South Africa

Root and branch and lifeblood.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

The argument (made by England skipper Eoin Morgan to the BBC) that Joe Root is the most complete batsman England have ever produced is a rather striking one. One we might reasonably and fairly immediately file under hyperbole; post-match, post-UNREAL swashbuckling victory euphoria. Because if ever there was a moment for delusional disproportion then this was it: Root being godlike in an environment from which most would have (actually) sought escape, one way or another. Instead Ar Joseph unflinchingly but beautifully built his way forward, denying the Munch-like scream of the moment, dismantling the Proteas attack.

For this most English of English heroes to dismiss the whirlwind around him with such calm, such style and without resorting to the violent bludgeoning of the innocent ball was remarkable… and maybe remarkably attractive and rich and necessary. Whether Root’s genius catapaults him beyond England’s Finest Ever is another matter. Frankly I’m not going there; not now; not without several clarity-inducing beers inside me.

Instead let’s pop back into the broader arguments. T20 is clearly the coming force but if there is a concern around its appeal this may centre over the car-crashness, the impact-frenzyness, the potentially divisive or even repulsive quality of the Boomathon that it has become. (I know! Tad perverse to intuit the least concrete reservations of a tiddly proportion of traditionalist fans here but stay with me; a Bigger Picture will emerge. Judge me then.) Where were we?

T20. Yes we love it and need it to make us relevant into a new age. Yes we accept that there is some meaningful upskilling going on as well as possible subversions to Wise Old (Longer Format) Truths – fielding and levels of ingenuity in both batting and bowling codes being notable contributors to the positives here. And yes, critically and unanswerably, we acknowledge cricket is suddenly unthinkable without T20.

But in the ever-fuller gallop, are there implications for the sustainability of all this – or more precisely, are there dangers in being T20-centric? Is there something inevitably concerning about a dynamic charge – a revolution – that is so-o relentlessly breathless? My answer to that is I’m not sure, that I am uneasy with the consideration-vacuum implied, that I do wonder.

Again I fear the accusation of miserablism. So I repeat my allegation that I am the least miserable/most enthusiastically positive bloke I know and that I support and accept forward energy as our lifeblood. I also get that excitement means numbers and that maan, we need numbers.

There must be debate about how T20 feels and looks and evolves and is structured or levered into our domestic structures but yup – there must T20. The question (or one question) might be whether people weary of the smashes, the fireworks, the ramped-up ramp-shots? And how, if boom-fatigue did set in, could we plan or address that easing back? Where does cricket go if (let’s say) new supporters tire of seeing Gladiator X carve his way to another killing?

Backtracking into my crease, I accept this scenario simply may not arise. Maybe I’m just casting the idea out there to see if anyone understands the universe this way(?) The fact that Root and de Villiers (for example) span the ludicrously operatic skills-dimension with such majesty and ease suggests T20 will never be the brittle theatre I almost fear. Long may their talent keep us safe.

Certainly the Yorkshireman made a nonsense of my argument yesterday. He/we can’t claim he did it solo – not after the stunning barrage from Hayes and Roy – who sent Steyn (arguably the best and toughest and canniest genuinely quick bowler in the world, remember) packing. Root did still, however, come in with the proverbial ‘lot to do’. He then performed beyond the capacity of nearly everybody on the planet – hence that hyperbole from his captain.

He steered the ball as much as he smote it. He seemed – absurdly – to be in his element whilst we were either delirious or contemplating a brisk walk out until things were done. It was one of those personal triumphs that go beyond the tribalist norms; he was rapturously received, when his effort was cut tantalisingly short, by an almost entirely neutral crowd. He might almost have been at Headingley.

Morgan was effusive in part because of the natural excitement following an audacious and vital win but also because Root really is special.

