Read The Shorter Wisden 2013 Online
Authors: John Wisden,Co
From
Wisden 1934
: The MCC team in Australasia
Suffice it to say here that a method of bowling was evolved – mainly with the idea of curbing the scoring propensities of Bradman – which met with almost
general condemnation among Australian cricketers and spectators and which, when something of the real truth was ultimately known in this country, caused people at home – many of them
famous in the game – to wonder if the winning of the rubber was, after all, worth this strife.
1963: The Gillette Cup is launched
Like sex (according to Philip Larkin, at least) one-day cricket, in the manner in which we now know it, began in 1963. The year before, a pilot competition – the four-team
Midlands Knock-Out Cup – had attracted some attention, but now all the counties were involved. In a 65-over-a-side knockout format (just imagine: 130 overs a day) was born the
great-great-grandfather of all the World Cups, Premier Leagues and Big Bashes we see today.
So too, simultaneously, came the notion that county cricket could attract sponsorship. The story has it that those from Gillette charged with negotiating a deal arrived at their meeting at
Lord’s with a substantial figure in mind, and departed having apparently financed the competition from the petty-cash box. But it was a beginning. Crowds flocked to the matches, ponderous
though the first format was, and the Lord’s final was established as the county game’s day out. Such success spawned new competitions: the Gillette (still the name many think of when
speaking of county one-day cricket) was reduced to 60 overs a side; then came the 40-over John Player League, the 55-over Benson and Hedges Cup, and finally Twenty20. The genie was out of the
bottle. M
IKE
S
ELVEY
From
Wisden 1964: The Knock-Out Cup
The new Knock-Out competition aroused enormous interest. Very large crowds, especially in the later rounds, flocked to the matches and 25,000 spectators watched the final
at Lord’s, where Sussex narrowly defeated Worcestershire by 14 runs in a thoroughly exciting match. It says much for the type of cricket that tremendous feeling was stirred up among the
spectators as well as the cricketers, with numerous ties being decided in the closest fashion. At Lord’s, supporters wore favours, and banners were also in evidence, the whole scene
resembling an Association Football Cup Final more than the game of cricket, and many thousands invaded the pitch at the finish to cheer Dexter, the Sussex captain, as he received the Gillette
Trophy from the MCC President, Lord Nugent.
There were two points which invite criticism. Firstly, the majority of counties were loath to include even one slow bowler in their sides and relied mainly on pace; and secondly the
placing of the entire field around the boundary to prevent rapid scoring – Dexter used this tactic in the final – became fairly common. The success of the spinners at Lord’s
may have exploded the first theory.
There is no doubt that, provided the competition is conducted wisely, it will attract great support in the future and benefit the game accordingly.
1968: The D’Oliveira Affair exposes apartheid
The story of Basil D’Oliveira is one of the most romantic in the history of sport. A non-white man is prevented by apartheid from displaying his exceptional cricketing
talents in his native South Africa. So he travels to Britain, where he endures a period of misery and loneliness before his genius is fully recognised and he is selected to play for England.
This part of the story is a fairytale come true. But D’Oliveira’s selection for England was more than a dream: it was also a political statement, because it smashed the apartheid
myth about the superiority of the white race. Elements of the British cricketing establishment were sympathetic to the apartheid regime, and he was initially omitted by MCC’s selectors from
the tour party for South Africa in 1968-69, despite having made 158 against Australia in the final Test of the summer. But when seamer Tom Cartwright pulled out of the trip, D’Oliveira was
chosen to replace him. South Africa cancelled the tour.
The consequences of the international row that followed were enormous. Large sections of the British public were educated about the brutality and ugliness of racism. South African sporting links
with England were broken off. The isolation of the apartheid regime deepened. Through it all, D’Oliveira maintained his integrity, and displayed a palpable decency in a crisis that
transcended sport and helped bring an unspeakably evil social system to an end. P
ETER
O
BORNE
From
Wisden 1969
: The D’Oliveira Case, by Michael Melford
To the non-cricketing public, D’Oliveira’s omission immediately after his innings at The Oval was largely incomprehensible. It was easy for many to assume
political motives behind it and a bowing to South Africa’s racial policies.
