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Development – good and bad.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Let’s have a ramble; a rummage; a wormlike wiggle through the kaleidoscope. A zooming out and in, through the back doors and maybe the bog windows; like we’re *being philosophical* but also scrambling in to see the band without (yaknow) paying. That way we can be irresponsible and disproportionate and blather like the drunken fans we are.

Cricket. England blokes. Pakistan.

That first Test was ludicrous and wonderful and bloody entertaining in a way that re-wrote the laws of art and science all over again, again. England making 6 and 7 an over look routine in the format that still echoes to the voice of Old White Coaches demanding ‘high elbows’. Root being simultaneously relentlessly humble and yet godlike. Brook being ridicu-audacious. Duckett making a nonsense of Commandment Numero Uno – that you just don’t play at anything, early-doors, that isn’t threatening the sticks. Truly special.

We can and should qualify where and when the boldness dips into brain-death but let’s start with The Incontrovertibly Goodly. McCullum and Stokes have built something magbloodynificent. It’s a fabulous, generous contribution; big enough to change coaching and completely re-calibrate expectations around what’s possible, in a game that’s largely stood stubbornly still.

This is some achievement. England do have a good group of players… but how many are nailed-on world-beaters? Or maybe more exactly, (and/or, o-kaaaay, possibly more cheaply, more of the times), how many would be in a World XI? You could make a strong case for Root and Brook and Stokes, perhaps more now for his leadership than his contributions with bat and ball. Interestingly, even if we rolled back the clock a year or two (so as to include Jimmy and Broad), it’s not clear that any or many English (or Welsh) bowlers would make a Best Out There eleven.

What I’m getting at is that the real brilliance of this obviously occasionally flawed England is cultural; is to do with mindsets.

We can all too easily fall into meaningless verbiage when unpicking the ‘process’, here.

Rather wonderfully, in my view, some of it remains mysterious, probably because it’s predicated on the intuition as well as the positive inclination of coach and captain. This takes it beyond analysis.

The thrilling edginess of the Duckett-Crawley axis has grown into a fixture because of the zillion quantifiable advantages of the left-hand/right-hand, big driving bloke/tiddly cutting and sweeping bloke things *but also because of* lashings of belief. Coach and captain believed and encouraged. Crawley boomed on, even when the universe carped. Duckett stayed true to his wild-but-focused striking of every fecking ball that came his way. Inside the England bubble the gambles were absolutely felt and understood as gambols towards a Better Way. The very idea of pressure has become an irrelevance because a) there really are bigger things in life b) there IS an imperative to entertain and c) if we allow ourselves to really embrace opportunities, chances are it will be fun and effective.

So this England (because of complex, intelligent, supportive, ambitious coaching *made simple*) have offered us better entertainment via a revelatory and liberating approach. Fascinatingly, nobody else has gone there, not in Test cricket; not in remotely the same way. We can be certain that other coaches, other nations aspire towards Bazball; they will be using its terminology, its ethics, its drive towards freedoms. Eight billion sports coaches are currently spilling those mantras about ‘expressing ourselves’ – whether to eight-year-old girls or the club First XI. The difference is that words are cheap. The culture has to be authentic. It really has to feel like you.

England Women.

One of the sadder sights of the past month in sport came at the end of England’s World Cup. Sophie Ecclestone, the best female bowler in the universe, in tears, having bowled two full-tosses to concede the runs that put England out.

Of course ‘Eccles’ wasn’t personally responsible for the defeat – the game had gone, by this stage – but she will have hurt big, having bowled two sloppy deliveries, both comfortably dispatched. The tall slow left-armer knew that the exit marked another significant under-achievement, and a huge missed opportunity, as the mighty Australians had also shockingly fallen.

England were poor on the day. Heather Knight had to retire hurt whilst batting but this should not have derailed the effort so wretchedly. (Brutal Truth: the West Indies are consistently mediocre, with just two or three players that might reasonably be considered a threat at this elevated level). Setting a score that was manifestly 20-30 under (their) par should not have been decisive… not given history/resources/the players on the park.

Exceptionally, the England gaffer inserted himself into proceedings at a drinks break. Jon Lewis marched on to have words, when he could see things falling apart. Also exceptionally, he called-out the stand-in skipper Nat Sciver-Brunt, effectively saying that she couldn’t manage or rally the troops in the way Heather Knight might have done. He was obviously angry and disappointed. He probably had every right to be but this is not to say that he had the right to expose Sciver-Brunt in the way he did. It felt classless and makes you wonder at their relationship: do they/have they disliked each other for a period of time? (That happens).

I accept that it’s a fair criticism that this England squad (or individuals within it) has/have been serially susceptible to pressure. To put it dangerously bluntly, they’ve needed to ‘toughen up’ for some years. Lewis could have offered a bollocking (or a whole lot of work) around the lack of resilience on many occasions during his relatively short tenure but it’s been his job to select and coach with exactly these kinds of issues in mind.

To zoom out, he’s responsible for environment and blend of players and personalities. Levels of professionalism and expectation have changed. Expect more; demand more – I have no problem with that – but build the belief; develop the players; support them. It’s your job to turn the fickle into the fierce: and/or discard or deselect those who can’t achieve the evolved non-negotiables for the new era. Not at all convinced Lewis has succeeded at this.

England lost because one or two players on the other side had a good day. This can obviously happen, indeed is likely to happen in this shortened format. (Another reason why players need to be agile, empowered individuals). You mitigate against that as a team by being focused, determined and professional. It didn’t happen. Fielding errors should never be ‘contagious’ but they often are. There were multiple howlers from England. As a fan, I felt embarrassed and a bit angry. This is a particularly well-resourced outfit, compared to all but Australia and India. We get that one of the joys of sport is its unpredictability but this was a patent under-achievement from the Lewis/Knight/Brunt posse.

Finally, that leadership thing. Has Ar Nat always been reluctant to captain? Maybe. If so, again, it falls to the coach to fix that – either by bringing in another potential skipper, or developing the player. Either way he shouldn’t (as well as shouldn’t need to) call out her alleged deficiencies publicly, in or after a World Cup semi-final. Lewis shouldn’t have needed to walk onto that outfield. The work should have done before: selection and development.

Brizzle-in-the-drizzle wiv a temporary title…

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Ok normally work faaar too haard on these occasions so have sworn to *at least try* to avoid the usual intense psychokinetic ooojamaflip and ban coffee until noon. Oh – it’s noon. Let’s let rip, baby!!

Been dampish but covers off at noon and players promptly out, to stretch legs and smell the food-stalls. Whitish-grey and cool but our friends at accuweather are promising reduced chances of rain. (This may be the definition of British Summertime, yes?)

Lots of football ‘skills’ from the White Ferns. Businesslike huddle from England: at some distance so not sure if this is yet another Cap Award Ceremony-thang. (You know, those deeply personal moments they stick on tik-tok and insta within about 47 seconds). They break out as I break towards food.

Knock-out fodder, from our friends at Glos. Thankyou to all. Tasty; enjoyable; healthy. Feel (temporarily) dangerously fired-up – look out. And the weather is conspiringly beautifully, or so it appears, for a bowler-friendly start at the appointed time.

Heather Knight wins the toss and of course bowls. England, freed-up by those previous victories, have made three changes: the only significant one being the inclusion of the recently-excluded Dunkley. Wonder if Bell is trying to find that extra yard, with Hannah Rowe about four feet two to her left?

Ah. Rain. The groundspeeps had quite smartly left a chunk of cover out there, next to the strip, just in case. We unfortunately have that case. Sudden, fairly ‘orrible squall. Everyone legs-it. Looks fairly temporary: let’s hope so.

