Cut, Drive and Pull: Favourite Batsmen

Bowlers, wicketkeepers, umpires and fielders are all very well but, just as football is a game of goals, cricket’s principal appeal is the scoring of runs. Bring on the batsmen! However I can’t actually remember the identity of my first genuine favourite.

In the early Seventies none of the home side were the type to set the pulse racing. I mean, Dennis Amiss? John Edrich? Brian Luckhurst? Really?! I’d been aware of Northants’ man mountain Colin Milburn whose swashbuckling career was cut short by a car accident in 1969 but I must admit his cricketing antithesis, Geoff Boycott, was a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine. He scored loads of runs, slowly, but lots of ‘em, and yet I didn’t understand why so many people hated him. I even cheered along with the rest of Headingley when he so memorably completed his hundredth first-class century against the Aussies in 1977.

As with bowlers, it was some of the overseas batsmen which first caught my young eye. I think I was impressed by Greg Chappell’s calm approach to innings building against England and I vividly recall sitting at Nanna and Grandad’s bungalow in 1974 watching Pakistan’s Majid Khan strike a glorious ODI century, something of a rarity in the format’s infancy. He seemed to play in such a carefree manner, an artist enjoying his work.

Another inspirational cricketer was Clive Lloyd. Whether was winning domestic finals for Lancashire or Test matches for the West Indies, he did so with such a unique flourish. He was nicknamed ‘The Cat’ and with good reason. Whether fielding or at the crease, he would first resemble a bespectacled long-limbed lazybones then suddenly – bam! - pounce with lightning speed, picking up and throwing in one thrilling movement or pulling a stunning six over mid-wicket. Later, as captain of the most successful international side of my lifetime, ‘Clivey’ became broader in build, swapping cap for white sun-hat and the covers for first slip, but he always remained for me one of the most watchable players in history. The inaugural World Cup Final in ’75 was his supreme stage but imagine what a limited overs legend he would have been had he arrived twenty years later.

Sunil Gavaskar was a completely different kettle of Mumbai fish. His World Cup debut was marked by an ignominious bat-carrying 36 not out in 60 overs in a laughable so-called run chase against England. And yet in Test cricket he was a marvel. I naturally warmed to anyone short of stature and, while completely different from the likes of Lloyd, Sobers or Richards, I loved the calm composure with which he accumulated runs. For many it was his unique ability to blunt the hostile Windies pace attack which was his outstanding legacy. Statisticians will point out his achievement as the first man to score 10,000 Test runs. What I will treasure most of all was his ultimately doomed attempt to steer India to what would have been an astonishing fourth innings triumph at The Oval in 1979. Needing 438 to win, ‘Sunny’ marshalled the innings brilliantly, and I was on the edge of my chair willing him and India to succeed. When he eventually fell on 221, 49 short of the target, my heart sank. Viswanath and the tail reduced the deficit bit by bit but in the end they ran out of time, a tantalising ten runs adrift.

Since his retirement, India have boasted a formidable array of batting talent, from Azharuddin to Kohli and, of course, Sachin Tendulkar. However, it is the original Little Master who made the deeper impression on me. I also had a soft spot for another hard-nosed and gritty Test star, Allan Border. Before he became a notoriously tough captain of a rejuvenated band of Aussies, ‘AB’ made his presence felt during the 1981 series in England. It may have been ‘Botham’s Ashes’ but I was very much aware that by a country mile Border scored more runs than anyone else. His short-arm pull was hardly a thing of beauty but he was the man at number six you’d want to shore up any disintegrating innings.

I saw ‘Captain Grumpy’ a few times playing for Essex in the late Eighties and it was at Chelmsford in 1996 where the strokeplay of Pakistani opener Saeed Anwar first struck me between the eyes. Not literally, but his 102 for the tourists was fabulous. The stylish left-hander also did the business during that summer’s Test series, particularly in the decider at The Oval.

Earlier that year, Sri Lanka consigned to history their reputation as immature fall-guys by winning the World Cup. Their star batsman was Aravinda de Silva who, while already well-known to me, reached the pinnacle at Lahore with a glorious hundred in the final against the formidable Aussies. I loved the way he went for his shots, generally under the radar because of the relatively unfashionable country of his birth.

Domestically I have tended to be drawn towards my fellow members of the ‘shorties’ club. In the Seventies there was Lancashire’s Harry Pilling who, at 5 feet 3, was even more vertically challenged than I am. Then there was Tony Cottey, a sturdy pillar of Glamorgan’s middle-order in their title-winning Nineties side. Fast forward to the early Noughties and my perusal of the online scorecards alerted me to a young Leicestershire lad called James Taylor. Albeit in the Second Division, he was clearly a class above his peers although it was only after Nottinghamshire swooped that the England selectors also took notice. He didn’t get a decent run in the Test XI but was becoming a top-notch one-day batsman when, out of the blue at the age of 26, he announced his immediate retirement because of a heart condition. Life is cruel.

