Retirement

Remembering Dominic Cork

Retiring from cricket at the age of 40 is a bit like dying at a grand old age. People naturally focus on what’s fresh in the memory.

People remember your interests as being duck-feeding and ailment comparison with your peers, even though you were once a fighter pilot and later invented cling film.

This is the case with Dominic Cork, who’s developed a bit of an ageing rocker vibe about him, with his refusal to bow to age. The man’s had an entire cricket career since he finished playing for England.

But it’s his performances for England that we’ll remember, even though he played a lot less than you might think. He took 7-43 on his debut and took a hat trick a couple of matches later. Noteworthy achievements.

Significantly for us, he also played a major role against the West Indies in 2000. Cork’s blinding innings in the second Test really cemented our love for cricket. That’s how we’ll remember him.

Sanath Jayasuriya’s last match

Sanath Jayasuriya has finally bowed out of cricket just three days short of his 70th birthday. He departed how he had thrived, with a ferocious cut shot.

Asked to reflect on his career, Jayasuriya may or may not have said:

“Eh? What? Speak up. Why does everybody mumble these days? Is it too much to ask that people speak clearly and audibly? You’re all too busy playing with your iTelephones and Sony PlayMachines to enunciate properly. What’s the world coming to? Bring back conscription, that’s what I say.”

Paul Collingwood – an England professional

The days of Gentlemen and Players are long gone, but Paul Collingwood would have been the latter – a man who never lost sight of the fact that it was all about scoring runs; taking wickets and catches; and occasionally missing the ball often enough that your team salvaged a draw.

He was a state school batsman where his contemporaries were generally more privileged or from overseas, so he was our representative in the top six. And maybe it all goes back to that era of Gentlemen and Players, but he was subtly patronised by the public school, brahmin-esque cricket establishment for much of his career. He ‘made the most of his talent’ they said. He didn’t have much style.

Substance

Let’s get something straight: batting is about scoring runs. If you score runs, you are a good batsman; if you don’t score runs, you aren’t a good batsman.

Suggestions that Paul Collingwood ‘got the most out of his talent’ so that he could score more runs than ‘better’ batsmen are spectacularly illogical. Getting the most out of his talent is what made Paul Collingwood a better batsman than all the weak-willed stylists and technically correct teasers who trailed in his wake. Every international cricketer should make the most of their talent. That should be a given.

What is style, anyway?

Why should one stroke be more aesthetically pleasing than another? Is there something inherently beautiful about a textbook cover drive or do we learn to appreciate it because of what we hear from other people? Off-side strokes are invariably considered more stylish than leg-side strokes and this arises from the fact that the amateur Gentlemen of yesteryear played into the off-side having been brought up on true pitches, while the Professionals worked the ball to leg, because it was all about the runs.

Paul Collingwood was all about runs.

In India

It was in Nagpur that we realised that Paul Collingwood brought more than just ‘a bit of ginger’ to the team, as he had once claimed. He scored 400 runs at 57.14 in India, which is better than almost every English batsman who’s ever gone over there. That Nagpur hundred held England together.

In Australia

Forget the 2010-11 series. In 2006, an Aussie paper called him England’s worst ever number four. A lot of people said he was out of his depth. Paul Collingwood promptly scored 206.

Far from being out of his depth, Collingwood showed that he was in fact the complete antithesis of the spineless Pom who crumbles at the first ‘g’day’. It should have been no surprise. When he and Alastair Cook had both scored hundreds against Pakistan earlier in the year, Cook had revealed how Collingwood had kept the score ticking over when he himself couldn’t even get the ball off the square.

Cook was openly admiring Collingwood’s ability when he said that, but memories are short when it comes to Paul Collingwood. Where a poor series for some batsmen would be branded ‘poor form’, Collingwood was more likely to be dismissed with a curt ‘he’s crap’.

The grit

You can’t talk about Colly without talking persistence of motive and effort – grit.

Great bowling? Duff pitch? Impossible match situation? Personal poor form? All water off a duck’s teflon-coated umbrella to Paul Collingwood.

He was in dire form against South Africa in 2006 and about to be dropped. In what had appeared likely to be his last Test innings, he worked his way to 94 not out.

Kevin Pietersen had been dismissed going for the glory hundred when on 94 earlier in the day. Did Collingwood learn from this? Yes, of course he did – he learnt that you should middle it when trying to reach your hundred with a six.

How dour and functional of him.

More obviously gritty were the four-hour 74 at Cardiff in the 2009 Ashes, for which every England fan will be forever grateful, and the even more gloriously lumpen twin innings in South Africa that also led to nine-wickets-down draws. A 99-ball 26 at Centurion and a one-man leaving/missing case study at Newlands that saw 40 runs scored in more than four and a half hours.

Apologies if you think this post is a bit long, but we’ve always wanted to do Paul Collingwood justice because we feel like other people won’t. Frankly, he’s one of our heroes.

What Ryan Sidebottom should do next

Generally likeable, weirdly tetchy and a world-beater for an oddly unexpected and brief period of time. We’ll miss Ryan Sidebottom now that he’s retired from international cricket.