Comparisons are fatuous with previous eras because now is so obviously and uniquely Peak Dynamism. Sobers or Botham or Boycott or Bradman – who all faced fearsome opposition – faced nothing like the levels of athleticism we’re seeing now. The context was substantially different and probably less challenging in terms of its range; despite uncovered pitches etc etc. We could conceive of Sobers and Botham being transported into the modern era and adapting (probably remaining gloriously god-like, in fact) but many of us would rather simply deny the validity of joining any of these crazily abstract dots.

What we could reasonably extrapolate, however, is that Joe Root is pret-ty masterful across the cricket arts. He has the technical brilliance and temperament to be a genuine Test Star. He has the running and the hands of a short-format hustler. He has, as yesterday confirmed, the timing and craft to power his way towards the unthinkable in T20. Even when the pressure is mega-epic-acute.

Joe Root is our world star. He’s precious not simply because of his tremendous gifts, but his personality – his capacity to return us to simple, joyful matters of sport. That boyishness. He’s great company, too, being plainly a ‘good lad’, ‘one of us or ours’, a charmer and a laugh. But let’s value him higher yet; in covering all bases across the playing formats, making the case for skill as well as muscle, he may be holding the whole shebang together.

Views.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

I’ve had David Coleman’s signature squawk reverberating through my consciousness this week.

EXTRAORDINARY!!

This of course a function of my age and disposition as a dumbed-down sporty geezer, every ‘natural’ response to news or events played out around the place being filtered through ball(s)-tinted memory.

So no surprises that what felt like an EXTRAORDINARY week of cricket-related drama – Newlands/Gayle/Big Bashings – resulted in such a violent struggle for understanding that I’m fearing I may myself have been the subject of this other Colemanballs…

He just can’t believe what’s not happening to him.

Nor can I be sure if

In a moment we hope to see the pole vault over the satellite

is something a daft-but-lovable commentator once said or a perfectly reasonable – if surrealist – appreciation of how things currently are.

Life is bewilderingly wunnerful but I’m not sure how comfortable I am with the coalescence – or should that read ‘submergence? – of World Events into the chavisthmus that is sport-in-my-head. I’m not sure how wise or practicable or manageable it is, being unsure which time-zone hold sway or where the edges are between Dukes or Kookaburras or Gun Control or Nuclear Tests. Pretty frequently, it’s turned out (sorry Bethan, sorry kids!) I’ve been both manically watchful and glazed over; immune and ecstatic; absent and then wallowing in the profound. Essentially lost to it.

This evening is a very different evening from the morning we had this morning.

Much of this is down to the Test Match at Newlands, a venue which c’mo-on, has hardly helped. As a plainly ludicrous mixture of the sun-blasted, glacially-perfect picture postcard-with-chronic-baggage and the symphonically serene (but not)… this choice of location location has done nothing to still the fast-twitch/slow-mo-ness of *experience*.

The second thrash between South Africa and England has been something else. Principally it’s been a reminder that the word epic is waaay too small, too monotone.

Five days in a Test Match. Suddenly that’s become a subject for debate not a statement of fact. The Instagram Generation snipping and snapping away – eroding. The Authorities frantically feeling the pulse of Public Opinion. (Quite rightly.) Thunder rumbling elsewhere – colourful, relevant, undeniably (financially) attractive thunder. And pray what did the gods of Table Mountain portend? Of what did they speak? And what be their message?

Firstly, that Test Cricket ain’t dead. Not even over that crazily anachronistic five day thing it ain’t dead. In fact (yes, whilst we take stock and whilst we inevitably make increasing provision for short-format cricket) Newlands spoke eloquently of the unique fascinations of the long-form game.

Nothing else has all of it. Not the brewing or unraveling individual processes with scope for redemption four/five days later… in the same game(!) Not the accruing mental challenges that wear upon the soul, the confidences, in different genres. Not that cruel exposure when your bit fails – when you let down your mates, your country – or (despite ALL THAT TIME, that selfless effort!!) you cannot make a breakthrough. Not that particular kind of poignant exhilaration, when your ton means everything to you, your dad, maybe and yet this is not, ultimately, triumph itself.

