But looking back I find I still found the moment to *comment more widely*…

To my right, the recently-retired-into-a-job-on-telly Eoin Morgan, in a very Eoin Morgan jumper – beige/faun, v-neck, politely inoffensive – is with the A-listers Butcher and Ward. Doing his Mr Clean-but-bright thing. No sound on our monitor so can only imagine the chat is high level; usually is with those gents. Life been busy so banging in the coffees. 18.18.

I was working when Buttler and Hales did their utterly remarkable job on India, but scuttled back to – theoretically at least – offer reasoned and informed views. (Can’t wait. November).

About noon. Seen six minutes of highlights so this qualifies me. I can blast away, like Hales and Buttler, confident in the knowledge that my opining is shining and query-proof. Especially as you lot can’t be arsed (allegedly) to think beyond counter-bawls, which don’t count, or only count on the Twitters.

Glad I subconsciously cross-referenced (that’s a thing, right?) the Hales-Morgan divide, during these streams of erm, reportage.

But The Women.

Have moaned a little, over the years, about the lack of support and appreciation for women’s sport generally, and particularly within the field I choose to follow. The BIGGEST, MOST WUNNERFUL THING, in 2022, is/was, of course, the now undeniable surge in quality/exposure and therefore support for female sport. Think England Lionesses – but also the stunning improvements in the WSL – and think cricket.

Australia are streets ahead, still, but England are and have been for some time the #bestteamintheworldthatisntAustralia. For me the Hundred has been only a bit-player in this – but I’m not going to get drawn into that, for now. The ginormous and healthy and fabulously watchable upswing in women’s elite and international cricket has been building relatively unseen, for years but finally, despite continuing, glaring omissions, is (relatively), crucially visible. Folks can see that Wong is a thriller and that Ecclestone a genuine worldie.

The noble (and prickly, and fire-breathing) work of Brunt has earned this. (Not just her, plainly, but Brunty is my Goddess of Wall-dismantleage). Skills and agility and power and pace and inge-bloody-nuity have boomed. Despite poorish crowds and poorish money. Heather Knight has grown from Arch-typically Doughty England Skipper into a great, consistent, sometimes expansive bat. It’s worth paying the entry money to see Villiers throw.

I went to the single Test, in Taunton. (Eng SA, July). It was rain-affected but it mattered. For one thing this is a matter of respect (yes?) For another, as England enter the post Brunt & Shrubsole era, the universe is calling for bonafide, legitimate, ‘saleable’ stars.

Wong is bowling 70-plus. Legitimate bouncer. Then oooff. She bowls Wolvaardt – arguably South Africa’s key bat. Full and straight, didn’t appear do do a huge amount but clattered into the off-stump. Big Moment for Wong and for the game – she looks suitably pumped.

Issy Wong is ready – and more. She can carry the exposure, the hope, the drama. Wong is raw and waggish (in the good way): she’s a talent and a laff and she can hoop the ball around thrillingly. If the world needs fast bowlers (and my god it does!) and ‘characters’ (and my god it does!) Ms I.E.C.M. Wong is the dude. Or duchess. Or star we all need. Seriously; the emergence of Wong/Bell/Capsey to bolster the boostage is important, gratifying, necessary, good. It’s one of many reasons to get into women’s cricket right now.

(Decider: Eng v India, July).

Wong will want a share of this. She looks determined to the point of mild anger. She bowls 69mph, then slaps in a bouncer which Rana can only smile thinly at.

(Spoiler alert: Eng smash the mighty continent, to confirm their clear second place, behind Mighty Oz).

Big Picture. I’ve been saying for years that India are under-achieving, largely because they have remained significantly behind their hosts, tonight. Given the resources theoretically available to the mighty continent, they have been persistently less professional, less convincing and less dynamic than Liccle Ingerland.

There are lots of words about Eng women. Only about half a dozen of us have consistently followed and reported their action. Go read. Then watch them on’t tellybox and go watch them live. It’s lovely.

In November I got into the football, thrashing wildly at the Meaning of Qatar, in Swallow.

We had Russia and now we have Qatar. Both monsters…

I was particularly offended by the fans buyout – i.e. the bribing of the England Band and a clutch of Wales fans, by the Qatari regime. It was like a profoundly appropriate symbol for Trump/Putin/Johnson era shithousery. Magnificently, shamelessly appalling in the manner of the political/philosophical moment: diabolically ‘2022’.

