Whatever your sport, one of the fascinating and pointless speculations is always about the great players who might have been, but never were. What I mean is that perhaps the greatest pitcher who ever lived, in terms of physique and natural ability might now be living in the Amazonian rain-forest, destined never to be discovered. In advance of the 2012 Olympics, we in Britain have recently caught onto this, and this very week an initiative has been publicised whereby individuals who’ve been so-so at a particular sport, say soccer, reaching a solid but unspectacular professional level, are put through the sports’ scientists mill to see if they should really have taken up track cycling or archery. I’ll get back to you in 2013, to evaluate the success of that one.
The ability to propel a five and a half ounce cricket ball, made of leather and cork, at over ninety miles an hour down a pitch twenty-two yards long, is reasonably rare, in terms of the number of people who actually get to do this as means of earning a living.
Let’s put a context on this. Imagine you’re the person standing there waiting for the ball to arrive with the intention of trying to hit it, or avoid it hitting you. In the near distance, maybe forty-five yards away, stands an evil-looking unshaven man armed with said ball. It’s coloured red or white, and the background has been painted in such a way that in theory the ball will stand out against it when it’s delivered towards you. The unpleasant man runs the first twenty yards, gathering momentum, and at a certain pre-agreed point lets go of the projectile in a whirl of arms and legs. Unlike in baseball, the passage of the ball will acquire additional uncertainty because the man will probably be intending to bounce it on the ground somewhere in front of you. Depending on the place it bounces it will come at you at groin height, or chest height, or alternatively it will zero in at a point right between your eyes. And until thirty years ago, no one thought to wear a helmet to do this stuff (although abdominal protectors were always advised!) At seventy miles an hour the average uninitiated person, your mother-in-law, for example, will find this un-nerving, but will have time to take avoiding action. At eighty miles an hour, reflexes have to take over, and good amateur park players of the game will have sweaty palms, and be glad to get home intact. At ninety miles an hour only the finest survive. It’s just possible that you may not actually see the ball before it hits the gloves of the man who’s supposed to stop it, standing another twenty yards or so behind you. The world record speed is one hundred miles an hour, give or take, and I shouldn’t think anyone would have wanted to be in batsman Nick Knight’s shoes facing the Pakistani Shoaib Akhtar that day. But somewhere in the Amazonian rain-forest…
Today there are mentions in the press of two English bowlers who are provenly capable of this plus-ninety mile-an-hour standard, both apparently pleasant and physically gifted young men. You’ll appreciate that with a view to their possible participation in international matches, followers of English cricket will be glad to know about their prospects for 2009.
For one of them, Simon Jones, it’s a case of yet another false dawn. Jones has good provenance, the son of a man who played for England with success, though he was Welsh through and through. Simon has played for his country too, and at times very well, notably in the grudge series against the Australian team four years ago, when he formed part of a battery of fast bowlers who the Australians, against cultural stereotypes, appeared to find rather intimidating. This was the highlight of Jones’ career, which to that point had been blighted by injury. Two years previously he had been in Australia with the English team, and had been chasing down a ball hit into the outfield by an Australian bat. One gain from baseball in recent times has been the sliding stop and throw technique, and a thrilling sight it is too, when executed perfectly. This time it went badly wrong. Simon Jones’ booted foot caught in the turf half way through the slide, and all the big man’s weight was suddenly concentrated on his leg, with disastrous results. Hence, his recovery to play with distinction after the ruptured cruciate ligament was widely hailed, additionally because he came back a more cunning and skilled bowler, able to dip the ball unpredictably and late in towards the toes of the batsman, or away from the bat such that it might catch the edge of the bat and be caught by one of the waiting fielders before it bounced (and that’s ‘out’!)
And now, despite teasers in the press suggesting he might be back to fire away at the Australians again this summer, it’s reported that in pre-season training under sunny foreign skies he’s been unable to bowl in any of his county’s five matches. Injured yet again. By all accounts he’s worked tirelessly at his fitness, but for most of the past six years, in the prime of his sporting life, he’s been unable to ply his trade. It’s a hard life, being an athlete at the highest levels. Let’s hope he has something to fall back on.
Is it inadequate method which has proved his undoing? Certainly he’s always seemed ungainly in his bowling action, as if his whole-hearted physical commitment wasn’t properly backed up by technique. But then there will have been many experts on hand to advise and correct, and maybe it is just that the stresses on the body are too great, when it comes to extracting the effort required for 90 mph. And at a lesser pace, the effectiveness won’t be there, unless it’s you or me, or mother-in-law batting. Simon Jones may play again, but not for England, I think.
However the other man, Sajid Mahmood, may yet do so. But he too, when he delivers the ball does so with an action which seems less than precise. There are some bowlers from recent history who afficionados hold in their memory as an ideal. One was an Australian, Dennis Lillee. Two others are the West Indians, Michael Holding and Andy Roberts. Their actions seemed infinitely repeatable, impeccably cadenced to release the ball with accuracy and menace. Holding was famous for the lightness of his footfall. Each time he would run into bowl maybe thirty five yards, accelerating into the bowling crease on tip-toe. I’d have loved there to have been a speed-camera to time him as he destroyed a technically inadequate England in 1976. From the wrong side of the TV screen I’ve never seen anything as quick.
By contrast with these cricket greats, Sajid has basic speed, and lots of intelligence in the way the thinks about what will unsettle batsmen, but at times no idea where the ball is going. What he does have is an agent. I’m presuming this because there he is today in most of the quality newspapers, telling us that this year it’ll be different, and old habits have been discarded. The ball will come out of his hand well and consistently. Will it? I doubt it very much. I think Sajid may occasionally have his day, but is probably destined to be the latest in a line of inconsistent, ultimately ineffective English fast bowlers.