12.56 – so still a few minutes before the scheduled start. Umps are out there & I can only imagine they’ve asked for a prompt start. The Lads – the grounds-crew – are dragging the covers away with decent urgency. Delay should be minor.

Announcement. We go at 13.15. Good. But then bugger – not good. A further dollop. Covers hauled back in. Frust-rat-ing. (Don’t reach for the coffee, Ricky-boy)…

Don’t want delays. Got an Additional Learning Needs festival in Pembrokeshire in the morning. Either driving back late tonight or ver-ry early doors on the morrow.

13.25. Enter squall no 38, stage left. It worsens. I note at this point that despite ‘changeable’ weather being inevitably difficult to predict, it feels, in 2000 and whatever, a bit crap that wiv all their sexy computer-kit, forecasts generally seem to remain unfit for cricket. (O-kaay this is part daft, short-term frustration but a spookily high percentage of my cricket-related activity is ill-served by the Met Office/Accuweather and the rest). Can we, as my dad would undoubtedly have said, ‘stand them up against a wall and shoot them?’ Please?

Eye-frazzling brightness at 13.42. But is it A Clearing or another Temporary Respite? God knows.

14.02. The cover to my left (and I’m looking straight down the strip at the flats) is being removed. And we have a further announcingment: we start at 14.35. In theory. Sky have just tweeted that we are into a reduced game… but I haven’t heard what that reduction is… yet. Now I have. 42 overs; powerplay is 8 overs.

England bowlers warming up again. Sarah Glenn *actually shielding her eyes from the sun*. Honest. Bell and Cross working it.

England coach not looking that great with either the mitt or the sponge-bat, to me. (Lols). Over-hitting to Bouchier a good deal: dropping or misfielding the ball. But we should have cricket in a few mins… unless that greying turns into something. Looks to me like somebody’s been saying to Bell that she ‘has to finish her action’. Expect she will open with Cross: depite Eccles’ absence, one of the spinners may yet own the event but it’s a ‘seamer’s afternoon’. Whoo. I almost need my shades! Crossy is assiduously applying sun-cream.

Line-ups-wise. Interesting to note that Dunkley is listed as 5 and Capsey at 7, for England. That’s a generous bundle of mid-order boom. But they will field… and the sun has been lost behind cloud as we begin. Decent crowd in, given the mid-week thing and the potential for delay. Cross will open the bowling from the flats – Ashley Down Road End. She runs straight at me. Fine leg and third man out. Mizzle possible.

We have no replays in the media centre. So forgive errors. Wind may have stiffened a little. Cross, looking for swing, overpitches. Four, square. Then the bowler oversteps… but gets away with the free hit by bowling a leg-stump bouncer. Scoreboard not working: 5 from the over? No swing and the leg-cutters did nothing. Bell has the wind and it will assist her in-swinger, you would think. Second ball shifted a tad.

Love that Bell looks like she’s having fun so often. And think she IS concentrating on finishing that action – maybe to find extra zip. (She’s talked about that). Less meteorological/atmospheric support for the bowlers than I imagined. Review, from Cross. Still no scoreboard. Nip out to look at the screen: struck pad considerably outside off.

Should probably have started this blog with an overview suggesting that the universe *really needs* this match to be competitive. The White Ferns simply haven’t been that way yet. Both squads need a sharply-contested game. First four overs are quietish, which will suit the visitors, surely? But can they *press on?*

Bell scrapes her elbow, diving forward for a possible catch. Medics clean it up. Bates and Plimmer have looked untroubled. The former is charging, to try to mess with Cross’s length.

OK. We get a screen up. Bell goes widish but gets a thick outside edge, but Plimmer is safe. Flies harmlessly to third. Oof, but then a very sharp bit of work from Dean does for the opener. Direct hit. Run out. 21 for 1, New Zealand, as (A)Melie Kerr joins us. She wafts a little, at Bell but, importantly, persists, for now. My back’s giving me a bit of grief and I want to check out the vibe (and the conditions – particularly that wind) so off for a wander.

Media Centres are great but there’s nothing quite like being out there. As well as the obvious – crowd, ‘atmosphere’ – even a baldie like me gets to *feel the wind* and feel the smack as Bell (or whoever) slaps one in there. Asitappens, I’m down wiv da peeple when Bates fends wide and Amy Jones stretches soooperbly to claw it in. Right in the extremes of the webbing – so fine grab. And HUGE WICKET. New Zealand’s finest has to walk. Bringing in New Zealand’s finest: Devine.

Hey. It’s warm out there. And there are plenty people: good effort, Brizzle.

Double change: Dean from beneath me and Sciver-Brunt from opposite. 57 for 2 in the 13th. The visitors will know – may even be obsessed by the notion – that they have to execute both all the overs and with a challenging run-rate. Otherwise no point to this. Ecclestone is rested, meaning Capsey will prob’ly bowl a few: the White Ferns cannot *just* target her, though. They really must unshackle themselves from any fear and bring sustained boom – something they’ve been perennially unable to do. 59 for 2 off 14, at drinks.

Ar Nat goes full *and* leg-stump. Devine says ‘ta’: four. Then the bowler over-corrects; the short one is heaved towards Beaumont on the legside boundary. The fielder can’t quite read it and that painful half-volley-thing sees it through for four. On the edge of a chance. The further we get into this the less it feels like batting should be a grind. Not just because conditions have brightened: the pitch is just fair (whatever that means). Glenn follows Sciver-Brunt from Ashley Down.

Kerr is a good player. She goes at Glenn… and gets enough of it, downtown, to stay safe and raise a further boundary. 82 for 2 after 17. Dean is then getting some turn but also offering gifts, legside. England not at their max; not yet. Both Kerr and Devine finding the rope. Hearing from mates that the whole lot – Telegraph/Mail/Sun – are endorsing Labour. Insert your own swear word – I have. 100 up after 19.2.

Dean overdoes the going wide theory; four more. Do I need another walk/some more fresh air? Yes. I do.

OK. Enjoyable meanderage, partly cos it claimed the wicket of Maddy Green, but mainly because it provided that ver-ry strong sense that cricketplaces are just lovely places to be. It’s warmish; it’s chilled; there is action; there is intent – but not in a sense that implies bullishness. Plus I get to see both Cross and Bell side-on, with Jones 18 yards back and the ball coming through at pace. (I think I’ve decided I like this game).

Cross has bowled at least three no balls, which puts her on the naughty step. She’s also been almost three times as expensive as Bell. But still like and still rate her persistence and fullness and quality. Think she got Green with a leg-cutter but didn’t have the ideal angle on that. Whatever, Cross – as well as being exactly the ‘right sort’ of human – does bring the necessary heart and confidence to repeatedly find lots of searching deliveries. Does she lack the wee bit of edge that more pace might throw in there? Could she do with more Killer Balls? Maybe. But she’s a fine athlete and makes a strong contribution to the cause and to the team humour. I’m a fan.

At four-down, there are concerns for this contest. Are Kerr and Halliday the Last of the Kiwis? Unknowable but we might fear it. We need a game, here. After the burst from Bell and Cross we have Sciver-Brunt from Ashley Down again. Around to Halliday.

Glenn, who makes her living bowling *lots of balls* at the sticks, is bowling from wide-ish, to the leftie… and then to Kerr. Some are on target but two poor deliveries are both dispatched. More, barely necessary drinks, at 30 overs. White Ferns are 146 for 4. 12 overs remain; are they looking at 220? Just over 5s? Not likely to be enough.

JUST HEARD FORM MY BRO THAT CAVENDISH HAS WON TODAY’S STAGE. FECK ME THAT’S WONDERFUL. #TourdeFrance. #Legend.

Ahem. Onward.

Capley will bowl the 32nd. I might pitch-invade to tell her about Cavendish.

