Relative merits, great English bowlers

This chart details the relative details of some of England's finest Test match bowlers. The X-axis displays the player's Strike Rate, the Y-axis their Test average. The size of the circle represents the number of wickets per innings the player took (for reference, the lowest total listed here was Flintoff at 1.64 wickets per innings, while Sidney Barnes took 3.78 per).

The bowlers most likely to take cheap, quick wickets are therefore closer to the centre point of the chart.

Sam Robson - Australia's "What If"

At first glance, Sam Robson has the pedigree for international success: he was raised in New South Wales and monstered county attacks for years before getting a Test call-up.

Only it was for England.

In his second Test – the deciding match of the series against Sri Lanka that concluded dramatically today – Robson made his maiden Test ton, an unspectacular but very interesting 127.

The ECB deploying cricketers born overseas is hardly new*. The ranks of proxy Englishmen have swelled even recently as players from five countries turned out for the Three Lions in the series defeat by the Sri Lankans. Even poaching Aussies isn’t a new one; however, the biggest difference between Sam Robson and Martin McCague (or Alan Mullally, ad infinitum) is that Australia desperately wanted him in a Baggy Green.

Go directly to Xavier Doherty. Do not pass "Go".

Xavier Doherty, meet the ECB. ECB, Xavier Doherty.

Although it has recently emerged that personal factors unsurprisingly played a large role in the termination of Kevin Pietersen’s England career, the decision was spun initially as the beginning of a lineup rejuvenation and the implementation of a succession plan to counteract a possible bottoming out occurring upon the retirement of the team’s best players.

We shall say nothing on the fact that those best players still patently include Kevin Pietersen.

However, the idea of gradual squad refreshment is not a new one. One only has to look at the recent Ashes victors to see their forlorn attempts at prolonging their glory era. While it didn’t include forcible retirements (though Damien Martyn may feel otherwise) it was planned meticulously: the new generation - Phil Hughes, Callum Ferguson, Moises Henriques, Ben Hilfenhaus and Dan Cullen – could be ushered in by more established “bridging” players like Clarke, Watson, Siddle and Mike Hussey.

But it didn’t work – none of it. Including the Argus Report. In fact, of that next crop of Australian world-beaters only Phil Hughes has achieved anything of substance at Test level. That was during his first two Tests, now five years and three “technique spells” ago and has resulted in him becoming the most overanalyzed Australian cricketer since Matthew Elliott. The consistency and trust beget by success disintegrated as players failed to perform or started looking not at the ball but over their shoulder.

With the sacking of Pietersen, still the Englishman with the most Test credibility, formerly-well-performed English stalwarts may likewise begin to question their job security.

(Creative commons)

The reason the antipodean succession plan failed was simple. The lone duty of a selector should be to choose the set of players best equipped to represent their country at any particular time. For Australia from 2007-08 through 2013, that was never Beau Casson, nor was it ever Xavier Doherty, Glenn Maxwell, Michael Beer, Ashton Agar, John Hastings or (damn it) Cameron White. The Australian selectors – guided by a board expecting adventure, excitement and really wild things dynamism, marketability and breathing space – simply awarded Test caps without a blueprint detailing how piece X was to insert into piece Y.

The selection committee, along with former coach Mickey Arthur obeyed every male stereotype and refused to look at the accompanying photocopied instruction manual, resulting in ill-advised adventures with poorly-equipped players and constant hoping for a saviour – rather than expecting player growth and, subsequently, improved performance.

Paul Downton and the ECB have a plan, broadly speaking – to rebuild a “unified” squad behind Alastair Cook. How they’re going to enact that plan without evident quality or even perhaps – with Eoin Morgan the favourite to succeed Pietersen – players able to play a role this utopia (c.f. Rogers, Chris and Lyon, Nathan).

Revolutions start in one of two ways. The first utilizes adrenaline-fuelled changes that address a change that is (sometimes) needed. The reverse is the enaction of a well-formulated plan that also includes details as to new administration methods. Neither is necessarily wrong, but as our American brethren might attest, the second method produces superior results. Given the speed with which Kevin Pietersen was summarily pink-slipped, serious doubts linger as to the nature of the ECB’s decision making process.

English fans should hope Downton is as cogent a decision-maker as his reputation trumpets. Otherwise, this way Xavier Doherty lies.

Man United's Januzaj makes right choice: not to choose

The international break approaches us like the semi in Duel – from a speck in the distance, it sneakily becomes overwhelming. Today’s World Cup Qualifiers include important matches between the Euro 2012 hosts in Kharkov and a Sweden/Austria matchup that might determine Group C’s playoff entrant, while the contest in Mexico City could keep the hopes alive of both Panama and Mexico.

The European confederation enters the week’s festivities in a curious manner: five separate national Football Associations are “keeping tabs” on a single player, Adnan Januzaj, a winger helping to dispel Manchester United’s Moyesian malaise. It emerged on Monday that all of the Belgian, English, Serbian, Turkish, Albanian and embryonic Kosovar Associations feel as if the Premiership’s most babyfaced star might be tempted to play for their country.

It’s not unknown for a player to choose his nationality based upon his residence or passport in many sports, but football is undoubtedly the most high-profile. To take two higher-profile examples, Croatia forward Eduardo spent the first sixteen years of his life in Brazil, while James McCarthy was born and raised in Scotland but represents Ireland, the country of his grandparents. Tug-of-loves in International football occur about as regularly as they do on Coronation Street.

However, Januzaj’s situation is different. The player is only eighteen and hasn’t represented any country in youth football; although on the exterior it feels … unwholesome for him to play for the Three Lions after two years in the country, should he feel the appropriate affinity for England, Januzaj should be entitled to cast his lot in forever with them, after he has served the requisite time. The same goes for Belgium, Serbia, Turkey (who are notoriously convincing) and even Kosovo, pending … well, a bunch.

