Lords

Weaknesses.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

Belief is HUGE, of course, but this isn’t just about belief.

‘Expressing yourself’, of course, is the aspiration but c’mon: saying that with little or no explanation or context is feeble, to the point of being meaningless.

The urge to entertain, is of course worthy, maybe particularly if you *really do believe* (as McCullum and Stokes just might), that it’s more important than winning.

Attacking or ‘being attacking’ is great. We all want to thrill people.

But there are buts. And those buts aren’t necessarily contingent upon the context and tradition of Test cricket, though of course this format *does have* particular, distinctive, possibly even special parameters. There is time; there is that different level of strategy, because of time/weather/the imperative towards resilience (over time) and the testing under pressure with tiredness and exposure. Mentality. Guts. Heart. Etc. Test cricket is kindof awesome…

But a note: few of us who would call out that England first innings as a kind of classic of Bazballtastic feebleness are doing so because of doe-eyed or rose-tinted nostalgia for Things Lost. We’re not delusionally adrift in our own memories. We are doing it because that baseball from Brooks, those errors from Root, Pope (and even Duckett and Stokes?) spoke to live, current falsehoods and weaknesses, not absence of ‘tradition’. We wonder who is taking responsibility?

Brooks got fifty but it at no stage did his approach look like it was working. At. No. Stage. He was exiting stage left in order to club tennis or baseball shots vaguely down the ground. Fine, if that works. It didn’t. He looked ungainly and frustrated as much as he looked ‘carefree’. (Carefree is closer to indulgence at this level, than is healthy. He didn’t look ‘liberated’; he looked like a bloke out of his depth – like a walking wicket). Given that Brooks is a prodigious talent, this felt wild and wasteful: and it plainly encouraged the opposition, particularly their quicks. It was also the opposite of entertaining, for England fans.

Not blaming Brooks. We can only conclude that he was given license, with that specific plan to step away and then clout, thereby disrupting the Aussies and scoring quickly. For most of us, the period had a high cringe factor and it didn’t work – obviously. (It was streaky and demoralising, surely?) The extended plan, to clatter short balls, was exposed to the point of embarrassment – that word again – as English batters went ludicrously and loosely aerial, rushing towards that inevitably dispiriting end-point. Brooks’s own mode of dismissal was every bit as shambolic (and irresponsible, and unwise?) as expected. Caught, slapping woefully.

McCullum and Stokes are better than my anger suggests to me. They are deeply and profoundly Macho Men but they do engage brains, too. I am confident they talk with both strategic brilliance and philosophical heft, to each other and to their players. And they are almost certainly rather wonderfully generous. Love that.

However, in private you do have to wonder if they do crank out the cliches about ‘playing without fear’ glibly and without qualification. How else are these tactical clangers persisting? Can it really be stubborn-ness? Or some sort of perverse siege-mentality? We’ve seen that often, in sporting environments.

Bazball needs qualification. This morning, England were neither ‘entertaining’ nor bright, nor even committed. In the particular, inescapable terms of Test cricket they were WEAK. Weak strategy, weak execution, weak in relation to smarts and resilience and intelligence. This capitulation was not worthier or more entertaining than a slow death.


Pic from The Guardian.

I did warn you.

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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.

Hello Chance to Shine.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ 2 Comments

I’m not a suit kindofaguy. Nor a shirt man, if the truth be told. So an awards gig at Lords was always going to be a challenge, not just in sartorial terms but in terms of politesse and reigning in the urge to eat like a rabid horse, as per.

Did buy a suit – the other wearable one being procured for the Two-tone era, *first time around*, from Camden Lock Market – was on the shabby side of chic. Did buy a tie and went the strong colours route on a dangerously perfunctory whim. Alleged mate on the Twitters referenced John Lydon and know what? I can live with that. Anger is an energy but so is being you.

I say this because I won an award, at the Chance to Shine wonderbash, and I reckon this resulted from some half-decent, energetically honest sessions of cricket-based games, delivered to kids over a decade or so. Honest in the sense that I poured myself in there – not to be arrogant, or even necessarily central – but to authentically be the daft-but-friendly bloke that I am. To be the fella that really does love this game and is bloody determined that you will get it too.

