I never thought it would happen but the cricket world cup is finally over; and it seemed only fitting that this bloated affair, stained with the tragedy of Bob Woolmer’s murder at the start, meandered to an incompetent and farcical end when the three umpires and match referee did not know the rules of the tournament. Classic. In any other organisation heads would roll; in cricket they will all say that lessons have to be learned as they sit firmly on the gravy train.
It was a tournament styled specifically for television – what big sporting occasion isn’t these days – which shot itself in the foot because TV wants to see packed stands and apart from the last few games all you saw in the West Indies was empty seats.
Watching the final brought home to me what a difficult job sports commentary is and how so very few of the mostly ex-players who do it these days fail to match up to the people they are following.
Of course distance lends attachment but none of those in the West Indies with the possible exception of Tony Cozier (not an ex-player) and Ian Smith were worth listening to. Where was Jeremy Coney one of the few ex-players worth his pay?
I’m sure they all try hard but they really need to be locked in a darkened room with endless tapes of Richie Benaud and John Arlott and not allowed out until they realise that talking all the time is not the way to do it. Let the pictures speak for themselves. I appreciate that they may never have the journalistic skill of Benaud or the genuis with words of Arlott – will the phrase “and yet another example of Man’s inhumanity to Man” after Tuffy Mann bowled George Mann at Lord’s ever be bettered?
But they could try. When Channel 4 took over cricket and I first heard Mark Nicholas I was so concerned I emailed them and asked that Nicholas be sat down next to Benaud and follow his example.
But he didn’t. Thus on Saturday we have a shot of people dancing in the crowd – “and there’s a party in the stand”. Then we are told, again, that the two close fielders are at slip and silly mid-on and we pan away to see those two fielders in position. Why not tell us that there are three stumps at each end and both have a set of bails on top (that’s two bails each end, you understand) and that the wicketkeeper is the one with the pads on who hasn’t got a bat; and the bat’s that funny shaped thing they use to hit the ball with and so on.
Nicholas has a good voice but he talks too much, far too much.
Talking of funny-shaped wooden things called bats one of the commentators, I think it was Damien Fleming (not bad but for a bit too much Aussie cheerleading), said after watching Gilchrist or Hayden mis-hit the ball for six that someone ought to dissect those bats to see if they conform to the rules. Not a bad idea, that.
Incidentally, while on the subject of sports commentators I actually heard one of them say last weekend, “he has a great future ahead of him.” As against a great future behind him?
That was a football commentator but then he was sitting next to Chris Kamara who has to be the most aggravating summariser of all-time perhaps he can be forgiven!
It’s obvious that as you grow older your heroes die, but it doesn’t make it any less painful. For a sports fan, especially a cricket fan, it’s been particularly hard lately. First Les Jackson the great Derbyshire fast bowler passed away and this week it was the turn of Arthur Milton.
I didn’t know Les Jackson, just saw him a couple of times and wondered like everyone else why he didn’t play more often for England, although he played in an era of great English fast bowlers.
But I did know Arthur Milton, the last man to be capped for England at both cricket and football. I covered Gloucestershire for the Western Daily Press and Press Association in 1968, Arthur’s one and only season as Gloucestershire captain. He couldn’t have been kinder to a young tyro willing to foist his opinions about cricket on all and sundry.
Arthur spent 26 years at Gloucestershire and listening to him was an education you couldn’t pay for. He retired and became a postman.
I asked him once to write his autobiography, but he wouldn’t. “My memories are my own,” he said. He had changed his mind but sadly died before the project could be completed with another publisher.
Then there was Alan Ball. At least Les Jackson was 86 and Arthur Milton 79. But Alan Ball was only 61. If ever a man loved the game of football it was Ball, and what an appropriate name for a man who played 976 competitive matches in a playing career that lasted 21 years.
Since I wrote this on April 27 cricket lost another of that generation. Tom Cartwright, master bowler and coach, died on April 30. He was 71. Cartwright achieved fame outside the cricket worldwhen he refused to tour South Africa in 1968-69, which resulted in Basil D’Oliveira being picked and the tour cancelled. He also refused a coaching job in what was then Rhodesia and he refused to play for Somerset – having by then left Warwickshire where he spent most of his playing career – against the 1970 South Africans. A rare cricketer and a rare man.
