Review: Sixty years on the back foot - Clyde Walcott

The Caribbean has produced several of the greatest batsmen of all time. However, many of these players seem to rail against faceless figures of authority. Currently, talisman Chris Gayle swats boundaries at whim – more often for lucrative T20 sides than for the West Indies. The chain which leads back through the likes of Brian Lara and Sir Vivian Richards – who was rather partisanly profiled in the acclaimed documentary Fire in Babylon – to George Headley.

Courtesy: amazon.com

The second (or third, or fourth depending on how you look at it) of these superstars was Sir Clyde Walcott, a forerunner of devastating West Indian batsmanry and later president of the International Cricket Council. His autobiography, Sixty years on the back foot, was published at the conclusion of his ICC tenure in 1997.

His memoir is lightweight – entire tours are glossed over, especially those in which the West Indies struggled – and Walcott writes with the style of a man who finishes lengthy believable anecdotes with “Can you believe it?”. However, the parallels between West Indian cricket in 1952 and in 2012 are too plain to ignore.

Along with Sir Everton Weeks and Sir Frank Worrell, Walcott was one of the famed “Three Ws”, three Bajan players raised within a mile of each other and who helped West Indian cricket attain relevance in the 1950s. The significance of the three friends and their relationship is underscored throughout Walcott's writings as he attempts to characterise Caribbean cricket through their free-hitting exploits.

He does this for a simple reason: Walcott unquestionably thought that West Indian cricket, when played hard but for fun, is superior to any other. (Ed: he may be right) Time and again, his tacit disdain the orthodoxy inherent in 1950s English cricket is obvious; simultaneously he rejoices in the laid-back joie de vivre that formerly typified West Indian cricket.

Although Fire in Babylon incorrectly suggested that calypso cricket was provided only a team of loveable freewheelers (ie. losers), you can't escape the feeling while Walcott revelled in victories, he wouldn't countenance sacrificing style to achieve more success. His transition from money-chasing maverick pro to WICB ambassador adds another intriguing dynamic. However, like most politicians, his autobiography is an exercise in using many words to avoid saying much at all.

Although Walcott's memoir hearkens to different times, where pacemen were named Esmond Kentish and Foffie Edwards, there are still familiar cricket themes. Race relations, though downplayed, provided undercurrents of discontent. The same could be said for matters of money, as cricketers were still strictly classified as “professional” or “amateur”. That Worrell, Weekes and Walcott were forced to choose between making a living playing English league cricket rather than representing the West Indies provides a fifty-year prophecy of the WICB's current struggles with player free-agency.

The same issues have plagued West Indian cricket now for sixty years. The islands' success from 1975 to 1995 and more widespread cricketing professionalism only masked the difficulties of West Indian players and administrators. That the situation is unchanged over so long, coupled with difficult economic factors leaves the reader feeling that this situation is now intractable in West Indian cricket and the game is so much the poorer.

However disappointing the state of West Indian cricket, it's perhaps more disappointing that such an eminent figure in the game stuck true to his political, rather than returning to his maverick roots and challenging major failings in Caribbean cricket politics. Marbles.

Review: Game for anything - Gideon Haigh

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.

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-19^th 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.

Review: And God Created Cricket – Simon Hughes

Former veteran county cricketer now cricket journalist Simon Hughes posits this work as being something of an antithesis to the efforts provided by most cricketing historians. Hughes even goes as far to mention that those works developed by ex-Prime Ministers are too serious. 'And God Created Cricket' is a light hearted romp through centuries of cricket (not to mention debauchery, skulduggery, and downright bad manners).

Hughes has researched others works to provide the flow of events from which he latches onto the more obscure notes of players and matches and embellishes the stories to their full extent. One must credit Hughes for sticking to the historical script well, providing those with less desire for details, a work of ease to get a picture of the history of cricket. But there are flaws.

