Читать книгу Geoff Boycott: A Cricketing Hero - Leo McKinstry - Страница 13

Today, given the intensity of international competition, it might seem ridiculous that an England cricketer could be dropped after hitting a double century in a Test match. But that is what happened to Geoffrey Boycott in June 1967, when he scored 246 not out in almost ten hours against India at Headingley, then was excluded from the next Test.

Boycott’s Headingley marathon was deemed to have contravened the new ethos of ‘brighter cricket’ and the selectors decided he had to be punished. What particularly aggrieved them was his batting on the first day. In a full six hours’ play, he had made only 106 runs, failing to accelerate even after tea. In the first hour, he hit just 17 runs, followed by eight in the second, 15 in the third, 23 in the fourth, and 21 and 22 in the last two hours. Moreover, he was playing on an excellent pitch against an appallingly weak Indian attack, which was barely of county standard to begin with and plunged below minor counties level in the afternoon, thanks to injuries to medium pacer Rusi Surti (bruised knee) and the left-arm spinner Bishen Bedi (torn muscle). Boycott’s inertia drove hundreds of his own Yorkshire spectators to leave the ground after tea although he was near his century, while even a sympathetic journalist like Ian Wooldridge wrote in the Daily Mail that his last three hours at the crease ‘could not be excused by his nearest and dearest relations’. Far from mitigating his crime, his freer approach the next day, when he added 140 runs in less than four hours, appeared to prove that he could score more quickly if he wanted to. For Boycott’s enemies, the Headingley innings revealed the very essence of the man, a selfish player focused entirely on his own performance rather than on the interests of the team or the entertainment of the public.

Yet the absurdity of Boycott’s suspension was that his double hundred, far from undermining England’s cause, had helped them win by six wickets well before tea on the last day. Test openers are supposed to lay the foundations of a big score – and that was exactly what Boycott had achieved. As the great off-spinner Lance Gibbs told Boycott after his suspension was announced: ‘If you had been a West Indian, you would have been a hero. No West Indian would ever get dropped for making a double century.’ In truth, the selectors’ decision was motivated more by public relations than by cricket. The media were baying for action against Boycott and the selectors felt they had to be seen to do something. But their gesture looked both panic-stricken and patronizing – in effect, the Indian tourists were being told that their Tests should be treated as little more than exhibition matches.

There were other powerful arguments in Boycott’s defence. He had been in poor form in the run-up to the Test, making only two scores of over 50 in his previous twelve first-class innings. On the first morning he displayed his lack of touch by continually playing and missing. Instead of throwing away his wicket, however, he battled through the crisis, hitting himself back into form by grinding out the runs. His more vigorous strokeplay on the second day was the result not of a whimsical change of mood but of the renewed confidence that came with a century. England’s captain Brian Close recognized the difficulties of Boycott’s position, writing later: ‘You had to admire the sheer guts of a man so palpably out of form yet so desperately trying to fight his way out of his bad spell.’ Close wanted to keep Boycott in the side but was outvoted four to one by the other selectors, Doug Insole, Peter May, Alec Bedser and Don Kenyon. ‘I said to them, “Look, I’ll give him a right bollocking and tell him not to let it happen again.” But the selectors replied that such was his selfishness that it could not be tolerated. So that was it,’ Close told me.

One of the central charges against Boycott was that he had ‘wilfully disobeyed his captain’s orders’. Boycott has always maintained that he never received direct instructions to speed up. His version appears to be backed by Close and, even more explicitly, by one of his batting partners, Basil D’Oliveira. Close’s recollection is that he merely said to Boycott at tea that he should see if he could open up, though he should not do anything foolish. Later he went on to the balcony to try to catch Boycott’s attention but he admits that Boycott was concentrating so hard that he probably did not see him. In his autobiography Time to Declare, D’Oliveira wrote that on the second morning, chairman of selectors Doug Insole came into the dressing room ‘to read the Riot Act’ and tell the batsmen to give the crowd something to enjoy. ‘When it was time to go out to the middle, Boycs led the way and our skipper, Brian Close, said to me just as I was leaving, “Tell Boycs to take no notice, just play his natural game.”’

For a sensitive cricketer, who always took immense pride in his professionalism, this rejection was a shattering blow. For the remaining twenty seasons of his first-class career, the selectors’ decision rankled with him, a stain on his reputation that could never be blotted out by all his many achievements. Just after his retirement, he told the BBC broadcaster Peter Jones: ‘It is a stigma I will always carry. Brian Clough says to me, “Try and forgive them but don’t ever forget.” Well, I won’t forget and I can’t forgive because I think it was an unnecessary thing to do.’ Some commentators, who refused to be caught up in the hysteria over ‘brighter cricket’, agreed. John Woodcock wrote in the Cricketer: ‘The credit he deserved was simply for pursuing the objective he set himself so successfully. In anyone’s language it was a great score and I expect that one day, in more taxing circumstances, England will be indebted to him for his obduracy.’