Adnan Januzaj should be absolutely allowed – and encouraged – to choose whoever he wishes. Unlike days past, nationality is a now a fluid concept; perhaps even it is a decision that young men should take more seriously than who they play their club football for. What would have the impact been on Wilfried Zaha – and the Ivory Coast – had he opted to play from them instead of England? For Januzaj there might be even more stark implications, what reaction would there be from Kosovars should he choose to play for Serbia?  Choosing a nationality, even just for a chance to play at the World Cup, should not be easy. Therefore, Januzaj is wise to take the time he needs rather than accepting whichever call-ups hit his door first.

The same choice has recently been faced by the likes of Victor Moses, Wilfried Zaha or Raheem Sterling. If only they had the foresight and wisdom to simply make a statement to the effect of Januzaj – I’ll play for who I like, when I’m ready – they might have saved themselves a significant amount of confusion. 

Drafting the 2013 Ashes

When American sports franchises begin to lose their on-field mojo, in order to remain relevant in a busy cultural and social environment, the typical executive response is to expand their interest-base.

Bring the family!  There’s gourmet food for Mum, a run-the-bases opportunity for Junior, and competitions the entire family can enjoy - like guessing which coloured craft will cross the finish line first in a simulated speedboat race (Green.  Always pick the green one).  Why do these three items spring readily to mind?  Because I live in a city which boasts one of baseball’s most futile recent enterprises, the Seattle Mariners.

Executives have tried for years to make the actual sport at a sporting event secondary to “the experience”; which to me, has always seemed akin to putting the decor before the flavour at a restaurant.  It’s no coincidence, however, that such events almost always occur when the team’s fortunes are flailing horribly (c.f. the aforementioned Mariners and their 0.300OBP) - the Boston Celtics, forever the NBA’s pater dominantis, only brought in cheerleaders and “animations” when stars like Larry Bird, Kevin McHale and Robert Parish moved on.

The simple and elegant philosophy of a bygone age: the sport should be enough, even if your team stinks.

But it isn’t.  Especially when your team stinks.  So, how do you make sport more exciting for the spectator?  There are three simple methods: gambling, alcohol, and fantasy sports.

With the Ashes series approaching fast and the Australian camp careening towards a whitewash defeat, fantasy might create a little more debate around the actual mechanics of this upcoming test of Australian nerve.  To whit, myself and colleague (and Englishman) Dave Siddall attempted to “fantasy draft” our own Ashes squads - at stake: pride in ourselves, if not our homespun countries.

The rules were simple: each team can pick only one “starting” wicketkeeper (Matt Prior and whoever Australia elects to use as a glorified backstop, likely Brad Haddin), and each team must select four bowlers and two batsmen who could be classified as openers.  Players could be selected by only one “manager”, with a coin flip determining who selected first.  Thirteen players would be drafted by Aussie and Pom.

We will revisit each individual player scores after each Test match, and at the end of the Northern Summer.

The first Ashes Fantasy Draft was held on Friday morning, 28th June and the results will be published sequentially over the next six days until we arrive at the first Test.

Short Pitch: On Mickey Arthur, Darren Lehmann and the Australian way of death

At least it was quick.

Mickey Arthur's eighteen month spell as Australian coach was terminated on Sunday, seventeen days before the first of ten consecutive Ashes Tests.  The South African has been almost instantly replaced by cult favourite Darren "Boof" Lehmann.  Arthur's reign was a fraught one, lowlighted by "homeworkgate" and four Australian players being dropped for failing to submit their reflections on a loss to India.

Lehmann has promised an improved team culture, based around three of his favourite things: beer, mates, and winning.  Arthur presided over an atmosphere of infighting and despair not entirely of his own design.  Changes had to be made no matter what the timing.  Parallels can be drawn with the AFL's Melbourne Football Club - a once-great organisation suffering off-field mismanagement, autocratic coaching with ambitious names eyeing his position resulting in the investiture of power in dubious positions.

Arthur's dismissal occurred slightly over two weeks before the largest date in the Aussie cricket calendar, an away Ashes series, when expectations are perhaps the lowest they've been for the Baggy Green since 1985. The series also provides a baptism of fire for the new guru as he helms an underwhelmingly-talented crew against one of the world's best lineups.

When the penny drops that a change is not only beneficial but necessary, making that change immediately and without mercy is a very pragmatic - read: Old Australian - way of doing things.  The reverse - often employed in world football - sees a manager sacked before a series of winnable games, allowing for a relatively easy transition into a new way of playing.  Such advance - and often wrong - forethought smacks of the current Cricket Australia thinking, making Arthur's instantaneous demise such a shock.

Facing the Old Enemy ten times over the next seven months, Australia didn't have such a luxury, so a sudden and brutal guillotining was seen as the best method to dispose of a lame duck.  The most comparable occasion occurred in 1970-71, when Bill Lawry absorbed the wrath of a (similarly) perpetually discombobulated executive panel.

It's the first gutsy move that Cricket Australia has made in recent memory.  It has installed a popular - and perhaps the best - candidate in a position where he might be able to create a positive change in attitude, fortunes and results quite quickly.  For this, they should be congratulated; however, it's also a tacit admission that this upcoming Ashes series is all but lost and focus must be cast upon the return series this summer: no coach can be expected to make such an immediate turnaround.

Time for UEFA to act strongly on Serbia

After a hard-fought win against Collingwood in 1993, Australian footballer Nicky Winmar turned to the crowd at Victoria park, raised his jersey and pointed at his chest.