The England Band buy-out is almost funny. Except that I think we should find them, slam them in stocks at St George’s Park and lustily launch any available rotting fruit (and maybe orange paint). Fellas, you might think you are being cute, merely extending the repertoire of your slightly middle-class playfulness, but no. You are t**ts of a very high order. Shameless, brainless, conscienceless t**ts. Same for you taffs.

I also *had words* about Southgate, particularly contrasting his honourable conservatism with the liberating, intuitive McCullum/Stokes axis. This felt a BIG DIFFERENCE.

Bazball is predicated on a hearty kind of fearlessness – but one which *dares* and attacks. Southgate, in my view, is incapable of that – and yes, that does diminish him. I repeat my admiration for the England football gaffer as a man of integrity and political/cultural significance. I also note that my/our criticism of him is absolutely not borne of English exceptionalist entitlement (and therefore delusion). Southgate is a man of caution. He’s not a great coach.

Southgate couldn’t pick Rashford, to race and dazzle, against France. Because despite the United man being plainly on fire, his edgy lack of proportion and reliability – his immediate force, in other words – didn’t fit with Southgate’s measured way. This, for me, was obviously erroneous and yet classic Sir Gareth.

But we can’t finish on either this marginal narrowness, or with the wider, surreal nihilism or negativity of the political milieu, 2022-style. Not when most of The Writing here is essentially an act of protest. In a few words, 2022 was brilliant when we think of…

Women’s sport finally coming into focus – and our livingrooms. Levels of quality soaring.

Stokes, McCullum.

Wong/Bell/Cross – particularly Cross, who is a favourite (and I can’t explain that) – running in, carrying our hopes.

Friends, I have no idea if I can sustain my travelling and ridicu-‘reporting’, into 2023. But I may. Thankyou for your support: please do read/follow/re-tweet – all that bollocks is helpful. Remember my political wing is over on bowlingatvincent.com

Happy New Year to all.

Rick.

Twittering on #England.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Thought this *many times* so adding it, belatedly. Why have none of us contrasted the admittedly macho, but essentially generous liberation of Brendon McCullum & Ben Stokes, with the clear (on-the-park) conservatism of Southgate? Bazball is predicated on a hearty kind of fearlessness – but one which *dares* and attacks. Southgate, in my view, is incapable of that – and yes, that does diminish him. I repeat my admiration for the England football gaffer as a man of integrity and political/cultural significance. I also note that my/our criticism of him is absolutely not borne of English exceptionalist entitlement (and therefore delusion). Southgate is a man of caution. He’s not a great coach.

Anyway. Here’s my twitterblogthing, of yesterday… 👇🏻

What better way of recording the angst, the anger, the disappointment than by exposing it raw? And what’s more raw than The Twitters? So I’ve simply lifted my @sportslaureate feed from last night; in reverse order, with all the hashtags. (Blame the So-shull Meedya Expert who once told us Cricket Wales Peeps that it was ‘essential to bang at least three hashtags & three daft pics in there). It may be cobblers, but I find myself in the position where I am actively courting attention… on account of occasionally-depressingly-low numbers of readers.
Lols at the notion that this is going to fix that problem!

I stand by every word but concede that my frustration with Saka’s propensity to ‘draw fouls’ disproportionately obscured any credit to the player – who did well. However, he should have realised within about five minutes that this clown of a ref was rarely going to give ‘decisions’. My criticisms of Southgate are longstanding. His cultural/political excellence is beyond dispute but that don’t stick the ball in the onion-bag.

My criticisms of Henderson are neither partisan, nor personal. He just had one of those nights.
It took the fella half an hour to strike a clean pass. Everything was underhit, or struck with little confidence – he acknowledged this on more than one occasion, to an angry colleague. Given that he was Playmaker General, this did not augur well.

In short the gist of my arguments is that last night was classic Southgate in that he failed at every stage to go the positive route. Firstly, he chose not to recognise the obvious: that France are a fine side with an ordinary defence (and an iffy keeper). England started with six essentially defensive-minded players. Then, laughably, he not only failed to hoik Henderson at half-time, but chose to insert the marginally safer options (Mount and Sterling) ahead of the obvious threats, Rashford and Grealish. Pitifully weak and poor reading of the game – but very Southgate. Mount might score but he will offer you running cover: Sterling might do something and he is more experienced and has better percentages than Rashford. Woeful and negative on every count.