For Boycott, the verdict was as unjust as the one he received in a French court more than three decades later. But resilience in a crisis has always been one of his virtues. Publicly he put a brave face on his humiliation. Brian Close wrote later that he was a ‘model of restraint. For the next few days I never ceased to admire the control he displayed in what was obviously a very trying time for him.’

Nevertheless, the decision appeared to affect his batting for the rest of the summer. He only played in two more Tests, one against India and the other against Pakistan, failing to distinguish himself in any of his four innings. It was a throat infection that kept him out of the third Test against Pakistan, while a personal tragedy, the death of his father, required him to stand down from the first. Boycott heard the news while he was playing for Yorkshire against Surrey at the Oval. ‘They asked me to stay and bat, then go home for the funeral. I made 70-odd. It was strength of character,’ he later recalled.

Boycott’s decision to keep on playing should not be seen as callous. Throughout his life, he was at his most comfortable and secure when he was on the cricket field. In his moment of loss, this man of strong emotions found solace at the crease.

The feeling in Yorkshire that Boycott was a victim of the metro-politan, public-school cricket establishment’s prejudice was dramatically reinforced at the end of the summer by the sacking of Brian Close as England captain over allegations – strongly disputed – of unsporting behaviour in a match against Warwickshire at Edgbaston. Amongst those voting in the MCC committee was the skeletal figure of former Prime Minister Sir Alec Douglas-Home who, as Lord Dunglass in the 1930s, had been a passionate supporter of the appeasement of Adolf Hitler. That puts Close’s misdemeanours into perspective. At least Close had the consolation of helping Yorkshire to win the championship yet again, with some help from Boycott who, despite his England troubles, headed the Yorkshire averages (1260 runs at 48.46). Wisden wrote of his performance, in words that might sum up his whole batting career: ‘Only Boycott showed consistent authority throughout the programme. Without his special characteristics of ruthless resolve and concentration, batting consistency would have been hard to achieve.’

That spirit of resolve was to be in even greater evidence in the winter, as Boycott toured the West Indies for the first time and emerged triumphant against Hall, Sobers, Griffith and Gibbs. All his problems of the last two years were put behind him. For perhaps the first time in his career, he looked a genuinely world-class batsman, showing the full range of his strokes and seeking to dominate the bowling. His brilliant form brought him 1154 runs in just 11 first-class games, while in the Tests he scored 463, an average of 66.14. Colin Cowdrey, his captain on that trip – appointed in place of Close – says of Boycott’s progress: ‘By the time of that trip, he had made himself into a very good cricketer. He was much tighter, much less loose than the batsmen of today, and he was brilliant at working out what shots to eliminate in any given circumstance. I also admired his courage against the pace attack. Though he could sometimes go a bit haywire, I actually found him a pretty good judge of a run. I had absolutely no problems captaining him. He might have been reserved, but I found him very astute and shrewd with his advice. He was just a damn good player, great to have in the side.’

Boycott signalled his intentions for the series by hitting four boundaries in Wes Hall’s first two overs in the opening Test match at Port of Spain. He went on to score 68, one of the building blocks of a massive total of 568, which should have seen England to victory. At tea on the last afternoon, the West Indies, having followed on, were staring at defeat on 180 for 8. Then immediately after the interval Wes Hall, at number 10, gave a chance to Boycott at short leg. Unaccustomed to fielding in close, he put it down and Hall, partnered by Gary Sobers, saw the West Indies through to safety.

The second and third Tests both ended in draws as well. Then, in the fourth Test, Boycott played one of the most significant innings of his career. On the final day, the match was petering out to a draw when suddenly Gary Sobers made probably the strangest declaration in the history of Test cricket, setting England 215 runs to win in 165 minutes, a seriously achievable target. Apart from sheer frustration at yet another non-result, Sobers’ extraordinary action may have been prompted by the belief that England were vulnerable to spin. In the first innings their tail had collapsed to Basil Butcher, an occasional leg-break bowler, in a spell of 5 for 34; indeed, Butcher was so occasional that these were to be the only five wickets he took in a 44-match Test career. But, in England’s favour, the pitch was still good and Charlie Griffith was injured.

Boycott and Edrich made a solid start, putting on 55 in 19 overs. At tea, with only 140 needed in 90 minutes and nine wickets still standing, it seemed obvious to almost everyone in the England camp that Sobers had badly miscalculated, everyone that is, except the skipper Colin Cowdrey, who was inclined to caution. Tom Graveney explains: ‘In the dressing room, Colin wasn’t sure if we should keep going for the runs. Just before tea, Willie Rodriguez had bowled two or three really good overs at Kipper and he hadn’t got the runs he thought he should have.’ A heated discussion followed. Cowdrey was still not positive but it was the two arch-blockers, Boycott and Barrington, who were amongst the most vociferous in support of a continuing run-chase, Boycott arguing, ‘Sobers has given us a real chance. Now let’s go and have a bloody crack at it.’