More knowledgeable cricketers were split between those who agreed that on technical grounds D’Oliveira was far from an automatic choice and who were doubtful if he would be any more
effective in South Africa than he had been in the West Indies, and those who thought that after his successful comeback to Test cricket, it was “inhuman” not to pick him.
Some holding the latter opinion were also ready to see non-cricketing reasons for the omission... Much was said which was regretted later – four out of 19 members of MCC who resigned
in protest applied for reinstatement within a few days – and Lord Fisher of Lambeth, the former Archbishop of Canterbury, was prompted to write to the
Daily Telegraph
condemning a leader “which appeared to cast doubt on the word of the selectors”.
A group of 20 MCC members, the number required to call a special meeting of the club, asserted this right, co-opting the Rev. D. S. Sheppard as their main spokesman. For three weeks the
affair simmered like an angry volcano.
1975-76: Defeat in Australia sparks West Indies’ pace revolution
Their heaviest and most humiliating defeat created the philosophy that led to West Indies’ domination through the 1980s and beyond. The 5–1 thrashing in Australia,
inflicted mainly by the menacing pace of Dennis Lillee and Jeff Thomson, supported by Gary Gilmour and Max Walker, convinced captain Clive Lloyd of the effectiveness of “three or four quick
bowlers on your side”. He noted that every West Indian had “at some time or other felt the pain of a cricket ball, sent down at great speed, thudding into their bodies”; his
players were “determined never to let it happen again”.
India’s record 406 for four to win the Port-of-Spain Test two months later, against a team containing only one genuine fast bowler, reinforced Lloyd’s opinion. From George Francis,
Learie Constantine, Herman Griffith and Manny Martindale before the war, to Wes Hall, Roy Gilchrist and Charlie Griffith two generations later, the resources had always been available. Now, through
the vagaries of nature, and fired by competition, they exploded in profusion, mostly imposing giants who worked in tandem. In their 82 Tests in the 1980s – West Indies won 43 and lost eight
– 16 fast bowlers gathered 1,257 wickets. Between June 1980 and February 1995, they went unbeaten in Test series. It was the greatest dynasty in the history of the game. T
ONY
C
OZIER
From
Wisden 1977
: West Indies in Australia, by Henry Blofeld
Australia was the first time [Clive Lloyd] had found himself under real pressure as a captain and he did not find the going easy. When the strain was greatest he did not
seem able to control his own nerves as he would have liked when batting and as captain he was never prepared to speak firmly to his batsmen and to tell them how he expected them to try to
play the fast bowling on the steep bouncing pitches.
1977-78: World Series Cricket shakes the foundations
When media mogul Kerry Packer approached the Australian Cricket Board in June 1976 with a handsome offer to televise Australian cricket, the administrators dismissed him without
misgivings, content with their existing relationship with the national broadcaster. They underestimated Packer’s determination. Taking advantage of growing disgruntlement about pay and
conditions, he secretly recruited dozens of players from Australia, West Indies, South Africa, England and Pakistan to participate in a punishing schedule of made-for-TV matches in Australia,
including the first played at night under lights and in coloured clothing with white balls.
Administrators were immediately hostile, their rhetoric turning into bans and court actions, and World Series Cricket was slow to take off in the 1977-78 season, despite boasting the cream of
the world’s players. But in 1978-79 it became a success, as the official Australian team, denuded of talent, were badly beaten in the Ashes. Forced to sue for peace, the ACB agreed to welcome
back their prodigal sons and award broadcast rights to Packer’s Nine Network – rights they have retained to this day. The legacy of the enterprise was growingly acute understanding of
the value of the sport as a television property, which others might exploit if cricket failed to do so, and better pay for elite cricketers. G
IDEON
H
AIGH
From
Wisden 1978
: Notes by the Editor (Norman Preston)
...
