It is with unrestrained joy that I introduce my friend Balaji, a Madras-born scientist currently teaching at Princeton, who, in agreeing some months ago to write an analysis on the cultural and political subtexts of Australian umpire Darryl Hair falsely accusing Pakistan’s cricketers of ball-tampering, ended up delivering, as his first installment, this marvelous memoir of the personal and political meanings bound up in the clash of leather and willow. I love this piece, it got me thinking about my own memories of the game and the wider context in which we learned and played it. (But I’ll save those reflections for the comments sections, and I hope you will too)
Cricket’s Coded Conversation
by V. Balaji
Some 46 years ago this month at the Woolloongabba ground in Brisbane, there occurred an event until that time quite unique in cricket history: The first test match in the series between Frank Worrell’s West Indies and Richie Benaud’s Australians resulted in a tie. A tie may not seem like much, if football is your gig, but in five-day cricket it is quite extraordinary – a total of 737 runs was scored by each side, every man out twice with only one ball left to be bowled at sunset on the fifth day.
So extraordinary was the “Tied Test” that its oral history reverberated across the former British empire – of the feats of brilliance and the changes of fortune in a match that happened before my time, before television, in a country I’ve never visited, as a schoolboy I could quote chapter and verse: Gary Sobers’s electrifying first-innings century, his three fours in a single over against the always dangerous — and that morning, nearly unplayable — Alan Davidson; the Australian fight-back led by a flashy Norman O’Neill and a dour Bobby Simpson; and through twists and turns to the final day — Conrad Hunte’s 90-yard throw from the boundary to run out Davidson; Wes Hall dropping Neil Harvey’s return catch purely out of excitement and tension; Solomon, from 15 yards out at square leg, with only one stump visible, running out Meckiff with a direct hit, and the final image of the young Rohan Kanhai whooping and jumping up and down after the final out, not really knowing (no one really knew for a while) what the result was.
The legendary Barbados paceman Wes Hall remembers the tied test – with some of that classic footage the writer watched at school 15 years later
By some osmosis, and cricket’s oral tradition, we all knew about the Tied Test growing up, away in India, and a decade too late. Indian cricket, in those days, never amounted to much on the international stage; we were happy to adopt the West Indies as our stand-ins, where the handsome and dashing Guyanan Rohan Kanhai gave us an Indian face in which to see our own. (Two generations later, Rohan still remains a popular boy’s name among cricket-loving parents.) One memorable happening at school in Madras in 1971 was when the sports master somehow acquired a grainy 16-mm print of the Tied Test condensed into an hour: the whole school piled into the auditorium and watched it, nodding knowingly as the well-rehearsed events unrolled. A friend from those days recently confessed to me that he’d been absent at school that day, malingering from some minor illness, and cannot recall this even now without a gut-wrenching sense of loss.
Kanhai: “An Indian face in which to see our own”
Cricket always has had an epic quality to it, an ability to draw itself on a larger canvas. It is, frankly, more interesting to read about, talk about, and savor as a narrative after the fact: the actual experience of a Test match is composed of elements of carnival, crowd-watching, meals, and tedium. Jack Fingleton, a minor Aussie figure from the great Bradman sides of the 1930s, subsequently made a small career for himself as a cricket writer. His book about the 1960 tour of Australia by Worrell’s side, is called ‘The Greatest Test of All’, and captures a moment in which somehow, something transcendent occurred, and everyone, including the Australian public (recall that there were no Caribbean expats in Australia back then…), seemed for a moment touched by grace. When Worrell’s team left, after losing the series 2-1, they were given a send-off on the streets of Melbourne that included a motorcade and 100,000 people lining the sidewalks. Whoever heard of a ticker-tape parade farewell for losing visitors?
Fingleton himself ascribed the transcendence to something inherent in cricket itself. His book uses as its epigraph this verse from the obscure poet Henry Newbolt:
There’s a breathless hush on the Close to-night
Ten to make and the match to win
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play, and the last man in.
And it’s not for the sake of a ribboned coat.
Or the selfish hope of a season’s fame,
But his captain’s hand on his shoulder smote
“Play up! Play up! And play the game!”
“Playing the game,” “just not cricket”, “a straight bat”… Fingleton would argue that these phrases embody an entirely different philosophy of sport – and life – from the “Just win, baby!” of Al Davis’s Oakland Raiders. Cricket, alone of all sports, has “laws” instead of “rules,” and the laws are interpreted by an omniscient umpire, who’s always right, even when he isn’t. Even beyond that, cricket has a series of unwritten rules to live by. “Walking” – declaring yourself out when your bat had got the faintest fleeting touch to a ball caught by the wicketkeeper, even when the umpire had missed the fact and was ready to let you bat on – was the decent thing to do; it was “cricket.” Claiming a catch when you knew the ball had in fact touched the ground before you’d gathered it is “not cricket.” Fingleton argued that two teams had consistently and impeccably played the game the way it should be played, and that in fact was what had cast the golden glow over the 1960 tour.