One thing seems unresolved. What is the secret of good coaching: is it to say ‘this is the way to do it’, or is it to work on what comes naturally and accept the limitations that come with it? Just asking.
The ability to propel a five and a half ounce cricket ball, made of leather and cork, at over ninety miles an hour down a pitch twenty-two yards long, is reasonably rare, in terms of the number of people who actually get to do this as means of earning a living.
Let’s put a context on this. Imagine you’re the person standing there waiting for the ball to arrive with the intention of trying to hit it, or avoid it hitting you. In the near distance, maybe forty-five yards away, stands an evil-looking unshaven man armed with said ball. It’s coloured red or white, and the background has been painted in such a way that in theory the ball will stand out against it when it’s delivered towards you. The unpleasant man runs the first twenty yards, gathering momentum, and at a certain pre-agreed point lets go of the projectile in a whirl of arms and legs. Unlike in baseball, the passage of the ball will acquire additional uncertainty because the man will probably be intending to bounce it on the ground somewhere in front of you. Depending on the place it bounces it will come at you at groin height, or chest height, or alternatively it will zero in at a point right between your eyes. And until thirty years ago, no one thought to wear a helmet to do this stuff (although abdominal protectors were always advised!) At seventy miles an hour the average uninitiated person, your mother-in-law, for example, will find this un-nerving, but will have time to take avoiding action. At eighty miles an hour, reflexes have to take over, and good amateur park players of the game will have sweaty palms, and be glad to get home intact. At ninety miles an hour only the finest survive. It’s just possible that you may not actually see the ball before it hits the gloves of the man who’s supposed to stop it, standing another twenty yards or so behind you. The world record speed is one hundred miles an hour, give or take, and I shouldn’t think anyone would have wanted to be in batsman Nick Knight’s shoes facing the Pakistani Shoaib Akhtar that day. But somewhere in the Amazonian rain-forest…
Today there are mentions in the press of two English bowlers who are provenly capable of this plus-ninety mile-an-hour standard, both apparently pleasant and physically gifted young men. You’ll appreciate that with a view to their possible participation in international matches, followers of English cricket will be glad to know about their prospects for 2009.
For one of them, Simon Jones, it’s a case of yet another false dawn. Jones has good provenance, the son of a man who played for England with success, though he was Welsh through and through. Simon has played for his country too, and at times very well, notably in the grudge series against the Australian team four years ago, when he formed part of a battery of fast bowlers who the Australians, against cultural stereotypes, appeared to find rather intimidating. This was the highlight of Jones’ career, which to that point had been blighted by injury. Two years previously he had been in Australia with the English team, and had been chasing down a ball hit into the outfield by an Australian bat. One gain from baseball in recent times has been the sliding stop and throw technique, and a thrilling sight it is too, when executed perfectly. This time it went badly wrong. Simon Jones’ booted foot caught in the turf half way through the slide, and all the big man’s weight was suddenly concentrated on his leg, with disastrous results. Hence, his recovery to play with distinction after the ruptured cruciate ligament was widely hailed, additionally because he came back a more cunning and skilled bowler, able to dip the ball unpredictably and late in towards the toes of the batsman, or away from the bat such that it might catch the edge of the bat and be caught by one of the waiting fielders before it bounced (and that’s ‘out’!)
And now, despite teasers in the press suggesting he might be back to fire away at the Australians again this summer, it’s reported that in pre-season training under sunny foreign skies he’s been unable to bowl in any of his county’s five matches. Injured yet again. By all accounts he’s worked tirelessly at his fitness, but for most of the past six years, in the prime of his sporting life, he’s been unable to ply his trade. It’s a hard life, being an athlete at the highest levels. Let’s hope he has something to fall back on.
Is it inadequate method which has proved his undoing? Certainly he’s always seemed ungainly in his bowling action, as if his whole-hearted physical commitment wasn’t properly backed up by technique. But then there will have been many experts on hand to advise and correct, and maybe it is just that the stresses on the body are too great, when it comes to extracting the effort required for 90 mph. And at a lesser pace, the effectiveness won’t be there, unless it’s you or me, or mother-in-law batting. Simon Jones may play again, but not for England, I think.
However the other man, Sajid Mahmood, may yet do so. But he too, when he delivers the ball does so with an action which seems less than precise. There are some bowlers from recent history who afficionados hold in their memory as an ideal. One was an Australian, Dennis Lillee. Two others are the West Indians, Michael Holding and Andy Roberts. Their actions seemed infinitely repeatable, impeccably cadenced to release the ball with accuracy and menace. Holding was famous for the lightness of his footfall. Each time he would run into bowl maybe thirty five yards, accelerating into the bowling crease on tip-toe. I’d have loved there to have been a speed-camera to time him as he destroyed a technically inadequate England in 1976. From the wrong side of the TV screen I’ve never seen anything as quick.
By contrast with these cricket greats, Sajid has basic speed, and lots of intelligence in the way the thinks about what will unsettle batsmen, but at times no idea where the ball is going. What he does have is an agent. I’m presuming this because there he is today in most of the quality newspapers, telling us that this year it’ll be different, and old habits have been discarded. The ball will come out of his hand well and consistently. Will it? I doubt it very much. I think Sajid may occasionally have his day, but is probably destined to be the latest in a line of inconsistent, ultimately ineffective English fast bowlers.
One thing seems unresolved. What is the secret of good coaching: is it to say ‘this is the way to do it’, or is it to work on what comes naturally and accept the limitations that come with it? Just asking.
