I was brought up to believe that a good game of Test cricket is one that gets to day 5 with all four results possible. That a great game or makes it to the final session of the final day with all four results still possible. And that an incredible game makes it to a point where the requisite runs, wickets and balls available are whittled down to single figures, still with all results possible.
We’ve had some amazing matches this summer between England and India, as they tussle for the Anderson-Tendulkar Trophy.
Until this series, for the last fifty years or so, meetings between these two teams were played for the Pataudi Trophy; the Nawab of Pataudi (Jr) was the first Indian captain I’d seen play, in 1966, and that started me on a journey of joy that continues today.
That first Test I watched, at Eden Gardens in 1966-67, was a humdinger. A riot. A real riot. The stadium was set on fire. I had to jump off into my father’s arms, hoping he wouldn’t drop me. He was built like Indian cricketers those days, so a drop wasn’t out of the question. They were playing Gary Sobers’ West Indies, with the dual attack of Hall and Griffiths.
India lost. Those days, India didn’t win much. Had *never* won a series overseas. Anywhere. As far as I can remember.
So I grew up watching cricket, listening to cricket (I think it was on long wave, on valve radios), even following cricket on teletext.
India did a lot of losing those days. I went to watch the cricket, not to win or lose. And I loved the game.
I was lucky to be at Lord’s for Gooch’s 333 and 123, to watch Kapil stave off a follow on with four sixes, to be entranced by an early Tendulkar; to see Ganguly and Dravid debut. I was very lucky to be at the Oval on 12th September 2005.
Seen many Tests from day 1 first ball to day 5 last ball. Also seen many days without any play, including rained-off Ashes at Old Trafford and WTC at Southampton.
Part of the game. Those three little words: rain stopped play.
I went to watch the cricket. To enjoy the company and the atmosphere and the skills on display. The banter and the camaraderie. The sheer joy. Barmy Army and all; occasional even with a Bhangra beat.
I was at Lords all five days recently. What a match. Tires me thinking about it.
I didn’t really go to watch winning or losing. I wanted to watch great games.
Games like England v India at the Oval in 1979, which was an amazing draw. I wasn’t at the game. But I remember being at a college quadrant in Calcutta late at night as volunteer “scorers” signalled balls left, wickets left and runs needed ….. using candles …. At three corners of the quadrangle. While the diehards fans were at the fourth corner.
Wonderful days. I’ve been blessed with many wonderful days.
There were glitches. Vaseline. Boiled sweets. Dirt under fingernails. Betting scandals. Seams being damaged surreptitiously. Non standard bats. Poor umpiring. The madness of Umpire’s Call in particular and DRS in general.
There were glitches. Quarters gained and given in less than fair ways. Advantages gained unfairly. Boundaries that moved from Birnam Wood to Dunsinane. Balls that came apart or softened or hardened.
There were glitches. Frayed tempers. Gestures and actions less than sporting. Stumpings that shouldn’t have been.
Cricket. Crazy, messy. Where a day’s rained off play could turn into one man with his finger in the dyke of Wikipedia valiantly undoing the damage being done to an article there, I think it was about Caroline of Brunswick.
I hope we see play tomorrow. I hope to see a 4th Test conclusion that keeps the series open. And I hope to be at the Oval all five days, and to watch the game enter its fifteenth session at the end of the fifth day.
The camaraderie. The banter. The learned arguments about esoteric statistics. Queueing to get in and queueing to leave. Queueing to do pretty much anything. Queueing for the food and drink. Queueing for the loos. Queueing. Banter continuing.
Unsegregated supporters actually still managing to watch the game, not necessarily every ball, but far more than those in the expensive seats.
Cricket. Crazy, messy. A real joy. Especially when it’s red ball. Especially when it’s a Test.
Cricket. Not just win or lose but draw as well. Not just with flannelled fools against sunny green landscapes but when it’s all a big puddle as well.
Cricket. It’s never about winning or losing. Not the cricket I grew up with.
Cricket. Crazy, messy. Just like life.