The Trinidadian Marxist C.L.R James inevitably takes it a step further. His ‘Beyond a Boundary’ from 1963 is a tour de force of social analysis. Prescient in its application of dialectical materialism to the analysis of cricket as a cultural phenomenon, it anticipates by some years the “cultural studies” movement spearheaded by his fellow West Indian, friend, comrade and collaborator Stuart Hall. The book is quirky and brilliant, with odd contradictions abounding: quaint rolling constructions inherited from a colonial education (“he was as handsome a man as you could meet in a day’s journey…”) telling the story of how West Indians chafed under colonialism; a precise description of how racism functions in team selection devolving in the turn of a page to an account of George Headley (the “black Bradman”)’s bowel movements just prior to going out to bat. A committed Marxist analyzing colonialism through very detailed and personal accounts of individual men, and not only the content of their characters, but their cricket technique as well.
For James, the key to the 1960 tour was in the person of one man, Frank Worrell himself. Worrell was Jamesian socialism’s new man, the man constructed to be his own post-colonial future. Like no captain before him – he was, in fact, the first black man to captain the West Indies – Worrell led by example, and taught all his young team-mates to be new men as well. If he felt other batsmen were being unnecessarily cautious against innocuous bowling, he would promote himself up the order to go out and flay the attack; if he felt the track was beginning to turn, he would take upon himself a spell of spin bowling. Both in his cricket and off the field, Worrell held to his dignity with steel under his gentle demeanor. In his presence, James argues, no one could be less than their own better selves. Worrell taught everyone — teammates, opponents, spectators — how to play and enjoy cricket. It is in some sense a reprise of James’s argument about Toussaint L’Ouverture, in ‘The Black Jacobins,’ that the French themselves learned their droits de l’homme from the Haitian theorist of freedom.
Worrell’s ascension to the captaincy was itself a part of the anti-colonial struggle, one in which James played a central role. (James, it must be added, practised his cultural studies down at the barricades, not wallowing in the depths of an endowed chair.) Before Worrell, West Indies cricket labored under the colonial “wisdom” that black men were incapable of being captain: they supposedly lacked the qualities of command, strategic thinking, and holding their nerve under pressure. (Similarly, “Blacks can’t quarterback” was received wisdom in the U.S. until the Washington Redskins won a Superbowl in the 80s which owed everything to the leadership and unerring receiver selection of Doug Williams.) So, before 1960, West Indies sides were always led by a white man, often the only one in the side. The struggle for independence from Britain and the struggle to have Worrell appointed captain became one and the same, and both came to pass not least because of CLR James’s own brilliant polemics in newspapers and pamphlets. And captain Worrell did, with grace and acumen, always leading from the front. Acknowledging and commemorating independence, Britain knighted him, and Australia named the trophy for future West Indies-Australia tours for him, while he was still an active player: which is why in 1960 we could observe the spectacle of Frank Worrell handing the Sir Frank Worrell Trophy to Richie Benaud after losing the series.
So where does “Play up, play up and play the game!” fit in, then? James doesn’t take it quite in the same spirit of unreflective acceptance as does Fingleton. An extensive section of the book deals with Arnold (not sure of his first name… it is hard to imagine Arnold, a historical character immortalized in ‘Tom Brown’s Schooldays’, even having a first name, or a mother… he was headmaster, pure and simple. My illustrated copy of Tom Brown had a frontispiece of Arnold in pince-nez and gown leaning across his desk with upraised finger and exclaiming “You are expelled, Flashman!” That figure of the stern headmaster must have been the stuff of nightmares for every schoolchild in an authoritarian school system.). Headmaster of Rugby in the 1800s, he did more than anyone to plant and cultivate the mythos of “British pluck,” the “British sense of fair play,” and so on that were a staple of Boys’ World stories for a hundred years after. (Only in the 1960s did a subversive genre emerge, openly mocking these pretensions, most explicitly in the Flashman series of novels by George MacDonald Fraser.) A frankly stated aim of educating through sport was to prepare boys for a career in the Colonies. Cricket was to be yet another demonstration of British superiority over the natives. The brown and black races (and the French, for that matter…) did not have that innate sense of sport and fair play and must be taught it. Until they learnt, they couldn’t run their own states, they would need their white captain…
Colonial captains in the making: The First XI of Harrow School, 1910
But every such edifice carries within it the seeds of its own destruction. It wasn’t hard for us, unthinking, privileged youth within a colonial education system though we might have been, to see the hypocrisy in much of this. The basic fact was that the “white” cricket-playing nations didn’t actually appear to play cricket with anything like that mythic sense of sport. England were a dour lot, hating to lose, especially to Asian or Caribbean teams, and wouldn’t hesitate to delaying tactics barely within cricketing law in order to salvage a draw. And Australia and New Zealand were notorious for their biased umpires.