Back in the mists of time I had been volunteering at Haverfordwest Cricket Club in West Wales, supporting my son, initially. He had wanted to follow some mates and ‘try proper cricket’. I threw the ball back five times then got bundled towards the coaching pathway, which I loved. Years later (and in the loveliest of expectation-vacuums) a job came up, with Cricket Wales. Coaching. Cricket… like, as a job!

Ridiculously, after a mainly practical interview where I remember doing the Embarrassing Rick Thing, wildly bouncing balls off a Crazy-Catch trampette in a hall in Milford Haven and generally foaming with enthusiasm, I got the nod. Community Cricket Coach for Pembrokeshire. Wow.

Then came years of learning, actually. Much of it inevitably ‘on the job’ but a genuinely appreciable amount via Chance to Shine and/or Cricket Wales training. Because coaching really isn’t playing, right? It isn’t even the transfer of your knowledge of the game, to other parties. Or not just that. It’s both bigger (and more theoretical/abstract) than that and more personal – more about impacting upon people.

Over time, as a Community Coach, you assimilate not just the team ethos, the essence of the role but look to embody something of the responsibility. Being deeply aware of the brilliance of the coaching posse I had fallen into, I think I did take a few conscious breaths, roll up my sleeves and determine to work with (dare I say it?) honour as well as skill and humour. I think I did that regularly, over the years, to re-charge and re-commit.

Best explain a little – can see this begins to sound like some weird, corporate mission-speak.

We coaches are trained to deliver outstanding, open, generous, entertaining, themed – i.e. developmental – cricket-based sessions, to groups of children. We are trained around disability issues, around inclusion, around how to offer a fabulous game suitably brilliantly. There is a Chance to Shine curriculum which has been ver-ry skillfully put together to maximise accessibility in the widest, most wonderful sense.

Typically, a bundle of children receive a bundle of sessions, so that their familiarity, then comfort, then enjoyment of the games can develop. Even a comedian like me is spookily mindful of strategies towards advancement/refinement/recalibration. Are these kids happy and engaged to the right level? Who needs a different challenge – a different ball? Who needs encouragement? I’m nutshell-averse but in short how do we make this session work… for this/that child? It’s a tremendous, intoxicating challenge and one I will always view as a privilege: the cricket offer.

But coo, suddenly there I am, on a stage, in a room which is palpably full of love for a daft game. Two hundred people. One generous, supportive vibe.

Laura Cordingley has spoken well and boldly about responsibilities we all share. I’m behind her on that mission towards fairness and respect and opportunity – there’s no question the whole room is. Then I’m thinking of my mates and colleagues at Cricket Wales; how this absurdly Rick-centric moment can only really be understood as a team award, for Martin Jones, Sean Evans, Jamie Griffiths, Geraint Leach, Terry Dixon and all the rest of our guys and gals. The CW Community Coaching Team.

Aatif Nawaz is asking me a question about how we sustain a child’s interest in cricket… and it’s a duff question… and we both realise it… but I’m the one who has to fend. I get away with it, narrowly. I’m hoping he won’t ask about my wee mate Gethin*, featured in the film that’s just been playing to the room. Entirely possible I might blub, trying to relay something of the utter joy and rich satisfaction that’s accompanied our mutual gambol into cricketstuff.

(*It’s both incidental and not, that Gethin is significantly visually impaired and that he’s been a fantastic, inspiring comrade during our spells together at Neyland Community Primary. He’s been nonchalantly smashing through the metaphorical walls around his disability. I had heard he’d contributed to the video for my award: hadn’t seen it ‘til moments before I went on stage).

Aatif makes some reference to my ill-timed transfer across to my new employers, Sport Pembrokeshire. We share a joke but I make clear my continuing commitment to cricket and to its multifarious pathways. I dismount the stage mercifully without catastrophe.

Returning to my seat, alongside my son, a largish glass of white finds itself inhaled. The stupendous Mr Stuart Priscott – Operations Manager, Chance to Shine – comes over and notably warmly and sincerely shakes my hand. “You’re a good man, Rick”, he says. That’ll do me.

My thanks go to all at Chance to Shine and Cricket Wales. Here’s the wee film they made of me ‘in action’…