Abandoning his reluctance, Cowdrey played brilliantly, taking the score from 73 to 173 in just 18 overs before he was out. Then Boycott took charge, judging the scoring rate precisely against the clock and hitting off the necessary runs with three minutes – the equivalent of eight balls – to spare. Yet, like his Gillette innings, there was a downside to this triumph, for once again critics were asking why he did not play in this aggressive style more often. Warwickshire fast bowler David Brown says: ‘That afternoon we saw a glimpse of what he could do. He played brilliantly and I thought, If you played like that all the time you’d be an absolute revelation.’ England just clung on for a draw in the final Test, with Boycott scoring his maiden century against the West Indies in England’s first innings, so Cowdrey’s team returned home victors by 1-0.

Boycott was now indisputably England’s first-choice opener. Despite this success, his awkwardness in company remained a source of exasperation to some of his colleagues. On one occasion he provoked an embarrassing row during a dinner organized in a private room at Trinidad’s Hilton Hotel by Vic Lewis, the former band leader, businessman and agent. There were about fourteen people present, including several of the leading England and West Indian players along with their wives and girlfriends. Vic Lewis as the host was at one end and Jill his wife was at the other. Half-way through the meal, there was a loud crash and a commotion. Jill suddenly stood up: ‘Vic, I have had to put up with some pretty nasty and preposterous people during your career in showbusiness. But I have never met a ruder person than this man here,’ she said, pointing to Boycott. She then stormed off and sat down at the other end of the table.

‘Well, she shouldn’t be bloody going on about creekit in such a stupid way,’ Boycott explained defensively.

One member of that MCC side, Basil D’Oliveira, whose gregariousness – the hangover appeared to be part of his tour baggage – could hardly have been more different from Boycott’s asceticism, later gave this analysis of Boycott the tourist, again highlighting his absolute devotion to cricket: ‘He is so wrapped up in his cricket and sometimes this can be misconstrued. You have to know his ways and you find these out over a long period. He never seems to relax. If he does relax, he’s sleeping. Cricket is his life and I don’t think he has any other interests to help him unwind.’

As a room-mate of Boycott’s on that tour, Pat Pocock gained a sharp insight into Boycott’s all-consuming passion for his game. Of that experience, he wrote in his wonderful autobiography Percy: The Perspicacious Memoirs of a Cricketing Man: ‘Rooming with Boycott is a very serious event in a cricketer’s life. You are quickly made to realize that you have come to this distant country on business. The thought of enjoyment should not enter your head, since it never entered his. He spoke only of cricket and Yorkshire, since the two things in his mind were synonymous. He spoke, and you listened as that quiet, flat-vowelled voice droned on into the night. It was the voice of a middle-aged man in his mid-twenties, the voice of a man who had never been young.’ Yet Pocock saw another, more generous side to Boycott’s character, as he explained to me: ‘In Barbados, where it was bloody hot, he would bat in the nets for more than fifty minutes. He would go on and on, often against the local bowlers. When he had finished, he came out, took his pads off and then individually thanked each bowler in turn, no matter where they were on the ground. He was brilliant at that. I remember one guy had gone right over to the other side of the field and Boycott followed him just to thank him. He was able to do that because it related to his batting.’

After his Caribbean triumph, there were high expectations of Boycott for the 1968 season. But Boycott’s summer turned into a damp squib. Plagued by a serious back injury, which caused him to miss half the season, Boycott performed disappointingly on his three Test appearances against Australia, averaging only 32 and failing to pass 50 in any innings in yet another drawn Ashes series. For Yorkshire, he was only able to play 10 matches in 1968, though he performed superbly in May and June before his back froze, scoring no less than five centuries in the county championship. Returning to competitive cricket at the end of the season, he confirmed his class once more by hitting 93 and 115 in a Scarborough Festival match for an England XI versus the Rest of the World.

It was during this Scarborough Festival that Boycott over-indulged in alcohol for one of the few times in his career. With Yorkshire having won the title yet again, champagne celebrations were soon under way during the Yorkshire-MCC fixture. To the surprise of his colleagues, Boycott was as keen to imbibe as the rest of them. Don Wilson says: ‘I can tell you the champagne was flowing. And Geoff had a few, very nearly fell into the rubbish tip at the rear of the bar.’ Fred Trueman’s memory was just as graphic: ‘It was the only time I have ever seen him drink. We were batting and we had just come off for bad light. And Geoff was sitting on the floor, with his pads on, his back against the wall, drinking champagne. There were a few MCC players in the dressing room laughing at him. He just said, “Yeah, you can laugh. But you’ll be out there all day tomorrow because I’m going to get a hundred.” And he did’ – 102 not out, in fact, despite the hangover.

1968 was to be a crucial turning-point for Yorkshire. Two of the great stalwarts of the glory years, Fred Trueman and Ray Illingworth – later to be key figures in the club’s battle with Boycott in the eighties – retired, the former because of advancing age, the latter because of the committee’s refusal to give him the security of a contract. Illingworth then joined Leicestershire in 1969. Yorkshire’s years of effortless superiority were drawing to a close. This was to be the last year in which the championship trophy went to Headingley and, in retrospect, those Scarborough celebrations held to mark yet another triumph should perhaps have been a wake.