There’s an ancient and annoying cricket adage which maintains that ‘dropped catches lose matches’. It’s annoying because of course it’s true, and because inept coaches, captains and commentators have a habit of trotting it out when a team or individual is feeling at their lowest.
There’s nothing quite so intoxicating for a cricketer as taking a blinding catch (or so I imagine: it hasn’t very often happened to me). And nothing quite so misery-inducing as dropping a dolly (= very simple catch. Don’t ask me why. But there’s a good book by the pundit Simon Hughes which will tell you! ) As if one wasn’t upset enough on one’s own behalf, there are the accusing stares and muttered resentments of former team-mates to deal with.
In 20/20’s over the past couple of days there have been outstanding instances of both, which have proved the rule by being exceptions. In the Sri Lanka v. Australia match the Australians posted a good but not completely formidable total of 160, which the Sri Lankans reached reasonably comfortably, thus knocking the much-vaunted Aussies out of the tournament at the first hurdle, because the Australians had also previously lost to the West Indies in this qualifying round for the ‘Super Eights’.
Just into the Sri Lankan innings, their opening bat Sanath Jayasuriya absolutely nailed a pull shot from a short ball by Brett Lee, the likeable, express Australian bowler. It went hard and flat, one of those shots which at no point seem to rise much above ten or twelve feet from the ground. About half a second later, out on the distant boundary, David Warner leapt to pull the ball down, and although it knocked him from his feet by sheer velocity he managed to keep clear of the boundary rope. Poor Jayasuriya left the field looking over his shoulder at the TV screens which were now looping the moment of the catch and Warner’s subsequent elation, shaking his head, unable to believe he’d seen what had just occurred. It was as good a catch as you’re ever likely to witness, but Australia lost nonetheless.
Then, in a match the English had to win against Pakistan to keep their interest in the tournament alive, Bopara made an utter mess of a chance given by one of the middle-order Pakistan batsmen. In fact England had more or less won the game by then, so it didn’t matter greatly, but every club cricketer will have been familiar with the gamut of reactions Bopara went through to justify the miss. For the Oval’s lights, which he claimed had temporarily blinded him, read the sun which, honestly skip, was right in my eyes at the crucial moment. Well, Ravi, it may be so, but what we TV watchers saw was the ball looping off the outside edge of the bat at the most leisurely rate straight into – and out of – your hands.
Actually, and here’s another cliché from Old Possum’s Book of Cricketing Saws, there’s no such thing as an easy catch. Sometimes the catches which come to you without time for reflection are rather easier to cling onto than ones you’ve much time to think about. The one dropped catch – from many – which made me look most stupid hung in the air just in front of the batsmen, seemingly for minutes. All I had to do was to run forward and pouch the ball. In fact, the false stroke had imparted so much spin that when my rather small hands made contact with the leather, I had no chance of holding on. Well, at least, that’s my story. Worst of all are sky-high steeplers, which have fielders running this way and that for the honour of claiming the victim, but which are subject to the vagaries of the wind. Just when you’re convinced you’ve got it covered, the wretched ball drifts away from you. You sprawl to make it look like you’ve tried, but actually it was always Ball 1 Fieldsman Nil.
At least if you’re standing in the slips (back to Simon Hughes again if you want to know – but geographically they’re the field placings next to the wicketkeeper and to his right, if it’s a right-hand batsman) the ball may come fast off the edge of the defeated bat - very fast indeed, if it’s a quick bowler and the batsman has gone hard at the ball. Get it wrong and you’ll probably break a finger, so other members of the team may feel obliged towards some sympathy. Hold on and you can be a hero, just for the good fortune of being in the right place at the right time. One tip. It helps if you keep your eyes open.
The 20/20 World Cup is beginning to envelop me in its ghastly grip. Apart from the exit of the Australians which will keep them duly humble, and to everyone’s amusement has secured them a couple of weeks time off in Leicester ( a local Leicester tourist board person recommended the town on BBC Radio 5 with the claims that it was only five hours from Paris, and was the birthplace of ‘The Elephant Man’), Ireland has made it through to the next stage by virtue of a win over a struggling Bangladeshi side. And a number of games have been very tight: even the ‘dead’ game between South Africa and New Zealand last evening came down to the last ball.