Amelie Kerr gets to 50. She is quality. One of the very best all-rounders out on the planet. Dean has switched ends to bowl towards me. But is again bit loose, to leg. Halliday can’t profit. Halliday clubs her out to mid-wicket, almost for six. More of that please – can’t imagine the White Ferns are setting the bar at survival-with-some-dignity level. In terms of their own development alone, they have to attack this. Bell returns to put the kaibosch on that. Delicious slower-roller has Kerr lbw. Reviewed. Great ball – difficult skill which the England strike bowler has pretty much nailed. Gone.

Then we have the opposite. Short ball, bit leg-side. Left-hander Halliday can only squiff it behind. This may be The End. 182 for 6 as a second new batter joins us. (Down and Gaze really up against it; newbies together with England on a charge. Absolutely the last thing the visitors needed). Seems unlikely that the ferns can get up to 5 an over.

Hope that England do something to increase the value of this game. Like opening the batting with Dunkley and Capsey. We don’t and the coach doesn’t need to see Beaumont or Knight or even Bouchier again – not really. So spice it up a bit and *offer some opportunities*. If not now, when?

Gaze, understandably, has a swish at Bell. Bit of a cross-bat hoik. It goes aerial and plops comfortably into Sciver-Brunt’s raised hands, at mid-off. 195 for 7. Lauren Bell has gone well today. In comes Rowe. Wee cameo from Down, who brings up the 200 but all eyes on Bell: another dreamy-druggy slower one bewilders the batter and she is caught by Sciver-B. Five-fer for the Shard, who has been simply too good for the opposition, today. She finishes with figures of 5 for 37 from her 9 overs. Too good.

Hope Jon Lewis does something bold with the batting line-up… but doubt it. I would go Dunkley/Capsey/Bouchier, for starters. Maybe Jones at 5: or even 4. Target 8 an over from the get-go. *That* would entertain us and make sense, in my view.

The reply.

Hannah Rowe will open to Beaumont. It’s a wide, which Beaumont nicks… but the keeper can’t snaffle it. Did swing, awaay – more than anything from Cross or Bell, interestingly. Third ball also swings a little. Fifth has the England stalwart plum. Game on?

Enter Knight, to play another ‘holding role’, presumably. Bit ungenerous and borderline cowardly, if you ask moi. It’s cloudier to our right and the conditions may be marginally tougher for batters, but Capsey and Dunkley need the work… and get selected on the basis of their capacity for boom… and the series is already won.

Penfold follows Rowe. In from beneath us. Quiet. Then Rowe – who has Devine at second slip – is bowling two shocking legside wides. 18.11. Lights on. England 12 for 1 after 3.

Bouchier is good. She looks right, looks confident and can hurt the bowler. Rowe bounces her and she hooks – really hooks – for 6. First one of the contest. For me, she’s a better player than Dunkley. Penfold is going o-kaay, here. Consistent; looking for leg-cutters, predominantly, I think. A rumour that the review system has been down… but we’re not sure when(?)

Meanwhile, Rowe has Knight, caught off a leading edge and possibly pad. So the visitors are in this. But the Mighty Goddess that is N S-B is marching out. She is plenty good… but of course the Ferns will be feeling like they have a live chance, here. Not sure the ball that did for Knight *did anything*, particularly. Stuck in the pitch, maybee?

Penfold has Bouchier mistiming – maybe they are sticking? – before the batter wafts high at a ver-ry high bouncer. Blimey. She tagged it and she also has to go; caught behind for not enough. Dunkley is in at 33 or 3, for the last ball of the 8th over. Powerplay honours significantly to the visitors. I’m fine with that.

Both Rowe and Penfold are bowling 67/68mph, mostly with two players out behind square. So some short stuff. Sciver-Brunt gathers one in tidily enough, to grab four. She tries to monster a free hit for 12… but slashes through mid-air. Devine replaces Rowe at Ashley Down. Unusually, Dunkley is 0 from 6. She nicks the single. Notably good energy in the field from New Zealand. Marching in: game faces on.

Predictably, a double-change. Kerr. Has protection square. Unzips Dunkley (also predictably?) with a fabulous googly but it’s bouncing over the top, on review. Tad fortunate, for England. 46 for 3 after 12.

Devine is going searchingly full, to N S-B, but errs. Clipped away fine for four. But the bowler is back, full again, at 68 mph. Ferns pressing with admirable commitment. Dunkley responds by clubbing Kerr downtown – and middling. Sciver-Brunt dismisses a drag-down in the same over. At drinks (14 overs) we are 62 for 3. England recovering somewhat.

Loose from Kerr. Full toss crunched through mid-wicket by Sciver-Brunt. Then another googly (with marginal turn) cramps Dunkley *just enough* and she is caught behind: 72 for 4. Interesting. Jones; with important work to do.

Amy Jones eases Devine away through extra, with no little style. She’s been England’s best batter of late – o-kaaay, alongside Bouchier – and a strong knock from her may be central to another home win. Coo; a wunnerful, fleeting moment of brightness. Will it last?

It’s still with us as N S-B biffs Devine to the boundary on successive balls, taking the England superstar to 38 from 34. Wee bit ominous?

Penfold returns, from underneath my chin. Jones blocks. Then clouts a short one over mid-wicket for four more. Are Our Lot beginning to assert themselves here? Maybe. Four more through extra, before the batter stares down a bouncer. Oof. Four over mid-wicket again – the ball only marginally short. England pass 100. Rowe is back.

Sciver-Brunt nearly clips her straight to fine leg but is okay. But Rowe is still finding some away-swing. Fair play. Eden Carson offering some off-spin from the media centre. Starts badly: first ball smashed, second should have been. Light is still helpful. 8 from the over. 118 for 4 off 22. Meaning 94 needed from 120 balls… and therefore New Zealand must bowl England out.

50 partnership up, from 43 balls. Carson a little unlucky to concede a boundary off a thin outside edge. Tidy over, apart from that. More drinks and instructions. Jones must be in some discomfort. Physio on and some energetic (but prone) stretches going on. Looking increasingly like I might be staying on in Brizzle and doing that early start home. (Late finish/exhaustion combo in play).

Nat Sciver Brunt came in with her side in potential grief. She has looked completely untroubled ever since: just steering things. Now she steers Rowe dead straight, for four more, to reach her 50. #Class. Jones has looked in some control, too, but she nearly finds mid-off, slightly mis-cuing Carson. It will be another demonstration of quality from these senior players, of course, if they take England home. But for me Capsey needed the batting and perhaps she and Dunkley should have shared the responsibility and the challenge of opening-up? Would have *focused things*. Unrealistic? Maybe.

Weirdly, Jones has taken to offering mid-on catching practice. (The second one was definitely a chance). But no dramas. Carson is bowling with some discipline – going at sixes, give-or-take – but something has to give. So Halliday brings her slow, slow-medium-pace(?) from Ashley Down Road. Might be hittable, (who cares) it’s different. Jones gets low and crunches it to go to 48. Seven from the over. Erm, more drinks. Giving me the opportunity to note to the universe that there are four or five of us here, to report this. (Read most things previous).

Kerr is back. Jones miscues her but clear of the off-side circle. 50. Then an absolute gift. Waaay down leg. Four. Ah: she’s caught behind. Late drama? Wouldn’t mind bitta that. Wanted Capsey in there: here she is. 50 needed off 71 balls.

Oof. Sciver-Brunt thrashes hard at mid-off – and I do mean *at*. Dropped. (Sharp chance but essential grab in this context). The batter responds by cutting hard for four.

Leg-spin is The Difficult Art, we know that but Kerr has been mixed. Another full-toss is belted away. Should arguably have been four. To be fair to her she’s got to go floaty and full- so may be courting errors – but she will not be satisfied with this showing. 43 from 60 needed.

