Wonderful interview at the ESPNCricinfo site – with Peter Pollock. read it here.
I can honestly say that I could never give back to cricket what it gave to me. And it was not money at all. A platform, what it has done for Graeme and I and Shaun, you can’t get it anywhere. Money can’t buy that.
There was a superb article a long while back about Peter Wight at Cricinfo.
Well worth a read. Here is the link. excerpts:
Only Harold Gimblett has scored more first-class runs for Somerset.
He had grown up in British Guiana, his family a mix of Scottish and Portuguese …… He came to England on a cargo boat in 1951, a 20-year-old shivering in his tropical clothes and shocked by the rationing and outdoor toilets. “I came to learn engineering, not to play cricket.”
He was the first to 2,000 runs in the summer of 1960, he reached 2,000 again in 1962 but in 1965, after a poor season, Somerset released him and he went on to the umpires’ list, where he stayed for 30 summers.
In all first-class cricket in the UK since the War nobody – as player and umpire – has taken part in more matches. Yet he never stood in a Test. “I’ve never been at an international match in my life,” he says.
i made this comment about Indian Premier League Fans – and how you can tell from when they are following football by the team they support. It was published on the Guardian’s Matchday MBM – for the North London Derby [WHICH ARSENAL WON! AWESOME!]
Check 5:01 PM BST – Click Here.
Shom Biswas offers this explanation: “You can understand when the Indian person started watching football, from which club he follows. The cable channels started showing the Premier League in the late 90’s – Arsenal and Man United were the big dogs then. So an Arsenal fan is one who got into Premier League Football in the late 90s. A Chelsea fan is one who started during the early Abramovich days, a Liverpool fan either the old fogey who used to read about the exploits of the Dalglish/Rush days in the newspapers, or the ones who have ‘that night in Istanbul’ as their first football experience, and a Man City fan … well…
“Anyone can be a Man United fan, they have been top dogs for long.”
Here’s the article. And below’s the quote.
“Since I got my first contract in 2003, I haven’t taken any money to play for my club. I haven’t taken any of the prize money from the domestic championships. I haven’t taken any money to play in the provincials or any prize money. I’ve always redistributed that money either to the side, or in the case of my club, to the workers at the club, because I think as a matter of principle; because I hold a national contract, I shouldn’t charge for playing first-class cricket in Sri Lanka. “
Here’s a new series – You Didn’t Know This – in sports.
To start with – motor racing. Mille Miglia. Here’a another read, and here’s an excerpt below.
…..They would stage a road race (on terrible roads) all the way to Rome and back. A loop of a little more than half of Italy. Everything was -issimo from the very first running the following year. Hundreds of cars. 1,600km of twists and turns. Closed roads. In the dark and in the rain. Stopping only for fuel. The race openly evoked the nation at its grandest, hence the Roman measurement: the Thousand Miles, the Mille Miglia. The Fascists loved it. Mussolini entered a car. His son, Vittorio, hauled himself round in a Fiat 1500 coupé.
Rude behaviour from members of the electronic media marred the felicitation function of the gold-winning archers here on Tuesday with Deepika Kumari breaking into tears.
Read the rest of the post here – The Hindu.
You. Yes, I’m talking to you.
Feel ashamed. Now. And learn to treat our sportspeople like the superstars they are.
Don’t suddenly wake up one day and effin crib, once every 4 years, that our sportspeople don’t win anything at the Olympics.
Gideon Haigh is a magician, if for nothing else (and there are lots and lots else), just for the below paragraph (Article here – cricinfo)
Remember? Botham, Imran, Hadlee: all fierce rivals. You could imagine them in a western saloon. Botham would be the one chesting open the swing doors and shouting the bar, Imran the one comfortably encircled by comely belles in crinoline, Hadlee the one staring fixedly at his ice water. But that Injun, Kapil – he held aloof. He had the liveliest and least imitable action of all, a skipping, bounding run of gathering energy, and a delivery stride perfectly side-on but exploding at all angles, wrists uncoiling, arms elasticising, eyes afire. Which was part of his significance. No fast bowlers in India? Kapil could have hailed from no other country.