THE LINDRUM OF CRICKET

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1081, 19 September 1930, Page 7

THE LINDRUM OF CRICKET

FROM the pen of Neville Card us, the finest writer on cricket in all England, conies a noble tribute to Don Bradman, and a masterly analysis of the technique of the greatest match winner in Test cricket the game lias known. In an article in the “Manchester Guardian,” from which the following extracts are made, Card us takes as his text Bradman’s record score of 33-1 runs in the third Test at Leeds. i The power of genius in cricket is not to be measured by the scoreboard, and not even by the clock (writes Mr. Carclus). A Trumper, a Spooner, will reveal art and energy in yne or two personal strokes or by some all-pervading yet indefinable poise and flavour. At Leeds Bradman announced his right to mastership in a few swift moments. He made 72 runs during his first hour at the wicket, giving to us every Ifit of cricket excepting the leg glance.

cricket—who has ever heard of a young man so gifted and yet one who never indulged an extravagant hit high into the air? Until a year or two ago Bradman had seen little or no first-class cricket. Vet here is he today, bringing to youth's natural relish for lusty play with a cricket bat a technical polish and discretion worthy of a Tom Hayward. A mishit by Bradman—when he is dashing along at 50 runs an hour—surprises us even as a mishit by Hayward did when he was in liis most academic vein. How came this Bradman to expel from him ail the greenness and impetuosity of youth while retaining the strength and alacrity of youth? How did he come to acquire, without experience, all the ripeness of the orthodox —the range and adaptability of other men’s ac-

The genius of this remarkable boy consists in the complete summary hegives us of the technique of batsmanship. In every art or vocation there appears from time to time an incredible exponent who in himself sums up aT the skill and experience that have gone before him. It is not true that Bradman has inaugurated a new era in batsmanship; he is substantially orthodox in technique. Nearly all his strokes at Leeds could very well have been used as illustrations to C. B. .Tory’s thoroughly scientific and pragmatic book on batsmanship.

But Bradman shows us excellences which in the past we have had to seek in different players; nobody else has achieved Bradman’s synthesis. :t is. of course, a synthesis which owes much to the fact that Bradman stays at the wicket longer than most of the brilliant stroke players o'f old ever dream d of staying. Perhaps he is mark* 3 off from the greatest of his predec ssors not so much by technique as by temperament. It is hard to be’ieve in the possibility of a more masterful stroke player than Trumper was, or Hobbs in his heyday. But when Trmuper and Hobbs were great batsmen it was customary for cricketers to try to get out when their scores went beyond, say. 150. How- many times has Hobbs thrown his wicket away after reaching his century?

Bradman brings to an extensive technique the modern outlook on cricket; a hundred runs is nothing to him; he conceives his innings in terms which go far beyond Trumper’s or Macartney’s most avaricious dreams. He lias demonstrated that a batsman can hit forty-two boundaries in a day without once giving the outfielders hope of a catch: he has kindled grand bon-fires of batsmanship for us. But never once has he burned his own fingers while lighting them. The really astonishing fact about Bradman is that a boy should play as he does —with the sophistication of an old hand and brain. Who has ever before heard of a young man, gifted with quick feet and eyes, with mercurial spirits and all the rapid and powerful strokes of^

English Critic Pays Tribute to Don Bradman “Youth With an Old Hand and Brain ”

cumulated years of practice in .the best schools of batsmanship? The cricket of Trumper at the age of 21 could not be accounted for. but x we were content to accept it in terms 3 • of spontaneous genius. Besides, there was always the rapture and insecuritv of the young man in Trumper. But I while we can account for Bradman’s j batting by reason of its science and orthodoxy we are unable quite to ac--3 cept it —it is too old for Bradman’s L years and slight experience! The 3 genius who thrills us is always unique > but seldom abnormal. If Bradman [ develops his skill still further—and at his age he ought to have whole worlds 1 to conquer yet—he will in the end find . himself regarded not so much a master . batsman, but as a phenomenon of . cricket. I As I Bflv. the remarkable fact about

Bradman’s batsmanship is its steady observance of the unities. At Leeds he was credited with the invention of a new kind of hook. Hut there was no scope at Leeds for any sort of hook, ancient or modern. The ball never rose stump high on the first day; how can any batsman hook a ball that does not rise at a sharp angle from the ground? I have never yet seen Bradman perform the hook stroke, but 1 have seen him pull often enough. The pull, indeed, is one of his most efficient hits; it is timed to perfection, and the sound of it is as sweet as a nut. But it is not correct to think Bradman does not drive in front of the wicket. At Leeds more than half of his fortysix fours were drives in front of the wicket. His drive and cut. indeed, were much more frequently to be seen thim his pull and leg hit. The secret of his stroke-power lies in his ability to move quickly backwards or forwards, making the length short or overpitched. The area of the wicket wherein a ball can be pitched that is good length to Bradman is considerably narrower than that which is defended by all our county batsmen, Woolley excepted. He judges the direction of the attack rapidly; never is he to be seen lunging forward, stretched speculatively out; never does he fall into that “two-minded” state which compels a batsman to make “A-shaped bridges down the wicket feeling awry in the air for the ball.” to quote C. B. Fry. Bradman plays back or else goes the whole way of the forcing stroke on punitive decisive feet. When he is as a last resort compelled to play forward, he actually goes back on his wicket to do so, and his legs are behind the bat, and his eyes are on the ball. So strong is his back play, and so quick his eyes and feet, that it is fatal to bowl a short length at him. He has all the qualities of batsmanship: footwork, wrists, economy of power, the great strokes of the game, each thoroughly under control. What, then, is the matter with him that we hesitate to call him a master of style, an artist who delights us, and not only a craftsman we are bound to admire without reserve? Is it that he is too mechanically faultless for sport’s sake? A number of Bradmans would quickly put an end to the glorious uncertainty of cricket. A number of Macartneys would inspire the game to hazardous heights more exhilarating than ever. But this is a strain of criticism that is comically churlish. Here have we been for years praying for a return of batsmanship to its old versatility and aggression; we have been desperate for the quick scorer who could hit fours i without causing the game to lapse into the indiscriminate clouting of the village green. In short, we have been crying out for batsmanship that would combine technique and energy in proportion. And now that a Bradman has come to .us, capable of 300 runs in a single day of a Test match, some of us are calling him a Lindrum of cricket! It is a hard world to please. Perhaps Bradman, by making a ’’duck” in the Manchester Test match, will oblige those of his critics who believe with Lord Bacon that there should always be some strangeness, something unexpected. ming’ed with art and beauty.