Capsey nearly has a flutter, with her partner resolutely immobile. Scurries back. Can then take a single off Kerr. Good over from the bowler. If we’re to be critical, we might be saying singles are too easily available, here… and that Halliday (at her pace) should not be bowling wides… or full-tosses… and aaargh, that the Ferns cannot be conceding unnecessary overthrows! Suddenly England need 22 from 42.

Important that this game’s been competitive – and it has. Relatively. White Ferns have under-achieved with the bat again, albeit against a strongish bowling attack but shown us some decent work with the ball and in the field. They lack at least one bowler of top, top quality and maybe they need more than one elite-level batter, plus someone (or a team mindset) that brings sufficient boom to offer them real hope against Big Guns like Ingerland.

We can’t ignore the part resources (of all sorts) play in this. The White Ferns are on a par with the rest of the nations who ain’t, through political and geographic wotnots, in The Big Three. They need to continue to work hard and pray for the magic cycle to turn, offering them a freakish dollop of disproportionate brilliance. (It can, as they say, happen). The genuinely brilliant Nat Sciver-Brunt and the punchy Alice Capsey have simply had a tad too much for them. No disgrace in that, nor in the 3-0 series scoreline. ‘Twas to be expected. A 5 wicket win for the home side. Lauren Bell was deservedly the Player of the Match, for her five-fer and we Meedya Megastars voted Maia Bouchier Player of the Series.

Beautiful Games: book launch.

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Included below; the audio from our Beautiful games book launch, at The Mariners, Nolton Haven, Pembs, on Sat 23rd March 2024.

Hosted by my good friend the treble-fabulous Mr Stephen Hedges, it features some daft bloke warbling about sport and the Meaning of Everything – as he does – plus some background noises and a wee bit of ambient pre-amble. Would’ve *really loved* to include the genuinely brilliant and hugely generous #pubchat that immediately followed the talk, but certain individuals shared some personal stuff about family experiences that it just wouldn’t have been right to include. So cut.

We had intended that the aforementioned #pubchat would dig in to and expand upon the Waltonian propositions… and it certainly did that. Some concerns were raised about school experiences in activity needing to ‘mirror real life’ rather than ‘just look to cater for all’. I hear that argument, and respect the need for (for example) competitive sport. I grew up – and I do mean grew up – through competitive sport, where (amongst other things) I learned to value guys in my teams who found little support or encouragement elsewhere, because they were either fully-fledged or aspiring football hooligans. Don’t ask them to spell much, or do their French homework but stick ’em on a sports field and watch the fekkers fly. Suddenly brilliant; suddenly selfless; suddenly valuable. I get how magnificent organised sport can be, for shedloads of reasons including that one.

But only about 20% of schoolkids are getting it: or only about 20% are developing a culture of lifelong activity. Twenty per cent. This means that BIG THINGS ARE IN PLAY. It means that (without sacrificing opportunities for ‘organised sport’) we have to include everyone – get everyone active.

The speech and the book then, have to come over all philosophical. I think there are moral imperatives in play as well as economic arguments: society cannot afford for zillions of people to be physically or mentally un-healthy. We all deserve a lump of happiness and the wider clan needs us to be productive. It’s a no-brainer that activity *nearly always supports* health. Great, uplifting, compelling experiences in Physical Education for young people can be personally transformative, can maybe lift where we’re at, as individuals, on the Happiness Index.

I want all of it – generous and ‘holistic’ approaches to PE, throughout the age-groups, and fabulous recreational sports and/or pathways. Change the thinking and invest in all of it. (Surely we’re sliding somewhere quite dark, if we don’t?)

There are political and philosophical notions we just can’t duck out of. My argument, I suppose, is that we need to prioritise and invest in wellness, not maxxing-out on profits. Because every one of us is valuable.

After the verbals I include a transcript of my speech.

BOOK LAUNCH.

Enough already of this welcome and adoration. It can’t last. For as sure as eggs are eggs… and beans are beans… and brown sauce is better than red, on bangers and bacon, you will desert me. For we are fickle, are we not? We ‘like’ everything but then move on, to the next story – the next poor, unfortunate target for our fleeting attention. I’m a realist, friends. There’ll be a lol-tastic notification coming along any minute – over here; over there – cats on the Twitters; dancers on the twick-twocks – and my moment in the spotlight will be gone.

I blame the Kardashians – I blame the Kardashians for everything – just ask the kids. Pouting. Potholes on the A40. Climate Change. Footballers diving and Raducanu changing coaches every twenty minutes. I blame the Kardashians. Cold toast; hot – fuck me, burning hot – Cornish pasties; V.A.R.; 30p Lee; too many adverts spoiling yer telly. I blame the Kardashians.

Surprisingly however, Beautiful Games is not the work of an embittered old bloke who can’t pout. The closest it gets to Worldly Cynicism is maybe through the introductory quote, from Naomi Klein:

‘Everywhere we look we find “binaries where thinking once existed.”

I kinda like that, because it makes me sound brainy. To be honest I haven’t the faintest idea what she’s onnabout but it seemed a good idea to have something wordy and philosophical in the first few pages. The rest is bollocks about Ford Escorts and beer. And sport.

‘Everywhere we look we find “binaries where thinking once existed”. Wish I’d said that. Instead I said

on P xii “I really want this book to be explainer-lite. Can’t stand the idea that the dots have to be joined/profundities unpicked for a readership that is thereby presumed to be brain-dead: insulting bollocks… (more)… not everything will be revealed”.

I also say “this book, whilst wading through the baggage of a middle-aged white guy, will be anti-bigotry. Believe it or not. Its purpose is to celebrate personal and universal stuff about activity. Not sure that can be done without advocating for those damp essentials love and understanding”.

But what the feck does that mean?!?

Glad you asked. Let me have a thrash at this. The book is in three sections: the first is called ‘Formations’ because it digs into things that may have made me… but which also relate, surely, to all of us? Family; environment; good energies; trauma or tragedy.

So ‘Formations’ is Big Relatable Stories. There’s stuff about ‘cannonballs’ – the heavy, soapy, brown-leather footballs we used to head, as kids, even though they weighed about twelve tons. There’s stuff about travelling to Canada dressed as Elvis Costello, and the hairs in my nostrils freezing as we stepped off the plane into the North American winter – at minus 26. (Fact). Then about playing indoor soccer with mad Italians and some geezer pulling a large hairy knife on my best mate in a nightclub in Thunder Bay. Exactly the kind of thing we’ve all experienced, yes?

Look, there is family, adventure and growth and maaaybee one of the central themes of the book, poisons in the ether – machismo; toughness; the ever-present fraudulence that is ‘masculinity.’ But also the wonder of sport and camaraderie and the craic. So the wild, contradictory kaleidoscope that is life… as a bloke(?)… or (know what?) however we may identify.

It’s no accident that chapter one – Unwise Tendencies – is about the violent homophobia that was everywhere, in our childhoods. I may need to come out as boringly, resolutely straight at this point, but that prejudice (in the North of England, in the 60s/70s) had a massive, conditioning effect on how I was and who I became. I wonder if it might be something of a surprise to many of you to discover *how much* the book has to say about blokeyness and ‘strength’ and pressures around behaviour. Let me read you something on this – true story:

Reading from P4 …”Much of the rich hinterland around this…

and no, I don’t know what that means either”.

I don’t happen to be gay… but I/we who were skinny or medium-brainy or had some facility for French or English Lit were in mortal danger, at school and beyond. I understand this excruciatingly poisonous, mind-boggingly pervasive plane of enlightenment marks the extreme edge of ‘laddishness’ but I think we know it’s still with us – and maybe in places we don’t really care to look. Certainly machismo in sport lies very close to prejudice. Beautiful Games deals with some of this; sympathetically, I hope, but also has a pop, creates some mischief.

