The sounds of summer

Press, 17 January 1986, Page 13

The sounds of summer

Review

Ken Strongman

Giving the lie to the weather, the television screen proves that it must be summer. It has been hard to find a bit of the day not dominated by the sound of gut on rubber, willow on leather or the soft patter of rain on plastic. In counterpoint to this, there has been a rich harmony of grunts or the screamed query of “Zat?” Behind it all there is the fine whiff of tobacco, for none of it would exist without B. and H., which could be the epitome of modern irony. Although the New Zealand interest disappeared from the tennis fairly early in the piece (in spite of Everndon clearly winning the battle of the grunts) it continued to be good to watch. To be old-fashioned for a moment, it was a relief to see a final between two players who were courteous and good-hum-oured rather than what has come to be called profes-

sional. It meant that more time was spent playing and .less on in/out disputes.

While the play was good, the commentaries were somewhat laboured. Phrases like “This is a very interesting stanza in this enthralling encounter” and “An endorsement on every part of his apparel” sound like those of someone who is more comfortable with action than with words. Thinking of the words of the game, it was decided in one of the earlier matches that to call oneself a “dozy bugger” is to merit an umpire’s warning for “verbal obscenity”—the commentator, even more wrongly, described it as “verbal abuse.” They’ll soon be chastised for harbouring evil thoughts. Viewed from a high camera, the one-day cricket internationals look like snooker being played with balls that do not often go down. It is hard to know if

this more colourful version of the game makes for good television or not. It might just be causing stress-re-lated disorders throughout the country. Even when the outcome is obvious, it is still tense. Perhaps it would be best to watch only those games in which New Zealand has no part.

In the first of the matches, the one-day game had its limit explored. There was one run from 2.4 overs before the rain asserted itself, rather challenging one’s image of Australia. The upshot was a reduction of the game to 31 overs each, later unaccountably reduced to 29. Then we were told it was possible to go right down to 15, but in the event this could not be realised since the lights at the M.C.G. had to be switched off at 10.15. It is understood that the Australian Government is consid-

ering allowing the population to stay up until 11 p.m. next year, if they are good.

The cricket commentaries are simpler than those of the tennis; at least they make use of fewer adjectives. They begin with good hands, good arm, good eye, good running, good bowl, good delivery, good stroke and good timing. They move up through valuable partnership, valuable runs, valuable over and valuable wicket to beautiful touch and beautiful play. Finally, they arrive at superb placement, a tremendous stand and magnificent form, Whatever happens, it is all so good one cannot fail to be impressed. Irrespective of the play, the cricket commentaries contained some magic moments; they always do. There was the intriguingly unfinished “You can do most things in the rain, but... ” and the graphic but unlikely “He really hit that with the kitchen sink.” Questions should be asked about the exact nature of a “Right arm fast medium member’s end,” which description appeared as a caption.

The most painful sounding exposition was “The ball

hit him right up on the splice.” However, for sheer 1 sustained consistency of metaphor, the comment-of-the-series award should go to “Coney, fishing around for the chip shot, seemed to have it all wrapped up.” The commentator couldn’t have known what he was saying, could he? So far, the most creative moments came during the ,• first game, rain tradition- / ally bringing the best out of cricket commentators. From the instant of “Just ’ one cover has gone down so far,” they were off, helped by lingering camera shots jof the crowd sheltering under suficient varieties of clothing to be worthy of hours of description. This went on until, with genuine excitement, it was announced “They’ve got the super-sopper out there in the centre.” They were home and hosed then, swapping between descriptions of the mobile blotting paper and re-analysis of the one run in 2.4 overs. Whatever happens on the field, from the commentary box cricket is a creative game. Tailpiece. Isn’t it about , time that sheep became liberated and did without ' their forage brassicas?