We can talk about the event or the events for decades (and may) but surely Newlands can only be understood as some kind of majestic, appalling, glorious, defiant, inconclusive tribute to (or of) our capacity to view. To understand perspective, meaning, action – substance. Look at Stokes! Look at Bairstow. Look at that shrunken Amla reinventing some form, some proper Amla! Look at the implications of that field change; the offer of that boundary over the top. Look at the newspaper, even – it’s gone quiet. What day is it – or sorry, which day is it?

The word is unique. And whilst of course this doesn’t necessarily or always mean good it does mean something. Probably that anything providing this measure of drama and tension and atrophy and drinking time and perplexity and grief and scope really may, in our short-format world, be kinda precious. The knitting or muttering aproval or the silent joy of it. Maybe especially that thing that non-cricketpeeps don’t get – that dimension of time: the thing that means it’s okay to miss something or drift from proceedings and still be completely doing the cricket.

So forgive me for not majoring on Stokes or Bairstow or Amla or the pitch. That’s all stored, for sure, alongside the blurred recognition of this week’s iconic facts and figures. What got me though was the sense of twisting, turning, unfurling but then foreclosed drama. The kind of drama over time you just don’t see.

Elsewhere the Gayle controversy confirmed everyone’s prejudices about everything – unsurprisingly. However if you didn’t hear Melinda Farrell and Neroli Meadows interviewed for ABC Grandstand then you effectively lose the right to your opinion. As I said on twitter

Not good enough to say the #Gayle thing – however it was intentioned – was ‘harmless’. Harm was done.

Finally, something sad. Two young men – one 22, one 28 – deeply embedded into that soft target the #cricketfamily were lost to us, suddenly, in recent days.

As I write the circumstances around their deaths remain (I hope this doesn’t sound either callous or indiscreet) slightly uncomfortably mysterious. But what is clear to me from my involvement with both that cricket community and the internet is that a genuine and powerful amount of love for these fellas has been stirred; suggesting overwhelmingly they were outstanding humans as well as outstanding talents.

Can we agree that in all sincerity the names of Matt Hobden and Tom Allin have been marked and appreciated within our disparate but strangely/wonderfully united throng? Can we accept both the sadness and the fact that they were involved – they made an elite-level contribution – to something fabulous? To cricket.

I’m fearful of finishing on a morbid or a corny note. But would like to say something about the value and maybe the appeal of this daft game of ours. And I promise this won’t be a quote from David Coleman.

I get why people love cricket. (I do.)  It’s something to do with the richness of the challenges. The diversity. Or maybe just the feel of a new ball – a cherry-red cricket ball – in your hand. Or it’s the tactical ‘get your head round this, skip’ thing. Or it’s the slowness, or the rewards for flow, for timing, for movement. Or it’s how, in its incredible complexity it’s so simply revealing of the human. That bloke or girl swinging a bat, bowling a ball.

But hey, that’s just how I look at it.

We need some facts. (Dream on.)

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

It’s an unspecified time during Christmas. So I could be dreaming or under the influence of exotic chocolate liquors – meaning extravagantly packaged, diesel-filled ‘seasonal treats’. My best guess is that I’m simply up early to listen to cricket.

#TMS and a quiet house. And in time the relatively un-glorious dawn chorus, via a handful of unseen, presumably gale-tossed and bedraggled birds. I release into them. Quietly but chirpily, in the dank and dark, I go travelling.

From the beautiful but sopping West to London – the point of departure. Down into the Tubes that my wife plans to ‘avoid with the children’.
It’s down there – or going down there – that in some Orwellian confluence of Norths and Souths and whirrs and clunks I have that out-of-body witness-thing; watching silently as England, pristine in their whites, inevitably on the up escalator, pass South Africa as they descend.

Amla is looking quiet, Steyn angry and de Villiers strangely disconnected as they slide away. Weirdly, I think I’m still hearing birds. Cook and Root and co meanwhile are bouncing. All smiles and gurns and territorial in-jokes as they rise.

That feels good but we need some anti-indulgent facts here.