On a happier note, the first section of the book does contain plenty in the way of wholesome tribute to Welsh heroes at Solva Athletic Football Club and later at Llanrhian CC. There’s lots of heading (a football) and some speculation about the effect of that. There’s a brief ode to K D Lang. There’s a coupla key chapters about family tragedy because *absolutely* that has made us… and a lot of family pride. This is not just about sport: it’s about formation.

Part Two is called ‘Practice’, meaning the hows and whys of sport. And the brilliance, and the inspirational figures or methods that become your way/my way.

We’re into culture and good practice; the Wonderstuff, whether that be through the All Blacks’ ‘No Dickheads’ policy or Brian Clough’s ‘OH YOO ARE BLOODY ‘OPELESS!!’

Both were godlike and inspirational, in ver-ry different ways; the one a kind of code of honour and way of being that set extraordinary and (dare we say it) civilised standards of behaviour *as well as* producing an 86% win-rate in international rugby over more than a decade. (And this is a very high figure). The other – Brian Clough – was a law unto himself but found a way to motivate his teams through personal magnetism, elite-level pig-headedness and a truly intuitive but profound understanding of a) football and b) people.

At my own daft level I love coaching teams: in fact I really like the word – is that sad? TEEEEEAAMMM! Teams are gangs of mates or soul-sisters who do that walk-through-fire thing or just pat you on the shoulder when you’re bowling like an arse. Teams encourage and build and take you, the individual no-hoper somewhere hilarious and miraculous. And know what? Teams aren’t just for sport… and they aren’t *just about* sport.

Clough was maybe something of a drunk and something of a bully. (I’m neither, honest). But he took two mid-ranking teams – Derby and Forest – to league titles and he and Peter Taylor engineered two European Cup wins. Incredible… and I think fascinating. His players ‘just knew’ he was a genius. They followed him and believed in him. He did ‘just know’. This was about relationships as much as skill.

This may be anorak central but bear with. Clough’s former players talk about his team-talks. (I like team-talks). Apparently on occasion, even before massive games, he would spread a towel on the floor of the changing rooms, and place a football on it. Like some druid ritual. Then he would just say something like “OI. You lot. This is a ball. There’ll be one out there. Go get it… and keep the fucking thing”.

Interestingly – I think –the great All Blacks coaches Sir Graham Henry and Sir Steve Hansen – allegedly got to a point where they barely said anything on matchdays. The players were so prepared, so in charge, so empowered, that there was no hairdryer and no Churchillian rhetoric from the coaches. No need. The players are ready. I’m aware this may be a bit niche, friends. But compare and contrast with Guardiola, Klopp, Tuchel, etc etc – with the zillions of messages going out before and during top-level football matches, now. I think that may be a kind of madness.

In Part Two I write chapters on the All Blacks, Clough, Guardiola, Bazball, the fabulous and universe-changing development of women and girl’s sport. There are also Honourable Mentions for Dutch football/Bobby Charlton/Chloe Kelly/Welsh rugby/the Baabaas and many more. I do make the point that though women and girls sport is better supported than before there is still much work to be done and throughout this book, I promise, I am mindful that competitive, organised sport is not the be-all and end-all, in any event. Beautiful Games moves towards being about Sport Development – that is the provision of activity for all. More on this in a moment.

Some of you will know that I have ECB Accreditation as Written Media and most often use this to follow England and Wales Women cricket: it’s been a real privilege to have been quite close to the powerful surge in that half of the game, for towards a decade. I talk about this in the book – in both books, asitappens.

Locally, Llanrhian Ladies are a spectacular example of the joy and development occurring in cricket. They are absolutely magic and have transformed our cricket club so they are in Beautiful Games – of course they are! Finally, in the section on practice, the book turns to the other great revelation of the current moment, namely Pembrokeshire Seniors cricket.

Reading from P155 ‘Here’s something weird and wonderful...

To p157 …”I am going to be bereft when I can’t bowl”.

Sad but true, I really AM gonna be bereft when I can’t bowl. But onwards, in haste. To the final section, which I’ve called ‘The Case for Sport’.

I have worked as a coach for Cricket Wales – still doing it – and as a peripatetic PE teacher for Sport Pembrokeshire. Ver-ry proud of my colleagues in both organisations. Latterly I also did some work ploughing through a significant bundle of reports on wellbeing/activity/lifestyles for children. I’m no academic but this was ‘my territory’ so Matt at Sport Pembrokeshire let me loose on this to try and draw insights about what good, enlightened provision might look like. Who needs activity most? What’s most effective? What can we justify doing? Inevitably political/philosophical and strategic stuff, in an environment where (criminally, to be frank) budgets are likely to tighten, not loosen up.

I may have gone into this feeling a tad cynical about surveys. As a deliverer of sport you can’t help but think that it’s bloody obvious that activity is so essential and life-affirming and developmentally important in every way we don’t need reports to tell us that! They feel a bit like exercises commissioned by dead-souled office wallahs. Like who doesn’t know that exercise is good and that we have to fund absolutely everything that’s legitimate, to fight the good fight against obesity, poor mental health, the fall into sedentary behaviour and the peer pressure around body-image – for which I blame the Kardashians!

We all know this! And yet, because the more I looked at the surveys – from Pembs County Council/Senedd/the Happen Survey/the Good Childhood Report, from the Children’s Society etc, etc – the more I bought into the idea that they are often very sophisticated and skilful, and they do provide us with good, even valuable information. We just have to act on it.

So I talk about personally taking the Happen Survey into Pembrokeshire Primary Schools and then producing a kind of brainstorming document around good practice (for our Sport Pembs practitioners – Active Young People Officers, by name). About the conclusions we might draw, the options we might take. I try to weed out from the mighty, meaty documents some workable priorities or undeniable truths. I offered them to my colleagues in Sport Development across West Wales, and I offer them to you, in Beautiful Games.

Reading from p 195…

“I wrote two reports…

To end of chapter on p196.

Part Three then, does make the Case for Sport, indeed it campaigns, in a way that I hope still manages to provide some entertainment. You don’t have to be wearing a tracksuit to get this book. You really don’t. Despite being ‘sport-mad’, I can tell you that those of us who coach or teach Physical Education (or sports, or games), now understand that given where we are – deep into a wellbeing crisis, with no sign that authorities get that – we have to get moving. All of us. So PE becomes more about everybody; welcomes Joey who can’t catch and Sara who can’t run in. Welcomes them; offers them something they can do and enjoy – probably with their friends.

You don’t have to be a Sports Development geek to sense the requirement for a wider, broader remit, for Physical Education. We have to get every child comfortable with movement. Find the funding, make the change, acknowledge the crisis and the need for a re-fresh of the offer. Ludicrously, in my view, despite being lumped in to a new Area of Learning with Wellbeing & Mental Health, PE is still not a core subject. Make it a core subject.

Let me finish, dear friends, with a Mad Idea. There is nothing more important than the physical and mental health of our young people. Could we be bold enough, then, generous enough, civilised enough to *actually invest* in what matters? By this I mean – amongst other things – look at and think about the UNICEF National Happiness Index as a meaningful measure of where we’re at. Stick the GDP and the Footsie right up yer arris. Forget this charade about ‘economic growth’. Value that which is valuable: health; wellbeing; the capacity to move and make adventures. Let’s ‘get going’ on that.

Mine’s a pint of Guinness. Thankyou.

Last knockings?

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Could the New Regime, at England and Wales Women, really change something as BIG as the GAP? Has a goodish-but-also-mixed first four days set them up for a Grandstand Ashes Test Boomerang-of-a-finish? Or will the returning fate-weapon-thing merely clonk them, (England), in the face yet again?