Firstly, as a tabloid journalist one should not be surprised, Hughes seems incapable of allowing a chapter to pass without finding need to mention or compare cricket to Premiership Football. Really if you had never heard of Hughes the cricketer (and likely given his mediocre career you would not have) you would think that he is a Football journalist trying his hand at something new. Some of the references are just a waste of words. Cricket has a history longer and with far greater depth than any football code, to feel it necessary to attract readership this way is missing the point.

Secondly, there are a number of errors throughout the book, the sort of errors that should never get through good proof reading and editing, but they did. These are not errors of judgement in interpreting history but errors of name. The 1930's Australian batsman was Vic Richardson, not Viv; and the bowler Fleetwood-Smith's Christian name was not Laurie, but Leslie and in fact he was better known as 'Chuck'. Simple things that with some care would have been avoided and may have helped the more educated readership enjoy the book more.

Fair is fair, as a cricketing purist I was unlikely to rate this book above Tennis Balls when I seek so much from cricketing literature, but it does not even make this.  Marbles.

Image thanks to telegraph.co.uk

Review: More Than a Game - John Major

I really do need to admit that although being a born and bred Australian I am spending more and more time putting my head above the neighbouring fence and enjoying the delights of sport as enjoyed by the English. This is quite the admission, and flies in the face of everything I learned from the likes of Dean Jones, Allan Border, and Steve Waugh. English cricket to them was defined by failure and therefore very much the lesser when compared to Australia's ruthless winning culture (even when losing), but I am no longer of the same opinion and not just because Australia has lost the past two Ashes series.

The real sticking point that for my mind that Australian cricket falls short of is its cultural impact. While we cannot deny that cricket remains a strong part of Australian culture, for the English over the past 250 years it is clear that cricket has has gone beyond merely being a part of and driven culture. Australian cricket has not shifted society as English cricket did. While Australians often pointed to the archaic distinction between amateurs and professionals (upper and lower classes) as being disgraceful, the reality is that such distinctions were well established in English society at large. While cricket did indeed choose to accept and incorporate them into it's play, it became a microcosm for the observation of social distinctions highlighting their hypocritical nature and ultimately doing away with them.

Without becoming a screaming Anglophile let us not forget that there are plenty of parts of Australian cricketing history that one may choose to let lie when all is said and done. Cricket historians may eventually afford the words 'mental disintegration' the same level of disgust and horror as has already been attributed 'bodyline'.

Cricket became for England a pastime upon which a nations leisure revolved, as John Major title's his book it is 'More Than a Game' with many famous cricketing names being non-players. How many sports or leisure activities honour journalists and administrators to the same degree as cricket does? Not to mention those who were patrons of the game. How many sports have entire wings of literature (fiction and non-fiction) devoted to them, not to mention certain religious understandings being exemplified as was 'Muscular Christianity' – although a nod must go to Rugby for its theological input as well.

Major brings all of this together in a tremendous work of historical review. His purpose is to describe what he believes are the lost centuries of cricket. Crickets actual beginnings likely will never be known but positive evidence for it existing in 17^th century England exists. Major takes the reader on a journey to understand these earliest moments of the game he loves, and how the gradual shift in English society was mirrored by the growth that became an empires favourite pastime.

This is not a book for the casual cricket lover so be wary. It is as full of detail as any book I have ever read. Major profiles at length the characters and teams that made up the game in each moment through history. It would be hard pressed to accept this as a good read based on that description but honestly I could not put this book down and wished it would never end.

Cricket tradition is not what it is often made out to be in 21^st century Australia. Modified versions of the game did not originate with 50 over cricket or receive an injection of charisma upon the 'revolution' that is T20. Afford yourself a peruse at the very least of Wikipedia and you will find men of the like of Billy Beldham entering into one on one contests of gladiatorial nature in the late 18^th and early 19^th centuries, or the entrepreneurial William Clarke leading his 'All-England XI' around for invitational games often against the odds. You see cricket has always evolved, tradition did not originate with Chappell brothers or even Sir Donald Bradman, cricket history runs much, much deeper.

