IS CRICKET BORING?

Manawatu Times, Volume 64, Issue 173, 25 July 1939, Page 10

IS CRICKET BORING?

A DEFINITE “NO!” DULLNESS IS IN WITS OF CRITICS VIEWS OF HOWARD MARSHALL “Cricket’s a bore! It’s the dullest of all sports. What’s more, it’s a stupid bore. And that goes for the imbeciles who watch it. Why do you play or watch it? What’s the point of it? Will you tell me that?” Answering these tilts at the game and its spectators, the noted English critic, Howard Marshall, said in a recent article that the dullness was not in cricket but in the wits of a man who criticises something he has not tried to understand. There’s the root of the trouble. L find Wagner’s music boring. Horribly boring. That’s because I don’t understand it. But I don’t therefore jump to the conclusion that those who enjoy it and know more about it than I do must be stupid and dull. And cricket is like music, complex and subtle, with infinite variations of pattern and beauty. What is so boring about it? The fact that it is apparently a slow game full of monotonous repetition? But where’s your hurry ? Must you always have noise and speed to whet your appetite? Like Magicians. What do you suppose those bowlers are really doing? Just trundling the ball down aimlessly? Not a bit of it. They are swerving it through the air. They are spinning it, and making it turn when it hits the turf. They are concealing their variations of spin and changing their length and pace and flight. Every ball is a challenge, a thrust at the batsman's weakness. And every batsman’s stroke is a parry, a flash of the answering blade. A good bowler, let me tell you, is something of a magician; a bowler like the great Wilfred Rhodes, who once took five Australian wickets for 94 runs out of a total of 485 on Sydney turf so burnished that even he could not spin the ball. It was subtle flight that did it. And Victor Trumper, that master Australian batsman, said piteously to him: “For mercy’s sake, Wilfred, give me a moment’s rest!” Now you would have called that enthralling duel dull. Or would you? Not if you had understood. Not if you were one of the Yorkshire crowd who watched their Hedley Verity playing cat and mouse with his opponents. What’s he doing, this slow trundler, this eternal Verity? Why don’t the batsmen clout him out of the ground? There’s an air of philosophical detachment about him as he walks back to his mark. Look at his lovely, lazy action, the arc made by his supple arm. Verity is scheming—spinning this ball a shade more—luring the batsman into a favourite drive—dropping the next ball a couple of inches shorter—plotting for the mis-hit and the inevitable catch. And the spectators know it and plot with him. Watch Bradman. Cricket, make no mistake about it, is an unrelaxing battle of wits and character. There’s enough strategical science in the placing of the field alone to keep you busily learning for a life-time. But character—there’s the point. The character which has made a small-eyed lad from Bowral world famous. Bradman, the name is. Have you ever seen Bradman’s hands and wrists? Small and delicate they are, like a woman’s. But watch them stopping a hard drive, or think of the steely strength in them as they crack a ball to the boundary. The character of Herbert Sutcliffe, as he imperiously waves aside an M.C.C. member who ventures to move behind the bowler’s arm at Lords; Sutcliffe, disdaining the body blows he receives from fast bowlers, and emphasising in every gesture his Olympian superiority. Hammond, majestic and regal, enthroned in his own sunlight kingdom, driving vigorously through the covers with that thrilling and almost savage power. Young Compton, the Middlesex 20-year-old, defying the embattled might of Australia to score a century in his first Test match. The list is endless. These are our heroes. We’ve seen them in triumph and disaster. We know them and take them to our hearts. They are the stuff of cricket. They bring to it-diversity and human drama. More Than Just Runs. Already this season a dozen county matches have produced firework finishes. And you say the game is dull! But cricket is not dependent upon runs. And beauty? Does that leave you cold? The perfection of physical coordination and movement—you admire it in the ballet—why not in the cricket field? And variety, for no two games of cricket are alike. The combinations and permutations of circumstances are endless. Weather conditions, contrasting personalities, the swing of fortune—where is there room for boredom in such a cricketer’s kaleidoscope? But you should play cricket yourself. There is your answer. Not in a county match. You must play on a village green. Against the local fast bowler. You might be scared out of your skin. You might flinf down the bat and run for your life. But you 1 would not call it dull. I warrant you.