The inimitable Chandrasekhar
A famous story from those days has the normally mild-mannered B.S Chandrasekhar, who used an arm deformed by polio to become the most unpredictable of the legendary Indian spin quartet, appealing loudly after bowling an Australian batsman all ends up. (Many ways of getting out in cricket require the fielding side to appeal to the umpire for a judgment, but when you’ve knocked over the stumps, there’s really no two ways about it.) So the umpire turns to Chandra and says, “Well, he’s bowled, isn’t he?” And Chandra replies, “I know he’s bowled, but is he out?”
It’s probably too much to claim that it was stuff like this that sent some of us down the road leftwards… but there’s a germ of truth in there somewhere. That the West doesn’t live up to its stated values becomes obvious at one point or another, whether it’s sports or history, even if you’re fed a steady diet of Boys’ World and Biggles and the canon of dead European males. (Personally, my bookish path to the left went from John Stuart Mill to Bertrand Russell to Marx… with Engels, Haldane and Bernal to render my interest in science respectable. It wasn’t until much later that non-DEMs entered my world, Gandhi, Mao, Fanon, Sheila Rowbotham, not to mention C.L.R James…)
But just in case you were too dense to see it, the second verse from the Newbolt poem (not quoted by Fingleton) drives the point home:
The sand of the desert is sodden red-
Red with the wreck of the square that broke
The gatling’s jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed its banks,
And England’s far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks-
“Play up! Play up! And play the game!”
No points for guessing where this is set: clearly the schoolboy is wandering somewhere well east of Eton. And he’s still there, except now the grounds are marked out with “Scimitar tanks and ASLAV armored vehicles”, and everyone now and then they’ve had to call off the match because a “Merlin helicopter caused a sandstorm by landing nearby.”
So, will cricket stiffen the spine of the the boys in Basra? Check back with us in Part II, coming soon…
So many memories and thoughts evoked here — first off, I’m reminded of the movie “Lagaan,” in which the Indian villagers have to beat the British at cricket in order to have their tax burden lightened. (And, of course, the British are inclined to break the rules of their own game when they’re losing…)
Herewith a marvelous clip
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7aZsHRLlsWE
in which Deva Singh Dodi arrives to join the villagers. “I hear you have vowed to fight the British…” Yes, replies the hero, “But not with sticks and spears, with bat and ball…”
What I also like about CLR James’s writing is his meditations on the stylistic ruptures that Caribbean players brought to the game. Growing up, we were always told to play with a straight bat, always throught the line of the ball, never across it. Then, watching the majestic Viv Richards playing a ball pitched on off stump over long-on for six, you’d realize that he’d defied some of the basic things you’d been taught about batting as a schoolboy — but as James writes, the point is that he COULD.
I love his emphasis on agency and subjectivity that is achieved in the game, and its wider implications, made clear in this quote: “In cricket, the West Indies have evolved a style of their own, even if in independence as a whole they have yet to do so.”
Also, always remember in the 70s, when batsmen from the Third World were flaying English bowling, you’d hear BBC commentators sniffing about their “wristy” strokes and such like, as if somehow by defying Engish convention in the way a shot is played and still coming out on top, they were somehow cheating or not “playing the game…”
Plenty more reflections percolating, I’ll post some soon
I’ll complete this essay in pieces as time permits.
Two thoughts, one that had LONG AGO occurred to me and one that is spawn from this piece.
ONE: Sports is where we should ENJOY rivalries, though not live and die by them. Does anyone really remember the 2002 East Eurpopean Cup champion? Or even the 1999 World Series Champion?
Champions come and go and that’s fine, but it’s not worth spilling blood over.
TWO: The rules (laws) of cricket are so unlike our baseball (and other) rules. Until recently, winning was everything. Cheating, while frown upon when it comes to steroids, wasn’t necessarily an evil. And turning yourself in? Unheard of.
I have to admit that whenever “wristy” was used to refer to a stroke it seemed like an unabashed compliment to me.