The flow of the work is exceptional by Major. For chapter upon chapter he builds a chronologically based picture of the games history. But just at the right moment when the reader needs a rest he pauses to reflect on specific persons or positions in the game of cricket. Although counter to the rhetoric of most latter day Australian players, cricket is not limited to those privileged enough to be blessed with the skill to play. Major honours with specific chapters the patrons and administrators, scorers and journalists who do not play but their involvement requires no less admiration. They like Major, loved it unconditionally even though they may not have been able to bowl with the fire of Fred Spofforth.

Of course Major is a former British Prime Minister, and a small litter of political gibing can be found in this books pages. But we will forgive him this as politics has been his life. (Major may still wake every night trying to explain to the long gone British public that 'New Labour' is not what you think it was, before cuddling up to his soft Mrs Thatcher doll and going back to sleep).

English cricket is a cultural phenomenon, not just a sport. Cricketers all over the world today are treading well worn paths and carrying a beacon for a culture that has a long history. They are by far not the first, nor will be the last to enjoy this great game. Basketballs.

Cover image thanks to thebookpeople.co.uk

Review: Miller's Luck – Roland Perry

I entered into this book with trepidation. For a long time I have been searching for a Keith Miller biography that was not this effort by Roland Perry, with no luck. One of the great cricket writers David Frith was scathing in his review of Perry's work, citing multiple factual errors that grated on him. Similar reviews have been provided by Gideon Haigh and even right here.  I scoured second hand book stores where all that was on their shelves were multiple copies of Miller's Luck by Roland Perry.

Deflated that my searching had come to nothing I swallowed my pride, took my desire to find out more about Miller and lifted a copy from the local library's shelf. As I found out as I read it a previous borrower had too become so frustrated with errors (though their frustrations were World War II facts) that they had taken to the book with a pen themselves!


Without even re-hashing the factual inaccuracies of the work, simply put this biography is deplorably written. Rather than a study of a complex and polarising character, Perry serves up 500 pages of hero worship that just completely turns you off as you read. Miller was a tremendous all-round cricketing talent and a war veteran who escaped death multiple times (often due his own insubordination). However he also was a heavy drinker, addicted gambler and constant philanderer that makes the overriding rhetoric of hero worship difficult to justify.

As a cricketing talent he could easily be worshipped; a war veteran, definitely respected. Limited to discussion primarily on these two topics such a subjective take on the man could well be accepted. But the reality was that for all the success Miller had on field it clearly came at a very heavy cost to his family which is an indictment on the man, an impression that Perry has not sufficiently captured and in fact missed completely.

Because of the books length and quantity of information provided (despite factual errors) the dedicated and discerning reader has the opportunity to draw their own conclusions about Miller and his life. Absolutely, the descriptions of Miller's love affair with Lords and the tremendous innings he played there during the post war years make me long to travel back in time, but in all the book fails on a number of fronts. No Balls.

Cover Imaqe Thanks To www.randomhouse.com.au

Review: Blood, Sweat and Treason – Henry Olonga, My Story

If you were looking to pick up a book that is not the 'bog' standard ghosted autobiography of a sports person, then this is the read for you. That former Zimbabwean cricketer Henry Olonga has been allowed to tell his story in his own words was incredibly refreshing for this addict of cricketing literature. Most sports persons biographical works use clichéd wording and structure to try and breath life into their uninteresting lives. This story has not been manipulated to make good reading; recognition that Olonga's story itself is good reading. 

 

Although maybe more widely known as a cricketer who took a political stand against a tyrannical regime, Olonga speaks of himself throughout the book always as just a man. Cricket is a part of a life where it intertwines with music, art, faith, family and politics. Predominately told in chronological order, events move seamlessly between these topics as life was lived for him.

Take Olonga's Christian faith for an example. Often an individuals faith will either be minimally mentioned in an introduction or 'covered off' in a specific chapter under advisement from publishing house editors worried about sales. But here we find Olonga regularly referring back to his faith and prayer life, it ebbing and flowing as his life ebbs and flows. 