Would Filer’s point-of-difference out-weigh and overcome Jones’s flaws-in-confidence and Knight’s tactical-personal mis-reads? Or would the Oz Juggernaut – allegedly driverless, in the absence of Meg Lanning – rumble on, relentlessly, making English selection and English Exceptionalism an irrelevance?

Most of these things I ignore, mindlessly, or barely note, in the LIVE BLOG extravaganza, below…

Wow. Gardner, in first, turns one several inches *the wrong way*. But then Wyatt eases one away for that medium-critical first run of the day. Then McGrath.

Australia are ahead, here, make no mistake. But they know that Wyatt can score quickly – is inclined to so – and that Cross is a) no mug and b) experienced. So Aussie fingers may begin to tingle, should England start brightly. Could be ver-ry exciting.

McGrath is looking a little tamely/lamely unthreatening: Gardner significantly less so. The tall seamer is floating down some fullish but hittable deliveries – some wide, some too straight. She’s helping Wyatt get her eye in. There’s a little swing for her but if the batters can remain truly watchful, she feels manageable. Early appeal from McGrath but the ball is missing by a mile: no review.

Wyatt robs a tip-it-and-run-style single. Aus simply not ready for it. Then a widish delivery is cut just forward of slip, by Cross. Ball after and she’s swinging too loosely: gets a fine nick into the hands of Healy. Cross had looked a little sloppy: faux-confidenty, perhaps? This was a sloppy dismissal. Could be vital because though Jones is a genuine bat, she has, extraordinarily often (or that’s how it feels), over a period of years, failed when the squeeze is on. She plays down the wrong line, first ball.

Gardner is a really good bowler – good player – on her game, now. Revs and loop on the ball. Historic, Five Day Test. She appears, rather predictably, to be relishing Crunch Time. Wyatt, in particular, has to respond.

Quite rightly, Healy has switched-out McGrath, for Garth. Change seemed right. Jones can barely lay a bat on the ball. England are stalling.

Wyatt steers one cutely and confidently through third (wo)man. Helpful riposte. She repeats, if anything with more gusto, but the fielder collects. Garth is getting a little shape through the air: if she was bringing more pace it might be troubling the batters, but as it is Wyatt can sit back a little and cut away, with that characteristically open face. 147 for 6. Jones plays across Gardner and is fortunate to get a wee tickle – otherwise plum. Then the batter ‘breaks out’ by lifting over cover, for four.

Think this may have been in quiet desperation as much as strategic: Jones does Scrambled Mind more than anybody in world cricket. As if to confirm, she misses the next ball (again) by a mile and she is stumped. It’s another shocker. The game may be gone: the rest may hit but can barely bat – Ecclestone included, and no blame attached. England’s indulgence towards Jones, over three years or so, when it’s seemed clear that her mentality is simply not that of a top-line international, has again come back to haunt them. England may yet win it, of course, if Wyatt can stay cute and Ecclestone can club away long enough. But The Ashes may actually be disappearing already.

(Understand we’re in dangerous territory, talking about people’s mentality. But in Jones’s case it’s been obvious for some time that she lacks the necessary playing resilience for an England player. She can play, alright, but gets more painfully poor dismissals at key times than any other player that comes to mind: so she’s in for her keeping. But her period of grace and good fortune – presumably because the selectors have been unconvinced by any of her rivals – has been absurdly long. Make the change. Make a change. Leave her our; let her unscramble – or not. This should be a competitive business – is a competitive business).

Gardner, meanwhile, is ramping up the pressure with some skill. Flight… and dip… and turn. Nothing outrageous, but good, challenging stuff. Ecclestone just about coming through.

Garth drops short but the ball swings notably – away from Ecclestone. She toe-ends it towards midwicket. Wyatt moves on to 45 with a squarish push. Australia need three wickets to win this.

Ecclestone was a club-clubber of a batter, not too long ago. Everything heaved. But she’s plainly worked admirably hard to straighten things out a little, on the batting front. Now she has moments when she looks both resilient and competent. She is keeping out a decent yorker, from the returning McGrath. The off-cutter defeats her, but strikes pad highish, and is missing. Throughout, the England spinner – the Best Spinner in World Cricket? – is looking gutsy and determined. (I’m afraid Jones has rarely, if ever, looked gutsy and determined)…

Another delivery dies in the pitch. Wyatt, alarmed but watchful, drops the bat on it. Gardner (did I mention?) has a deserved fife-fer but Ecclestone clumps her with no little style, through extra, for four. England are 167 for 7, needing 101 to win.

Quite like the look of Wyatt. Calmish. Steering rather than hitting. And Ecclestone is visibly digging in. So despite the visitor’s obvious advantage, Hope is not yet lost, entirely, for Heather Knight’s Posse. But Australia are grinding this out, as they do: and there is only Bell and Filer to come. Wyatt gets a maiden fifty (weirdly) on her Test debut (weirdly-but-yeh; get that).

It’s a lovely day, at Trent Bridge. Some breeze but fulsome sunshine. Ecclestone celebrates by sweeping to the boundary. Wyatt is again watchful; playing straight to another full one, from McGrath, who has the freedom to go boldly. Most deliveries are *right up there* – and hitting.

The exemplary Butcher, on comms, does a wee piece on England’s strategy against Gardner. In short, nobody has played with the spin at all. Extraordinary. Moments later, Ecclestone tries to play to square leg: Gardner has come around. The batter misses. Plum. Decent effort, from both spinners, in fact. The Aussie has a six-fer. Enter Filer, with 90 needed and just Bell remaining. Start the car?

Filer defends three goodish balls quite well. When McGrath comes in to Wyatt, her expansive clip to cover may suggest she thinks she has to counter. Filer then keeps out a peach of an inswinger: and again. This kid looks like she has something. Temperament.

The match situation is BIG, already. If Australia win this Test then because of the mechanics of the points system and the Aussies possession of the Ashes, England have to win almost everything. Ah. Filer’s briefish resistance is done. A straight one from Gardner proves too good. Bell strides out.

Wyatt goes for a voluptuous sweep, against the same bowler. Given. Out. Australia are the deserved winners, again. Ash Gardner has an eight-fer; she’s understandably thrilled.

From an England point of view, there are a few positives. Filer’s bowling. Ecclestone’s bowling. Tammy Beaumont going huge. But they have been sloppy or worse at important times… and perhaps this is the key? Australia have not been flawless but they have a strong tendency to recover, should they lose a session or find themselves under the proverbial cosh. They are champions, mentality-wise and this means they execute; almost always.

I suspect that England are not far behind in terms of talent but the brutal truth is that Jones should have been out of this side for about two years and other individuals have not risen to their moment. I personally doubt that Dunkley is a Test cricketer but her time may come – England’s time may come – in the shorter formats. The white-ball game diminution-imperative, in terms of stickability, quality(?), consistency, in favour of urgency and physical heft, may yet work to England’s advantage: we’ll see. But there’s an argument here that the widely-reported gap between these two sides remains.

Pic from Radio Times.

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.

Good morning, Ireland.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Unfashionable? Moi? Well go on, then.

Ireland look steady. Moor and McCollum playing watchfully – playing well. Potts is getting a little nip and Broad is offering *that aura* but maybe not too much threat… until.

Is it lack of patience or over-awareness of the Need to Make Statements that bundles Moor into going after one – i.e. trying to twist it to square leg – that he should be flat-batting to mid-off? And soon after, is Tector auditioning for an England slot by advancing and clipping (to leg slip!) when he should, surely, be offering the most smother-tastic of defences? Lads. Just play smart. Just for a bit. This is Lords. This is that longer format thing. Steady on.