Winmar is an indigenous Australian. He had spent the entire 120 minutes of the match being racially abused by the pro-Collingwood crowd. The moment was captured on film by a photographer from the Age newspaper and went the 1993 version of viral: alongside Sir Donald Bradman's final Test dismissal and John Landy helping Ron Clarke, it's perhaps the most famous photograph in Australian sporting history.

It became a cultural landmark, a very visible sign that what black men in AFL had endured to that time was unacceptable. Since then, Australian football has been prominent in the fight against racism in sport. Though it's not been fully eliminated, there's been several high-profile cases which have helped the public consciousness decide that racial abuse should have no place in sport, let alone life.

Danny Rose didn't ask to be abused when he stepped onto the pitch for England's under-21s against Serbia on Monday. He wanted to play football, to win and to play well. Any psychologist will tell you: no matter what the situation, noone ever asks for, nor deserves, abuse based upon the colour of their skin, their sexual preference or religious beliefs. Fabricating allegations of abuse of this kind does happen, but is extremely rare.

courtesy: theage.com.au

Which is why, due to the past history of Serbian fans, UEFA has to take severe action. This has to stop – it's just not OK. With fines seemingly ineffective, this leaves only two options should an investigation prove that Rose was indeed abused (as seems likely): all Serbian home matches should be played either behind closed doors or away from home; or, more simply, Serbia should be banned from International competition.

Erudite journalist Jonathan Wilson suggests a ban might be counterproductive to Serbian football. However the method of transmission, a strong message needs to be delivered: by refusing to acknowledge the wrongdoing – let alone sanction – hardline Ultras, the FFS appears at best recalcitrant and at worst recidivist. UEFA and FIFA can't afford to compromise on this issue.

In the misty realm where international sport and law meet, there really are only a few options to combat societal problems: fines, suspensions and outright boycotts. The first has been tried with only minimal success, meaning that more dramatic steps are required. It's time for the second – or perhaps third – option, no matter what effects it has on future of football in Serbia.   

Minnows deserve their puncher's chance

Proboxing-fans.com's lexicon of pugilistic nomenclature defines a “Puncher's Chance” as “[a fighter] who doesn't have a very good chance of beating the other fighter, who is probably more skilled, but could still pull off the win by landing a great punch and knocking his man out”.

Basically, a puncher's chance is what it says on the tin. It was the concept that defined all six Rocky movies (particularly the last) and underlies any sporting contest where one party is heavily favoured. This is never more true than in tournament football, where a 'keeper can get hot or a fluke deflection can win – or lose – a match or even a trophy.

As World Cup qualifying gears up, we're faced once again with the old chestnut of competitive balance in European football. This was brought to a head last week when big-name team England were pitted against San Marino in UEFA Group 8 qualifying. Predictably, the Three Lions put five past a team featuring a pair of brothers who run a moving company.

And, once again we're faced with calls to make principalities like San Marino, the Faroe Islands, Liechtenstein and Andorra undertake pre-qualifying in order just to get a puncher's chance. This doesn't just apply to Europe but also to several small nations in Oceania (perhaps finally consigning Archie Thompson's dubious International goalscoring record to the footnotes of history).

Yes, watching teams drubbed 31-0 may be boring; however, allowing teams that puncher's chance – no matter how infinitesimally small it is – is also the right decision.

Sometimes you have to endure humdrum sport because it's the right thing to do – just think of baseball's regular season. Football truly is the world's game and as a result it behoves FIFA to ensure the World Cup is equally accessible to all countries. For many players – home-leaguers, removalists and soda salesmen – a matchup with Steven Gerrard and Ashley Cole will probably represent the highlight of their career.

With each added qualifying game, the puncher's chance decreases. How often can lightning strike?

Sport has become more and more streamlined over the past two decades, football especially so: the past twenty years have seen both the European Cup and UEFA Cup re-organised and rebranded into money-spinning leagues. Were the same to occur at the International level, not only is the park footballer robbed of his moment, but any chance of upset – or even unexpected challenge – is automatically gainsayed.

For a sport so openly seeking egalitarianism (the one defensible reason for the Blatter regime's failure to implement goal-line technology is/was a desire for the sport at the park to played in almost exactly the same way as the World Cup Final), offering everyone the same opportunity is the fairest only way forward.

It's hardly like the lack of competition damages the sport. In contrast, it's likely to inspire youth who on one magical evening got to see a spectacular Wayne Rooney free kick and returns home to practice and improve. That teen could become Rooney mark II; he could also coach his local junior side.

American Samoa has only the remotest puncher's chance of defeating New Zealand in a home-and-home matchup. But they still deserve the opportunity.

New code of conduct has to help, right?

Last week the English FA handed down the report of its investigation into the racial abuse case levelled at former national team captain John Terry. The 53-page report loosely implies – but stops far short of accusing – Terry, teammate Ashley Cole and Chelsea FC executive David Barnard of contriving evidence to benefit the player's defence.

Cole responded as any normal person would: with a volley of abuse directed at the FA via Twitter.

courtesy: Twitter.com

He has apologised after the FA responded by charging him with misconduct for the insults. However, surely this isn't the main issue. Ashley Cole's rap-sheet of selfish behaviour is extensive and leans heavily on the use of mobile phones. Insults from incredible sources shouldn't hurt simply because their point of origin has – on appearances – so little integrity. The FA should be far more concerned that they suspect two players fabricated evidence in an attempt to avoid justice.

Perhaps as Cole's tweet was the final straw however, as amidst yesterday's palaver surrounding the opening of England's new home base at St George's Park, the FA instituted a new code of conduct applying to all players involved in the national set-up.