 

He is a deep thinking and sensitive soul, keen to explore in retrospect the events of his life and make apology where he believes he wronged others. His stand along with Andy Flower during the 2003 Cricket World Cup is not told in a heroic manner. Presented with an opportunity to stand up against Robert Mugabe and the wrongs perpetrated, Olonga made the decision that he could not stand passively by any more while his country suffered. 

 

Olonga does not dwell on describing the terrible atrocities committed in Zimbabwe in recent history. Selected examples of events affecting his life up until the point he went into exile serve the purpose enough of educating the reader on his motives. Despite the terrible events, and the struggle that life in Zimbabwe is for most of her citizens there is no bitterness in Olonga and a substantial amount of love for his country still. In an amazing passage of the book Olonga describes his shock at the poverty in Bangladesh. This is not the shock of an upper middle class westerner on their first visit overseas, but of a man well versed in what injustices exist in the world.

Olonga's life needed and received much blessing post his 2003 stand, but it has not been easy nor necessarily freeing for him. Nevertheless he chose to tell his story that reaches far beyond the 'faux' battle that is the professional sports field. Basketballs.

Review: First Tests, Great Australian Cricketers & The Backyards that Made Them

As I sat on a winters Saturday afternoon with the football call in the background I delved into a work that for a long time I had been desiring to read. First Tests by Steve Cannane recalled in me dreams of hot summers and backyard cricket; of the innocent yet ferocious contests played out in country and city alike every Australian summer.

Premised upon the search for the reasons why our champions of today and yesteryear played the way they do/did the link between the backyard conditions and future technique can be tenuous at times, but in other instances you would have very little doubt as to its effect on the young champions. That Neil Harvey grew up dicing with the sideways movement of a cobblestone pitch, and the Chappells playing shots between many backyard items serving as fielders would be two examples of correlation to later skills.

The real story though in each of the chapters is the love of the game from a young age that our champions showed, and the unrelenting desire to play cricket at all available times. In a world where we are force fed information from different directions constantly it is refreshing to read of children simply pursuing dreams, dawn to dusk, for pleasure.

If you have read reasonably extensively on Australian cricketers and their lives you may find that the stories used by Cannane are repetitive and contain few new insights. We all know how Sir Donald Bradman hit a golf ball with a stump against a water tank. Also, the overriding rhetoric that it was better in the old days than today's sterile academy based environment could detract from the beauty that is reading of Australian sporting culture.

A bonus however is you get more from this work than just a cricketing technique or history lesson, you read Australia growing as a nation through the window of probably the national sport of the country. You begin to understand the depths of despair and disease that the great depression brought. Yet through all this children still played, all day and all night if they could. This was more than the individuals too, remember our champions all needed someone to bowl to or bat against at one time or another.

Pick this one up and let it inspire you to reminisce about your own childhood and cricketing dreams. Let it encourage you to enjoy the most out of everyday. Once you have finished reading I can guarantee you will run straight outside and start playing like you used to. I did, but unlike Clarrie Grimmatt's fox terrier mine won't return the balls! Footballs.

image thanks to angusandrobertson.com.au

Review: Bradman's Invincibles - Roland Perry

A number of cricket teams will live long in history, having books written about them and having their relative merits forever debated. The most recent of those, the Australians who dominated cricket for fifteen years to 2008 developed a storied reputation perhaps tarnished by a lack of quality lasting opposition. The West Indian team preceding them did the same for nearly twenty years.

Perhaps the most revered cricket team of all was the 1948 Invincibles, who completed an arduous six month tour of England without a loss. The tour was a perfect fusion of circumstance: Bradman's final First Class matches, a cricket-starved world following the Second World War needing non-combatant heroes and finally, a collation of talent probably unrivalled to that time.

In his work Bradman's Invincibles Roland Perry has created a perfunctory and informative book swayed obviously by his allegiance to Sir Donald Bradman. Perry, a writer with several books whose title include the words "Bradman" to his name, spent a number of years in conversation with Sir Donald Bradman and collaborated with him on several works, appears to think that Bradman's word on matters of cricket is absolute and completely true. He has taken every word he could trawl from his time spent with The Don and has turned it into a misguided four-hundred page tome where the point is almost indecipherable. What should have been a celebration has been turned into a trudging day-by-day commentary..