Throw in a fine, stooping slip-catch, by the monumental Crawley and England find themselves waaay ahead, somewhat against the grain. Broad has bowled well enough, and Potts has delivered some beauts, but Ireland had looked reasonably settled: until. Bugger all for three. So Stokes can juggle and dance.

In comes the debutant Tongue, to bowl a pretty fabulous first over at this level. In comes Leach. Both can slam or twirl without a flicker of concern. This is the Settled Dreamland any bowler would look for. Get out there and play, bruv. They’re three-down and you know this could get messy. En-bloody-joy. Tongue looks like he is. His extra zap is plainly troubling the batters. 91 mph would trouble most of us.

Leach is spearing and looping just a little, to offer the foil to Tongues’ controlled belligerence. Time passes: McCollum and Stirling appear, as the fifty comes up, to be re-gathering. (When Tongue goes wide, two boundaries). This is good bowling, but not unplayable. We may be hearing Jonny B bawling ‘something’s happening’, to encourage Leach, but this is playable.

So Stokes mixes things again, and Broad returns. McCollum has a daft, slightly lazy waft. Aahs but no cigars. Half an hour to lunch. 54 for 3.
We know – England know – Stirling likes to go after the bowling: this case, Leach. A sweep. A glove. A wicket.
Again ‘traditionalists’ might ask how necessary? We get the imperative or inclination towards positivity and counter-attack, but how necessary, how wise, to offer four inches of bat, horizontally, as opposed to shedloads of vertical wood? Not all day; not ‘negatively’; but to recognise the fact of available time *in this format*. As underdogs – even if the team coach or team psychologist are denying the existence of external factors – is it not prudent, to hold, to see this through til lunch? However unfashionable? Ireland are entitled to ‘play with freedom’: they may be bloody daft to offer chances.

Tongue bends his back, impressively and with purpose, to seek a) his first wicket and b) potentially kill off this match. Then, Potts, who has bowled boldly and with heart – going full, inviting the drive – closes the session.
Ireland get through, four down, for 78. Tucker is not out 8, and McCollum has 29. Significant plusses for England are not just the wickets in the proverbial bank: Tongue and Potts, despite remaining wicketless, have looked comfortable in the environment. And the day is getting sunnier. If they can plough through this Irish order, this could be a good place to bat.

Let’s revisit the positivity argument again – conscious that in one sense there is no argument agin positivity. Of course we all want players to play with freedom and of course this as a notion and a method can be liberating. There may be no buts. Except this one: time. Time can bring ease or it can bring the squeeze. It may not always be the non-protagonist we want it to be. Ditto form and quality. It’s not necessarily a capitulation to choose restraint. This is Test Cricket. Platforms and partnership may be disproportionately important, here. Because of the time; more contentiously perhaps, because you are Ireland.

Being good and watchful and even risk-averse (in certain periods) is neither going on the defensive nor necessarily defending. When the bowling is goodish and the match situation moves against you, you are entitled to hold firm. The allegedly positive response is not the only answer – and certainly not the only way to a good outcome.

Reminders.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ 2 Comments

Know what’s great? Sport.

I shouldn’t need any reminders but I just had one, so without breaching too many confidences, here’s another personal gambit.

In a week where I attended a rather depressing BBC cricket writing thing – on Zoom, all about cramming things down, writing one-sentence paragraphs and therefore, inevitably falling in line with the murderous, soulless brevity of Online Reality – an actual game of cricket was like a quiet marvel. It was slow; it was warm; it was generous. It smelt of humans, not algorithms.

The game was a competitive friendly, between Mainly Good 40-odd Year-olds and Us. (Us being Mainly Good 60 Year-olds). I was the newcomer and – as it turned out – The Impostor. Mad keen but less agile and less able than I’d hoped. Kindof expecting to be able to wing it, through energy and effort but unable to claw my way back up to the level of these skilled, experienced guys. Plus crocked: I didn’t realised how crocked ’til now.

It’s only after I started calculating the Waltonian cricket absence – twelve years since my last competitive game, I reckon – that I begin to cut myself some slack, on what felt like a poor performance. I used to be okaaay. I used to be able to really bowl, at some pace, leg-cutters a speciality. (*Coughs*). You wouldn’t have known, I fear.

I’ve done some nets with stars (and I do mean that, in every sense) of the local Seniors scene but of course there’s nothing like playing. All those unique movements. All that adjustment for bounce, turf, speed, quality of roll. All that running and bending down. And bowling. Wonderful, balletic, deathly movements. I’ve been yomping the Coast Path for years, coaching for years, even (recently) enjoying some practice with my son, in the hope and knowledge that the day must come. But there’s nothing like playing.

Now that I’m still hobbling badly, two full days later, with a proper hospital-sized concern about my right achilles, as well as a decent crop of entirely predictable and indeed appropriate aches and pains, things have landed. Of course I should have bowled off about four paces not sixteen. Of course I should have stopped bowling when *that wee twinge* announced itself, gently at first, in my second over. Of course I should have gone round against their left-hander but…

Calculations suggest it may be 12 years since I played a proper game. So I’m not going to change anything, once I’ve marked out that run. No sir. Just kee-ping it sim-ple. And ignoring that ankle (and yaknow, everything).

Everybody’s hurting, fer chrisssakes. Push on, boyo. Bowl, you gret wazzuck. What’s that one compelling truism in the pile of platitudinous crap? (WHEN THE GOING GETS TOUGH, THE TOUGH GET GOING!!)

Try. Look how hard all these magnificent, stupid old buggers are trying!

*Lump-in-throat moment* Blimey, yeh, look at ’em. We’ve barely met yet we’re a team. A bloody team! There’s no choice – crack on, mun.

We lost… and it didn’t matter. I only knew, when I pitched up, about four of our players… and it didn’t matter. Game-wise the sunny ambience/honourably competitive combo-thing was humming in the air; balanced; beautiful; idyllic and ideal. It was a real welcome. I got battered but was encouraged, throughout, by patently better men and players. We held our own, enough, as a side, because some of our lads took us within 30-odd of their 242. (40 overs).

In the bar it felt good. We had a few laughs and the unspoken awareness that we had ju-ust begun to morph into another ridicubrotherhood – though in defeat – bounced or spread agreeably round the room. Strangers brought together: that corny, wonderful, sporting cobblers.

But when and how, exactly, did that start? (There’s another post on that!) Could be we felt it on the outfield from the first lumber. It *really can* transmit subconsciously, eh – or somehow? From the first ball – before then? – there was something. Body-language. Verbals. Team Humour.

Maybe it passed or blossomed in the friendly exchanges over our modest consumption of alcohol. (This was no riot). Maybe with the quiz card, or during the Few Words from captain and visiting stalwart – who knows? It was quiet, undeniable magic, with the Pembrokeshire sunshine and the open doors and the guys all ‘suffering’ or recovering: blokes who can really play being good to those who possibly can’t.

I got an award – an allegedly cuddly duck, in take-no-prisoners yellow. I hadn’t batted, on merit, but had probably made the telling contributions in our defeat. So fair cop. We go again, god-willing, on Thursday.

Radio Humberside Interview: The Dots Will Not Be Joined.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

I was born and brought up in Grimsby and the surrounding area. Sport at home, with mates, in the local schools and amateur leagues played a massive role in making me who I am: learning to value folks through football/cricket/whatever.

I try to explain this, here – but hey, am not gonna disguise the fact that this a good old-fashioned sales-pitch for the new book. Along the way, there is the odd… yaknow, *insight*.

Go to 3 hrs 20: long show!

https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p09y4ck8

Books, eh?

