The growth of Twenty 20 has inevitably led to the format’s
own global tournament every two years. To be honest, I have little interest in
it. Probably the only action I can recall watching live was the astonishing last-over
climax at Kolkata in 2016 when Ben Stokes served up four identical deliveries
for Carlos Brathwaite to club for six and hand
the West Indies an unlikely victory.
For me, the only cricket World Cup that matters is the one
based on official one-day international rules. That now involves fifty overs a
side but when the Prudential Cup launched in 1975 the poor things had to play
sixty. Too long for twenty-first century viewers but great value for teenage
fans like me.
The ODI as a concept was very much in its infancy; prior to
this tournament the total number contested by the six Test-playing nations was
fewer than twenty. With a straightforward format comprising two groups of four,
semis and final, the World Cup was easily condensed into a fortnight in June.
All the more reason to relish all fifteen matches. Given that all twelve group
fixtures took place on just three days, the simultaneous scheduling and only
two available BBC TV channels meant that few were televised live.
To be honest I have no recollection of watching England sail
through Group A against India, East Africa and New Zealand. The other quartet
was far more interesting and it was Pakistan who fell victim to the Group of
Death, their fate determined by a thrilling finish at Edgbaston. Despite the
efforts of Majid Khan, Sarfraz Nawaz et al, the West Indies scraped home by one
wicket with just two balls to spare.
Infuriatingly, both semis were contested midweek, so pesky
school commitments precluded a full day’s feast of TV cricket. I expected to
get home to watch the England-Australia finale so was staggered to find it had
already been wrapped up. Instead of Lillee and Thomson, it was the little-known
left-arm swing bowler Gary Gilmour who dominated, taking a stunning 6-14.
And so it came to pass that the inaugural final involved the
Aussies and Windies who were becoming bitter rivals. It turned out to be one of the most memorable
matches I’ve ever watched. Annoyingly, we missed the middle section – including
Clive Lloyd’s magnificent century – because Dad’s school fete took priority.
However, from Roy Fredericks treading on his stumps in executing a hooked six
off Lillee to some fabulous run-outs by Viv Richards and premature pitch
invasions near the end, all the game lacked was a nail-biting last-ball climax.
Just writing this 44 years later sets my skin all a-tingle.
The next two World Cups were also hosted by England who
still couldn’t quite make home advantage count. In 1979, I glowed with pride
and wonder as my idol Viv Richards flayed England’s finest to
all corners of Lord’s. That audacious match-winning flicked six off Mike
Hendrick will never leave me an image of an alien beamed down from a planet
where cricket was played on an altogether higher plane.
Four years on and Viv was at it again, part of a Windies
side that was if anything even firmer favourites. They cruised to the final
where the fantasy fast bowling quartet of Roberts, Marshall, Garner and Holding
dismissed India for under 200. And yet this time the script was ripped up. Once
Kapil Dev had pulled off a terrific backpedalling over-the-shoulder catch to
end Richards’ menacing innings, Amarnath and Madan Lal completed the job and we
had new world champions.
England’s monopoly on hosting duty was over, and the Asian
subcontinent assumed the role in the autumn of ’87 followed by Australia/New
Zealand in ’92. The time difference and for us, out-of-season scheduling, meant
I didn’t watch much of either tournament. The sport was becoming more open,
with the Aussies and Pakistan respectively, holding the cup aloft. Imran Khan’s
moment appeared destined, achieved at the age of 39 in his very last ODI. The
crumbling of cricket’s barriers was further illustrated in 1996 when little Sri Lanka shocked the world by
beating Australia with an innovative brand of limited-overs strategy, and the
skill of Aravinda da Silva.
In the summer of ’99, cricket ‘came home’, sort of. In fact,
England shared fixtures with Scotland, Wales and the Netherlands but at least
the premier tournament was held in our
summer and our time zone. That said,
I don’t recall watching much of it on the box. One exception was the India v Sri Lanka group stage game at Taunton. I was working in London
at the time but our office featured a little TV set high on the wall. Someone –
not me - had the foresight to switch it on just as Sourav Ganguly and, more
surprisingly, Rahul Dravid, piled on a terrific triple-century partnership. I
doubt much work was done that afternoon. South Africa were looking likely
winners only to lose their heads in a climactic frantic semi-final scramble against eventual champs
Australia. Thus the competition introduced not only the Super Six and the white
‘Duke’ ball but also the unwanted ‘chokers’ label around the Proteas’ necks.
Twenty years later, rightly or wrongly, it’s still there.
Things took a political turn in 2003 and the combination of
eye-catching results (e.g against Sri Lanka) and fortuitous boycotts
in Africa propelled lowly Kenya and Bangladesh into the semi-final
stratosphere. For all the giant-killings, Australia were unbeatable and duly
thumped India in the final by 125 runs. I caught a few late-evening highlights
on BBC2 of the 2007 event, which featured an early exit for India (which
prompted a change of format to prevent any repeat of such a financially
damaging scandal), Ireland’s defeat of Pakistan, the latter’s coach Bob Woolmer
suffering a fatal heart attack and a farcical final completed in near-darkness.
By Spring 2011, I was seeing Angie, who had Sky Sports at
home, so in between her precious football, I sneaked a few glimpses of cricket
at weekends. England’s embarrassment at the hands of the green-haired Irish was joyous to behold but
it was also a pleasure to witness the concluding hour or so of the final in Mumbai. The decision to stage
the World Cup across the entire Asian subcontinent, with Dhaka hosting the
opener, proved a resounding success. For all the caring and sharing, it has to
be said that from Sehwag’s brilliant 175 in Match 1 to MS Dhoni’s
characteristically piece of perfect pacing six weeks later, the trophy had
India’s name on it throughout.
The most recent edition saw another Aussie triumph although
co-hosts New Zealand pushed them hard with their aggressive play. Ireland won
more games than England, whose chances of progression were ended by Bangladesh,
but I was disappointed that for 2019 the ICC decided to raise the drawbridge to
stop the Associate nations getting ideas above their station.
On the plus side, the forthcoming tournament is now returning to these shores. Consequently, subject to politics, personal health
and that perennial enemy of cricket, inclement weather, this summer will allow
me to watch my first ever World Cup matches live in Cardiff. This time,
top-ranked England will start hot favourites but above all I look forward to
enjoying the multinational atmosphere and exciting performances. It may not
match up to the nostalgic aura of 1975 – Viv, Clive, Lillee and all that – but
here’s hoping for a summer to remember.
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