A lovely chap called Jay Pink is landscaping our garden, completing a design he began a few years ago, and very beautiful it’s going to be too when he’s finished: he’s a clever man with a good eye - a cricket enthusiast as well. Looking at his shoulders and with regard to his occupation, I should think he could give the ball a fair clout.
It turns out Jay and I do the same thing on days like today when the English bowling is ineffective and wickets are hard to come by. We turn off the ball-by-ball radio commentary in the superstitious hope that in our absence a wicket will fall. Somehow it’s our continued observation which is keeping the opposition batsmen from doing the decent thing. For comparison I refer you to the problem of perception in philosophy which famously led Bishop Berkeley to find a purpose for God. If things don’t exist in the absence of anyone to watch over them – well since God is immanent over the whole of creation, he keeps it in existence by his attention. Phew, what a relief!
Jay is fortunate in that his work permits him to keep an eye on things down Cardiff way rather more effectively than mine does. Recording studios are about the most unfriendly places in that respect. Colleagues are apt to grow impatient if I lend my ears to the casually placed radio and ignore their peerless vocals and immaculate drumming. If you’re an American tourist in London one summer, be aware of the following. All those people with earpieces you see, hanging around on street corners in prominent places – they’re not secret service agents dedicated to keeping the capital safe from acts of terrorism – they’re just listening to the cricket. And if they’re sporting shades, they’re still not secret service agents, they’re just pretending to be.
As a student I remember having a Very Big Argument with the officials at the British Museum, whence I’d gone on a vac job, drawing population samples from lists of voters for the benefit of an opinion research organisation. They objected to me taking in a radio plus earpiece so that the tedium of the work could be enlivened by the day’s commentary from Old Trafford, Manchester. In the end they gave in. Clearly a young man with untidily long hair and frayed jeans couldn’t be all bad, if he wanted to listen to the cricket, and it mattered so much to him.
The idea of six or more hours of continuous broadcast commentary on a daily basis for just under a week may boggle the mind of outsiders, but it’s been a regular feature of British life for more than half a century now, and the fact that the coverage is unbroken by commercials is a miracle of public service radio which because it’s perennially under threat from an uncomprehending coalition of accountants and iconoclasts, needs publicity and protection, if you ask me. Historically ‘Test Match Special’ has also functioned as a model for ‘rolling news’ broadcasting, although I’ve never seen this acknowledged.
Since 1957 I’ve listened to ball-by-ball on countless car journeys, heard it through the mists of fever, and intercepted excerpts for surreptitious sharing between the events of family weddings. During family holidays we’ve tried in vain to pick up reception in outlying parts of France, and mourned its absence when in areas of the world where the BBC World Service is the only British broadcasting on offer. The various commentators have continued to provide a rich vein of whimsical British humour, which has proved a bond between individuals from every age and background.
The staggering thing is how they keep it going – all that talk about, well, nothing really. It’s all supremely trivial and unimportant, and yet it makes for an amiable backdrop to the summer scene, a link to an England long gone.
The play yesterday was very one-sided, both sides of the afternoon break for rain. The English bowlers looked utterly bereft of penetration or ideas, and to be honest it’s often looked that way in the past two years. They promise much, and talk a good game, but deliver only fitfully. And there was a moment late in the afternoon which should ring alarm bells amongst the English batsmen. Collingwood came on to bowl a few overs of slow off-cutters and give the front-line attack some respite. He bowled two consecutive balls at the left-hander North both of which turned out of the rough patches outside the batman’s off-stump. One bounced a lot, and the other barely at all. Both went past the wicketkeeper for four byes (runs scored when the batsman hasn’t hit the ball). The pitch is deteriorating quickly and the English have a lot of left-handers who’ll be vulnerable to Hauritz’s bowling. Watch this space, I'm afraid.
England 435 Australia 479 for 5 wickets
It turns out Jay and I do the same thing on days like today when the English bowling is ineffective and wickets are hard to come by. We turn off the ball-by-ball radio commentary in the superstitious hope that in our absence a wicket will fall. Somehow it’s our continued observation which is keeping the opposition batsmen from doing the decent thing. For comparison I refer you to the problem of perception in philosophy which famously led Bishop Berkeley to find a purpose for God. If things don’t exist in the absence of anyone to watch over them – well since God is immanent over the whole of creation, he keeps it in existence by his attention. Phew, what a relief!
Jay is fortunate in that his work permits him to keep an eye on things down Cardiff way rather more effectively than mine does. Recording studios are about the most unfriendly places in that respect. Colleagues are apt to grow impatient if I lend my ears to the casually placed radio and ignore their peerless vocals and immaculate drumming. If you’re an American tourist in London one summer, be aware of the following. All those people with earpieces you see, hanging around on street corners in prominent places – they’re not secret service agents dedicated to keeping the capital safe from acts of terrorism – they’re just listening to the cricket. And if they’re sporting shades, they’re still not secret service agents, they’re just pretending to be.
As a student I remember having a Very Big Argument with the officials at the British Museum, whence I’d gone on a vac job, drawing population samples from lists of voters for the benefit of an opinion research organisation. They objected to me taking in a radio plus earpiece so that the tedium of the work could be enlivened by the day’s commentary from Old Trafford, Manchester. In the end they gave in. Clearly a young man with untidily long hair and frayed jeans couldn’t be all bad, if he wanted to listen to the cricket, and it mattered so much to him.
The idea of six or more hours of continuous broadcast commentary on a daily basis for just under a week may boggle the mind of outsiders, but it’s been a regular feature of British life for more than half a century now, and the fact that the coverage is unbroken by commercials is a miracle of public service radio which because it’s perennially under threat from an uncomprehending coalition of accountants and iconoclasts, needs publicity and protection, if you ask me. Historically ‘Test Match Special’ has also functioned as a model for ‘rolling news’ broadcasting, although I’ve never seen this acknowledged.
Since 1957 I’ve listened to ball-by-ball on countless car journeys, heard it through the mists of fever, and intercepted excerpts for surreptitious sharing between the events of family weddings. During family holidays we’ve tried in vain to pick up reception in outlying parts of France, and mourned its absence when in areas of the world where the BBC World Service is the only British broadcasting on offer. The various commentators have continued to provide a rich vein of whimsical British humour, which has proved a bond between individuals from every age and background.
The staggering thing is how they keep it going – all that talk about, well, nothing really. It’s all supremely trivial and unimportant, and yet it makes for an amiable backdrop to the summer scene, a link to an England long gone.
The play yesterday was very one-sided, both sides of the afternoon break for rain. The English bowlers looked utterly bereft of penetration or ideas, and to be honest it’s often looked that way in the past two years. They promise much, and talk a good game, but deliver only fitfully. And there was a moment late in the afternoon which should ring alarm bells amongst the English batsmen. Collingwood came on to bowl a few overs of slow off-cutters and give the front-line attack some respite. He bowled two consecutive balls at the left-hander North both of which turned out of the rough patches outside the batman’s off-stump. One bounced a lot, and the other barely at all. Both went past the wicketkeeper for four byes (runs scored when the batsman hasn’t hit the ball). The pitch is deteriorating quickly and the English have a lot of left-handers who’ll be vulnerable to Hauritz’s bowling. Watch this space, I'm afraid.
England 435 Australia 479 for 5 wickets