Bradman was undoubtedly the greatest cricketer of all time and even during the 1948 Invincibles tour where he turned forty, was Australia's best batsman. He has also suffered somewhat from revisionism, where posthumous revelations as to his character have begun to unfairly detract from his cricketing legacy. These "revelations" should only add to that legacy - of a genius batsman and excellent captain who wanted - and mostly got - his own way, often at others' expense. Any of his negative character traits are nonexistent on paper.

Relying on one source for the vast majority of one's sources is a mistake, both for one's credibility and entertainment purposes. The author has taken The Don's word as gospel in book which would be infinitely richer and more enjoyable for an Old Testament, Letters and Apocrypha. Perry has little affinity for beautiful prose, writing economically, repetitively and with no flair for either detail or accuracy. His style expects the reader to be in constant wonderment at the achievements of that squad rather than providing the full picture demanded by such an seminal tour.

Neither has Roland Perry skill of analogy, often comparing players across generations in a hackneyed and awkward style - even to the point of using the same comparison twice in three pages. There are several glaring factual errors and those who bridled against Sir Don Bradman's absolute rule are portrayed in an unflattering light. Though the book stretches to 430 pages, the last one-hundred and seventy of those are needlessly given over to potted biographies of the tourists and their vanquished opponents, which, while providing some interesting details is more an annoyance than enjoyable. This follows a passage where the author says it would be pointless to compare "Greatest Ever" teams and then proceeds to do so.

That's not to say that the book is devoid of redeeming features. Bradman's Invincibles provides an interesting peek into some aspects of cricket in the late 1940s, where towels were shoved under shirts and trousers became makeshift thigh and chest guards and breakfast in ration-enforced England consisted of half a piece of toast and a mushroom. The lack of net sessions was mildly surprising, but understandable given the amount of cricket played. Most surprising of all, perhaps, was that both Bill Johnston and Keith Miller often resorted to spin depending on the circumstances of the game; though this in itself is questionable given Perry's unfortunate failure to grasp the difference between leg- and off-cutters.

Bradman's Invincibles is hardly a revolutionary work. It holds interest - perhaps because it's the first cricket book I've read in months (years?) - but is disappointingly perfunctory and poorly rounded.

Golf balls (hit repeatedly against a tank stand with a cricket stump).

Image courtesy: borders.com.au (may they Rest In Peace).

Review: The Willow Wand – Derek Birley

The Willow Wand's aim is to explore some of the many myths of cricket. However, for the most part it is somewhat difficult to identify truly what myth is at any one point that being investigated. One must have an in-depth knowledge of cricket and indeed English cricket to truly take in what most of Birley has to say. Despite the significant amount of historical research put into this work, it does not provide a systematic presentation of cricketing history.

But this is not meant to be a negative opinion, just a reduction in the expectations with which I approached this work. What you do get from The Willow Wand is a mosaic of characters and time from throughout the long and rich history of the sport.

The book drives constantly that cricket is a medium in which persons sought to prove distinguishable features. Gentlemen from Players (Amateurs from Professionals), Wealth from Poverty, light skin from dark – none ever proved to be successful and in hindsight all actions of the sort proving petty and hypocritical. Such is the ridiculous extent of sociology that cricket has been pushed and pulled. Birley took time to sum up his beliefs in the final chapter titled 'Fun and Games' whereupon as you might expect from the title he concludes that one cannot see cricket through any other lens.

Refreshingly honest about the figures of the past, Birley does not airbrush over the faults of the game and its traditions. He questions long held views of the cricketing figures of the past such as Lord's Harris & Hawke as well as P.F. (Plum) Warner; opinion on the latter he makes reference to in his updated edition as drawing criticism from some parts upon the books initial print run in 1979.