Of course it's a good idea, but begs the question: why hasn't this happened sooner? Perhaps these guidelines weren't seen as necessary; maybe those in the corridors of power ultimately realised that definitive expectations both allows players to know where they stand and provides a framework for enforcing social behaviour.

Under the new standards, the FA wouldn't have to charge Cole with the nebulous “misconduct” for his true-to-type Twittering but simply breaching the England player's code of conduct. Hopefully, this clarity will reduce the prevalence of spirit fouls like “actions unbefitting” or “bringing the game into disrepute”. It's a perfectly sensible step forward for English football, which has for too long indulged the selfishness of many star players.

Children need boundaries if they're to grow up to become productive parts of society. So too, it appears, do footballers. Maybe there's a link there.

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.

Courtesy: amazon.com

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: Victor Trumper by S.A. Rennie

My Favourite Cricketer sees the teams at Balanced Sports and World Cricket Watch invite the best cricket writers and bloggers to tell us who their favourite cricketers are - and, more importantly, tell us why they stand out.  Today's submission is by S.A. Rennie of Legside Filth.  You can find Legside Filth on the web at www.legsidefilth.com, or on Twitter at @legsidefilth

I never saw my favourite cricketer play; he died 56 years before I was born. But like a cricketing Alexander the Great he left behind him a legacy of achievement, literature, and myth, and changed the face of batting forever.

It could have been my first reading of Arthur Mailey’s recollection of bowling to him in club cricket, with its famous last line (“I felt like a boy who had killed a dove”). It could have been my first viewing, in the Lord’s museum, of that iconic photo by George Beldam of Trumper jumping out to drive, taken at the Oval when Australia played Surrey in July 1902. Whatever triggered it, my obsession became total and all-absorbing. I read everything I could about the man, spent a fortune on books and ephemera and bitterly rued the impossibility of time travel, because unlike Harold Pinter with Len Hutton, I never saw Trumper in his prime, and it was another time - a time when a batsman could successfully break the shackles of orthodoxy, could have stories told about his greatness as a human being and as a cricketer. That fascinated me just as much as the man.

Courtesy: arcadia.com

If Trumper were a superhero, he’d have been rocketed to Earth as a baby from the planet Krypton to crash-land behind Charles Trumper’s boot factory. It is believed he was born in Sydney in 1877, but no record of his birth exists. There is a theory that he was the illegitimate son of an Auckland chambermaid, adopted into the Trumper family through a cousin of his mother’s. Like Phar Lap, he could be another hero New Zealand might claim for its own.

His accomplishments glow like an illuminated manuscript amongst fusty tomes. 300 not out against Sussex at Hove on his first tour to the “mother country” in 1899; first man to score a century before lunch on the first day of a Test match, at Old Trafford in that damp but glorious annus mirabilus of 1902; 335 in 180 minutes for Paddington against Redfern in 1903; that last, poignant hurrah at Lancaster Park where he contributed 293 to a record 8th wicket partnership of 433 with Arthur Sims for a touring eleven against Canterbury. That was in 1914; fifteen months later he was dead from kidney disease. News of his passing knocked the Great War off the front pages, and thousands of Sydneysiders lined the streets to watch his funeral cortege on its way to Waverley Cemetery.

My Favourite Cricketer: Michael Vaughan, by Max Benson of Test Match Sofa

Max Benson, of Test Match Sofa, explains why Michael Vaughan is his favourite cricketer.  Max tweetst at @sofa_maxb.

Northern batsmen aren’t stylish. Northern batsmen are Geoffrey Boycott, Michael Atherton and Paul Collingwood. They are grafters and men of toil, hell-bent on building an innings by any grim means necessary.

All stereotypes are rooted in truth, but my favourite cricketer goes against that particular grain. He possessed a heavenly mix of balance, exquisite timing and sheer class at the crease - creating at will a thing of true beauty each time he unfurled a cover drive or square pull. Indeed, this smitten writer may well go to the grave believing there to be nothing finer in this life than a Michael Vaughan cover drive.

Born the wrong side of the Pennines it was fortunate that Yorkshire accepted him in 1993, just after relaxing their part-admirable, part-ludicrous rule that allowed only players born within the county to be considered for selection. It was Doug Padgett, a veteran of over 500 First Class games for the county who persisted in bringing Vaughan to the club. The thought of him enjoying the career he did with a red instead of a white rose on his chest sends a chill down many a Tyke’s spine. Never mind those that did get away before common sense prevailed.

I first saw Vaughan play for Yorkshire in a one day game at North Marine Road, Scarborough, in 1999. He top-scored with an understated 41, taking the Tykes to a seven-wicket win against Leicestershire, but it was the following summer where he began to shine on a bigger stage.

The first Test match I saw live was at Headingley in 2000. The famous two-day Test against the West Indies, in fact, as luck would have it.  ‘’Don’t expect them all to be like that,’’ my dad felt obliged to caution the ten-year-old me, beaming after Caddick and Gough had dismantled the tourists for 61 in their second innings and a deliriously boozed-up army of nuns and Elvises stormed the field from the old Western Terrace.

Amidst the chaos and tumbling wickets that day, one man personified calm. Vaughan’s expertly crafted 76 took England to what proved to be a match-winning score of 272. Graeme Hick had stayed with him for a neat half century of his own, but it was Vaughan who steadied the ship so ably from 93/4 in front of his expectant home crowd against the aging yet undiminished brilliance of Curtly Ambrose and Courtney Walsh.

His coolness under pressure was paramount in the decision to award him the England captaincy in 2003, the year in which he all-too-briefly topped the world batting rankings after racking up 633 runs and three centuries in yet another Ashes defeat Down Under. Allied to his superb man management skills and, somewhat paradoxically, his one-of-the-lads mentality; the decision to hand him the reigns was undoubtedly the right one.

