May 12th
This is going to sound serious. For me, part of the attraction of studying sporting history is the contemplation of what it might tell us about humanity’s potential. What could it imply for our future intellectual, moral, and spiritual development – fields where the notion of ‘improvement’ is even more disputed, philosophically and medically? We watch Usain Bolt and wonder how much faster human beings can run. Over the next, say, two hundred years is 9 seconds flat for the 100 metres even a remote possibility? And what then? Eight seconds? Seven seconds?
Why did Ralph Beamon suddenly leap right out of the long jump pit at the Mexico Olympics and set a record which would last for decades? And why, statistically speaking, is the Australian Don Bradman the best batsman the world has ever seen by a country mile?
He ended up averaging a very little under one hundred runs every time he went out to bat. No one else has ever managed to average eighty over a long career. Relatively speaking, that’s a huge difference, and leads to speculation about the nature of genius. The thing is with J.S. Bach, you can be overwhelmed by the extraordinary nature of the music he made, arguably more beautiful, complex and mathematically subtle than anyone else’s – but you can’t quantify his excellence. It’s just a notion which a lot of people accept at a feeling level. In the case of Bradman we apparently have a statistical argument for superman status.
It’s not the whole story though, is it? We have to take the quality of the opposition into account. Perhaps he faced a comparably weak series of bowling attacks. Or played on particularly benign pitches. The quantitative becomes infected with the qualitative. Actually, one doubts that either of these two factors played a major part. We know that in one highly controversial series (in Australia in 1932-33) the English formed a plan to limit his effectiveness by aiming the ball at his body with extreme velocity, in such a way that those matches became forever tainted – and caused an international incident. And the pitches were often uncovered when the weather was adverse, and so were more susceptible to damage by rain, and thus rendered unreliable.
Whatever, the memory of this great player, perhaps the most famous Australian ever, has become an albatross round the neck of the game’s other great batsmen. Every one of them is likely to be compared with him somewhere down the line, especially if they hail from the Antipodes. Bradman himself said that Sachin Tendulkar, the Indian, now in the glorious twilight of his playing career, was the player who most reminded him of himself. It seems to have been the range of shot and the placement which impressed. Brian Lara, the Trinidadian, one of the two or three players to have brought me most personal pleasure – Tendulkar never has for some reason - performed individual batting feats as stunning as Bradman’s (maybe even more so) but with far less consistency. Going further back into history, Merchant was described as the ‘Indian Bradman’, although of course I never saw him play, any more than I saw Bradman himself. And then there was the celebrated, bearded doctor, W.G.Grace, playing mostly in the nineteenth century at a time when pitches were often dire, although the bowling was certainly weaker overall.
In recent years, at the beginning of their careers, both Ricky Ponting, the current Australian skipper and Darren Lehmann were mentioned as candidates for the ‘New Bradman’ slot. Ponting became a great player of the second rank, and Lehmann was eventually merely good, judged by the highest standards.
But whisper it quietly, Philip Hughes, the New South Walesian who has come to England to play briefly for Middlesex before the Ashes series, may yet deserve consideration in respect of this title. He’s only 20, and the next year or two will tell us more. His background bears at least superficial comparison with Bradman’s, and his scoring thus far is spectacular. At present I gather his range of shot is more limited, but with confidence that may change. When Bradman first appeared, there was criticism about his allegedly rustic technique too –it just proved more effective than anyone else’s. However, the rhythm of the contemporary game, with its requirement for a batsman to continually keep adjusting the pace of his batting depending on the format of the game he’s playing in, will set the young man problems Bradman never had to contend with.
What seems fairly obvious is that, new Bradman or not, Philip Hughes will set the English bowlers a big challenge this summer. Personally I can’t wait.
This is going to sound serious. For me, part of the attraction of studying sporting history is the contemplation of what it might tell us about humanity’s potential. What could it imply for our future intellectual, moral, and spiritual development – fields where the notion of ‘improvement’ is even more disputed, philosophically and medically? We watch Usain Bolt and wonder how much faster human beings can run. Over the next, say, two hundred years is 9 seconds flat for the 100 metres even a remote possibility? And what then? Eight seconds? Seven seconds?
Why did Ralph Beamon suddenly leap right out of the long jump pit at the Mexico Olympics and set a record which would last for decades? And why, statistically speaking, is the Australian Don Bradman the best batsman the world has ever seen by a country mile?
He ended up averaging a very little under one hundred runs every time he went out to bat. No one else has ever managed to average eighty over a long career. Relatively speaking, that’s a huge difference, and leads to speculation about the nature of genius. The thing is with J.S. Bach, you can be overwhelmed by the extraordinary nature of the music he made, arguably more beautiful, complex and mathematically subtle than anyone else’s – but you can’t quantify his excellence. It’s just a notion which a lot of people accept at a feeling level. In the case of Bradman we apparently have a statistical argument for superman status.
It’s not the whole story though, is it? We have to take the quality of the opposition into account. Perhaps he faced a comparably weak series of bowling attacks. Or played on particularly benign pitches. The quantitative becomes infected with the qualitative. Actually, one doubts that either of these two factors played a major part. We know that in one highly controversial series (in Australia in 1932-33) the English formed a plan to limit his effectiveness by aiming the ball at his body with extreme velocity, in such a way that those matches became forever tainted – and caused an international incident. And the pitches were often uncovered when the weather was adverse, and so were more susceptible to damage by rain, and thus rendered unreliable.
Whatever, the memory of this great player, perhaps the most famous Australian ever, has become an albatross round the neck of the game’s other great batsmen. Every one of them is likely to be compared with him somewhere down the line, especially if they hail from the Antipodes. Bradman himself said that Sachin Tendulkar, the Indian, now in the glorious twilight of his playing career, was the player who most reminded him of himself. It seems to have been the range of shot and the placement which impressed. Brian Lara, the Trinidadian, one of the two or three players to have brought me most personal pleasure – Tendulkar never has for some reason - performed individual batting feats as stunning as Bradman’s (maybe even more so) but with far less consistency. Going further back into history, Merchant was described as the ‘Indian Bradman’, although of course I never saw him play, any more than I saw Bradman himself. And then there was the celebrated, bearded doctor, W.G.Grace, playing mostly in the nineteenth century at a time when pitches were often dire, although the bowling was certainly weaker overall.
In recent years, at the beginning of their careers, both Ricky Ponting, the current Australian skipper and Darren Lehmann were mentioned as candidates for the ‘New Bradman’ slot. Ponting became a great player of the second rank, and Lehmann was eventually merely good, judged by the highest standards.
But whisper it quietly, Philip Hughes, the New South Walesian who has come to England to play briefly for Middlesex before the Ashes series, may yet deserve consideration in respect of this title. He’s only 20, and the next year or two will tell us more. His background bears at least superficial comparison with Bradman’s, and his scoring thus far is spectacular. At present I gather his range of shot is more limited, but with confidence that may change. When Bradman first appeared, there was criticism about his allegedly rustic technique too –it just proved more effective than anyone else’s. However, the rhythm of the contemporary game, with its requirement for a batsman to continually keep adjusting the pace of his batting depending on the format of the game he’s playing in, will set the young man problems Bradman never had to contend with.
What seems fairly obvious is that, new Bradman or not, Philip Hughes will set the English bowlers a big challenge this summer. Personally I can’t wait.
