David Gower (Text Only). David Gower

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СКАЧАТЬ once if not twice. The result was that we’d spent most of the following week doing extra catching practice. Anyway, Ashley Harvey-Walker was batting well when Raymond came on, and I was despatched to patrol the leg-side boundary (these were the days when I had a decent throwing arm). Sure enough, he slogged one straight up in the air, and after swallowing hard at the thought of lily’s reaction should I happen to drop it, managed to cling on. Elation then took over, and as I was tossing the ball up several times and bowing to the crowd, I suddenly heard this apoplectic Pudsey voice bellowing, ‘Get t’bloody thing back, Gower. It’s a bloody no-ball!’ Having already allowed them to run two instead of one, I then hurled the ball in, and it ricocheted away off the stumps for another single. Raymond was now giving a passable imitation of Vesuvius, and Graham Cross has collapsed with laughter at short mid-wicket. I thought about inquiring as to how the captain of England and Leicestershire, not to mention one of the most miserly purveyors of off-spin bowling in cricket history happened to be bowling no-balls, but thought better of it.

      If I had mentioned it to him, he would more than likely have claimed that the groundsman had painted the line in the wrong place, because if anyone were to hold a world excuses championship, Raymond would have won it with something to spare. Brian Davison used to keep a list of them, and believe me there were some absolute jewels. Illy once got caught at slip shortly after lunch to a ball that he claimed had seamed away on what was basically a flat pitch. He came steaming through the dressing room door claiming that a plantain had sprung up on a length during the interval. ‘T’umpire must have given me t’wrong guard,’ was another classic, and in one match when we were supposed to be defending, he was bowled having a wild slog at Allan Jones, whose trademark was a Jimmy Connors’ style grunt (only louder) when he let go of the ball. It was such a horrid shot that none of us in the dressing room thought he could possibly explain that one away, but sure enough, Raymond was more than up to the task. He came through the door, lobbed his bat in the direction of his chair and sat down. The tension was unbelievable, when he spluttered, ‘Would you credit it? That bloody Jonah and his grunting … I thought t’umpire had called no-ball.’ At which point the dressing room fell apart.

      Raymond was, nevertheless, a fabulous captain to play under, and while he came in for his fair share of the inevitable dressing-room micky-taking, he had this amazing knack of being able to switch us all on to serious business at a moment’s notice. We’d be having a laugh and a joke, sometimes at his expense, and then the five minute bell would go. Illy would clap his hands, the place would fall silent and he would unveil some masterly tactical plan for the next session. Unfortunately, not every member of his team possessed his attention to detail, and there was one occasion at Taunton when one of Raymond’s brainwaves did not quite go according to the script. Viv Richards was in his pomp at that time, and having faced just one delivery before the lunch break, inevitably walked off 4 not out. He looked, we thought, ominously in the mood. However, Illy had worked out that he was not entirely in control of the hook shot early in an innings, and that the ball occasionally went in the air to what would roughly have been just backward of square. Raymond sat plotting over his lunch, and decided that Paddy Clift should field at fine leg, but move surreptitiously to backward square for Les Taylor’s fourth ball after lunch. This, of course, would be a bouncer. Unfortunately, Les slipped in a no-ball, Paddy’s mathematics got a bit confused, and when Viv did precisely what Illy had thought he might, there was no Paddy Clift. And Viv went on to get his hundred.