I wish I could be like Chris Hilton, co-author of our “Memories of George Best” which will be published in November on the second anniversary of his death. Chris doesn’t read reviews so he won’t get too elated by good ones or depressed by bad ones.
I read them all; fulminating against those who don’t like a book and praising to the heavens those who do.
Actually I defend the right of any reviewer to say what he or she likes. I may not like it but I was too long a journalist to expect praise every time. What I do expect (and it doesn’t happen often) is to be told of the review and get sent a copy.
For instance there is one magazine which routinely gave our books bad reviews. Kept asking for more but never sending a copy of the review. Every issue they produced was shrink-wrapped so I couldn’t see even if the review was in. And I certainly wasn’t going to buy one if a) it wasn’t in or b) was a bad review.
When eventually they sent me several copies I could tell why they were reluctant. The bunch of students who the reviews editor (a freelance) had cobbled together because they were cheap didn’t like any of our books or any others unless it seemed they had lots of cartoons in them. One review said (and I paraphrase because I didn’t keep a copy) “to borrow from Dorothy Parker this is not a book to be tossed aside lightly, it should be thrown with great force.”
Very funny. I made a note of the reviewer’s name and I hope that when he leaves the fifth form and tries to get a job in journalism I’ll know the person interviewing him.
Which brings me to the point of this. Last week in the Guardian Frank Keating, writing about the forthcoming London Marathon, quoted from “Running on Empty” and said it was: “a dashing, not to say breathless, collection of essays in which monomaniac marathon vet and enviable wordsmith Andy Blackford touchingly sends up his obsession with rare and appealing wit”
Frank, of course, is a distinguished journalist of long-standing, unlike the youngster who stole from Dorothy Parker.
Just returned from the annual London Bookfair and while I’m as tired as always (all that talking!) I haven’t got much to complain about the venue – for a change.
In my time the fair was always held at Olympia and then last year switched to the wastelands of Excel in the docklands, no facilities really other than what the venue provided. The booktrade shared the venue with a beauticians show – bizarre.
In both venues the aisles were narrow and the attendees with those little carts in which they carry their papers etc. (most it seemed wheeled by people from the far east) were lethal. I’d had many bruised ankles (well, only two ankles but bruised many times) so I decided this year to get my own little bag on wheels. It would save on my increasingly sagging shoulders and give me the chance to get my own back.
But the venue was switched to Earls Court and the aisles were wide which meant you could pass in comfort. Mind you I did get one or two. It seems that if you have a little trolley you feel invulnerable. Not so.
The catering (very important) was so much better as well. The Earls Court area has lots of places to eat and drink and the venue matched that. I hope we are there permanently. I suspect we will be because there was such unrest among exhibitors last year when the London Bookfair said they would return to Excel that the Frankfurt Bookfair suggested holding a London show at Earls Court in the spring. The London Bookfair changed its mind and I suspect I’m not the only grateful publisher.
I had to miss the parties on the Tuesday might to go to the Cricket Society’s Book of the Year award for our Local Heroes, John Shawcroft’s wonderfully evocative account of the Derbyshire County Championship winning team of 1936, was on a shortlist of five.
I went with Dan Hiscock of Eye Books and we had a great night in a fabulous building, the Royal Overseas League in St James. The reception was held in the Rutland Room which overlooked Green Park. Dan and I meant to leave at 9.15 but we were still there at midnight talking cricket.
The judges’ chairman Eric Midwinter said some lovely things about the book, which I quote: “This book, replete with socio-economic context, lovingly relates the tale of Derbyshire’s 1936 championship team, and, as a contender, came up on the rails sharply at the finish
“We thought this book the most devotedly accomplished of the year, in a competition that forever has an acute eye for a proper sentiment and passion about cricket
“John Shawcross’s book emerged during the judges’ final discussions as a particularly strong contender because of the author’s passion and the book’s quality. It is comprehensive and structurally sound with excellent scene setting chapters and effective tying-up of loose ends after the team’s peak in 1936. Meticulously researched, the book is much more than a blow by blow account with an appeal that goes well beyond county loyalties. The story is meticulously researched and lovingly told, strong on the social and economic context of county cricket in the 1930s and before, and on related themes such as mining.”