Of particular enjoyment personally were his descriptions of West Indian crickets background, a topic not often broached, as well as his discussion on whether cricket and art can be stated as being one and the same. For the modern cricket enthusiast stung by the increased commercialism and descent into the abyss of gambling-driven corruption it may hurt to read that the prominent driver of many of the earliest recorded matches was commercialism and gambling. Matches were often fixed not for monetary gain but as an act of patronage to the amateur dignitary!

Being a cricketing nerd, I enjoyed the book as I became immersed in the nostalgia and dreamed of being involved during golden times in cricket history. But it is only a book for those like myself who bring a certain level of background knowledge to it and can enjoy it to the full. Others will become confused and frustrated as it constantly switches back and forth between stories, eras and personalities. The high English used by Birley remains difficult for the modern reader (criticism at this point can be leveled in both directions) - Birley is clearly a man of an age where cricketers of the right ilk never had names, only initials. Somewhere between tennis balls and footballs.

Cover Image thanks to bookdepository.co.uk

Review: Frith on Cricket - David Frith

Within a few pages of reading this compilation, my feeling was that I would struggle to put this book down – in fact, I may have been happy reading this forever. Lovers of cricket would find it hard to not be swept away by the passion and eloquence for the game that David Frith has, and has had for over half a century.

Frith is one of the greats of cricket writing, so highly regarded that even Sir Donald Bradman was led to highlight his passion and dedication to his craft. Having written for a number of publications throughout his career, this book centralises his career to the benefit of the reader. It is a journey of cricket; not just over the 50 years of Frith's writing career, but owing to the great passion and love Frith has for cricket you are taken back to test cricket's earliest days.

Not all of the writings are explorations of the past, though of course even his comment pieces are now read with the benefit of hindsight. But true to his expertise it is hard to fault the logic of the writing compiled at the time without this benefit. As Frith writes you are taken into past when events happened, and you go as close to being able to watch the matches yourself as if you were there. In addition Frith for the compilation has added an explanatory note on each piece that helps paint the picture further.

So involved with his subject and immersed in its culture Frith was able to compile what was one of my favourite pieces where he conducted a mock interview with the youthfully deceased golden age master batsman, Victor Trumper. I have very little doubt that the message of astonishment at the modern game he conveys from Trumper would be true of the man.

Frith has a fierce protectionist attitude owing to his love of the game's history and desire for its betterment. He was, and still remains, never one to temper his opinion on matters cricket and the writing is better for it, though he does admit to at least one lost relationship because of this strength of opinion. Interestingly his first piece included in the book is a school essay on his meeting with the former England bowler Alec Bedser at age 13. The style and character of Frith's writing we observe has not changed significantly in the ensuing years since his youth.

One personality trait that always fails to endear itself to me is that of name dropping. The difficulty is with Frith that when he name drops, and he does regularly, I am torn between the distaste for the habit and severe envy for the company he has kept since even his earliest years. Imagine as a youth having to make the choice whether you purchase your cricket equipment from either former Australian wicketkeeper Bert Oldfield's or former Australian batsman Alan Kippax's sporting goods stores.

Perhaps cricket is the only sport where great figures of its history include not just those playing or coaching but those working in the media. The famous cricketing names of Cardus, Johnston, Arlott, and McGilvray are not recalled expressly for on-field feats. I envisage Frith being added to them in the future. Basketballs.

Cover Photo thanks to bookdepository.co.uk

Review: The Big Ship - Gideon Haigh

To begin with a proviso, this is not a book for the leisurely Sunday afternoon read, nor is it one for the casual enthusiast in matters cricket. Haigh has produced a fine piece of historical documentation on one of the most complex characters in cricket history, Warwick Armstrong.

Armstrong was a man who could be described as being as imposing as W.G. Grace, as ruthless as Douglas Jardine, and as enigmatic as Keith Miller. Haigh accurately combines such individual analysis of Armstrong’s character with broader analysis of the world and time in which he lived which was equally as complex. Armstrong’s career straddled not only the creation of Australia as a nation, but also The Great War, each in their own way influencing Australia’s national psyche.

