The Aesthetics Of Cricket

What follows is a pure romanticisation of the game of cricket, for which I shall not apologise, highlighting my underlying passion for the noble game.

The Field
At times, where the fieldsman stand strikes fear into the heart of the gentleman trying to do the striking. The great fast bowlers can stand at the end of their mark and, taking a sharp intake of breath, can gaze upon glorious open fields of green. Large sections of the outfield no longer require a man in whites to occupy them because of the bowlers skill and sheer speed of delivery. He is so good there is no way he can possibly be driven through mid on. He is so good that apart from a hunched figure at short leg, there is no one in front of square on the leg side. This bowler can bowl to this field. There is a man at mid-off. He is the only gentleman in white in front of square on the off side. This bowler can still bowl to this field. Everyone else is in a curve. The curve itself makes me smile as I think back to days gone by when the West Indies (and later the Australians) could set fields like this in almost every test match they played, regardless of who they were playing. The wicket-keeper stands bent, gloves on knees, waiting for the bowler to begin his take off. He himself is half way to the boundary just to manage a safe landing. Even further back is the gentleman designated first slip. An important position when setting any field, it is even more important when most of his peers are curved around to his right. Should he put one down now, the fieldsman who do not usually occupy this specialist position will almost certainly have words about how they might have taken that one. I can only think of Shane Warne on day five of the fifth test in the 2005 Ashes series at the Oval. You dropped the Ashes there, mate. For the purpose of then, had he taken Pieterson then, then the Australians might have then set this field I am describing. This field where the slips merge into the gullys, and the gullys merge into the backward point. All are crouched, waiting, hoping, as the bowler comes down. Look at this field he commands! And with such skill! Down goes the ball, down the channel, just outside off stump. The batsman is wise and there is a comfortable leave. The keeper takes the catch, ending the play. For now. Five skips, a gully, a backward point. Four slips, two gullys, a backward point. Four slips, three gullys. Call it what you will, they still wait. Ready to pounce, and send another gentleman packing to the pavilion.

The Ground
The pavilion should be the jewel in the crown. The crowning glory. The glory of glory. But there is one pavilion which stands above all others. The pavilion at Lord's Cricket Ground. Opened in 1890, it has not changed much since then. The original aesthetic qualities from the outside remain. To the lucky few who are allowed inside, it still has its charms. I am told. The exclusiveness of the Lord's pavilion is one of its qualities. Very few gentlemen can say they have watched the Saturday of the Lord's Test from the Long Room. Very few, indeed, can say they have permission to sit on the benches just in front. The benches themselves are very Lord's, in an age when the fold down plastic seat is in every sport's arena anywhere in the world. In English cricket grounds, they are white. When they are not, they are only temporary. They will soon be gone again. Only there for the big fixtures. Even the fold downs have a certain visual pleasure to them, for they emphasise the curve of the ground around the boundary better than the boundary rope does. Much is to be said for the areas around the playing surface which remains undeveloped. South Africa, it has often struck me, takes great care of the grass verges which rise up instead of man-made grandstands. On a sunny day, gentlemen and ladies can catch the rays of the sun whilst the children act out their own mimics of cricket. The people seem more relaxed on the grassy banks. They can spread out their picnics and lay out a fleece to sit on if they wish. They can make that patch of grass their own to watch the cricket from. They own that view. I myself like to sit, slightly raised, behind the bowlers arm. The view you get means you are either looking from directly in front of the stage or from behind the stage. Every other over is viewed as if you are the television camera. The desire to be a television camera. Bizarre. But that is what many of us are used to. Television coverage has made us comfortable watching from directly behind the bowler. There is a small sense of disorientation when, at the end of the over, the wicket-keeper comes down the wicket and turns his back on you. As if he is at fault. It is certainly not likely they will pause the game and let the crowd walk round to the other end of the ground.