As things stand at the time of writing at the New Year no solution would appear to be in sight and the cricket authorities, particularly those in England, who spend
thousands of pounds raising young talent to the top level, run the risk of losing players to any rich entrepreneur, for Packer could be only the first in the line. I feel that those who
signed for Packer were placed in a dilemma – loyalty to those who nurtured them or the attraction of financial reward for playing another kind of cricket that excludes them from
first-class recognition because it is outside the bounds of the International Cricket Conference.
...
and The Packer Case, by Gordon Ross
At this point the only cricketing subject being discussed from the highest committee room in the land to the saloon bar of the tiniest inn, was “Packer”, and from all the
multifarious points raised, one was likely to be proved the dominant factor in the end. In this age of extreme partisanship, had non-partisanship cricket any future? Does the world not want
to see England beat Australia, or Arsenal beat Tottenham, or England beat Wales at Twickenham – or vice versa, according to particular loyalties? Could a collection of players, however
great, stimulate public interest, when there was nothing on the end of it, except a considerable amount of money for the participants? The fact that tennis players and golfers are a constant
attraction was irrelevant; they are individuals playing for no one but themselves. And moreover, the whole crux of this matter was linked to big business – the business of television,
and not so much to the furtherance of cricket or cricketers.
1992-93: Technology takes its bow
Some events develop significance later, others are recognised immediately. This belonged in the second category. There was surprisingly little resistance to the use of
television replays for line decisions on India’s trip to South Africa late in 1992. But it still felt bizarre to have finally reached this point after the embarrassment TV had been causing
umpires for decades.
On the second day of the First Test at Durban, Jonty Rhodes swooped at backward point and flicked an airborne throw to Andrew Hudson at short leg. Umpire Cyril Mitchley was “almost
certain” Sachin Tendulkar had been run out but, having been a consultant during the system’s trials, had no hesitation in referring it. Third umpire Karl Liebenberg held his breath:
there were no fixed cameras at square leg, and everything depended on the midwicket cameraman. But the shot was there. Liebenberg pressed the green light (for “go”, which in those days
meant “out”), and Tendulkar’s dismissal had taken just 34 seconds longer than normal. “I felt instantly the game had changed for ever – and for the better,” said
South African captain Kepler Wessels.
After domestic use of the referral system revealed its imperfections, fixed cameras – known as the Pana-eye – were implemented in South Africa two years later. They became standard
after that. Today, we have the Decision Review System, when money and politics allow. Even the umpires have accepted that their word is no longer necessarily final – a profound shift in the
game’s psyche. N
EIL
M
ANTHORP
From
Wisden 1994
: The Indians in South Africa, by Richard Streeton
The tour will be remembered for the introduction of ICC’s scheme for independent umpires and even more for the South African board’s experiment using
television replays to settle difficult line decisions. It was a successful innovation, welcomed by most players and officials after some initial reservations. Hitherto, for as long as the
game has been played, batsmen have received the benefit of an umpire’s doubt. When officials on the field felt unable to decide, a third umpire in the pavilion watched video replays to
rule on run-outs and stumpings (and hit-wicket decisions, though none arose). A green light signalled that the batsman must go, and red that he was not out. Invariably the crowd buzzed with
excitement as they waited and at some grounds they were able to watch the big-screen replays at the same time.
2000: Hansie Cronje admits to match-fixing
The unmasking of Hansie Cronje marked the end of cricket’s jolly, even deluded, innocence – both because of the nature of the offence and the identity of the
offender. Cronje was a national captain of enviable standing, the prototypical hard-but-fair, principled, devout all-round competitor. He was exposed as the ultimate con artist, the betting
mafia’s perfect partner, ready to manipulate the scripts behind scorecards. These extremes of his persona contained the game’s essential truths, its well-disguised lies and the distance
it had travelled in the last few decades of the 20th century.