This was an Australia trying to be the same yet different from their British origins and a people unsure of how to live with sectarian differences, primarily Protestant and Catholic (Armstrong a product of a mixed marriage). The cricket field, and halls of the games administration, providing an adequate microcosm for such tension to play out. Haigh therefore went beyond the simple boundaries of cricketing literature in researching this work, and the inclusion of such information further enhances the reader’s experience.

The man and player in Armstrong stood out in this era, and not just because of his enormous physical dimensions. Blessed with an immense talent, only shaded by his will to win, Armstrong became a cricketing Everest for opposition to climb. It was his will to win in all things that led him to play conservatively when the crowd wanted otherwise, and to argue vigorously without restraint off the field also.

Even quarrels with administration that Armstrong was not directly involved in, still had the feel of his presence – seemingly he was ‘of’ them always. He also cannot be said to be have been necessarily consistent in his dealings or statements; English cricketing authorities were quick to point out that his criticism of Jardine’s ‘Bodyline’ in 1932-33 was inconsistent with his own captaincy of Australian quicks Jack Gregory and Ted McDonald 12 years prior and his own use of leg theory as a bowler.

These brief notes only scratch the surface of the character that was ‘The Big Ship’, Warwick Armstrong. I can highly recommend this book to read for lovers of cricket history. We often look at black and white photographs and can feel the history and story behind them, though we don’t always know the details. What Haigh has done is to successfully extrapolate this feeling we have that we may know the character and stories in detail. For lovers of cricket and history, Basketballs

Cover Photo Courtesy of amazon.co.uk

Review: Golden Boy

by Ben Roberts

This book review can also be found at our sibling site Balanced Sports.

Followers of the recent Ashes series who sought statistics, analysis, and opinion from ESPN's Cricinfo website would no doubt have come across Christian Ryan's blog, 'My Funeral, Your Ashes'. I had never previously come across Ryan until this summer, and knew nothing of his background. Certainly he cannot be said to ever temper his opinion. But unlike most modern media outlets Ryan paints a very detailed picture first, bringing the reader first into position of understanding, before the sting comes. Less like a brawling bulldog, more a brooding viper.

The combination of my own unfamiliarity of Ryan's work, the struggling of Australian cricketers and the euphoria of the English, led me to believe initially that Ryan was indeed a native of the mother country himself. I was wrong, Ryan is an antipodean. Like Kim Hughes however, Ryan is from a state who's people hold a constant level of distrust of all things originating east of Eucla; Western Australia.

These feelings of distrust, envy, and frustration are where Ryan seeks to build this work from; WA having always perceived it has received a raw deal from eastern state cricketing administrations. Ryan indicates that although abolished in the late 1960s, the travel levy that the eastern states required WA to pay for every game in WA was a source of anger that burned within every cricket club and every cricketer in Australia's largest state, young and old.

Beyond the institutional politicking between state associations came something even more fervent, maybe destructive. For a cricket fan it is that moment of lost innocence when one recognises that despite players representing the same country, they can be nowhere near best of friends. Based upon his analysis, Ryan believes that the effect Greg Chappell, Dennis Lillee, and Rodney Marsh had on Australian cricket was far beyond what they provided on the pitch. Add to this the non-playing influences of Ian Chappell, Kerry Packer, Austin Robertson and John Cornell in the mid-1970s and it is easy to understand why others may have felt suffocated.

In the middle, or more trying to glide over the top, was a exciting yet flighty batsman in Kim Hughes. Remembered by many as much courteous and polite as a man as he was impetuous as a batsman, Hughes still to this day seeks to rise above the need to engage in public comment on the issues that plagued his career. Despite repeated attempts of Ryan to engage Hughes for the book, he was always politely declined.

Kim Hughes' career is presented by Ryan as one of a man constantly trying to keep his head above an increasingly pressurised position as Australian captain, but even just initially as a WA team mate. It is continually clear, despite Hughes non-assistance in this work, that at the time, and even more so as years have passed that Hughes holds little resentment about his tumultuous time at the top. Whether Ryan has accurately captured the behind closed doors conversations and interactions that have occurred will always be a matter of opinion, opinions that will become more jaded with age. What cannot be argued, and Ryan is clear to state, is that certain protagonists of Hughes' fall publicly made comment on television and in print regarding Hughes.

