LATEST STORIES

My Batting Inspiration

I met my hero only once, and in that moment he set my technique for the rest of my life. Yet, for over forty years I never knew his name. I had his autograph, but I couldn’t read it.

I remember meeting him when, with my school friends autograph-hunting, we were waiting in the car park outside the back of the county ground pavilion for the last players to emerge after an exhibition match in early September. The Lord’s Taverners had taken on a Rest of the World XI. Dexter had made a tremendous 86, pulling fast bowlers disdainfully for six over the stands and into the river at the back. Our gang of eight was a dedicated core of ardent followers and we awaited Dexter especially.

Suddenly there were shouts from the back of our group: “There’s one!”, and “Autograph mister, please?” We all gathered feverishly in awe around a man whom I did not recognise and who had appeared unexpectedly from somewhere behind us.

On seeing us, he quickened his pace and tried to get past on his way to the offices. ‘Sorry, I haven’t got the time today,’ he said with his head down, a cloth cap shadowing his ageing features.

I jumped in front of him, saying, “Please sir, we’ve been waiting all day..You will be a star in my book.”

He was forced to stop, sighed, and said, “Alright, then. Just this once.”

I scrutinised what he had written, but I could not read his signature. It looked like W Woollens, or W Willans. So, rather than showing my ignorance of the game in front of him and my friends, I decided to ask him if he could give me any tips on technique. Depending on whether he gave me batting, bowling, or wicket-keeping tips, I should be able to deduce his identity.

“Well, yes, I’ll tell you what I try to do,” he said. “When it’s really getting buzzing, I clear my mind of the last one, then I look into the distance and concentrate on the one next to come.”

He took up a two-eyed right-handed stance against an imaginary fast bowler with left foot facing down the wicket. “I follow it all the way down with my eyes, and as it goes past me I lean slightly towards it, then say ’dosh!’ and ‘chit!’. He twisted his wrists at the last moment as he did something fast and magical on the bat handle with his thumbs, finishing with an arm wide and high. I knew it was a brilliant stroke with a one-handed flourish rivalling the exhibition strokes of any of the great test players. He pointed to an imaginary gap between fourth slip and gully and said, ‘into the gap, sir!’

However after he had gone, and after all that he had said to inspire us, our group could still not deduce his identity.

I was so impressed by his advice that I practised the one-handed final flourish in my next school game. I never had any talent at batting. Going in at number eleven, I was often out for a duck. Yet I found that on that day I kept my wicket intact against some terrifically fast bowling, and allowed the captain to slowly accumulate the winning runs at the other end. Since then I gained confidence that I could achieve results with a minimal flick of my wrist. Many grateful times I heard the “Dosh” rustle of my gloves on the bat handle and the beautiful “chit” sound of the ball on the outside edge of my bat as it ran away into the gap for runs.

For over forty years I used this technique and would never have known who he was had it not been for a chance encounter with an old school friend in the street. He used to have a Saturday job which we all envied at the cricket ground. He was paid ten shillings to turn the handle of an inky duplicator to print off match scorecards. Typically when he had done five hundred or so he was allowed to watch the match free. Being a cricket fanatic, he could remember most of the famous cards that he had printed off. I asked him if he recalled the day that Dexter made 86. He said that he clearly did, and I followed it up by asking him if he remembered a name on the scorecard by the name of W Woollens or W Willans.

He thought carefully and said, “I don’t think so. What did he look like?”

“Perhaps a few inches taller than you with a green jacket on.”

“And from what exit did he come out of the building, players, or officials?”

“Well, that’s the curious thing,” I said. “He seemed to come out of the car park behind us, not out of the back of the pavilion. I have often wondered since whether he was a ghost.”

“Oh!” he laughed. “That was Willie Williams. He was famous on account of his technique. He used to stand there like a supreme batsman and just flick his wrists, ‘Dosh’ and ‘Chit’ and then shout ‘Into the gap, sir!’

‘Yes, that’s him!’  I said. ‘What was his first class average?’

‘Oh, he didn’t have an average or anything like that. He was the car park attendant.’

The end

OTHER WORK

Cricket Novel: ‘Guile and Spin.’

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Guile-Spin-Stuart-Louis-Larner/dp/1782991786/

An outrageous, compelling, unforgettable story of cricket played to a farcical level you had previously never thought possible. A must-read for cricket fans everywhere.

Jeremy Freeman hates cricket, but is enticed by woman cricketer Claire who turns his life upside-down.  Fardeep Singh shows him how he can use spiritual powers and mystical charms to achieve his secret dreams.

Oriental magic meets sport psychology in an explosive mix. But that is only the start of their problems. Anything can happen – and does.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Guile-Spin-Stuart-Louis-Larner/dp/1782991786/