AUGUST 20: As the Leeds securitymen go into overdrive umpire David Shepherd cannot convince the gateman that he is an umpire even though he shows his pass, his long white coat and despite the undoubted fact that he is one of the best-known figures in the game. Shep even tries "do you not know what I do when the score gets to 111?" The securityman, who has obviously never seen anyone hop on one foot to negate a superstition, looks blank. Then a cleaning lady passes and says: "Good morning, Mr. Shepherd" and our jolliest umpire is allowed to enter. He joins a distinguished number including Godfrey Evans and Chris Cowdrey who both find themselves turned away when on duty at Leeds. Of course the day ends very happily indeed for anyone of an Anglo-Saxon background after Mark Butcher, Nasser Hussain and Mark Ramprakash guide their side to victory. Adam Gilchrist gives England their only hope when he declares with rare abandon, misses out on 20 important overs on the fourth evening and finds that the world's strangest pitch loses its venom. Butcher is hailed as a hero by all sections of society and even gets a clap on the back from the Australian side. Now there's a sign of the greatness of his innings.
August 21: Butcher's fascinating recent history emerges, mainly by way of the words of his father Alan, who plays a long time for Surrey but who freezes when he is promoted to the Test side against India at the Oval in 1979, a match which coincides with young Mark's seventh birthday. Alan, by the way, looks so ill at ease that he never plays for England again. By the beginning of this summer Mark is so out of sorts, despite coaching from his father, that he finds himself playing for the Surrey second team near Michael Atherton's home in Manchester. At the end of a social evening Atherton, a man who enjoys the thrill of a bet, wagers Butcher will not make 30 runs if he plays in the final Test at the Oval. Butcher says he even contemplates retiring from cricket but injuries to Graham Thorpe and Michael Vaughan mean England need a strong middle-order batsman and after the selectors ring round a number of acknowledged experts they plump for Butcher. The rest, as those with small vocabularies often say, is history. Butcher is now top of the England averages, at his highest place in the world rankings and saying in a rather bewildered way: "It is as if I can do nothing wrong all day. Just one of those magic days." So expect to see him in India this winter.
August 22: Graham Gooch tells two pals where they can find the best hostelry in Leeds, hails a taxi and takes them both five miles from the city centre. Now Graham is, since he puts on weight if he passes a waiter's apron, not a drinking man and they all decide after a couple of glasses that going back to the city is the right option. They call a taxi but it fails to arrive and Gooch walks the trio towards town at a brisk pace. Remember, he is still very fit, runs a marathon and is in the Great North Road Race with his girl friend Julia shortly. The other two are, shall we say in our kindly way, not ready for a quarter marathon yet. They protest but, lo and behold, here is a bus and although they are a long way from a bus stop, Gooch flags it down and asks the driver if he passes their destination. "You," says the driver, "you are that Graham Gooch. Get in." The other two come stumbling towards the bus where Gooch is negotiating the price. "It's normally 60 pence," says the driver, "but as it's you are Graham Gooch, you can pay half price. It's 30 pence please - and 60 for the others!"
August 23: As the Ashes series draws to a close so too does a nice little earner for those cricketers whose views are as valuable as their playing skills. One magazine claims that British newspapers pay out roughly 13,000 pounds sterling a week for ghosted columns, topped by the 2,000 pounds sterling to Shane Warne. For some fastidious authors, like the England captain Nasser Hussain, the words are important and each Saturday is spent checking and rechecking their work. For others the words assume less importance and one prominent player under fire for the content of one article, remarks: "I'm sorry I never read the piece. What does it say?" However, this sum of money - say 200,000 pounds sterling during the summer - hardly compares with the vast amounts paid to the regular cricket correspondents. I look round the Press Box at the Oval and see wages in excess of two million pounds a year for the men who have, in the words of the late Don Mosey's book, The Best Job in the World.
August 24: Who goes to India and New Zealand this winter? Let me give you a name. Warren Hegg will be one of the wicket-keepers and rightly so too. In the sub-standard Roses match he is the only Lancashire player to show the spirit that once runs through games against Yorkshire. As Neville Cardus records no friendly word is spoken, the rule of thumb is that no-one hits a boundary before lunch on the first day and that everyone remembers every previous grudge. Hegg retains that feeling and if he can take it to India England may put up a fight that the absence of Darren Gough and Alec Stewart makes unlikely.
August 25: The Test at the Oval seems to have only two talking points. The excessive security as spectators, workers, mediamen and the like enter the ground; and complete lack of security when it is needed. From the first day we are searched, asked to turn on our laptops and, if one fails to work, get an instruction to move on to our destination. Of course if there is a problem we will all be happy to co-operate. No one wants to be the victim of some dastardly revolutionary; and if there is an ex-Prime Minister in the ground it may be necessary to see that no harm comes to the man. (John Major will speak at the Cricket Writers' Club dinner next week-end complete with two of his own security men and we can all see why). But not just a token gesture. And when play ceases it is harder to find a securityman than a satisfied England cricketer.
As I wait to finish my work tonight four gentlemen with tattoos, shaven heads, body lines that speak of several hours a week in the gym and East End accents - not to mention a drink problem - roll into the Press box and cause untold problems for half an hour. Eventually security arrive and throw them and their tins of beer into the street but as this is the second time in three Tests that hooligans invade the Press Box, which contains at least 30,000 pounds worth of computer equipment, it is also time security means safety.
August 26: He may be as Australian as a bush kangaroo, as tough as one of their Drizabone raincoats and own a voice that obviously has a good coating of dust from the Nullabor Plain, but it is difficult not to admire Steve Waugh. Watching him bat at the Oval without a runner, with a pronounced limp and a face red from the sun you have to applaud the sheer sportsmanship of the man. "I don't believe in runners," he snapped afterwards. I wonder how his comments and his deeds sound in the England dressing room where their young fast bowler Alex Tudor seems to find niggles of one sort and another every other day. I am also reminded of another great Australian captain with the same mind set as Waugh. Back at the beginning of the last century, Joe Darling once sits at the front of the pavilion at Trent Bridge and encourages each succeeding Australian batsman to get to the wicket so that England can win - deservedly in Darling's opinion - before the rain. I can imagine Waugh sitting there ordering his batsmen to the crease too. I cannot pay anyone a bigger compliment.
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