When he said this I thought we might win, but I should have known better because Stephen Chalke of Fairfield Books whose book on Ken Taylor “Drawn to Sport” was also shortlisted, told me beforehand that neither of us had. It would be “Cricket’s Burning Passion, Ivo Bligh and the story of the Ashes”, by Scyld Berry and Rupert Peploe which was published by Methuen. “I’ve won the award before,” he said. “And I can tell by the way they greet you at the reception.”
He was right. At the ceremony, when we publishers were sat on the dais (only one author, Ken Taylor, was present) the man from Methuen whispered that he thought Stephen Chalke would win. It will be your book I said, trust me I have inside knowledge!
As a friend said, it’s the nomination that counts, not the winning. I’m not sure he’s right but it was a privilege being on the shortlist. The Cricket Society’s members nominate books they think should win the award; it’s not a case of publishers nominating their own. As I said in my little speech I’ve got three cricket books coming out next year so perhaps I would be back. And who knows? The World Cup might have finished by then.
For what it’s worth I would have given the award to “Drawn to Sport”. Ken was a cricketer with Yorkshire and England and a footballer with Huddersfield Town and while he was playing he was a pupil at the Slade. I asked him if he was ribbed in the dressing room – after all footballers painting. But he said not. The paintings are wonderful. The one of Brian Close smoking as he waited to bat is worth the £20 cost of the book alone. I didn’t actually buy it, Stephen gave me a copy. He really is remarkably generous. He’s a rival publisher but a couple of years ago he told his mailing list about our Colin Blythe book “Lament for a Legend”. I’m not sure I would have been that generous, but I hope I will be in future.
We are not fond of one-day cricket at SportsBooks. We prefer the old fashioned sort – whites on a summer’s day; a game that takes so long you can fall asleep, wake up and immediately pick up the thread (a bit like Coronation Street in that respect).
That’s why we like biogs of dead cricketers. We’ve got one by Keith Booth of George Lohmann, the great Surrey all-rounder who died in 1901, coming out next month and in July we are publishing Rajender Amarnath’s biography of his father Lala, the first Indian to score a Test century.
But last night’s game between England and Sri Lanka was pretty good. Very tense and if the pyjama game will never take over from the proper game it was still worth watching. Mind you the proper game is getting a little like one-day cricket. Four an over. Who ever heard of such a thing? And if a Test match lasts five days nowadays it’s a rarity.
One thing struck me about last night’s game and that is the suspect action of Malinga, the Sri Lankan fast bowler. He has a very low action and is nicknamed “Malinga the slinger” but when I saw him side on at Edgbaston last year he looked legal. Last night side on his arm was crooked and he was undoubtedly throwing the ball on occasion.
We all know the controversey about Muttiah Muralitharan. I’m sure he throws the ball. He may very well not be able to straighten his elbow but for certain balls it bends a lot more. It will be a sad day when, for it seems certain, that he takes over from Shane Warne as cricket’s leading Test wicket taker. Now Si Lanka have another chucker.
It seems umpires are too cowed by the sub-continent cabal on the ICC these days to be bold enough to do their jobs properly. Looked what happened to Darrell Hair when he dared take on the Pakistanis.
The saddest thing about watching the World Cup is not the interminable mismatches between the Test playing nations and the minnows (Ireland v Pakistan apart and I suspect we haven’t heard the last of that match) but the lack of spectators. Apparently to watch a match in Guyana costs the equivalent of a month’s wages ($100 USD) for a local. That and the fact that booking has to be in advance has led to many empty seats and a lack of atmosphere. The TV companies who have shelled out for rights must be fuming at the naked terraces.
Most of us dream of playing for England and scoring a goal at Wembley – I’ve come to terms that at the age of 62 I will never play for the England under 21 team even as an over-age player but you never know I might be called on one day for the senior team; I could certainly sit in midfield and let Gerrard and Lampard bomb on for all they were worth. Sit being the appropriate word.