The England side had improved steadily under Duncan Fletcher and Nasser Hussain, four years on from when the latter was booed onto the Oval balcony after defeat to New Zealand left England bottom of the Test rankings in 1999. Central contracts helped transform a ragged and insecure bunch of county players into a cohesive unit, and Vaughan was the perfect man to take them to the next level.  He dealt instinctively well on a personal level with the self-destructive Andrew Flintoff and the fragile Steve Harmison, while his on-field demeanour and tactical nous made him by far the best all-round leader in world cricket at the time.

The defining moment for Vaughan’s captaincy came as he led his country in probably the greatest Test series of all time against the Aussies in 2005. Prising the urn from the enemy for the first time since 1987, a rollercoaster series captured the imagination of a football-orientated English press and public like never before.

But Vaughan was fallible, too. His batting suffered, perhaps inevitably, with the strains of captaincy and his final dozen innings or so for Yorkshire in 2009 were painful to watch as the magic – or at least the eyes and joints - appeared to have gone for good. We’re all human. We all get old.

He had always suffered more than most with injuries. The summer of 2006 was a complete write-off, as was the following winter’s whitewash in Australia, all due to a chronic knee problem. A serious hamstring injury followed, and Vaughan was cruelly destined never to regain the magic that had graced county and country for nigh on a decade.

That only adds to the reasons for him being a ‘favourite’. He played on for as long as possible because of a love and deep respect for the game, yet knew to bow out without losing too much dignity on the field. And besides, who would be so heartless as to deny such a player a bit of extra grace to play out a few more innings on the county circuit as the curtain came down on a sterling career? Well, Yorkshire, probably.

In a media-saturated world now awash with anodyne quotes straight off a script from most of our sportsmen and women, Vaughan’s departure from the England captaincy couldn’t have been further from the catatonic norm.

His tearful farewell in full glare of the world’s media was fantastic proof of his boyish love of the game. To see an Ashes-winning gladiator reduced to tears spoke volumes for his sincerity as a player and pride in his country. It was a single moment encapsulating what sport really is: blood, sweat, tears and hyperbole.

Vaughan embodied much of what I believe is great about the game we love. He could ooze style and class when at his work and read the game beautifully with a sound tactical mind. Most striking is that he remained ‘one of the boys’ – a hideous phrase - and someone whose raw passion and enthusiasm we simple fans could relate to. I, and I suspect many others, wanted to share a pint with him – the ultimate compliment for a Yorkshireman. No one in their right mind wanted to drink with Boycott.

Back to My Favourite Cricketer homepage.

Redknapp's logical successor

Let's just assume, despite apparent misgivings, that Harry Redknapp will manage England at this year's European Championships. The common-sense logic is that England will likely qualify for the second round and then be eliminated. Such things were written in stone, long ago.

Were he to go, however, who would replace him at Spurs? Noises have been made about summoning Jose Mourinho from Real Madrid to helm next season's increasingly-improbable Champions' League push, while other names thrown forth into the vacuum include Fabio Capello, Rafael Benitez and David Moyes.

Interestingly, the Spurs personnel actually quite suit a manager like Andre Villas-Boas, but it's unlikely AVB would get such a high-profile position immediately after his Chelsea flame-out. This should elicit nervous Liverpudlian glances towards Fleet Street's rumour-mongers.

If Jose's not coming – and he's not, there should be little doubt that David Moyes is the best fit for the Spurs job.

Harking back a moment to Villas-Boas, there are myriad reasons for his dismissal but the greatest was an initial refusal to adapt his tactics to his players. This doesn't apply for Moyes, who for the vast majority of his decade-long tenure at Goodison Park has employed with success either a flat 4-4-2 or a 4-4-1-1. He would have to make little or no adaptation, but simply deploy a superior playing group. To prove his efficacy, he need look no further than a player that Spurs now own – South African Steven Pienaar.

His maintenance of Everton as one of the league's more efficient defensive teams speaks volumes, as does his ability to bring together a cohesive dressing room and his noted ability to work well on a budget. Spurs could certainly benefit from all four of these selling points – in fact, combining Moyes' defensive schemes with the offensive talent on hand at White Hart Lane is an exciting prospect.

This remains pure speculation, and it's no sure thing that Moyes would agree to a contract at Spurs. However, it remains the most tantalising option should Redknapp be seconded into national service.

Book review: More than a Game - John Major

by columnist Ben Roberts

I really do need to admit that although being a born and bred Australian I am spending more and more time putting my head above the neighbouring fence and enjoying the delights of sport as enjoyed by the English. This is quite the admission, and flies in the face of everything I learned from the likes of Dean Jones, Allan Border, and Steve Waugh. English cricket to them was defined by failure and therefore very much the lesser when compared to Australia's ruthless winning culture (even when losing), but I am no longer of the same opinion and not just because Australia has lost the past two Ashes series.

The real sticking point that for my mind that Australian cricket falls short of is its cultural impact. While we cannot deny that cricket remains a strong part of Australian culture, for the English over the past 250 years it is clear that cricket has has gone beyond merely being a part of and driven culture. Australian cricket has not shifted society as English cricket did. While Australians often pointed to the archaic distinction between amateurs and professionals (upper and lower classes) as being disgraceful, the reality is that such distinctions were well established in English society at large. While cricket did indeed choose to accept and incorporate them into it's play, it became a microcosm for the observation of social distinctions highlighting their hypocritical nature and ultimately doing away with them.