On the plus side, he’s one step closer to that BRILLIANT sitcom we came up with.

We’re open to offers.

Why Andrew Flintoff was a great cricketer

Andrew Flintoff’s only going to retire the once, so we’ve written about him again.

A lot of people have picked apart his career with the recent past at the forefront of their minds, but we’re choosing to look at why he became such a significant figure in the first place.

People talk about charisma and how Flintoff could turn a match and they say he was popular with the crowds because he played like an enthusiastic village cricketer. These people aren’t missing the point exactly, but these are tired observations and they don’t fully explain his significance to a certain generation of England fans.

Was Flintoff a great player? If you could weight performances according to when you really, really gave a shit what happened, Flintoff’s averages would be a damn sight better than they actually are. We don’t watch cricket for averages.

The font size is quite small in that article, but if you do the old ctrl-and-scroll, you can make it bigger and more web friendly.

Andrew Flintoff – batsman, bowler, slip fielder, England representative

Throughout his career, people talked about Andrew Flintoff being the new Botham. He wasn’t. He was the new Darren Gough. He was England supporters’ representative on the field of play. For the rest of this article, we will be referring to him as Andy Flintoff because that was what he was called when he became that figure.

ALWAYS look like you’re trying

Some players are great at cricket but the crowds don’t particularly take to them. Genuine crowd favourites are a rarity. Botham was one, Gough was one and Flintoff was one. It takes certain qualities to get the crowd onside and it’s not simply about runs and wickets. Mostly it’s about your attitude and your approach to the game. Andy Flintoff did not become a crowd favourite during the 2005 Ashes – that is a common misconception. He was already a favourite and he used that to his advantage.

How to bat – try and hit sixes

Violent batting is the way to people’s hearts – earthy, straightforward hitting that softens the ball through robust contact with both bat and boundary boards. Sixes help, but just putting your back into it is the main thing.

Darren Gough’s shot was the wild edge to third man for four. The runs weren’t the point; the helicopter rotor blades style follow-through that often knocked him over was the point. Flintoff was better than that. His shot was the lofted straight drive that he tried to land in his dad’s hands somewhere up in the stands.

For a long time, if there was a big match on and someone said ‘Flintoff’ to you with an urgent and excited look on their face, you would instantly know that this meant England’s fourth wicket had fallen and that this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Bowling – put in the effort

You’re in a better position to win the crowd’s affections if you’re a fast bowler. It means you can show effort and flog yourself into the ground.

Andrew Flintoff became a top bowler, but we loved him because he bowled like a man who thought he could propel the ball through the batsman and into the stumps if only he tried a bit harder.

Flintoff’s flaws

We don’t want to write too much about the negatives, but they need to be acknowledged. They weren’t all his fault anyway.

The injuries were bad. We once said that he wasn’t built for fast bowling any more than an otter is built for refrigerating foodstuffs. It was frustrating for fans, so it must have been woeful for him. We still can’t believe they didn’t make him a bionic knee. If Flintoff doesn’t get one, who does?

We didn’t really care about the drinking, but we cared that he was known for drinking. It turned him into a cartoon figure; a caricature – and we thought he was better than that.

Late in his career, there were the celebrations. He won us over with genuine, heartfelt elation and when he became more calculated it felt a little like treachery to those of us who’d monitored Lancashire scorecards in those early days.

Cricket matches with corners

Far better to remember him for his finest quality. He gave England supporters the sense that something could happen at any moment. He made us think that the match could suddenly change direction.

Remember the over Flintoff bowled to Kallis?

That’s the kind of thing we’re on about. Supreme entertainment that just suddenly came from nowhere. Matches didn’t progress when Andy Flintoff was involved, they changed.

Lazy-minded people ascribed this ability to some nebulous concept that they called ‘the X-factor’ as if it were magic, but it was nothing of the sort. It was a combination of psychology, kidology, physical presence and reputation as well as one other quality that you can’t coach or buy.

Flintoff’s effect on the crowd

Because of the way he batted and bowled in those early days, Flintoff built a lasting rapport with England fans. If he showed any sign that he was going to do something remotely special on a cricket field, the crowd got behind him. When the crowd got behind him, the adrenaline kicked in. When Flintoff’s adrenaline kicked in, the crowd went mental. From there, very, very special things could happen.

Day three of the 2005 Edgbaston Test was Flintoff’s high water mark and if you want to study a player’s effect on a crowd as well as a crowd’s effect on a player, this is where you should start. Frankly, it’s also where you should finish.

The man came into bat with England 31-4. When the ninth wicket fell, he ignited a whole stadium full of people and used the blaze for power. Australia positioned most of their fielders on the boundary and still he went for sixes.

That evening he went one better.

It was 47-0 when Flintoff came on to bowl and all was flat. To put this over in perspective, he was on a hat trick with his opening delivery and that was possibly the least exciting ball. How many players can bowl overs where hat trick balls are repeatedly overshadowed?

Andy Flintoff took two wickets for one run (a no-ball) in that over, but what we remember – and what we’ll always remember – is the effect that he had on the crowd.

