Darren Pattinson reminds, in style, and speed and control, of Norman Cowans, another misunderstood fast medium bowler who lacks the right moment to practice his considerable arts writes, Ted Corbett.
July 21: Poor James Anderson, sent in as nightwatchman, bats for an hour and a half without problems on that friendly Headingley pitch and then, in quick succession, is hit on the forearm and the helmet by short-pitched balls from Dale Steyn. A legitimate practice; I have no problems with that. Anderson stays down much longer than a boxer taking a full count of 10, is clearly dazed and bewildered but, despite the attention of both the England doctor and physiotherapist, he is allowed to bat on. Surely the right prescription must be to take him off and give him a headache pill, a glass of water and send him back out to bat at the end of the innings. That saves wickets, allows Kevin Pietersen to take over and keeps Anderson’s nerve intact. As the backroom boys ought to guess Anderson is out soon after the second blow which gives the South Africans a boost after a long period in which they have absolutely no success whatsoever. Poor thinking by someone.
July 22: I will say it again; the trouble with England selectors is that they think they have to select. They have 400 or so players to choose from in contrast with West Indies where there may be 100 but more likely 60. Alec Bedser once complains to a friend of mine about the quality of one player he chooses. My pal asks why he plumps for this apparently useless player and hears: “I have to pick someone.” So with the unlucky Darren Pattinson. It is not his Australian accent, nor his 11 first class matches that tell against him. After all from Indian princes, to Ted Dexter, to Freddie Brown, Colin Cowdrey and Douglas Jardine; from Tony Greig to Robin Smith, to Craig White to Kevin Pietersen, and at least two recent wicket-keepers England often name men with some connection overseas. But one at a time usually. The reason for his treatment as an alien is that he has no background, no line of assent to the most sought-after place in English cricket, a spot in the Test team. It must be humiliating for him to go round the dressing room introducing himself, it was no doubt tough to listen to the crowd chant, “Who are you?” and he must feel wretched when he gets the new ball and goes off after three overs. Ryan Sidebottom, also from Nottinghamshire, may make him feel more at home, but Sidebottom is out of the team injured; Stuart Broad is at Notts just a few months and rarely plays for them and in the English dictionary of snobbery being an Australian roofer is akin to being a former jail bird. Yet, despite everything, with almost every man’s hand against him, Pattinson bowls so well that he may not be forgotten. One day, on the right wicket, with a sympathetic captain, against some batsmen, he may be a winner. He reminds me, in style, and speed and control of Norman Cowans, another misunderstood fast medium bowler who lacks the right moment to practise his considerable arts. Another bunch of skilled practitioners failed to practice any art; the considerable numbers of ECB public relations officers were noticeable by their absence. If ever a decision needs an explanation — even a little spin — it is this odd call by the selectors. Where were the PR types? Nowhere to be seen.
July 23: Ashwell Prince, the South African batsman may be abroad but he feels at home. “In the past Ashwell has never felt at home on tour but now he has brought his wife Melissa and their 10-month old son Joshua, had a family atmosphere to return to in the evenings and been assured of the well-being of the people be loves best in all the world,” says someone who knows him well.
July 24: So the ICC Trophy will be played in Pakistan. I wish I can be there. How can anyone suppose that among such friendly people as we always meet in Pakistan the terrorists will dare to attack a sports team? It will make them so unpopular, so despised, turn a whole population against them and certainly win them no new friends. My hope is that the tournament goes ahead, that most of the superstars find the courage to take part and that the team who returns the welcome they will receive wins the trophy.
July 25: These South Africans are cunning as well as disciplined and brave. They gather friends around and have a quiz one evening during the Headingley Test. One of the questions which confront the team led by their former captain Shaun Pollock concerns the design on the label of a Marmite jar. They cannot guess the answer but when the referee calls a drinks break the quick-thinking Pollock asks for a cup of coffee, a slice of toast and a small packet of Marmite. That gives the team the answer to the question but, sadly, not victory in the quiz. “We come a bad second,” says Pollock.
July 26: The Twenty20 finals day in England is once about enjoyment for those whose team win, long periods of boredom for those whose team win the first semi-final and then had to wait hours and all the pop groups, the off-field entertainment and the circus atmosphere. As Middlesex win tonight the whole day is permeated by the knowledge that millions of dollars may rest on the outcome. Of course there are sixes, of course there is a tight finish — Middlesex beat Kent when a last ball run-out decides the match — and of course there is all the fun of the fair. But the old strength-through-joy feeling is missing. Perhaps one day, when we grow accustomed to the gigantic dollar signs, it will return.
July 27: I hear a strange tale this week of a former Test great with surprisingly white teeth. Don’t ask me who — I will have to check with the star concerned and come back to you later in the summer. But the bright white teeth follow an annual holiday in Bucharest and the handing over of a considerable sum of money. It’s not the only mysterious event recently. A very famous former player makes a highly unofficial approach to a big star of the present era and is gently turned down. “You’ll enjoy playing under our captain,” says the VIP. “I know,” replies the current ace, “but having moved once I cannot contemplate another change of club.” So the VIP is looking elsewhere, in the far north and even in the depths of the Second Division. Perhaps I will be able to tell you more about all these dubious moves later in the summer.
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