Previously to this writer, who was barely alive when Allan Border assumed the captaincy of the Australian cricket team, Hughes had appeared to be an uncommon failure in the list of Australian captains. That an Australian would even think of renouncing the apparent greatest job in the world was just ludicrous, and a completely English approach. The pictures of Hughes in tears at the Gabba would never instil a sense of national pride. Ryan's work here though opens up this man and the surrounding cricketing culture to scrutiny of the kind that is unseen in most Australian cricketing media. To the public reliant on Channel 9 solely for their interpretation, one might even remain in the belief that all the Australians are best friends and spend their social time devouring buckets of a fried chicken product.

Writers such as Ryan, including the likes of Frith, Haigh, and Roebuck, never will obtain the universal approval of all. Their work is more valuable for it. But with Australian cricket currently facing a key juncture in the sports modern history it would no doubt be worth viewing the game as these gentlemen tend too. What are the purposes of anointing captains early in a career; how should we best support the captains during the tougher times; what effects are brought to bear on dressing rooms during and after the careers of high profile (and maintenance) superstars?

Golden Boy: Kim Hughes and the Bad Old Days of Australian Cricket, scores footballs.

Image courtesy: http://www.bookoffers.com.au

Review: Skullduggery, by Kerry O'Keeffe

A few years back I bought the Jeremy Clarkson omnibus with great interest as to what he had to say. It turns out that as an author, Clarkson is a very good presenter: the book was only his collected writings from his regular spot as Sunday Times columnist. One at a time, I'm sure they make for amusing reading, especially over toasted English muffins with marmalade; bound together in a tome you could use to choke a whale they only confirmed my lingering suspicions of his barely-hidden bigotry. Like Mexican beer, his style is great in small doses.

Skullduggery, the second book by ABC Radio cricket Special Comments man Kerry O'Keeffe, is another compilation of his Sunday columns with a few of "Skull's Greatest Hits" thrown in. A very quick read - a bit over an hour - but interesting not only because O'Keeffe analyses today's cricket like the radio commentator he is, rather than a TV guy who relies on the pictures telling most of the story. His descriptions are colourful, insightful and most of all, human.

O'Keeffe had been on the ABC for some time before I truly warmed to his abilities as a technical analyst of my favourite sport. Renowned for his tendency to laugh at his own jokes and make funnies at every possible opportunity, it was hard at the beginning to separate the clown from the specialist. But he told one story in particular which made me sit up and listen about a year into his regular tenure: "Skull" described twenty consecutive Christmases depressingly drunk, sad and alone until he met his wife and they started a family. It was a 30-second glimpse into the heart of a man who'd sacrificed nearly everything for his sport, paid the penalty and had found redemption in the most simple, down-to-earth manner. That he was willing to pull back the blinds on personal window for a radio audience probably comprising 2+ million Australians made me reflect that Kerry O'Keeffe the cricketer was only part of Kerry O'Keeffe as a man. I started to listen more carefully to his words and discovered that, though an entertainer, he was a person first and foremost. No-one considers the personal consequences of success or failure on the oval like him and his experiences are key in his analysis.

A personal favourite is his description of his family's Last Test, where he and his boys played carport cricket for the final time - all tinged with pride that his boys were growing into fine men but also with sadness that they were leaving these family momemnts behind them. There's plenty of opinion as to the state of the Australian team as well as memories from his 2009 Ashes' Supporter Tour.

Being lightweight, Skullduggery is never too much Skull and his observations, like those of a stand-up comedian, are all one-liners and enlightening. It scores tennis balls - well worth a look: it'll kill a short plane flight, but if you're planning on reading a cricket book on the fourteen hours over the Pacific Ocean, you're probably better suited with Steve Waugh's My Story.

Image courtesy http://www.angusrobertson.com.au