Batting
The aggressive side of the noble game. Where sheer power can be enough to keep you in the game for one more ball. When the top bowlers come to bowl, it should be renamed battling. The duel begins, but can really only end in one way; with the fall of the wicket. But the delaying of the inevitable is a glorious aesthetic collage of movement and exquisite flows of energy. This is most noticeable when it is not there. A batsman, for example, receives a short-pitched delivery halfway down the track that he is not expecting. He leaps up, his bat rising in front of him. Now it is a tool of protection, not a weapon of venom. He looks awkward. His back bends a bit 'the other way'. His knees are well bent. He rides the delivery. That is the way to play it; by instinct. And by hope. Hope that it makes its way safely to the floor. Hope that it does not clip a bail somehow. Hope that it does not balloon to a fieldsman. And hope that it does not knock you senseless. When the right ball comes, that it when the beauty appears. The grace of an on-drive. The most technically-difficult of cricket shots. Few can execute it with precision and grace. Those who can, should, for it is a beautiful thing. The pause at the end of the stroke is glorious, as batsman can look right down the line of the shot as the ball makes its way to the boundary. Such elegance is still there is some of the more brutal shots square of the wicket. The cut through backward point off of the back foot, like the hook behind square on the leg side, is all about timing. The fast bowler is manipulated. The pace that he put on the ball has taken it to the boundary. In each cricket shot, the bat becomes a baton, as the conductor tries to get the rowdy orchestra to play in perfect harmony. Something only the best can hope to achieve. Though it should be said some achieve this before they reach the crease. Vivian Richards achieved it as he strolled across the outfield making his way to the crease. A swagger in his step, he was not cocky. Just the best. Chewing his chewing gum with his baton under his arm. As if his job were already done.

Spinning
The only bona-fide art form of cricket, this brings me the most pleasure. One delivery changed the world. The ball of the century. Shane Warne. Mike Gatting. Old Trafford. 1993. Enough said. That was the perfect delivery, and we can only dream that one day someone might repeat it. The art form itself does not rely on raw power based on physical dominance, as the paceman strives to produce. The spinner has to be cunning, and the top spinners in the game are cunning. They use the wicket in a smart way to their advantage, pitching it in the footmarks of the thundering paceman. If he puts it there, it should turn. And if it turns, you had better hope you are not batting left handed. Right arm leg spin round the wicket to a left handed batsman who also has to contend with the rough being outside his off stump. Do not expect too many boundaries here. Keep bat and pad close together, get to the pitch of the ball and just hope the short leg or silly point does not have anything to say. Yes, the field is in. A slip, a short leg, a silly point and a man at short mid wicket. And the most likely outcome? Being bowled thought the gate. There is less shame for the left hander being bowled this way than there is for the right hander who has been bowled round his legs. This can considered to be a test match dismissal. The spinner throws it up into the rough now outside the leg stump. It pitches in the rough but the batsman can kick it away. A few of them he might leave altogether. But if he does this, sooner or later one will turn enough, and hit the top of leg stump. The spinner's shorter run up increases the over rate. Two spinners bowling in tandem can get the game on the field moving along. Spinners can bowl an entire day with only a break for lunch and a break for tea. The character of English cricket is a spinner. He comes in off a hop, a skip and a trot, and bowls left arm around the wicket. He, unlike England's last spinner, is an attacking spin bowler. As soon as he gives the ball a rip, his eyes widen. He expects a wicket with every ball. And when he gets one, his eyes widen and he is off jumping down the track with joy, high fiveing the fieldsmen as he goes. He has a genuine passion for the game, and that helps the rest of the team. When I was young, I always wanted to be a spinner. If I was a spinner, I would want to be like Monty.

The Media
Cricket is a game with a proud history, but even games with long histories have to move with the times in one way or another. First came the radio, and with the radio came Test Match Special. As English as the Queen, this is certainly as much a British institution as the Proms. We cannot forget this is a medium of voices, and we cannot for this when the voices are as distinct as Henry Blofeld and Jonathan Agnew. What they say is pleasing to hear. Even when they read the batting card and England are bowled out for less than 150. To hear the bowling figures is easy on the ear, as is hearing the field. I like to picture the field in my head as they read it out. And when the game is quiet, they do anyone would do. They wander. If the test is at Old Trafford, Henry might comment that "a train has just pulled into the station and there must be about twenty or thirty people alighting, struggling to carry all their hampers and sandwiches and what as McGrath comes in and bowls outside off stump and through to Gilchrist no stroke from Vaughan England 97 for two. Yes, they're all making their way steadily round the back of the Brian Statham end towards the gate where there's a man with a rather bright yellow sun hat at the front of the queue struggling to find his ticket, which is rather worrying for him…" The idiosyncrasies of the commentary are as pleasing to hear as the standard readings. But that which has pictures tends to bring these idiosyncrasies through the lens. The commentators do not have to explain them. The cameras pan round the ground and pick out the novelties for the armchair cricketer. The former players provide the one line comment. David 'start the car' Lloyd being the best at these, making fellow commentators chuckle and making people at home smile and laugh. The media enhances the game. I like to think it enhances the playing experience as well, for it is yet to take over the running of the game as is sadly now the case in football.

Yours, wherever you may be,
Daniel C. Wright