If Bill
Simmons is the everyman sportswriter full of pop culture,
in-jokes and homer-isms, then Gideon Haigh is his antithesis. You
read Simmons as he thinks aloud, a man down at the bar with his
mates. However, he's just
self-aware enough to know that because he monopolises the
conversation he should fling jokes about to keep his audience
engaged. There's obvious research, but done on the sly; he's no
stat-geek, but muses on feel and zeitgeist.
Haigh, deliberately and with culture
incomparable, compiles
cricketing words that evokes a history professor's magnum opus.
Immaculate research, mirrored by thoughtful prose. Simmons' raison
d'etre is entertaining learning.
For Haigh, it is the reverse. And they're both brilliant.
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| Cover image courtesy: tower.com |
Haigh's 2004 compendium “Game for
Anything” released in
Australia his collected writings for publications such as Wisden Asia
and the now-defunct periodicals The Bulletin and Wisden Cricket
Monthly. It features several learned insights into periods of the
game about which I, a studious and informed cricket fan, knew very
little. Each essay is structured magnificently, being economical yet
descriptive; each word is steeped in context. That he quotes an
assortment of historical figures from Jardine
Machiavelli to Mark Waugh exemplifies his remarkable reading range.
In fact the
stand-out point of Haigh's work is just that – his research.
Articles are based not around his palpable love of the game, it's
correct spirit and statutes; his writing is revolves around a
prescient “angle” and why it emerges as such a story from a
multi-textured background.
There
are elements of whimsy as well: he defines his favourite cricketer as
the
English batsman Chris Tavare, decries the rise of park cricket
sledging and, most beautifully of all, develops delicate snapshots of
cricket history. These short trips are, unlike the footage that
comprises most of our memories, full-colour and high-definition –
he makes Bradman more
than ridiculous numbers and grainy footage of a fourth-ball duck.
Perhaps
what's most remarkable about his text is how easily he makes just the
right words fit together on paper. Despite obvious labour over
books, newspapers, journals and microfiche, Haigh's words appear with
economic precision – as if he has the most severe of editors. When
writing for a mass audience using such a scholarly approach, Haigh is
to be praised and respected for balancing intellect with ease of
reading. Characters like Lawrence
Rowe, Richard
Wardill and characteristics such as gambling are all treated with
the same laconic, precise respect.
If you
learn about politics from a book by a political master, you learn
about cricket from Haigh – far more than from any other writer
today. His words lack Roebuck's flair but also his occasional florid
tones. He analyses the game from a removed, scholarly position;
writing not because he loves the game (although he does) but because
he feels it has stories to tell. In the prologue, he encourages
young writers to do likewise. A memorable example was my favourite
essay from Game for Anything,
concerning the late-19th
century Australian captain Harry
Trott and his
commitment to Kew Asylum.
Highly
recommended, scoring footballs.
For a different perspective, the SMH also reviewed this work.
For a different perspective, the SMH also reviewed this work.
