Book review: Sixty years on the back foot, by Clyde Walcott

The Caribbean has produced several of the greatest batsmen of all time. However, many of these players seem to rail against faceless figures of authority. Currently, talisman Chris Gayle swats boundaries at whim – more often for lucrative T20 sides than for the West Indies. The chain which leads back through the likes of Brian Lara and Sir Vivian Richards – who was rather partisanly profiled in the acclaimed documentary Fire in Babylon – to George Headley.

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The second (or third, or fourth depending on how you look at it) of these superstars was Sir Clyde Walcott, a forerunner of devastating West Indian batsmanry and later president of the International Cricket Council. His autobiography, Sixty years on the back foot, was published at the conclusion of his ICC tenure in 1997.

His memoir is lightweight – entire tours are glossed over, especially those in which the West Indies struggled – and Walcott writes with the style of a man who finishes lengthy believable anecdotes with “Can you believe it?”. However, the parallels between West Indian cricket in 1952 and in 2012 are too plain to ignore.

Along with Sir Everton Weeks and Sir Frank Worrell, Walcott was one of the famed “Three Ws”, three Bajan players raised within a mile of each other and who helped West Indian cricket attain relevance in the 1950s. The significance of the three friends and their relationship is underscored throughout Walcott's writings as he attempts to characterise Caribbean cricket through their free-hitting exploits.

He does this for a simple reason: Walcott unquestionably thought that West Indian cricket, when played hard but for fun, is superior to any other. (Ed: he may be right) Time and again, his tacit disdain the orthodoxy inherent in 1950s English cricket is obvious; simultaneously he rejoices in the laid-back joie de vivre that formerly typified West Indian cricket.

Although Fire in Babylon incorrectly suggested that calypso cricket was provided only a team of loveable freewheelers (ie. losers), you can't escape the feeling while Walcott revelled in victories, he wouldn't countenance sacrificing style to achieve more success. His transition from money-chasing maverick pro to WICB ambassador adds another intriguing dynamic. However, like most politicians, his autobiography is an exercise in using many words to avoid saying much at all.

Although Walcott's memoir hearkens to different times, where pacemen were named Esmond Kentish and Foffie Edwards, there are still familiar cricket themes. Race relations, though downplayed, provided undercurrents of discontent. The same could be said for matters of money, as cricketers were still strictly classified as “professional” or “amateur”. That Worrell, Weekes and Walcott were forced to choose between making a living playing English league cricket rather than representing the West Indies provides a fifty-year prophecy of the WICB's current struggles with player free-agency.

The same issues have plagued West Indian cricket now for sixty years. The islands' success from 1975 to 1995 and more widespread cricketing professionalism only masked the difficulties of West Indian players and administrators. That the situation is unchanged over so long, coupled with difficult economic factors leaves the reader feeling that this situation is now intractable in West Indian cricket and the game is so much the poorer.

However disappointing the state of West Indian cricket, it's perhaps more disappointing that such an eminent figure in the game stuck true to his political, rather than returning to his maverick roots and challenging the myriad failings in Caribbean cricket politics.

My Favourite Cricketer: Curtly Ambrose - Matthew Wood

As we involve noted cricket writers and bloggers on our topic "My Favourite Cricketer" - the brainchild of Balanced Sports' Matthew Wood - sees the series creator delve into his happy childhood memories to pay homage to the baddest, coolest fast bowler in recent memory: Curtly Elconn Lynwall Ambrose.

As cricket fans, we favour iconoclasts and champions. Every player in this series is likely to fall into one category or the other. The players who appeal most express a certain freedom - of emotion, thought, preparation, leadership or skill. Our game, more than any other, creates artistry - in batsmanship, bowling, fielding and captaincy. That liberty allows one to create results from nothing a la Shane Warne, to redefine the game as Jardine or one's own game like Lillee; to propagate evolution by force of will alone in the mould of Allan Border or simply just to be oneself, enormous moustache and all - Merv Hughes.

I spent months considering who actually is my favourite cricketer; narrowing the list of potentials proving more difficult than anticipated. Certain players I respect for their skill and resulting achievement: Sir Donald Bradman, Warne or McGrath. The Chappell brothers remain straight-shooters, one an iconoclast and the other a fractured savant. My childhood favourite? Merv Hughes. Stylistically, no-one comes within galaxies of Sir Viv Richards, while the greatest moment of cricket perspective was Keith Miller's "Pressure is a Messerschmitt up your arse, not playing cricket".