Without becoming a screaming Anglophile let us not forget that there are plenty of parts of Australian cricketing history that one may choose to let lie when all is said and done. Cricket historians may eventually afford the words 'mental disintegration' the same level of disgust and horror as has already been attributed 'bodyline'.

Cricket became for England a pastime upon which a nations leisure revolved, as John Major title's his book it is 'More Than a Game' with many famous cricketing names being non-players. How many sports or leisure activities honour journalists and administrators to the same degree as cricket does? Not to mention those who were patrons of the game. How many sports have entire wings of literature (fiction and non-fiction) devoted to them, not to mention certain religious understandings being exemplified as was 'Muscular Christianity' – although a nod must go to Rugby for its theological input as well.

Major brings all of this together in a tremendous work of historical review. His purpose is to describe what he believes are the lost centuries of cricket. Crickets actual beginnings likely will never be known but positive evidence for it existing in 17^th century England exists. Major takes the reader on a journey to understand these earliest moments of the game he loves, and how the gradual shift in English society was mirrored by the growth that became an empires favourite pastime.

This is not a book for the casual cricket lover so be wary. It is as full of detail as any book I have ever read. Major profiles at length the characters and teams that made up the game in each moment through history. It would be hard pressed to accept this as a good read based on that description but honestly I could not put this book down and wished it would never end.

Cricket tradition is not what it is often made out to be in 21^st century Australia. Modified versions of the game did not originate with 50 over cricket or receive an injection of charisma upon the 'revolution' that is T20. Afford yourself a peruse at the very least of Wikipedia and you will find men of the like of Billy Beldham entering into one on one contests of gladiatorial nature in the late 18^th and early 19^th centuries, or the entrepreneurial William Clarke leading his 'All-England XI' around for invitational games often against the odds. You see cricket has always evolved, tradition did not originate with Chappell brothers or even Sir Donald Bradman, cricket history runs much, much deeper.

The flow of the work is exceptional by Major. For chapter upon chapter he builds a chronologically based picture of the games history. But just at the right moment when the reader needs a rest he pauses to reflect on specific persons or positions in the game of cricket. Although counter to the rhetoric of most latter day Australian players, cricket is not limited to those privileged enough to be blessed with the skill to play. Major honours with specific chapters the patrons and administrators, scorers and journalists who do not play but their involvement requires no less admiration. They like Major, loved it unconditionally even though they may not have been able to bowl with the fire of Fred Spofforth.

Of course Major is a former British Prime Minister, and a small litter of political gibing can be found in this books pages. But we will forgive him this as politics has been his life. (Major may still wake every night trying to explain to the long-gone British public that 'New Labour' is not what you think it was, before cuddling up to his soft Mrs Thatcher doll and going back to sleep).

English cricket is a cultural phenomenon, not just a sport. Cricketers all over the world today are treading well worn paths and carrying a beacon for a culture that has a long history. They are by far not the first, nor will be the last to enjoy this great game.

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Redknapp's England

This week came the startling revelation that Pearce's England looks a lot like Capello's England. Capello's England looked remarkably like his predecessor's, and his two forebears. As England produces elite national teams about once per generation, it is hardly surprising that althought the managers differ, squads appear habitually mundane.

 England have tried many of the tried-and-true coaching approaches, with each, like Doctors Who, swinging wildly between each appointment. It's likely that with the almost inexorable Redknapp appointment, the FA will adopt a moderate approach which satisfies fans, players and media alike.

 So even though his ascension is by no means a fait d'accompli, it is worth asking what Redknapp's England would look like. With his last two managerial positions, Redknapp has favoured a regulation 4-4-2 formation based around the strengths of his current squad. As has been commented upon regularly, his sides don't generally focus on tactical mystery but pre-internet age football.

 When he took Portsmouth to the FA Cup in 2008 his sides strengths included a powerful central midfield with one designated creator (in this case Niko Kranjcar) and uncompromising centre-backs. His Spurs have a similar look: immutable central defenders, full-backs preferring advance to retreat and the same midfield headliner but adds the extra confunding factor of barrels of wing pace. At both post codes, the ginger cockney one has relied upon contributions from target men with smaller, pacy offsiders.

 To take this formula and apply it to the 25 players each England manager feels honour-bound to select is revealing. Several players fit the Redknapp formula – most notably Spurs Parker, Lennon and King – and therefore thrust themselves almost automatically into selection. When those players are combined with England's best players like Joe Hart, Ashley Cole and Wayne Rooney, suddenly there are only a few positions left.

Goalkeeper: Hart
Defenders: Walker, King, Jagielka, Cole.
Midfielders: Lennon, Parker, Gerrard, A. Johnson
Forwards: Welbeck, Rooney
Subs: Richards, Dawson, Sturridge, Baines, Green, Carrick, Young.

 At right-back, I've opted for Kyle Walker over Glen Johnson although Redknapp has brought out the best in both. This is mostly because Walker's form over the past year has been superior to that of the Liverpool man. Rooney and Man U teammate Welbeck are simply the best fit as a strike partnership as there really isn't an English target man of quality (unless you count the corpse of Peter Crouch). QPR new-boy Bobby Zamora could fill this spot, but would need more form at Rangers to justify selection, while should Andy Carroll regain a modicum of form he could have 'Arry slavering.

 The key playmaker should be the man with the lego-hair, Steven Gerrard. The only other player qualified for such a key role would be Rooney, and doing such would mean the new boss wouldn't play his best player where he operates best. Despite being on the downside of his distinguished career, Gerrard places passes better than any English midfielder not ginger and playing for another team in red; he also should conceivably dovetail nicely with Parker before sharing the centre of the park with Jack Wilshere upon the Arsenal teen's return to full health.

