Читать книгу Cricket My Way - Ian Botham, Ian Botham - Страница 17

‘Just look at someone like Allan Lamb. He is my sort of cricketer because, although he has his limitations, he never dodges a situation, or ducks a challenge. In one-day cricket, he is completely different from me. He works the ball about brilliantly, taking full advantage of the lack of close fielders, and the crowd are invariably taken by surprise when they look at the scoreboard, and see how many he has chalked up without doing anything spectacular.

‘Everyone remembers the 18 he took off Bruce Reid in Sydney in a World Series match in 1986. He pulled off the most astonishing win for us; but although he finished with an unbeaten 51 at a personal scoring rate of over a run per ball, he did not hit his first boundary until that final over.’

CONCENTRATION

Successful batting depends so much on concentration, and I help maintain mine by switching on and off between the action. Quite often, you’ll see me laughing and joking and apparently fooling around when I am batting. But as soon as the bowler runs in, I block everything and everyone out except how I am going to play that ball.

Some players cannot do that, because once they switch off, they have problems in finding the ‘on’ switch quickly enough. Chris Tavaré is an example of that. He keeps himself wound up by going for a walk after most deliveries. Off he’ll go around the short leg area, just to think of the ball he has just faced, and to work out what he will try to do against the next one.

I get bored doing that, and so I deliberately think of all sorts of things while the bowler is going back to his mark.

Geoff Boycott is another who wound himself up tighter and tighter, and his concentration never wavered. I can’t do that. He could, and there is another instance of the fascination of cricket which is played in so many different ways by different cricketers.

Early in an innings, I might keep myself geed up for a while, but I have to revert to normal pretty quickly, otherwise I find my mind becomes cluttered with things which are of no use to me at all.

Some batsmen are great chatters, and it is always important when batting for a player to take into account the make-up of his partner. Needless to say, I love to chat in the middle with the other batsman, even if it is not too much about the cricket – unless I think he is struggling and I can help him with any advice or encouragement.

It is surprising how often a batsman can lose his rhythm in the middle of an innings, and it is then his partner can help him with a quiet word, and perhaps by organizing the strike, if a particular bowler is suddenly looking dangerous.

Geoff Boycott, England v India, Second Test, Lord’s, July 1979. Concentration personified; still head with eyes on the ball.

Viv and I batted dozens of times together for Somerset, but I can hardly remember a conversation about the bowlers in all that time.

I remember one chat with Mike Gatting at The Oval when we were both just blocking for over after over against Pakistan in 1987. After yet another maiden, I met him in the middle of the pitch and said: ‘Am I frightfully boring to watch?’ He just cracked up, but it helped to break the tension of the situation, and I knew a laugh would not break his concentration.

A lot of players aim to bat for a session at a time, but again, while I accept that works for them, once I get time and lack of motion of that sort in my mind, it would be bound to affect the way I play, so not only do I rarely look at the clock, I am not one of those players who checks the scoreboard after every run, to see they have not been diddled.

Sometimes I look up after a while, and I am genuinely surprised to see what has happened, but I play in the way I do because various targets which fill other players’ minds, never bother me.

The only time I will keep a careful regular check is towards the end of a one-day match, or in a tight finish to a three-day game, where the number of overs left is always so important.

Find out by trial and error what your mental limits are, and then evolve your own concentration key. Mine is to switch on and off, otherwise I quickly become bored and tired. Also to keep the blinkers on does not make me a better player, and I am a firm believer in not letting anything worry me more than it has to.

RUNNING BETWEEN THE WICKETS AND CALLING

There are enough ways of getting out in cricket, without being run out, and yet time and time again, the pressure of trying to sustain a victory charge produces the sort of mix-up when seasoned pros don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

When most run-outs are analysed, and the blame apportioned – although there is often more disagreement about that than in deciding who was in the wrong in a car accident – it is surprising how few are unavoidable. By that I mean when the dismissal came about as a result of a magnificent piece of fielding, when it is only justice to give credit to the fielder rather than criticize the batsmen.

