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sand
The flimsiest of foundations
By Will last year, mid-February, 5 Comments »
I’m still feeling slightly euphoric and exhilarated, which are two adjectives no cricket fan could describe themselves after a day of unprecedented farce. As I’m in the fortunate position of being able to cover such chaos, today has been hugely fun: exciting, depressing in parts, even quite funny and a joy to report on. But it’s a feeling of detached delirium – how in the name of the three Ws, and Sir Viv, could this possibly have happened?
Sand stops play. It’s such a feeble, flimsy excuse on the surface (or, rather, just beneath the surface), yet we all take for granted that the green grass will be sufficiently thick to allow size sixteen boots, attached to sixteen-stone athletes, the cushioning and traction required for bowling. Without that, the game can’t happen. It’s like asking a pole-vaulter to do his stuff with a stick made from paper mache.
Just when we thought West Indies cricket was on the up after that sensational fourth day in Kingston, it regresses back to the laughing stock on which much of its administration is based. North Sound – the ground named in honour of Sir Viv – isn’t fit to host an execution let alone a Test match lasting five days. You could count the number of locals at the ground on two hands. They hate it. It’s a disgrace to the country, an embarrassment to the passion and soul of the West Indies’ supporters and a reprehensible waste of money.
Sir Viv later said: “This is not shooting me in the foot. This is shooting me straight through the heart.” That his name should be associated with such a contemptible construction does everyone in the region a huge, horrible, crying disservice. The ground is everything he is not: crass, ugly, broken, embarrassing and dishonourable.
Vaneisa Baksh, a fine Caribbean-based cricket writer and historian, popped up on messenger during the chaos and sounded almost in tears. Likewise, a friend in Jamaica asked simply: “Why now?” That the Test was ever allowed to take place is just one awful blot on the WICB’s ink-sodden copybook. But that it should happen days after the Caribbean’s brightest moment for a decade is a wound which will take a long time to heal.
Organisations and cricket administrations, like the grounds at which their product should be on glorious display, need sturdier foundations than sand.
Oh – and read this. We found an insider (or rather, Caribbeancricket did. But we’re all friends in cricket land).
5 Comments »Cricket on Bantham beach
By Will 4 years ago, mid-May, 2 Comments »
They think it’s all over …
Originally uploaded by Flickr user reallyreallyrosie.
I know this area pretty well now – South Devon – but can’t think where Bantham is. Might be just over the water from Salcombe…nice shot, though.
2 Comments »An Englishwoman in India, part three
By Jenny 4 years ago, mid-April, 3 Comments »
Jenny Thompson
OK, so today, I’ve decided to give a flavour of some things non-cricket, just to make a change. I’m going to start with the beach, because I’ve always loved walking in the sand and swimming in the sea ever since I was a kid when my parents would spoil my brother and I by taking us abroad every year. In particular, I’ve always been spellbound by the reflection of the sun on the waves. I won’t try to be poetic about it – it will only end up too cheesy – buuuut, there I have to say there is something about the shifting identities of the beach: in the early morning, during the day and in the evening. All captivate me.
Even the beach in Juhu – the area I’m staying – is brilliant, though the usual residents say it’s too dirty and you can’t really swim in the sea. Sure beats living inland though, as I always have! As the only white person on the beach – and, ergo, the only one sitting in the sun, not the shade – I was instantly swamped by curious boys when I sat down to read a book. That’s OK. They soon got bored and I got on with book. So far, so could-be-anywhere.
Now, the beach in the evening is great – a funfair of whirling lights, with stalls selling fruit and jewelled bags. And maps. “You want a map of India? It has Bombay and Goa on it.” I swear – a man selling maps at midnight! On a beach! And for 1,000 rupees! (madness – a three-course meal costs 200 to 300)
I went there with my damn cool colleague Shinde – he’s my self-appointed Mumbai guide and resident dude – who introduced me to fresh coconuts. Maybe I’m coming to them a bit late in life, but hey. It’s all good.
Then we had curry – outdoors! still exciting! – and had our fortunes read in Hindi by a flashing robot who electronically spat out our futures into flashing headsets … There were also loads of cute, little monkeys on leashes (which is a bit mean, though, admittedly). One of the boys said he would make his monkey dance like Michael Jackson for us. We turned the offer down – a bit too cruel – although we had much fun guessing how exactly the little guy would move – and what his star turn would be. We settled on Black and White.
I related this in the office to George today and he told me that on some trains there are actual small boys – aged five or so – who paint monkey faces and prowl through the carriages imitating monkeys. Now this I would love to see.
I also know another thing – when I grow up I’m going to live by the beach.
Jenny is my colleage at Cricinfo. She drinks herbal tea, but apart from that we like her a lot
3 Comments »