The first one that springs to mind (the news that Lemmy just died) feels unhelpfully non-focussing. What’s more real is the lack of sun around my fizzog and warming beer in my paws – confirming I’m still in Wales. So I haven’t entirely Gone Barmy – or at least didn’t get on a plane, or on a tube. No. The dog’s sleeping on my feet, being massaged by my twitching toes. I can see that, feel that. And #TMS is on.

England, as I begin to write, have a lead of 350. Bairstow, coming in at the most perfect of perfect times, has clonked a few, encouragingly positively. Moeen is in there with him and the prospects for South Africa are not good; somewhere between bleak and utterly dispiriting. The sense is that given Amla’s disappearance, Steyn’s issues and the South African public’s relative non-engagement (in Durban, at least) a killer momentum has already been established in this series – and not for the home side.

That may be premature but the impression persists – at least until the South Africans bat. Things skate on, do they not, but I think I’m right in recalling the essences: Broad again rose to the occasion as Leader of the Pack, Mo rolled those fingers and on a trying surface our batsmen stuck at it better? Importantly, Compton and Taylor have done absolutely what they were drafted in to do; applied themselves; job done.

Regarding Compton, I suspect I may not have been alone in wondering whether his relentless campaigning in the media might have worked against his chances of a recall – certainly Graeme Swann appears to be fed up of the bloke, given his endless mithering about the Middlesex batsman’s lack of dynamism – but the Harrow educated, South African-born grandson of Denis has earned his chance… and taken it.

Rightly going against the grain of the daft or disproportionate (but apparently non-negotiable) positivity being preached by everyone with a Level 4 Coaching Certificate, @thecompdog has ground out runs in the historical (meaning arguably dull but crucially opposition-shrinking manner) favoured by everybody who Played the Match Situation, pre 2010. Frankly I don’t warm to the bloke – that self-publicising plus the South African/Harrovian combo doesn’t exactly light the fires of my enthusiasm – but he has been exactly what England needed for this series.

Likewise Taylor. Possibly more so, given his ability to transcend that Diggin’ In mode. The wee fella has got those dancin’ feet moving nicely, to shore up the England batting and manifestly reduce the pressures on Hales and Stokes in particular. Size-wise, personality-wise and contribution-wise, it seems a good balance has been established – for which we have to credit Farbrace and Bayliss. It’s always a question of blend and England look to have most things covered.

Hales will remain a concern until he fires. He has profited from both an absence of other openers and from that fine understanding a propos the team balance. In acknowledging that success, I restate my suspicion that the fashion for positivity (which of course we all love to see!) is over-emphasised – in my view because it’s a seductively blokey if not laddish concept that sits nicely with any coaches need to sound or be generous towards freeing up and ‘expressing talent’. But this is Test Cricket – a test over time – where things are (or often need to be) more slowly gained.

We all get that it’s important to entertain the punters. We all get that times have changed and run rates have bounded forward. But both ‘holistically’ and tactically there is no need for (our) Test Cricket to morph entirely into the other formats. Let 50 overs and T20 provide the boomathon for the masses and let Compton be Compton (in Tests.  Don’t pick him for the other stuff.)  His pedigree doggedness can then set things up for Stokes to be Stokes – boomtastically so, if the match situation allows.

And now back to #TMS, which is buzzing as England reach a lead of 415. Bairstow has enjoyed himself – 79 from 76 – and South Africa have 140 overs to endure. If their body-language doesn’t improve they are more likely to face humiliation than honourable defeat.

This is a potentially significant triumph, then, for England. Stepping into Steyn and Morkel’s back yard and – without arguably hitting peak form – dismissing the World Number Ones with some ease. We look a good side; despite the questions that remain over Hales, Woakes, Bairstow’s keeping(?) and Moeen’s admittedly improved bowling. Through the four match series, things could get alarming for the home side if Cook provides an anchor around which that long England batting line-up can swing.