But I’m ranting. Here’s chapter and verse, Twitter-style. Last tweet first.
Feel free to disagree – but you’d be wrong. 🤣 ⚽️ 🙏🏼

Wow. Lots of people not watching the same game as me. 🤯

Will be up early to watch #cricket. May write about the #football then… or may just say ‘go read my tweets!’ 🤣

Good luck to #Fra , btw. Ordinary tonight but generally better than #Eng . Expected les Bleus to win the tournament: feels likelier, now.

#Qatar2022  #FIFAWorldCup 

Poor game, poorly refereed. #Southgate culpable, as so often, for conservative selection & mistrust of game-changers & ‘talents’. No meaningful role for #Rashford or #Grealish. #Foden peripheral.

The guy’s a good man but an ordinary manager.

#Eng  #Fra 

#Qatar2022  #FIFAWorldCup 

Incredible penalty, from #Kane. 🤣Refer back to my Forest v Derby tweet!

Ref’s an idiot. Clear pen against #Mount. #VAR sorts it – unusually, in this tournament.

#Eng  #Fra 

#Qatar2022  #FIFAWorldCup 

#Eng central defence: is there one? 🤯 👀 ⚽️
Laughable space, repeatedly. Then #Giroud punishes #Maguire’s inattention.

#Fra 

#Qatar2022  #FIFAWorldCup 

Classic #Southgate, to go for #Mount, instead of the Luxury Player, #Grealish? 🤨

#Eng  #Fra  ⚽️

#QatarWorldCup2022 #FIFAWorldCup 

#conservatives 🤓

#Eng now ahead on points. 🤓
Who knew that URGENCY mattered? 🤷🏻‍♂️

#Fra 

#QatarWorldCup2022 #FIFAWorldCup  ⚽️

Inflammatory cobblers 4.
Standard-wise, it’s FA Cup, 3rd round, Forest v Derby, yes? 🤷🏻‍♂️

#Eng  #Fra  👀

#QatarWorldCup2022 #FIFAWorldCup  ⚽️

#Saka draws one. It’s probably kosher but mildly irritating that he sees his primary objective as drawing pens, not lashing the ball into the net.

#Kane scores. Perhaps reward for an up-tick in the energy from his side? 1-1.

#Eng  #Fra 

#Qatar2022  #FIFAWorldCup 

So why is #Henderson – slowish, unlikely to score – the one charging at the keeper or centre-backs, when #Fra  pass back?

#Eng  #Fra 

#Qatar2022  #FIFAWorldCup 

#Southgate may may missed this but it’s widely known that #Fra  (relative) area of weakness is their defence…

#Eng 

#Qatar2022  #FIFAWorldCup 

Half-time. It’s been poor entertainment & generally low-quality. #Henderson must surely get hoiked. #Eng  need a creative, confident playmaker. It’s so pedestrian atm even #Bellingham & #Foden look ordinary. #Fra  have forward gears in reserve: maybe Eng do, too?

#Qatar2022 

33 mins. #Bellingham ordinary/poor, so far. #Saka too interested in drawing fouls – & it’s working against him, with the ref. #Eng  looking (largely) like a limited, conservative, pedestrian side. #Fra  just livelier.

#Qatar2022  #FIFAWorldCup  ⚽️

#analysis 🤓

#Henderson relentlessly woeful. Case for hoiking him.

#Eng  #Fra 

#Qatar #FIFAWorldCup 

Ver-ry clumsy challenge. #Kane inevitably looking to draw something… but that WAS clumsy. #Eng  don’t get the pen.

#QatarWorldCup2022 #FIFAWorldCup 

22 mins. #Henderson yet to hit a firm, committed pass. But some signs #Eng  are settling.

#Eng  #Fra 

#Qatar2022  #FIFAWorldCup 

Great strike. #Fra  looking better, now they have the lead.

#Saka WAS fouled (but not strong enough) prior to the break but FRANCE LOOKING BETTER. 1-0.

Qatar2022  #FIFAWorldCup 

#Shaw dives in & then #Giroud has space for the header, 8 yards out? 👀 🤯 Poor.

#Eng  #Fra 

#Qatar2022  #FIFAWorldCup  ⚽️

Unbelievable that #Maguire should be offside for that early free-kick. 🤷🏻‍♂️

#Eng  #Fra  #Qatar2022  #FIFAWorldCup 

How can the ball not be suitable for play? 🤣 ⚽️ 🤷🏻‍♂️

#Eng  #Fra 

#Qatar2022  #FIFAWorldCup 

Inflammatory cobblers 3. I don’t mind if this is ‘cagey’ – expect that – as long as its high quality cagey. 🤓

#Eng  #Fra 

#Qatar2022  #FIFAWorldCup 

Inflammatory cobblers 2. The #Eng  national anthem is ridiculous & waaaay beyond its sell-by-date.