      Illy was also a highly canny bowler. For instance, if Jack Birkenshaw was bowling you knew it was a totally flat wicket, whereas if Illy was on you knew it was either turning square or it was the last over before lunch. The latter case backfired on him quite badly in a match against Sussex, when he duly appeared for his ritual 1-1-0-0 but came off the field, wearing a slightly bewildered expression, with something closer to 1-0-22-0. The batsman in question was Javed Miandad with whom, it later transpired, Raymond had had an altercation a year or so previously, and called him something fairly unpleasant. Raymond had long since forgotten this, but Javed had not, so we spent a rib-clutching five minutes before lunch watching Javed charging down the pitch, and Illy peering – with a completely bemused expression – at one ball after another vanishing over the sightscreen. Getting hit for six did not amuse Illy at the best of times, and whenever teams came to Leicester in those days, they generally required a pair of binoculars to make out the boundary rope – except, that is, for the bigger games, when the sponsors (this is pre-executive box era) would pitch tents on the outfield, hence, shorter boundaries. Raymond used to play hell about this, and in one Sunday League match the sight of two consecutive deliveries dropping into the coleslaw in the Bostik guests’ tent proved too much for him. For the next couple of minutes spectators were treated to the fairly unusual sight of the Leicestershire captain waving his fist at the committee balcony and giving them a fearful haranguing. Even so, I think he managed to drag himself into the tent for a sponsored Pimms or two afterwards.

      I think it’s fair to say that when misfortune struck, Raymond was not so quick to see the funny side of it, but the old boy was not without a sharp turn of repartee on occasions. Leicestershire did not have a strict dress code for players in those days, but they worked roughly on the basis of smart casuals. No tie and jacket required, but a reasonable appearance was demanded. I slightly tarnished my record one day at Trent Bridge when I woke up in my customary bleary-eyed state in the flat at Leicester and groped around in semi-darkness for a pair of shoes. What I had put on was one black shoe, and one brown. This didn’t go un-noticed by the captain, and there then followed a longish lecture on the standards of dress expected from young professionals. I can’t remember the exact words, but ‘smarten up you scruffy sod’ was the basic message.

      I fancied there might be some mileage in this lecture, so, having recently acquired a dark blue dinner suit, I took it with me to our next match in Taunton. In the relaxed atmosphere of breakfast before a Sunday League game I strode into the dining room. Suit, bow-tie, polished shoes (both black), the works. Raymond glanced up from his plate, gave me the once over, and said: ‘Bloody hell, Gower. Have you just come in?’ Whether he meant this as a joke, or whether he was being serious, I’m not totally sure. You rarely could tell with Raymond. We got on very well, and he did try to nurture me through, as did most of the senior players, the likes of Davison, Dudleston, Tolchard, Steele and Micky Norman. They were a good crew to be with, and we also happened to be a very good side, and all this worked in my favour in those early days.

      Those first three or four years under Illy were as good a grounding as a young player could have, and I made the transition from an averagely talented player to a slightly better than average player with a decent idea of what professional cricket is all about. It was certainly different than what I had imagined it would be like, and there were one or two instances of the talented but wet-behind-the-ears-public-schoolboy running into a bit of hostility from the hardened pro trying to make a living on a demanding circuit. I remember opening the innings in a championship game against Surrey at the Oval and timing a few cover drives early on against the new ball, which appeared to draw a fair amount of steam from Robin Jackman’s ears. He has always been a bit volatile, and the sight of this angelic looking youngster creaming him around the Oval with no apparent effort did not do a lot for his sense of humour. He wanted to know, in fairly blunt terms, whether I was interested in playing the game properly. This did enough to unsettle me and I was lbw not long afterwards. It’s the sort of thing a batsman eventually comes to terms with, and occasionally learns to enjoy, but it was all rather new to me at that time and I didn’t quite know how to keep my concentration in the face of it. In a nutshell, I was beginning to learn that county cricket was a job as opposed to a recreation.

      There were also, contrary to popular opinion, one or two recorded cases of nerves. Before scoring that 89 not out against the West Indies, I remember downing a scotch in the pub next to the ground in the company of the landlady – Roberts and Daniel were sharing the new ball, so it seemed appropriate to try and settle the stomach. Hazel was her name, loved by all, and the place was never quite the same when the brewery moved her on. I did a certain amount of hopping around during that knock. The old duck-hook came out several times – the sort you play when you start going for the hook and end up having to bail out in a hurry when you realize that СКАЧАТЬ