The other common denominator is that remarkably few run-outs happen because someone is slow moving between the wickets, rather than slow thinking.

The most important part of safe running is calling, and the understanding of that call. That in turn means knowing your partner, so that you try to anticipate everything he does. When I first opened in the 1987 Sunday League with Tim Curtis, we could both have been run out at least twice – simply because we did not know each other’s habits. We soon learned, and after a while even a look and a nod was enough without any real necessity to call.

So as a general rule, get to know the batsman who, for example, often takes a couple of steps down the pitch after most front foot strokes, even though he is not looking for a run. Find out if any of your colleagues are nervous starters, and are looking at the start of their innings to get off the mark. That does not bother me because it is no big deal if I’m out for 10 or 0. My sights are set much higher than that, and if I play a big innings, I’m looking to trade more in fours and sixes than quick singles – unless of course I want to organize the strike.

But I’m well aware that my partner might be different, so I take that into account when I’m in the role of non-striker.

As long as the calling is definite, I don’t think it is necessary to stick to the textbook rules which decree that the striker calls in front of the wicket and the non-striker is in charge when the ball goes behind the wicket.

If for any reason I don’t fancy something I’ve been called for, I’ll say ‘No’ as quickly as possible before my partner is too committed.

England v Australia, Second Test, Lord’s, June 1985. David Gower brings off a brilliant reflex piece of fielding to run out Kepler Wessels.

Often when I’m on strike and I have hit one into the covers and called for a run, I have forgotten that there is danger because of a left-handed thrower and I then get sent back. That is fine – as long as it is done immediately, because the real trouble starts when the calling is either late or indecisive. This is particularly prevalent when the ball is played square of the wicket, because the two batsmen have a completely different angle of view of how close to the fielder’s throwing hand the ball is.

So be prepared to share the calling responsibility, and don’t shelter behind the official party line that it must always be the striker’s call in front of the wicket.

Also remember to keep in mind that every side has at least one fielder who is a bit special. I always mentally slot him into a ‘no go’ area unless it is a really safe run. Into that category come people like Derek Randall, David Gower and Roger Harper for instance who, despite their track records, can still bring off the unexpected run-out which sends the victim on his way shaking his head and feeling he has just fallen for the latest three-card trick.

Take Harper’s great run-out of Gooch in the M.C.C. v. Rest of the World match in 1987 at Lord’s. It was breathtaking, and yet despite Graham knowing all about the man he still got done by a couple of yards, although he never went further than five yards out of his crease.

I’m told that the great South African cover point, Colin Bland, nailed Kenny Barrington and Jim Parks in a Lord’s Test, despite the whole England side deciding they would not run to him in the covers or at mid wicket.

Calling and running depend so much on understanding your partner. My former Somerset team mates Brian Rose and Peter Denning hardly ever called after their first few innings together. A glance at each other would do, and they became just about the best pair of runners together I have ever seen. This was not just because they were pretty rapid between the wickets, but also because they both spotted a run so quickly. They would run sides ragged – the fielders would close in and suddenly, bang – four runs.

We played a one-day game at Harrogate and they actually hit something like 70 off the first nine overs with only half a dozen boundaries.

But although club cricketers and youngsters cannot expect to develop that sort of telepathic understanding because they play cricket intermittently and not on a day-to-day basis, as long as commonsense is applied, it should not take too long to work up a reasonable understanding.

Always take into account the speed of your partner. If he is a bit ponderous into his stride, allow for it, and then try to ensure to begin with that you are running to the danger end.

Another thing to consider is the ability of different fielders to get rid of the ball quickly. Find out those who can throw on the turn, and those who cannot. For example, if I hit one a yard either side of Chris Broad, I will take him on, but I wouldn’t Tim Robinson. Chris takes just that split second longer to gather the ball and have a shy.

Although I wouldn’t risk much to David Gower when he is running on to the ball because of his uncanny underarm accuracy, once he is chasing after it, I’d chance an extra run as he cannot throw quickly or hard on the turn because of shoulder trouble.

It is that sort of attention to detail which solves so many problems before they arise.