1. “Watching cricket? No way, I’m studying it,” 13/1/92
2. “Taylor slays the knockers with pride,” 12/6/97

1.
Frank Devine, “Watching cricket? No way, I’m studying it,”
The Australian, January 13, 1992, p. 9.

A usually friendly face appears at the doorway, “Still watching the cricket?” The tone is coldish.

Well, naturally I’m watching the cricket. What else would one be doing during Australia’s greatest cricketing summer — featuring a Test series, an international triangular contest of one-day matches and the World Cup?

Australian wives and other members of the female profession should realise they are not the only ones getting divided attention this year.

According to Sunil Gavaskar, about 100 million Indians watch the cricket telecasts from Australia.

Are Indian wives whingeing? Unquestionably. And if 100 million whingers are having no effect on the ratings, what chance do four million have? It’s kismet, honeybunch.

In any case, it is a mistake to consider us mere hedonists welded to the small screen by Tendulkar’s off-driving and Dean Jones’s fielding, and the melodrama of winning and losing. For the most part we are intellectuals looking for a parable of our times in the success of our cricketers. In case you never guessed it.

To climb from the pits to predominance the cricketers have employed quality control, competitiveness and incentive in a free-market context. Dedicated and principled leadership has been a help as well.

The quality of modern cricket is awesome. Don Bradman himself is said to have conceded recently that he would not have hit such big scores so fast if he had played today. Modern tactics and fielding skills would ration the number of balls he received and convert many of his boundaries to twos and threes.

Colin Bland, the great South African cover fieldsman, was considered such a phenomenon in his time that he used to entertain spectators before matches with displays of picking up and throwing. Neil Harvey in the covers and Bobby Simpson in the slips made people gasp at their maestro fielding. But most Australian Test crickets now field as well as Bland, Harvey and Simpson.

When Tom Moody threw out Brian Lara from 70m away at the Melbourne Cricket Ground a few nights ago, Richie Benaud marvelled that any batsman could be so foolish as to test the arm of Moody, “of all people”, by trying for a second run. To me, even trying for one run seems reckless when this Clark Kent of athletes is in the neighbourhood of a struck ball.

In the ambling days of pre-1975 cricket, Moody would have thrown out whole sides. So would Jones and Mark Waugh, whose defensive fielding on the fourth day of the Sydney Test against India last week was as brilliant and exciting as the scything batting of Tendulkar and Shastri.

What is more, fielding in cricket is still short of the standard of major league baseball. But cricket will match this as other countries chase Australian standards, and Australian kids take for granted that skilful running, throwing and catching will be as important as batting and bowling in lifting them to first grade, first class or international cricket.

Possibly a system is needed for recording fielding achievements. Baseball, whose fans also cherish statistical records, has a system based on errors assessed by expert referees. Maybe cricket could count runs saved as well as errors in compiling fielding averages.

Still on quality: for generations, coaching for correctness imprisoned batsmen. One of the reasons the self-taught Bradman dominated his era was that he instinctively, invariably and uniquely moved his feet to the position that made it most comfortable for him, personally, to hit the ball.

The Don faded to the leg side to smash deliveries through the off, pulled others past mid-on from well outside his off-stump. English persons deplored his lack of classic style.

Now all the best batsmen skip to the hitting position that suits them. Tendulkar and Viv Richards are unstylish?

Batting has acquired three dimensions. The conditioning of Test cricketers who were not Keith Miller made them think that hitting a ball in the air was a mortal sin. In the past 15 years the spectacular lofted cover drive and high slash over the slips have become standard in the repertoire of the best players.

Thanks to one-day games, hitting sixes is an ingredient of strategy rather than an indulgence of weirdos. With four runs an over a respectable scoring rate, you earn, in effect, 16 free deliveries if you manage to hit two sixes in an over. It is not by chance that Geoff Marsh, basically an anchorman, has become an effective six-hitter.

The quality of bowling has also improved significantly in the past 15 years. Once bowlers were, generally, either killers (Dennis Lillee) or stoppers (Ken Mackay, Derek Underwood). Now they are expected to be both every day, prepared to bowl for hours if necessary into a batsman’s “zone of uncertainty” and give him no hittable ball that is not part of grand strategy.