Dangerous, yes, to come over too optimistic. Bayliss and Farbrace though, have already earned a lump of credit – faith, even. The central allegation against this England group – that there are still far too many batting collapses – seems likely to recede when the evolving team settles. That seems only natural and as the coaches appear to be gathering their posse in good order so things should get better yet.

(*Fatal*!)

The project, however, remains unfinished. Personally I’m not clear if Woakes or Hales will become fixtures; I’m guessing the former won’t and this is only partly because a certain Burnley Express will surely return.

Hales may get an extended opportunity even if he plays fitfully; that seems right because we all know (and the coaches will clearly know) that he’s something of a longshot. He’s such a stranger to playing the traditional opener’s percentages that Hales must either be overlooked completely or persisted with philosophically. Because the group are sending out a message. I do hope there will be a time – coming to a packed venue near you – when Cook is quietly imperious and Hales, his partner, is lankily Warner-like.

Elsewhere the side looks strong – like if somebody fails somebody will surely storm on through. Cook Hales Compton Root Taylor Stokes Bairstow Moeen Broad? In the New Year, why wouldn’t we be dreaming?

 

Brief postscript – in which we pile on the positives.

  • For Moeen’s bowling to (ahem) turn out so well is MASSIVE for him and for England.  A significant step towards legitimacy as an international spinner… and hooooge for his personal confidence. Plus he’s Man of the Match, if a little surprisingly.
  • Compton and Taylor and that successful blend thing. (A blend that may change of course, depending on what the opposition offer.  Again the fact that we look to have a strong SQUAD is looking useful in this regard.)
  • Bairstow’s batting – if not the glove(s)manship – was doing exactly that *making a positive statement* thing the management would have dreamed about.  Behind the sticks he may never be the finished article… but you trying choosing between him and Buttler?
  • Root.  Let’s not forget.  Brilliant… and brilliant contributor to the team *humour.*
  • And talking of which… That Group Feeling.  England are rightly cock ‘a the wotsits and over the parrot.  They whupped the World Number 1s.  They are strong allround… and the feeling is that they may well get better – whether or not Jimmy Jimmy walks back into the side.

Now.  Where are those dodgy chocolates again?

Zoom.

~ bowlingatvincent ~ Leave a comment

So hang on – it all happened in a surreal blur – did we win two series? Having lost those Silent Tests? If so, was all that dramatic, exotic and occasionally eerie stuff going off in ‘The Desert’ a rip-roaring success? I guess it was. Or it felt that way at the end.

Now faaaar be it from me to de-mystify the Pakistan-England triple-series thing to the extent that the boomtastic power or – more seriously – the romance of it is lost, but if we dust it down (sorr-rree) and try to engage proper growed-up reflection mode, how does it all look? Where are England at? What have we learned about the magnificent and bewildering flux that the game itself is in?

First thing that springs to mind – before even offering genuine congratulations to the England Group, which I do – is that the fabulous, explosive diversity between the three codes (T20/50 over/Test) is splintering things.

This may not be bad. There are implications and opportunities for all of us, for one thing. Fans have every right to be excited at the surge of energy pulsing through our ‘typically sedate’ pastime. Scribes and pundits have a renewed supply of high horses to git on up upon. Change is begetting change and whilst this may be challenging it does appear to be heaving us all forward. In the flux, admittedly.

Meanwhile, in the wunnerful postmodern matrix that is probably the game itself, England played away to Pakistan in (for example) Dubai! Appropriately, it turns out another extraordinary series – and why wouldn’t it? Firstly we are lulled into a 3-match Test Bit that asks familiar questions about technique against spin, or absence of spinners… and then it comes over all noisy and color-full and barnstormingly new again. Like the world. Like the kit. Like that red or white or pink or whatever thing – the ball.

Happily, through this full-on sensory assault, it’s clear that England have dumped their Short Format Dunces caps. And therefore any review of the tour may have to include the profoundly encouraging conclusion that ‘we’ve definitely got talent’.