Curtly Elconn Lynwall Ambrose didn't redefine fast bowling, but re-imagined it. The last in almost a half-century of the truly great West Indian pacemen, he not only picked up the legacy of forbears Hall, Griffith, Roberts, Holding, Croft, Garner and Marshall but added his own chapter to cricket's most exciting history. His stature - 6'7 - led to constant, inevitable and overstated references to a basketball career, but he shouldn't be remembered for that length but for it's deadly effect when combined with his natural talent and work ethic.

Fast strides to the wicket turned into a quickish amble as the years passed, but Ambrose casually delivered the ball from over 9 feet high at extreme pace for twelve years at Test level. Instead of losing accuracy due to his height, he turned that divine gift into a stock ball which reared off a good length: he had the accuracy of McGrath, the malice of Holding, the movement of Marshall and the faster changeup of the killer Roberts. He had everything any fast bowler could want, including a murderous yorker and a bouncer so evil it hissed "Luke, I am your father" as the ball passed their throat.

Loose-jointed and almost outrageously fast, he was the evolutionary Joel Garner. His languid appearance, nevermore on show than when bowing to Bay 13, often gave the impression of coasting. He could afford to celebrate victories as they kept him going - cricket never meant that much to him. Unlike some others, he appeared a to have a life outside cricket and now combines with former captain and fellow Antiguan Richie Richardson in a reggae outfit.

After years of competition between bowlers to get into the West Indian side, the destiny of their pace attack rested with Curtly, who became the sole embodiment of the Caribbean fast bowling progression. He was criticised more often for coasting than he actually did. Much of that may have come from poor use as necessity harnessed him into the role of combo bowler, stock-plus-strike. Perhaps fittingly his only competition for the title of "best paceman" over the past twenty years is McGrath, who successfully combined those fraught roles. The large man was human and prone to emotion which focused his mind on delivering missiles that seemed to come from orbit.

That human side came out in his final assault on Australian shores in 1996-97. Down on form and luck, he announced before the third Test in Melbourne he would take ten wickets and Brian Lara would score a century. Lara couldn't fulfill his end, but Ambrose performed magnificently, taking 9 for 72. So good - and gracious - was he that no-one begrudged his success and most were left disappointed when he couldn't quite manage the ten-fer. After missing the next match through injury (unsurprisingly, the West Indians lost), he returned for Perth and in a 10-wicket triumph took 7/93 - Curtly owned Perth.

His Test averages speak for themselves: 405 Test wickets at 20.99 and an Economy rate of 2.3. He has the lowest economy rate of any fast bowler with over 200 wickets, and is fifth overall. The average stands the third best of any of the greats: .05 behind Marshall and .02 behind his prototype Garner.

Ambrose's most famous moments came against the Australians - he toured Australia three times - in 1988-89 as a rookie , in 92-93 as the best bowler in the world and in 1996-97 as a fading force still commanding ultimate respect.

The most revered spell of fast bowling in recent Australian memory, talked about as the greatest of follies of all time occurred in a One-Day match in Brisbane in 1993. The recently-reinstated Dean Jones asked him to remove his white wristband. Instantly, commentators, spectators and the West Indian fielders knew he had made a mistake and Curtly told him so - in words and actions. He unleashed the most unholy spell of fast bowling, claiming 5/32 and running himself into an seeing-is-believing stretch of form climaxing when he ensured the retention of the Sir Frank Worrell trophy with a villainous spell of 7/1 at the WACA.

His 1995 stouch with Steve Waugh at Trinidad turned Bankstown's finest from "good" to "great" and was the last great tribulation for Waugh before he could claim to be amongst the all-timers. Curtly Ambrose, so long a man-mountain of fast bowlers, was Waugh's - and with Lara, Australia's - Everest. The best of the 1980s had to succumb to the best of the 1990s. West Indian cricket has not since been the same.

It's not fair - and very wrong - that Curtly Ambrose is probably not considered at the same level as Lillee, Hall, Marshall and McGrath. He was every bit as talented and driven as those bowlers yet for the majority of his career was supported by a gimpy Ian Bishop and the corpse of Courtney Walsh. After he became the attack leader, he never had the support of a Thomson, Warne or Gillespie, meaning he had to know when to attack and when to defend. The freedom to go all out was denied him for the last seven years of his career. His pacy Islander ancestors could rely on the guy at the other end joining you in ritually strangling the batsmen. Curtly could not.

Don't tell me Curtly Ambrose wasn't amongst the greats. Mike Atherton and Steve Waugh certainly think he was. His combination of lethal pace, pinpoint accuracy and devastating "troat balls". Of all the players I remember seeing, the one of whom I have the fondest memories for who he was, was Curtley Ambrose.

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