Andy Caddick’s Test career – awkward bounce from an awkward bowling action from an awkward bloke

We never wrote about Andy Caddick when he retired. We should have done.

Say what you like about Andy Caddick. Say that he was mad as pies; say that he got picked for England because people wanted him there to fix stuff while they were on tour; say he was a nutcase who thought he should get picked by England when he was 40; say that Nasser Hussain had to treat him like he was eight to get the best out of him. Say all of those things, but he was a fine bowler.

The defining statistic about Andy Caddick is that his bowling average was 37 in the first innings of Test matches and only 20 in the second. It says it all really. It says that he didn’t shape Test matches and it says that he should have done because he could run through a side like undercooked chicken through a digestive system.

His last Test performance was 7-94 against Australia (3-121 in the first innings), which isn’t a bad way to go out, but we’ll remember him most for his performances against the West Indies in 2000.

We’ve written about Caddick’s four wickets in an over at Headingley before, so we won’t repeat ourself (it’s worth clicking that link though, if you’ve not read it before). What we haven’t written about is his 5-16 (1-58 in the first innings) at Lord’s a couple of Tests before that. That spell of bowling was right up there with anything we’ve seen for England. On his good days, in the second innings, Andy Caddick could produce a sublime blend of swing and seam that few have ever matched.

We can picture it now and it’s not something you ever really see from other bowlers. Maybe it’s because tall bowlers rarely swing the ball.

Caddick would run in robotically, all elbows, legs and ears. As he got into his delivery stride, the hand holding the ball would jag out sideways for some reason and that would signal an end to all the angular awkwardness. From there, the limbs would sort themselves out and the ball would arc through the air, swinging and making it difficult for the batsman to line it up. As it pitched, it would jag off the seam AND rear up towards the bat handle.

If the batsman was really good, he’d edge it.

Mohammad Yousuf’s “retirement”

If you want to know how to retire from cricket. Look to Pakistan. Look to Mohammad Yousuf, who’s executed a textbook Pakistan cricket retirement.

“This is my retirement. I have retired from international cricket.”

He then added:

“For now, this is it. For now this is my retirement.”

That’s how to do it. That’s how to retire.

Many great players bow out to a chorus of wailing from the fans. No-one likes emotion. Far better to retire in equivocal fashion, leaving the door open for a possible or probable return.

Either Mohammad Yousuf comes back (hurrah!) or one day in a couple of years time, we notice that he hasn’t actually come back, in which case we’ll feel all right about it because we’ve pretty much forgotten about him.

Brett Lee’s Test career

Like Andrew Flintoff, Brett Lee’s had to jack in proper cricket because his body’s had it. Fast bowling’s a mug’s game, but anyone who’s seen our Too Cool mug or our robot mug knows that we love mugs.

In many ways, Brett Lee was the perfect Australian fast bowler. He was a proper, 96mph, charge-to-the-crease, rip-your-shoulder-out-of-its-socket fast bowler who was stunning to watch, yet when he played England he barely took any wickets. Perfect.

Quick bit of stats – skip this if you want

He took more Test wickets against England than against anyone else bar the Windies, but he took them at an average of 40, which is toss. In England, he averaged 45 and went at over four an over. England fans could watch his electric bowling and yet be comforted by the fact that their side were cracking on at pace.

How fast was Brett Lee?

Yeah, past tense. He might still be available for one-day internationals and Twenty20s, but when you stop playing Tests you’ve already got one foot in a slipper and you’re reaching for the RHS Encyclopedia of Gardening.

Brett Lee was proper fast. He generally bowled around 94mph/150kph and the key part is that he maintained this. He wasn’t a bowler who put in the odd surprisingly quick ball. He wasn’t a bowler who got over 90mph on a good day. He pounded in and on a good day he was heading up towards 100mph. He crossed that line where batsmen go from worrying whether they can react quickly enough to outright shitting themselves.

10/10 for effort

We can’t imagine how much it must have hurt. Not just when he was bowling, but when he was 32 and trying to come back and bowl as quickly as he ever did. Fast bowlers are cussed bastards.

That cussedness showed in his batting as well. It’s easy to overlook, but he played as big a part as anyone in the creation of the greatest passage of cricket that we can remember – the climax to the 2005 Edgbaston Ashes Test. In getting tenderised like cheap meat by Andrew Flintoff, he showed that he could get as good as he gave, but nothing would sway him from his impossible task. It was as impressive an innings as we’ve ever seen; the mental fortitude better highlighted by his limitations as a batsman.

Whatever the result of that match – no matter how England supporters fetishise that climactic moment – that morning showed why Test match cricket is the greatest sport on earth and we have to thank Brett Lee for that.

Why has Andrew Flintoff retired from Test cricket?

Have you seen the size of him and the way he bowls? It’s because of that.

Andrew Flintoff’s body can get through 30-odd overs in a Test match as easily as it can get through the eye of a needle.

We imagine that if you’re Andrew Flintoff, the impact on your joints when bowling feels like jumping off the garage roof while holding a big telly. He’s not built for fast bowling any more than an otter’s built for refrigerating food products.

Regardless of this, our official editorial stance about this news is ‘gutted’.