My Favourite Cricketer: Graham Dilley, by James Morgan of The Full Toss

Last year, the cricket world mourned the loss of Graham Dilley, who passed away after a short battle with cancer. James Morgan, co-editor of The Full Toss, penned the following piece which he has been kind enough to submit for our series "My Favourite Cricketer".

As a lifelong Worcestershire fan, Graham Dilley is a cricketer who has always been close to my heart. He joined Worcs in 1987, at the same time as Ian Botham, in what was my first season as a junior member at New Road. It was a special time for the county – and a special time in my childhood.

Some of my fondest memories involve spending summer days under the chestnut trees at the county ground, watching that great Worcs side which won back to back championship titles in 1987 and 1988. Dilley often used to field in front of us at long leg. I know I was just ten years old at the time, but he seemed taller than a giraffe.

Dilley wasn’t quite a great fast bowler – like so many of England’s best seamers, injury put paid to that – but he was an extremely useful one. He was pretty quick, moved the ball away from the right-handers, and played a part in two of England’s greatest Ashes triumphs. I’m referring, of course, to his defiant half century alongside Botham at Headingley in 1981, and his starring role in Mike Gatting’s series success down under in 1986-87.

From a personal point of view, however, it was Dilley’s success at Worcs that I will remember the most. He was the spearhead of what was possibly the best county bowling attack of the modern era: Dilley was joined by Neil Radford, Ian Botham, Phil Newport and Richard Illingworth. All of them represented England at one point or another, albeit not at the same time. Perhaps only the Lancashire side of the early nineties could match them.

Dilley, of course, was the best of the lot (Botham had lost a bit of pace by 1987). He took an almighty run up that made Allan Donald’s approach look like an off-spinner’s, reared his left leg horizontal in his delivery stride, pounded his leading boot into the turf, and followed through like a wind powered turbine. It was a great sight to behold. When the ball was taken behind the stumps by Steve Rhodes, usually standing nearer to the sight-screen than the stumps, the ball made an almighty thud.

Unlike some of county cricket’s other big names, Dilley always seemed happy to sign autographs at the end of the day. He was a gentle giant – and he possessed one of the best 80s blonde mullets outside of A-Ha. When I heard about Dilley’s sudden death in October 2011, it was a bolt from the blue.

Sports fans in Worcester were particularly upset at Dilley’s premature passing because his son, Chris Pennell, is captain of Worcester Warriors, the city’s premiership rugby team. Somehow, somewhere – probably at that great fast bowlers’ union in the sky – you sense that Graham is still following the Warriors’ progress, and cheering his boy on.

You can read more at The Full Toss, or follow James on Twitter @thefulltoss

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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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My Favourite Cricketer: Sir Ian Botham by Jonathon Kilroy

My Favourite Cricketer is a series run on Balanced Sports and World Cricket Watch that brings together some of the best Cricket writers and bloggers in the world to reminisce about the players who make us love this game.  This week's piece is by debutant Jonathon Kilroy.

It's strange to think that he's been retired for so long because his shadow hovers over English cricket. It's nearly twenty years now since his final fling, meaning Ian Botham has been a commentator for longer than he's I remember him playing for. Perhaps it's because he's never been out of the public eye and retains much of his intense likeability. In fact, it's thirty years this week (!) since his onslaught at Headingley turned the 1981 Ashes on its head and cemented his place among the greatest of the greats.

After an early career at Somerset and a remarkably high-profile stint in Melbourne club cricket, Ian "Beefy" Botham made his Test debut in 1977. He was fast, had the Somerset knack of moving the ball through the air and his formidable physique allowed him to dispatch the ball at extreme velocity with the willow. His early Tests showcased more of his swing bowling than batting (he batted at 8 in those days) and his combination of skills and obvious potential meant he was the next great All-Round prospect for England. Now, thirty-five yeras on, he remains the gold standard.

A shuffle to the bowling crease belied his pace. He started as a genuine quick but as injuries took their toll - particularly an ailing back - he lost a lot of penetration, changing over time into a crafty medium. In the end it was no matter, for when "Golden Bollocks" was fit, he was picked. More than any other one player during his fifteen year international career, he was the archetypal matchwinner. No player in the world, perhaps to this day, could compare to his ability with bat, ball, or in the field. Especially - wonderfully - against the Australians.

Beefy saved his greatest feats for the Colonials. As Australian cricket was for so long the polar opposite of English, Botham had his antithesis in Allan Border. AB fought admirably for the Australians from a shifting base but with one great difference. Where Border fought first to survive and then to win, Botham served as the vanguard or as a one-man volatile rearguard. Rather than have terms dictated to him, "Beefy" would dominate or die trying. Egregious, almost garrulous, he carried that attitude off the park as well - one was always left with the sense he loved life.

You can't evaluate "Guy the Gorilla" without mentioning Botham's Ashes. In a sentence, he started the series shockingly out of form, was removed from the captaincy and then unleashed holy hell once the pressure lifted. That took the form of a blistering 149* to turn the series on its head at Headingley, followed by a spell of 5/1 at Edgbaston to seal victory for England. Botham had failed as a captain - like many of the era, many of his first Tests as skipper were against the West Indies and their fearsome pace attack. But that failure also led him to the most impossible high, cemented at The Oval with 118 in an innings Dennis Lillee rated better than his Headlingley counter-punching. To seal permanently his "Golden Balls" nickname, it was he who was thrown the ball to win England the match at Melbourne in 1982.

"Both" was only twenty-six at the time of his greatest triumph. Though he'd played at the highest level for only four years, his remarkable exploits were half over. Although he departed International cricket in 1992, he didn't score a hundred or take five wickets in an innings after the 1986-87 Ashes in Australia. By that time, his body had been robbed of much the explosiveness. It wasn't all gone as he monstered a youthful antipodean attack, including 22 from one Merv Hughes over. Had he retired after 200 (rather than 383) Test wickets, his career average would have been 21.2 - seven and a half runs less per wicket than he finished at (28.4) and third-best all time.

He had his fair share of down days - allegations of marijuana use, extra-marital affairs and a feud with Imran Khan amongst others - and occasionally rubbed the establishment (and apparently Ian Chappell) the wrong way, but that was simply a fucntion of his indomitable self-belief.

That confidence allowed him to accomplish what seemed miraculous at the time, deeds out of the ordinary which pulled England - not just the team, but the country - along with him. An oft-used quote of sportsmen is that one walks taller when knowing a certain player was in your line-up. It could be said of India and Sachin Tendulkar, Australia with Dennis Lillee and Pakistan with Imran Khan. This was most definitely true of Botham's England. He, like those other champions knew inherently, unshakeably that they could dramatically change the landscape of any game if only the captain would just give them the damned ball.

Since retirement, it's become apparent that Sir Ian Botham has been fitted with the enviable mix of gifts: of natural talent, the belief that brings and considerable self-awareness. He is also a remarkable humanitarian. Ian Terence Botham, a gregarious sports star with a conscience became eminently likeable as a beer-drinking, sociable everyman. A player who just happened to be blessed with more talent than anyone of his era.

He will always be the all-rounder by which Englishmen are judged.

Recommended viewing: ESPNCricinfo's Legends of Cricket: Ian Botham. 

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