Another former Leicestershire star, David Gower, also earned my admiration before he was quickly welcomed into the international fold at 21 in 1978. Tall, undoubtedly posh and with unfashionably curly blonde hair, he was nonetheless one of the most graceful cricketers I’ve ever seen. At his peak, that apparent insouciance was often criticised by a media more in tune with the upright, granite-jawed approach of contemporaries Graham Gooch or Mike Gatting. That just made me like him even more!

It pains me to think that Gatting, statistically the most unsuccessful England captain of all time is best known for winning the Ashes once whereas Gower is forever associated with losing two series against the incredible Windies team 5-0. His admission being haunted by the four words “caught Dujon bowled Marshall” is typical of his self-deprecating humour, also a feature of the old BBC comedy sports quiz They Think It’s All Over, and now he brings that same effortless leisurely style to his career as cricket broadcaster. Everyone should be reminded what a gorgeous player David Gower was to watch with bat, rather than microphone, in hand.

Whatever the quality of Gower and Clive Lloyd, my favourite left-hander of all must be Marcus Trescothick. Of course it is heavily influenced by his long career with Somerset. In our initial immersion into the world of Fantasy Cricket back in the early Nineties, Dad and I quickly caught on to the value of an eighteen year-old Tres, and he is still there. Slower, burlier and bespectacled perhaps, but his drives are as crisp as ever. The overpowering anxiety which destroyed his hugely successful stint as powerhouse opener with England has worked to his county’s advantage for the past decade. Like the ravens at the Tower, he has become part of SCCC’s DNA. When he eventually retires, the sky will surely fall in. A thirty-metre gold statue in Taunton would be the very least he deserves.

Rave as I might about Marcus, probably the most prolific Somerset batsman of the past decade has been James Hildreth. Frequently near the top of the Division One averages and a regular 1000 runs-a season man in the Championship, the Millfield School graduate has been a reliable number four for yonks. Yet, for all his tidy run accumulation – he has 44 first-class centuries to his name – the closest he has come to England recognition was as a successful Lions captain in 2011. Like Trescothick, we Somerset fans aren’t complaining; Lord’s’ loss is County Ground’s gain.

However, when it comes to Somerset legends, few are more legendary than Isaac Vivien Alexander Richards. Where calypso cricket is concerned, Brian Lara may have collected more records (his mid-Nineties patch was purpler than Prince’s entire back-catalogue) and with greater panache, while Chris Gayle has been the undoubted king of T20 cricket, but my all-time hero in this or indeed any sport is Sir Viv.

I’ve waxed lyrical about him before but, from the day I witnessed his match-winning six at Chelmsford in 1975 to his emotional farewell sixty at the Oval in 1991, he bestrode the game like a gum-chewing, cap-wearing colossus. Like Lloyd, he was a phenomenal fielder – witness his three World Cup Final run-outs in ’75 – but when it came to the big occasion it was invariably a Richards innings wot won it. The summer of ’76 is fondly remembered by those old enough as one of endless hot, sunny days. For me, it’s at least as memorable for Viv’s domination of the Windies’ Test series against England. It began with a peerless 232 at Trent Bridge and ended with 291 at The Oval but there was so much more to the man than mere numbers.

He wasn’t tall but he possessed a swagger that defied any bowler to get him out. Current TV practice is to start a new batsman’s innings only when he faces his first delivery. Anything prior to that is dead air to be filled by another bloody gambling ad. To do that when IVA Richards was en route from the dressing room would necessitate missing the crucial first act in the King Viv show. His walk to the wicket was deliberately measured, windmilling arms, touching his cap (never a helmet), milking the drama, ratcheting the anticipation to fever pitch. He owned that stage.

For all the attitude, like Lloyd he was often vulnerable at the start but once he escaped the teens, he was virtually unstoppable, be it in Tests or one-dayers. He invented shots that may seem run-of-the-mill to those brought up on Buttler, Warner or De Villiers but were mind-boggling four decades ago. Somerset’s trophy cabinet between 1979 and 1984 was filled thanks largely to his brave, brutal, beautiful innings but perhaps his most memorable performance on these shores was for the West Indies at Old Trafford in May ’84. His murderous unbeaten 189 was all the more astounding given that the second highest score on the WI card that afternoon was Baptiste’s 26! I may not have approved of all his decisions but, when it comes to charisma and breathtaking strokeplay, there will never be another Viv Richards.