#Fra 

#Qatar2022  #FIFAWorldCup 

Inflammatory cobblers 1. #Lloris is poor. 👎🏻 👀

#Eng  #Fra  ⚽️

#Qatar2022  #FIFAWorldCup 

‘Worthy Winners’.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

I may need a month away somewhere exotic, or a pint of poteen, or a long, deep sleep. To find the words, the New Superlatives. But there’s that over-riding urge, is there not, to record it now – the thrill, the love, the stand-up-and-raise-the-rafters-ness? Stokes. Anderson. Robinson. Bazza. And a Great Moment in Sport.

Almost obscured by that other, obscene giant, flashing it’s gaudy wares at us from the fucking desert, we find, we stumble-upon Another England playing with the kind of absurd generosity that Southgate could never even contemplate: Brendon McCullum and Ben Stokes engineering a thrilling contest from a ‘feather bed’, an unforgiving ‘road’, a ‘dustbowl’. Because why not, why wouldn’t you, if you really understand what sport is, or what it can aspire towards?

A final day at Rawalpindi that owed everything to the very rarest combination of ambition for the whole game, as opposed to just the win; thereby re-affirming something a whole lot simpler and purer than some spurious Spirit of Cricket. Yes, McCullum’s blokey machismo may be flawed or even questionable, *on times*… but no, today is not one of those times. Today is a day to savour the life-affirming brilliance of his statement of faith and the new, joyful supremacy of a timeless idea: to enact that inviolable connection between responsibility and execution.

Bazza believes there is a Right Way and that confidence and liberation can take us there. In the wider context of a sport in some turmoil and under some threat – chiefly due to diabolical and generally avaricious government – This England are bypassing all that selfish ‘radical’ market-conservatism. This England are world-leaders in challenging.

Maybe the details don’t matter (but that declaration, tho’?)

Offering 343 with ridicu-lumps of time left? Nobody does that, in this situation, on that road. Nobody. Stokes did, because it was right and it made the game. Then that old bloke who can only bowl in the gloom at Trent Bridge does his thing and Stokes himself finds some truly fabulous leg-cutters and fatty Robinson finds some reverse and waddyaknow? Despite bumps in that road – howlers plural, from Pope, behind the sticks and gritty defiance from the last pair – the four-eyed slap’ead (who can’t turn it) claims the final wicket in a win that might need those aforementioned New Superlatives. England win a stone-dead test.

It was a privilege for those us who were able to watch the final day play out – even if just on the tellybox. The boldness was already fixed in but the bowlers needed to find spirit and guts as well as a disciplined line and length. Allegedly the pitch was going to offer nothing. Allegedly reverse might… but its influence on the game had been relatively minimal so far. Stokes opted to go all-in on the aggressive field-placements – he had to, right, to execute the unlikely win? – and press the Superhuman button again, again. The fella’s almost certainly in some discomfort but bowled a zillion overs of inventive, probing medium fast, endlessly beating the outside edge with leg-cutters/reversing outswingers.

Robinson, we hope, is on the proverbial journey towards better understandings around race and civility but the lad’s arrived as an international bowler. Some time ago, in fact. At a warmish ‘Pindi he found energy and threat for good periods: on times he even found some bounce. Anderson got his wily head on and bowled with shrewd, unshowy economy. It was an outstanding effort from an allegedly limited seam attack.

Spin-wise, there is a clear argument that Will Jacks is The Story: ‘Part-timer Gets Six On Debut’. But as time tightened and the drama focused, Stokes looked to Leach. After tea he bowled maidens just when they were needed. When Ali, in particular and Shah defied, at the death, he nailed the latter with a floaty, loopy one. The affectionate slaps to that pate told of the pleasure that final wicket gave to his comrades. Leach plainly contributes – perhaps more than those of us on the outside give him credit for.

This was all constructed upon the bulwark of big runs… and a spectacularly dynamic run-rate. So engineered from the off, by that culture of boldness. Stat-men and statesmen were no doubt consulted, pre- and post the toss: resolutions made, pictures painted. Last Day scenarios would have been mentally rehearsed from the moment Duckett and Crawley first went out to bat: An Approach agreed or reinforced.

Who cares, ultimately, where the percentages between laddish bravado and philosophical righteousness lie? Not me, not today. England were what we have so often called ‘worthy winners’ – they kinda defined that. The game won, too.

Pic from Sky Sports.