We can and must chalk this up as progress whilst we smile our crazy-innocent smiles, imagining how the players feel. Surely the Barmiest England fan could never have predicted the journey from humiliation (World Cup – all that) to the narcotic worldiedom (epitomised by Buttler in that 100-in-an-instant innings) might be achieved with such startling speed. We’ve gone from not mentioning the cricket to rolling around the floor scattering goodies from the box.

Look at the players. See into their faces, lit up with pre-Nintendo joy! All of them! Go through the list of those with reasons to be closer to ecstatic than cheerful. On the less obvious side that may include Topley, Woakes, Willey and arguably Parry. In and around Roy or Buttler’s wantonness they all shared in preciously groovy stuff with real, notable contributions – important for them, important for us. Given the finale, with Jordan’s absurdly successful Super Over capping off a third consecutive T20 win and we’re all buzzing, all wallowing in the team-bath of their confidence.

Deep breath and zoom out again. Factor in the acceleration away from what used to be commonly assumed (four or five or six an over, consistent line and length) and this fecund-new environment offers players the hopefully energising prospect of reimagining the scope or direction of their careers. Because if we are at the point where any self-respecting international side needs to equip itself with three teams for increasingly(?) diverse formats of cricket, where today’s norms are smashed into history week by week, the stumpy goalposts have been smash ‘n grabbed – never mind moved.

This is that most unlikely of phenomena the cricket revolution and it continues to spin out the challenges. It has both an undeniable centrifugal force and fascinating implications for coaching and for execution of skills. It’s gonna be a boon to both the Specialist Coach industry and to Bullshitters Ubiquitous. (We’ll all need more experts, allegedly.)

I recall hearing England Coach Trevor Bayliss say something recently about great players being able to perform across codes but great players (by definition) account for a small minority even amongst international exponents of the game. Going forward we can only imagine selection is going to be as much about format as talent, because we move (do we not) increasingly into extremes? Athleticism will of course be ever more non-negotiable in a sexed-up game but players will likely be ultra-groomed for specific roles: Death Bowler; Attack Dog; Infuriating Nurdler. All this as well as international-class core skills.

I don’t see it as a problem that in the case of England only Root springs to mind as a very likely starter in all formats; I see that as a developing consequence of changes in the elite game. Haverfordwest CC may not have to concern themselves too deeply with this uber-horses for uber-courses thing but international coaches will. And their players will then make judgements about what they target; what role(s).

Where this multi-faceted thing leaves Test or longer-form Cricket everywhere is a question. It could be that a not insignificant bi-product of the contemporary urge for positivity on the park is dynamism off it – leading to tough calls over restructuring domestic competition or ‘providing space’ for ‘acclimatisation’/prep/performance of traditional cricket around blocks of white-ball action.

My ole mucker John Lydon railed about anger being an energy; it may be ironic or just plain weird that T20’s and now even 50-over’s punkiness reminds me now of his brilliant subversions. For me, cricket – comfortable or not – does need to feed on this current Youffy Explosion.

Zoom in again, to waaaaay back when, at the beginning of this particular (Pakistan) tour. Note that England got beat in two out of three of the Tests, meaning Farbrace and Bayliss – who clearly return with tremendous credit, generally – have things to think about. Christmas is coming… and so is Boxing Day.

The squad these two sagacious gentlemen picked for the upcoming South Africa tour felt a top seamer and a top spin bowler short, amongst other things; some felt it ‘unbalanced’ and yeh, I got that. The widely discussed Hales Gamble and the selection of Ballance also prompted a degree of malcontentment. There is consensus, at least, that this next venture for England Cricket – to face Steyn and Morkel etc – may tell us a whole lot more about the real strength of Bayliss’s group than the Pakistan games, in all their richnesses, could ever do.

Us Brits may be rejuvenated by Ashes memories and now Action Movie action via the desert. We approach South Africa as Jos Buttler might – with a lump in the throat but a store of confidence we hope to tap into. Huge ask but if England can continue to let their instincts flood through, whilst playing the match situation, who knows what further drama they may unleash?