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Today is a diabolical-but-groovetastic day. Absolutely chucking it down, in Pembs, with a gale blowing but also PUBLICATION DAAAAY for my new book, ‘The Dots Will Not Be Joined’.

Am going to write about the process that’s gotten that baby out there: a) because somebody asked me about it, b) because it’s too crappy a day to go out for a celebration walk and c) in the full knowledge of this writer’s ver-ry personal circumstances. That is, my extreme, unhelpful kaleidofunktatious niche-dom. Meaning I know exactly how out there my book is, and my approach is.

Lockdown Project. That what it was. Had sadly separated from my wife – amicable, but not, frankly, my call – and had chosen to move out so as to avoid disruption for the two gals in my life. Was fortunate to have a friend’s caravan to shift into. (Was actually like a small apartment: all mod cons and then some. Some space and time, in fact). So wrote.

There is actually an e-book of my blogs already out there but this was the first Proper Job. As always, it started with anarchy and stories rolling out. (I know some will say that this is how it finished up! Fair enough). I knew I wanted to write about the stuff I care about and can trust myself to be honest with. Believe me, I work as hard at this as Proper Writers but the difference may be that I am both letting things flow – i.e. I suppose, not over-thinking – and then re-writing heavily and honourably but without being intimidated by judgements from out there.

I do not care about the perceived wisdoms of the publishing industry or the What Constitutes Real Writing Industry. Experience – and the experience of brilliant but ‘ordinary’ friends – tells me that there’s a whole lot of private school twattery wafting around those corridors. There is, of course, also plenty genuine diversity, too but broadly – c’ mon – publishing is controlled by more or less posh (or privileged) white people. Like most of the universe. In my daft way I oppose that, and therefore this hugely contentious paragraph is in solidarity with a flimsy but heartfelt notion that things need to be more open.

But enough politics, for now. I began to gather a collection of stories – memories, mainly – which felt true, and which sang the same love-song to sport, transformation, growth. Short chapters seemed right but then the core (maybe) needed to be big, hopefully strongish chapters where I was coaching in Primary Schools. (For ten years, this has been my life). I wanted mischief and I wanted to annihilate that obsession with a single narrative so (absolutely) I welcomed in the music, the art, the philosophical ‘diversions’. My lawns aren’t ordered; my matrix isn’t serene and elegant and sharply-honed. The world is madness. So, the material was gathered: trust your instincts.

Not entirely sure how early I knew I was writing a book – as opposed to blogs – but it was early. I started to look at modes of publishing, and spoke to people. Advice was very much to try to get an agent; some publishers simply don’t read unless you have one. Also approach publishers, get somebody behind you.

I tried both, possibly a wee bit half-heartedly. A) Because low expectations of success (because I’m me). B) Because quite clear I didn’t want some over-educated Herbert encouraging me to tone this or that down, or ‘be mindful of running ahead of your audience’. C) Because that all takes many weeks, and the nature of the writing is kinda urgent. *Also*, this idea that it still typically takes you a year or more to get a book published, in 2021, is plainly laughable. Soonish, for this latter concern – and in the surprising absence of interventions from Penguin or Noel Gay – I resolved to go the self-publishing route.

It’s been brilliant. For me, anyway.

Not sure where I plucked Grosvenor House from – could have been some recommendation (hah!) in The Guardian – but they’ve been excellent in every respect. Timely, clear, helpful. Me and the teamster Julie have become email compadres because she’s been on it in a friendly and really efficient way. When I unloaded My Particular Angle on her she was ver-ry clear that although the world and his wife has written a book during lockdown the process could be complete in X months – forget how many.

(I repeat that my strong conviction was that though there is airy/longish-term philosophical meandering in the book, it is largely a thing of the now; therefore time felt important. Generally, if you do all the editing/checking – and of course Grosvenor House offer all these services, which I politely declined – then you can get a book out in close to a month, in Normal Times. The Dots Will Not Be Joined took longer, in the Covid log-jam but but the time-scale was still good).

Let’s wind back a little. Costs. I am medium-skint so both wanted and needed to avoid ‘extras’. Like editing and all those things that most writers think – or are led to think – are essential. Of course they are essential; the careful, careful, more-or-less brutal cutting and looking and feeling-out. That is essential. Whether you feel comfortable doing that yourself is an important personal choice. But for me it is/was a choice. I didn’t just choose not to have ‘professional help’ there because of the relatively minor amount of money it involved. I wanted the book to sound like me, being honest, maybe with some edges unsmoothed.

It cost me £795 to get the Publishing Agreement. This provided for all services to get the book out there, including;

Provision for ISBN number – crucial, I’m told.

All typesetting, including to-ing and fro-ing of sample pages until the author is satisfied: an electronic full proof to be achieved within 30 working days of receipt of author’s approval… before continuing to complete the printing process.

To manufacture copies on demand, having supplied Amazon and ‘all major retailers and wholesalers in the UK’ with the book’s metadata – i.e. essential blurb.

To list the book with Nielsen Book Data.

To make two royalty payments per year: one in June, t’other in December.

To provide 5 copies free of charge to the author and place copies at the six national libraries of the UK. Also, at the Publisher’s discretion, to distribute free copies ‘as the publisher deems necessary’. (Hopefully to stimulate interest).

This isn’t, for obvious reasons, the whole document but in short you get your book out there, for £795. If you want a hardback, there is a further charge (around £100, from memory). Images a fiver each. I opted to swerve hardback but to produce an e-book – I guess for environmental reasons – costing a further £200. (I know I’m not likely to retrieve that money from that source but it did feel the right thing to do). I have also ordered some copies for myself – to place in local independent bookshops – at a cost of just over £4 per book, delivered to Pembs.

If I have understood it correctly, the split goes like this: if the book is a 250 page black and white paperback, costing £10, the publishers will get £4.15 and the wholesaler/retailer £4.00. The writer will get £1.85.

In my case I set the price at £8.50 originally, because that felt right – meaning a royalty of £1.20-something per book sold. I have recently been informed that this figure has been reduced, just a little, by increasing production and publishing costs. Fair enough. In response I have increased the book price to £9.00, because I reckon I deserve (and will need) the increased royalty of £1.70-odd.

So that’s the nuts and bolts of it. About a thousand sobs to get your book out.

I knew from the moment of inception that I would very unlikely to make that money back: do the math, in my case that’s 600 sales, give or take. But this has never been about the money. Nor any distant possibility of fame. It has, of course on one level been about the possibility of some kind of breakthrough… though into what, who knows? But friends I can look you in the eye and tell you that I may be the least materialist(ic) guy you’re gonna meet this week. This has not been about that. It’s about contributing to the bantz; sharing some stories; making a real, honest document, however wild and indulgent it may seem to some. I’ve loved this process so far. And I really do recommend self-publishing, and Grosvenor House in particular.

Finally, daft not to include a link to book sales: though of course I wish it didn’t have to be the way of the monstrous online retailer. (Predictably, the Publishing Universe is tilted every bit as much towards the rich and famous as the Capitalist Status Quo: those with resources get their books into shops. The rest of us need benefactors – in my case the Twitter Bighitters that may possibly lift sales towards that trigger-point which releases, via algorithm, copies into Waterstones and the rest. We deal-less, agent-less plebs can only hope to break through into shops if plenty folks buy early, on-line).

So. Wish me luck?

‘The Dots Will Not Be Joined’. Radio Humberside interview.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

I was born and brought up in Grimsby and the surrounding area. Sport at home, with mates, in the local schools and amateur leagues played a massive role in making me who I am: learning to value folks through football/cricket/whatever.

I try to explain this, here – but hey, am not gonna disguise the fact that this a good old-fashioned sales-pitch for the new book. Along the way, there is the odd… yaknow, *insight*.

Go to 3 hrs 20: long show!

https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p09y4ck8