Tourist Time

I’m not sure why my flirtation with live Sunday League matches fizzled out. Perhaps it was A-Level pressure, ill-health or the growing problem of finding a parking space close to the County Ground. No, it’s not a twenty-first century phenomenon! Once my university years had passed and I plunged into the world of work in the early Eighties, priorities changed. Nor do I recall Dad ever badgering me to accompany him to Chelmsford, not even if Hampshire were the visitors.

Instead, thoughts turned to satisfying my cricket craving by means of the touring side’s annual fixture with Essex. Even in the Eighties, a tour lasted most of the summer incorporating three-dayers against the majority of counties, and Essex always seemed to be on the itinerary. A decade earlier, in 1976, the West Indies played all seventeen counties, the MCC, Minor Counties and Combined Universities, interweaved with five Tests and three ODIs. And current national management teams have the temerity to whine about their arduous schedules, poor dears.

My first experience of a tour match occurred in 1984 when my favourites, the Windies, were over here. It was deep into June when I took annual leave to watch the final day’s play at Chelmsford, taking the train from Billericay and carrying my sandwiches, camera and diluted squash over the river, before shelling out £2.50 for my ticket (left). Well, I was earning £6K a year, so why not splash out?!

Essex’s successful period had generated enough income to fund ground improvements. Small sections of plastic seating had thankfully replaced the old planks, and I took my place in the non-members’ section at the River End. I was disappointed at the absence of the all-conquering Windies pace attack, with the exception of Joel Garner who, my diary records, bowled a three-over ‘”fiery spell” which did for Gooch and Hardie. Two unfamiliar fast bowlers were in action: Milton Small and a raw, gangly 21 year-old Courtney Walsh. Viv Richards had contributed a pleasing 60 but Fletcher and Pringle batted out for a draw.

In the ensuing seasons I beat the same path to see Australia (twice), New Zealand (twice), West Indies (twice more) and Pakistan. While inevitably many leading tourists were rested in between Test duties, I consider myself privileged to observe some of the world’s greatest cricketers just up the road in Chelmsford. There was an out-of-sorts Jeff Thomson struggling with no-balls, Imran Khan bowling Gooch for a duck, Wasim Akram in awesome all-rounder mode, Ian Bishop taking 5-49, Curtly Ambrose delivering a succession of wince-inducing rib-ticklers at Nasser Hussain, Matthew Hayden making a superb diving catch in front of me and Sir Richard Hadlee making a brief substitute appearance on the outfield the day after his knighthood was announced. He didn’t bowl but in other years I did observe side-on the legendary Malcolm Marshall and Waqar Younis (below).

In August 1991 Dad was with me when, at the end of a predictable draw, I joined others on the pitch to look up to the players’ balcony where, after bowling regulation, time-filling off-breaks, stood King Viv leaning on the railings, full spirit glass in one hand, surveying his realm. It was the last time he played in a West Indian tour match against a county and a matter of days before his emotional farewell to Test cricket.

Despite my policy of aiming to attend, weather permitting, the middle day, I usually seemed to be denied the best of the visiting batsmen. Twice Gordon Greenidge chose to flay the Essex bowlers on the days I missed, and I didn’t see a lot of Martin Crowe, David Boon or Desmond Haynes other than in a slip cordon. Funnily enough, the only centuries I witnessed were by home players like Brian Hardie, Graham Gooch and John Stephenson before, one warm sunny afternoon in 1996, Pakistani opener Saeed Anwar broke the duck with an exhilarating 102, full of crisp boundaries. My final trip to Chelmsford came two years later but I very nearly saw no cricket at all. The fire brigade was needed to help drain the flooded outfield before play was declared possible and I could see South Africa’s Shaun Pollock take three wickets and Jonty Rhodes demonstrate his fielding prowess in the covers.

The only leading nation missing from my list was India. Fortunately I was able to rectify this omission many years later in 2011. By now a resident of Bridgwater, I nipped down to Taunton to watch a full-strength Indian side, weary from the IPL, desperately seeking first-class match practice. The England skipper Andrew Strauss was similarly out of touch and, in extraordinary circumstances, given special dispensation by the ECB, his Middlesex club and Somerset to bat in this game. He actually went on to score a century but, like most of those in the County Ground, I was more interested in seeing the likes of Gambhir, MS Dhoni and Yuvraj Singh in the flesh. Above all, I grasped the opportunity of seeing Sachin Tendulkar and Rahul Dravid in partnership, albeit not for very long. An ambition realised (left).                           

But what about joining a touring party myself? I’ve certainly never craved being a member of the Barmy Army. I couldn’t imagine anything worse! However, my bucket list dream of watching the West Indies play – against anybody, I’m not fussy – at the Sir Vivian Richards stadium on Antigua will almost certainly remain unfulfilled. Instead I retain my fond memories of hours spent under Essex skies watching the best in the world just eight miles from home, a privilege now rarely permitted in this age of concertina-ed schedules where money-spinning internationals inevitably take precedence.  Kids today don’t know what they’re missing…