But, and I don’t know by now whether this will gladden your heart or not, O American People, it’s beginning to look more and more like baseball. For one thing the full pitch (the ball that doesn’t bounce before it gets to the batter) has always been deemed a bad ball in cricket – too easy to hit. But in 20/20 it becomes a weapon. Johan Botha, the South African spinner bowled four in one over of six balls yesterday evening without undue punishment. And Malinga the Sri Lankan paceman has proved that if you can successfully aim at the top of the stumps, a full toss can be devastating, particularly at his pace and with his slingy trajectory.
In cricket however, ordinary fielders wear nothing on their hands when they try to catch the ball. They are, in other words, real men. And women. And please God, for entertainment’s sake, it shall always be that way.
Then, in a match the English had to win against Pakistan to keep their interest in the tournament alive, Bopara made an utter mess of a chance given by one of the middle-order Pakistan batsmen. In fact England had more or less won the game by then, so it didn’t matter greatly, but every club cricketer will have been familiar with the gamut of reactions Bopara went through to justify the miss. For the Oval’s lights, which he claimed had temporarily blinded him, read the sun which, honestly skip, was right in my eyes at the crucial moment. Well, Ravi, it may be so, but what we TV watchers saw was the ball looping off the outside edge of the bat at the most leisurely rate straight into – and out of – your hands.
Actually, and here’s another cliché from Old Possum’s Book of Cricketing Saws, there’s no such thing as an easy catch. Sometimes the catches which come to you without time for reflection are rather easier to cling onto than ones you’ve much time to think about. The one dropped catch – from many – which made me look most stupid hung in the air just in front of the batsmen, seemingly for minutes. All I had to do was to run forward and pouch the ball. In fact, the false stroke had imparted so much spin that when my rather small hands made contact with the leather, I had no chance of holding on. Well, at least, that’s my story. Worst of all are sky-high steeplers, which have fielders running this way and that for the honour of claiming the victim, but which are subject to the vagaries of the wind. Just when you’re convinced you’ve got it covered, the wretched ball drifts away from you. You sprawl to make it look like you’ve tried, but actually it was always Ball 1 Fieldsman Nil.
At least if you’re standing in the slips (back to Simon Hughes again if you want to know – but geographically they’re the field placings next to the wicketkeeper and to his right, if it’s a right-hand batsman) the ball may come fast off the edge of the defeated bat - very fast indeed, if it’s a quick bowler and the batsman has gone hard at the ball. Get it wrong and you’ll probably break a finger, so other members of the team may feel obliged towards some sympathy. Hold on and you can be a hero, just for the good fortune of being in the right place at the right time. One tip. It helps if you keep your eyes open.
The 20/20 World Cup is beginning to envelop me in its ghastly grip. Apart from the exit of the Australians which will keep them duly humble, and to everyone’s amusement has secured them a couple of weeks time off in Leicester ( a local Leicester tourist board person recommended the town on BBC Radio 5 with the claims that it was only five hours from Paris, and was the birthplace of ‘The Elephant Man’), Ireland has made it through to the next stage by virtue of a win over a struggling Bangladeshi side. And a number of games have been very tight: even the ‘dead’ game between South Africa and New Zealand last evening came down to the last ball.
But, and I don’t know by now whether this will gladden your heart or not, O American People, it’s beginning to look more and more like baseball. For one thing the full pitch (the ball that doesn’t bounce before it gets to the batter) has always been deemed a bad ball in cricket – too easy to hit. But in 20/20 it becomes a weapon. Johan Botha, the South African spinner bowled four in one over of six balls yesterday evening without undue punishment. And Malinga the Sri Lankan paceman has proved that if you can successfully aim at the top of the stumps, a full toss can be devastating, particularly at his pace and with his slingy trajectory.
In cricket however, ordinary fielders wear nothing on their hands when they try to catch the ball. They are, in other words, real men. And women. And please God, for entertainment’s sake, it shall always be that way.