To my mind, Peter Taylor, a gutsy journeyman by today’s reckoning, is, for example, as good a bowler as Jim Laker, a superstar in his time. Taylor has more variation, if less spin, than Laker and a nervy alertness the Englishman lacked.

Laker’s neat, mechanical action seemed aim at just getting him through the day when the omens were unfavourable. Taylor’s ballet-like dance to the wicket gives him three moments of perfect balance, including a last-moment one, from which to study the batsman and alter the length, direction and pace of each delivery in response to tell-tale movements of feet or eyes.

Taylor needs to be alert for every ball he bowls because cricket is far more competitive than it used to be. The basic contest of bowler and fieldsmen against batsman, and home team against opponent, has intensified exponentially in the past 15 years. But the most razor-edged competition is between individuals for a place at the top.

Craig McDermott epitomises a true professional’s response to this competitive pressure. An overnight success at 20, he was pretty much washed up at 24. Good batsmen were untroubled by the deliveries he speared down the leg side because his porky body provided insufficient shoulder and hip pivot to direct it anywhere else.

As all cricket followers know, McDermott devoted two purgatorial years of ironman training to acquire a physique appropriate to his profession, and made it back to stardom because of his limitless stamina and deadly, hip-swivelling outswingers.

But all our top cricketers are striving in the McDermott mould, running, weight-lifting, swimming, endlessly practising technique and scrutinising videotapes of themselves and their rivals — not excluding opponents — for shortfalls on perfection. Watch the galvanised reaction of the players when Bob Simpson, the national coach, reaches for his baseball glove to put them through pre-match fielding practice and you understand what true competition is.

Competition for places isn’t even haphazard any more. The country is systematically scoured for talent to be developed at the national cricket academy in Adelaide, where equality of outcome never enters anybody’s mind.

Why do our present-day cricketers compete so hard? Because there is incentive, a chance to become rich and famous.

It is 15 years since Kerry Packer signed most of our leading players away from a Cricket Control Board monopoly. The cricketers leapt at Packer’s average offer of $25,000 a year. Now, though they are secretive about it, earnings from all sources for the dozen or so top performers are said to range from around $150,000 to $500,000.

Competition and incentive have also made watching cricket more enjoyable. Twenty years ago the Sydney Cricket Ground outside the members’ enclosure was a slum, the vaunted Hill a pigsty. Now all corners of the ground are habitable, and most parts downright comfortable.

Buy the cassette of the famous tied Test against the West Indies if you want to know what the ABC’s monopoly telecasts of cricket were like — but only if you have a taste for still-lifes on video. Where was StumpCam when we really needed it?

So give me a break, love. I’m not just watching cricket, I am learning what Australia can do when it acts like a clever country.

***
2.
Frank Devine, “Taylor slays the knockers with pride,”
The Australian, June 12, 1997, p. 11.

Walk tall, aim high: our cricket captain is one helluva Gary Cooper

If I’m a man I must be brave
And I must face the deadly killer
Or lie a coward, a craven coward
Or lie a coward in my grave.

Bill Collins may not have known there was a Test match coming up (or know that one is just over) but his instincts served him well when he re-ran High Noon on Foxtel on the eve of Mark Taylor’s great match at Edgbaston.

Admitting to an addiction to westerns and to cricket probably reveals more about my inner life than I would usually be willing to divulge, but the combination brought me to such a transcendent level of being during the weekend that, frankly, I don’t give a damn.

I hope Collins is picking suitable Test-eve movies for the remaining five Ashes games.

Taylor’s matter-of-fact, untremulous walk to the wicket on Saturday for what may well have been his last moments in international cricket was a virtual replica of Gary Cooper’s lonely march down the dusty main street to confront the gunmen waiting for him at the railroad depot in Fred Zimmerman’s quite good movie with its famous and now eerily topical theme song.

I’m not afraid of death
But what will I do if you leave me?