 The biggest question marks lie at centre-back and on the left of midfield. Ledley King has been a staunch performer, but his knees make my grandma's look stable and healthy. John Terry's selection should be unconscionable for reasons of team harmony, but if anyone is able to solidify dressing-room relationships, then it's Redknapp. It's possible (probable?) Terry is ignored completely and the management decision comes down to the relative stolidity of Phil Jagielka, Chris Smalling and Michael Dawson.

 On the midfield's left, Redknapp could go any of half a dozen directions with each presenting interesting and frightfully scary alternatives. The first would be to employ Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain against the protests of Arsene Wenger and Stewart Downing. “The Ox” would provide the type of endeavour, spirit and speed that Redknapp appreciates, but still occasionally likes to watch Postman Pat in the afternoon before heading down for a nap.

 His other four options include incumbent James Milner, who's as pacy as a pensioner pushing a recliner uphill, Ashley Young, Stewart Downing and Adam Johnson. Johnson has perhaps the most speed of the quartet, and while doesn't meet Downing's sabermetric proficiency with his crosses, he is an impact player of whom Redknapp should think he can obtain more production. Given Redknapp's real world (and occasionally imagined) miracle-working abilities, it's reasonable to include him in this theoretical team.

Harry Redknapp - checking (most of) the boxes

The odds are that Harry Redknapp will replace Fabio Capello. The Spurs manager has been heavily backed for the position by everyone from Wayne Rooney to former FA Chairman Lord Triesman. That Stuart Pearce has received the FA's blessing to take charge for England's February 29^th match with Holland indicates that any potential decisions won't be made swiftly. Spurs fans can cling to the knowledge that 'Arry will pace the White Hart Lane sidelines for at least three more weeks.

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Redknapp is of course favoured for the job for many reasons, not least of which is because he's English. It's disturbing to see a football populace focused so firmly on nationality rather than talent; but with two of the country's past three gaffers being expensive “ringers”, much of the masses hope for a local boss to make good.

And well he might: Redknapp as a manager checks many of the boxes you'd want from a leader. He keeps thing simple (a must), doesn't delve too far into tactics or coaching, isn't a disciplinarian and isn't in John Terry's camp. He is a simple “player's coach” – but rather than being an enabler like Schteve McClaren, he is an empowerer.

He's even won things, too. He brought an FA Cup to Portsmouth, notwithstanding the trophy was part of a spending spree which nearly caused the death of the club. When nationalism, coaching and player relationships are considered, Harry Redknapp probably checks more boxes than any other potential candidate.

But checking boxes isn't enough.

Remember back to the schoolyard riddle that asks who you would prefer to run your country. The chain-smoking, possibly-alcoholic, philandering astrology buff; the manic depressive toff with a drink problem; or the vegetarian, teetotal war veteran? I'm sure you've heard this riddle – for the seemingly straight-laced decorated veteran is, in fact, Adolf Hitler. The former two are President Franklin D. Roosevelt and Winston Churchill.

If you apply the same logic to a real-world situation, then suddenly the picture becomes even clearer. Now, companies do much of their pre-research and vetting for employee applications online in a multiple-choice questionnaire. This is in order to minimise the time spent by Human Resources on screening applicants.

If you've ever filled in one of these surveys, you'll know what I'm getting at: they are able to completely misrepresent an applicant as an individual by breaking down a person's entire existence into yes-or-no type answers. And yes-or-no answers are rarely – if ever – able to describe a situation fully and truthfully. Although no-one expects the FA only to look at Harry Redknapp's resume, his achievements are of the type which lend themselves to yes-or-no answers. The CV of, for example, David Moyes does not – and there are those who suspect he would make an excellent England manager.

Sport is rife with examples of people who checked all the right boxes, yet failed miserably as a coach. In 1993, the Dallas Mavericks employed rookie coach Quinn Buckner. He had all the right attributes to become a wonderfully successful coach: driven, very smart, hard-working, knowledgeable, measured, came from a background of team and individual success, disciplined … and the Mavs won 13 games (of 82).

His mentor, the firebrand Bobby Knight, is considered one of the greatest coaches in basketball history. As a player at Ohio State he was a scrub on a middling team. As a coach, his record was even more surprising: he was arrested while leading a team to Puerto Rico; left Charles Barkley off the 1984 Olympic team (for Jeff Turner); was quoted as saying “if rape is inevitable, relax and enjoy it”; was nearly fired for allegedly assaulting a student and eventually dismissed for “a pattern of hostile behaviour”.

There's almost no question Quinn Buckner was as qualified to succeed as Bobby Knight.  But but didn't.

Of course, coming from a different sport, this is a flawed example. But the premise remains the same – that the candidate that checks the most boxes isn't necessarily the best man for the job. Just ask Liverpool fans what they think of Roy Hodgson, Inter their opinion of Gian Piero Gasperini or West Ham of their time spent with Avram Grant.

There was every reason for optimism on Fabio Capello's appointment to boss England; or at least there was until England broke him. There are just as many suspicions that Harry Redknapp would be an outstanding England manager, but it's possible he's not the best man for the job.

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Capello's greatest failing

With Fabio Capello’s recent statements to the Italian media concerning John Terry’s fatal reign as England captain, he has once again displayed his most obvious characteristic as England manager.  Although no-one has tipped England to succeed later this year, Euro 2012 betting markets have become less murky in recent days – why would you bet on a team that can’t win? 

As a squad devoid of leadership, England can’t win anything.

The Italian General has said he has little regard for who wears the England armband.  His most public statements to that effect were two years ago after he removed Terry from the captaincy in the aftermath of the Wayne Bridge affair.  Capello has since backtracked on that decision, reinstating Terry only thirteen months later – a period in which the player attempted a poorly-marshalled coup d’etat during the 2010 World Cup.