But one reporter had the next best thing the other day. Mervyn Collins the sports editor of the Evesham Journal which is just up the road from us, had to take over the linesman’s flag when the referee was taken ill at a match on which he was reporting.
The 49-year-old was at Bishops Cleeve watching Evesham United’s Southern League Division One Midlands clash.
He said: “There was a lot of activity in the tunnel but no announcement was made for someone to take over although there were lots of glances in my direction from people who know that I am a referee. Anyway I gave my notebook and laptop to a friend and offered my services that were gratefully accepted.”
Actually I could have done that because I qualified as a referee back in the 1950s – I received my certificate from Stanley Rous, a famous referee who became secretary of the Football Association and later secretary at FIFA. Actually I couldn’t have done that because the laws have changed so much since those days. Goalkeepers were allowed to run round bouncing the ball and players were allowed to tackle. I also doubt I could run up and down the line more than three times
You can see the full story of Mervyn and his adventure at http://www.holdthefrontpage.co.uk/news/2007/04apr/070405ref.shtml
We haven’t yet published a book concerned with cycling but after Britain’s seven gold medals at the World Track Cycling championships in Mallorca we very well might.
Cycling is currently Britain’s most successful sport and while I can’t see British athletes getting many medals, if any, at next year’s Beijing Olympics the cyclists should give us something to shout about.
We do have two Olympic books coming out this autumn. In September we have Stan Greenberg’s Olympic Almanack – the seventh version of this book. Stan, who many of you will know, if you are bothering to read this, was the BBC TV athletics statistics man for years.
He first produced the book for the 1984 Olympics for Guinness and added three more before Whitaker’s took it over. They published two versions and now SportsBooks has taken up the baton. We think it’s the best Olympic book of its type.
A month later we have Bob Phillips’ book on the 1948 Olympics, a book full of fascinating untold stories of when London rescued the games three years after World War II.
There’s cycling in both books. Stan gives all the stats while Bob, who was a summariser for BBC Radio’s athletics team, talked to double cycling medallist Tommy Godwin.
I have a lot of admiration for The Observer newspaper, especially the magazines they publish. The food magazine is the best of its type in England while the sports magazine (OSM) is the sort I nearly published in the early ’90s only for the publishers for which I worked to decide it was not an economic proposition.
It treats sport with the correct level of seriousness; not too much and not too little. None of the shrillness of the tabloids but without being too po-faced.
So you can imagine my disappointment that the magazine has yet to review any of our books. I would have thought that our little publishing house produced just the sort of books on just the sort of subjects that the OSM would like.
But no. Although they have a big review section each month they tend to stick with the big boys. This is based purely on memory, not on research. But I can’t remember them ever reviewing any books from small publishers, ironically, until this week when they reviewed books from Souvenir Press and Morienval Press. Perhaps there’s hope for us yet!
It’s not often I find myself agreeing with Sir Alex Ferguson. I’ve met many of his type in football and while once I had to deal with them I’m thankful that these days I don’t.
Yet on Saturday I found myself nodding when the Manchester United manager blamed a media driven climate of “mocking” TV shows for the reaction to Steve McClaren during the 3-0 win over Andorra.
Ferguson has blamed reality television shows such as “Dancing on Ice”, “The X Factor”, “Pop Idol” and “Strictly Coming Dancing” for exacerbating Steve McClaren’s plight.
According to the Guardian a BBC spokesman said: “We vehemently refute any allegation that any BBC TV show bullies or humiliates contestants in any way. In Strictly Come Dancing, professional dancers and willing celebrities take part, raising millions for charity. The four expert judges may sometimes criticise and comment on their performances but never in a bullying or demeaning way.”
The spokesman did not mention “The Weakest Link” and while Anne Robinson may bully the contestants tongue in cheek they are still humiliated. And now there is even an advertisement for popcorn in which the father forgets the DVD and his small son throws popcorn in his face.
Still doesn’t make McClaren a good England manager but I do find I have some sympathy for him.