A lot of Taylor’s admirers had forsaken him after his 18 months without a Test half-century. To my discredit I said on radio the day the Test began that “it would be wonderful” if Taylor got a score, instead of predicting he would make 129 in the second innings. Now I know how the townspeople felt, trying to live with themselves after they let Cooper’s Marshal Will Kane down so badly.

But I guess desertion was in the essence of both dramas, as was Taylor’s first innings failure in the cricketing one.

The deadly killer he faced was the end of self esteem, a painful form of death for a man of 32 with considerable heights to fall from.

Many were the ways for Taylor to lie a coward in his grave. Quitting while he was behind would have been the mildest form of checking out. Losing his cool, disputing umpires’ decisions, going into hiding to avoid reporters’ relentless questioning, blaming somebody else for his failures, raging against critics, developing psychosomatic ailments, whining — these would all have been actions touching on the craven, if understandable.

Instead, Taylor brought such openness and gallantry to his struggle that it affected even the kind of people who deride companions for nodding over their toast at breakfast after a hard night’s cricket watching. “How did Mark Taylor do?” they asked.

It was a temptation not to tell them. How, though, could one hold back the news on Sunday morning that he was 108 not out?

They couldn’t be denied that, but lacked the understanding to have pointed out to them the resemblance of Mark Taylor, unsmiling and defiant, holding his bat aloft after passing 100 — aiming it straight up, not vengefully at the press box or barrackers — and Cooper fingering his marshal’s badge after he knocked over the villains on his own.

Nor was it worth the trouble drawing the attention of the uncultured to the parallel between Taylor’s wife winning $500 with a $20 bet at 25-1 on Mark’s scoring a century, and Grace Kelly blowing away one of Cooper’s assailants with a shotgun.

Taylor has proved himself an even bigger man than Will Kane, who threw his badge at the feet of his deserters and rode away. Taylor continues in command of the cricket team he has transformed by his intelligence and the force and grace of his personality. Indeed, he never lost it, to judge from the exultation of his team-mates (eventually seen by me on ABC TV news; anyway, who needs the Nine Network’s whimsical glimpses when there is radio?) as he reached his century.

No Australian cricket captain since Richie Benaud has come with such timeliness to his hour of destiny. The game had ground to terminal tediousness when Benaud’s Australians took on the West Indians led by Frank Worrell, their first black and greatest captain, in the 1960-61 season. The previous summer Trevor Bailey had taken seven hours to score 68, and the average daily output of runs for that notorious Test had been just over 140.

But 1960-61 transformed everything, beginning in Brisbane with the first-ever tied Test and continuing through a ding-dong contest that Australia won, only just, 2-1.

In A Tale of Two Tests Benaud tells how Don Bradman addressed the Australian team before the start of the tied Test and “told us he felt this could be a wonderful year of cricket, [that this was the season in which] cricket would come back into its own. It all depended on the players.”

At tea on the last day, with Australia needing 123 runs to win and six wickets down, Bradman asked the new captain: “What are you going for, Richie — a win or a draw?” Benaud replied: “A win, of course.” Bradman said: “I’m very pleased to hear it.”

As well he might have been. At the end of the tour at least 100,000 people turned out in Melbourne to cheer the West Indies on their way to the airport. The two captains, gentlemen and sportsmen, had collaboratively created one of Australia’s most exhilarating summers.

When Taylor became captain of the Australian XI its players had descended into the worst kind of rugby league (or soccer) oafishness. Taylor first made them likable, and then winners — causing the English to slump into hang-dog listlessness.

Now both sides gleam with character. When Taylor got his century the English captain, Mike Atherton, unobtrusively gripped his hand in friendship.

Is this Benaud and Worrell revisited? Could this be one of the great cricket seasons?

I can’t be leavin’
I can’t be leavin’
Until I shoot Jack Miller dead.

I don’t know how many Jack Millers work in Fleet Street, where gloating over Australia’s First Test loss surpassed the wildest excesses of Count Dracula on his birthday, but if I were any of them I would be ready to leave town quickly before summer’s end.