Wonderful essay (even for someone like me who knows diddly-squat about cricket.)
Whatever I know, I learned from Lagaan: a terrific movie!
I can’t help but mention that my father-in-law, a delightful man, played (a small part) in the movie “Tom Brown’s School Days.” (The peak of his acting career .) OK, I thought I should name-drop a little here… 🙂
Im surprised the anti-english theme hasn’t continued…considering the absolute walloping they are experiencing down under.
Watch Live Cricket
As an Australian, I really must object to the bit about “notoriously biased umpires”. The ICC had to put in neutral umpires not because of the notoriety of Australian umpires, but of Pakistani ones. It got so bad that any visiting batsman on a tour of Pakistan (including Indian and West Indian teams, BTW – this is not about racism but nationalism) was in grave peril if he ever let a ball hit his pads.
And yeah, cricket was long run by Englishmen for Englishmen. Though from our point of view having it run from the subcontinent is not a great improvement.
But on the facts of the Darryl Hair case, I’d have to disagree strongly – IMO Hair has been guilty of nothing other than enforcing the rules of the game, as he is paid to do. I particularly object to the bit about “falsely accusing”. Friend, how would you know? You haven’t seen the ball, and the other umpire, a West Indian, clearly agreed with Hair. And it’s not as though this Pakistani team hasn’t been caught cheating before.
When you open net, you are bombarded with millions of article. However, unfortunately most of them are just a piece of junk. It is difficult to even read first paragraph of such articles. However, this article is not like them. It contains quality content, which can bind you to finish till the last words.
In response to derrida derider – Are you serious? Anybody (i’m australian) can see that the Australian umpires favour our team, it’s embarrassing! And coupled with that the biased channel 9 comentary team make watching cricket a painful experience. Also lets not forget the disgraceful behgavior of our cricketers on the field of late. They leave a lot to be desired
You hit to the point Tony karon.
Appreciated you.
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Wonderful article! Brought me right back to the days of Primary school short pants short sleeve cricket on a concrete pitch, carrying the names of your favorite Cricketer. Wow Proud to be a Trinidadian and knowing the boys of the West Indies are still respected. But the sad story of cricket began when greed for money and flagging sportsmanship came into play, cricket took a dive for the worst like most other sports of today. The big money is not made by the “real players” but by the promoters and most players now want to “promote” instead of play. If we could somehow strike a balance and really return to the games I think we could return to the wonders that were once miraculously performed.
Sekarang ni macam-macam perkara tak elok berlaku” dia membebel. Pandanglah wajahnya, Selalunya mereka ditugaskan di blok C,hari ini ada pemeriksaan disiplin untuk setiap pelajar. Apa salah Wan, Masih sayangkah dia akan Azwan, Ni butang apa pulak ni? Nak kata ada kipas tak pulak”, Terima kasih,” jawabku ringkas.
Dia asyik memikirkan mengenai Kalsum & lelaki yang dilihatnya pagi tadi.Arul tak cintakan dia.Arul akan buang cincin tu.dari Arul lah.nie mesti si mila bagik nombor aku kat Arul.“abang?? mama nak tanya nie. ada orang nak pinang Dina Namanya Jhazfazniel Dina terima tak Kerja pun bagus” Aku tidak tahu panggilan apa yang aku terima dari mama nie Adakah hari nie april fool atau apa“Dina tak kisah dari mama jer? kalau mama dah berkenan Dina ok jer. membuntuti langkah ibu mertuaku ke bilik tamu.”Bergetar suaranya. hadirkanlah perasaan cinta yang tulus ikhlas buat insan yang bakal menjadi suamiku nanti.Sementara menunggu Farah mencuci ayam di sinki, Umar tersenyum.
Dia asyik memikirkan mengenai Kalsum & lelaki yang dilihatnya pagi tadi.Arul tak cintakan dia.Arul akan buang cincin tu.dari Arul lah.nie mesti si mila bagik nombor aku kat Arul.“abang?? mama nak tanya nie. ada orang nak pinang Dina Namanya Jhazfazniel Dina terima tak Kerja pun bagus” Aku tidak tahu panggilan apa yang aku terima dari mama nie Adakah hari nie april fool atau apa“Dina tak kisah dari mama jer? kalau mama dah berkenan Dina ok jer. membuntuti langkah ibu mertuaku ke bilik tamu.”Bergetar suaranya. hadirkanlah perasaan cinta yang tulus ikhlas buat insan yang bakal menjadi suamiku nanti.Sementara menunggu Farah mencuci ayam di sinki, Umar tersenyum.
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