As soon as this occurred, Capello lost much of his credibility as England’s leader.  What little repute remained has since evaporated.  To openly disagree with the FA’s decision smacks of a double-standard: he removed Terry because he thought him “divisive” – seemingly failing to understand the gravitas of the current allegations thrown Terry’s way.   

Now it appears he sacked Terry from a leadership position two years ago because he had transgressed Fabio’s moral code.  Terry now faces a charge arguably far worse than the allegations of early 2010, meaning Capello has flip-flopped like a revolving door.  An appropriate term, because it also describes his selection policy. 

Capello has been uniformly inconsistent almost since arriving on English shores.  It has been his greatest failing and has undermined his leadership to the point where now there is an enormous void at the top of the English coaching tree. 

In his great book “The Coach: Managing for Success”, master-manager Ric Charlesworth lists the five traits that a coach simply must display.  He says that a manager must be knowledgeable; diligent; open and flexible; honest and consistent.  While scoring highly for many of these characteristics, Capello fails miserably on the last.  In so doing, his entire role has been negated.  Players look to a manager for dependability - the England mob has failed to receive.

This has never been more apparent than in the curious case of the captaincy.  One moment he cares about who is captain and the next he does not.  At any point John Terry could be integral to the team or irrelevant.  His team selections have vacillated between the uber-experienced and the untested.  There has been little discernible method to Capello’s war-room, but simply reactionary moves that don’t behove his status as a coaching great.

In simplest terms, inconsistency from above indicates an absence of leadership.  Because of this, England will splutter and drown at Euro 2012.

My Favourite Cricketer: Chris Tavare by Gideon Haigh

In our continuing series My Favourite Cricketer, we invite cricket writers and bloggers to pay tribute to the players they remember most fondly.  This week respected journalist Gideon Haigh encouraged us to post the following excerpt by way of his entry.

Some years ago, I adjourned with a friend to a nearby schoolyard net for a recreational hit. On the way, we exchanged philosophies of cricket, and a few personal partialities. What, my friend asked, did I consider my favourite shot? ‘Easy,’ I replied ingenuously. ‘Back foot defensive stroke.’

My friend did a double take and demanded a serious response. When I informed him he’d had one, he scoffed: ‘You’ll be telling me that Chris Tavare’s your favourite player next.’ My guilty hesitation gave me away. ‘You poms!’ he protested. ‘You all stick together!’

Twenty years since his only tour here, mention of Tavare still occasions winces and groans. Despite its continental lilt, his name translates into Australian as a very British brand of obduracy, that Trevor Baileyesque quality of making every ditch a last one. He’s an unconventional adoption as a favourite cricketer, I’ll admit – yet all the more reason to make him a personal choice.

Tavare played thirty Tests for England between 1980 and 1984, adding a final cap five years later. He filled for much of that period the role of opening batsman, even though the bulk of his first-class career was spent at number three and four. He was, in that sense, a typical selection in a period of chronic English indecision and improvisation, filling a hole rather than commanding a place. But he tried – how he tried. Ranji once spoke of players who ‘went grey in the service of the game’; Tavare, slim, round-shouldered, with a feint moustache, looked careworn and world-weary from the moment he graduated to international cricket.

In his second Test, he existed almost five hours for 42; in his third, his 69 and 78 spanned twelve hours. At the other end for not quite an hour and a half of the last was Ian Botham, who ransacked 118 while Tavare pickpocketed 28. As an ersatz opening batsman, he did not so much score runs as smuggle them out by stealth. In the Chennai Test at the start of 1982, he eked out 35 in nearly a day; in the Perth Test at the end of 1982, he endured almost eight hours for 89.  At one stage of the latter innings, he did not score for more than an hour. Watching on my television in the east of Australia, I was simultaneously aching for his next run and spellbound by Tavare’s trance-like absorption in his task. First came his pad, gingerly, hesitantly; then came the bat, laid alongside it, almost as furtively; with the completion of each prod would commence a circular perambulation to leg to marshal his thoughts and his strength for the next challenge.

That tour, I learned later, had been a peculiarly tough one for Tavare. An uxorious man, he had brought to Australia his wife Vanessa, despite her phobia about flying. Captain Bob Willis, his captain, wrote in his diary: ‘He clearly lives every moment with her on a plane and comes off the flight exhausted. Add to that the fact that he finds Test cricket a great mental strain and his state of mind can be readily imagined.’ You didn’t have to imagine it; you could watch him bat it out of his system.

Tavare could probably have done with a psychiatrist that summer; so could I. Our parallels were obvious in a cricket sense: I was a dour opening batsman, willing enough, but who also thought longingly of the freedoms available down the list. But I – born in England, growing up in Australia, and destined to not feel quite at home in either place – also felt a curious personal kinship. I saw us both as aliens – maligned, misunderstood – doing our best in a harsh and sometimes hostile environment. The disdain my peers expressed for ‘the boring Pommie’ only toughened my alleigiance; it hardened to unbreakability after his 89 in Melbourne.

Batting, for once, in his accustomed slot at number three, Tavare took his usual session to get settled, but then after lunch opened out boldly. He manhandled Bruce Yardley, who’d hitherto bowled his off -breaks with impunity. He coolly asserted himself against the pace bowlers who’d elsewhere given him such hurry. I’ve often hoped for cricketers, though never with such intensity as that day, and never afterwards have felt so validated. Even his failure to reach a hundred was somehow right: life, I was learning, never quite delivered all the goods. But occasionally – just occasionally – it offered something to keep you interested.

You can find Gideon Haigh's books on Amazon.

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