Good Murungu?

Alan Butcher

Description

Former county cricketer and one-time England Test batsman Alan Butcher was looking for a new challenge after leaving his job coaching Surrey County Cricket Club. A phone call out of the blue from a Zimbabwean great alerted him to the possibility of coaching the nation's cricket team. His three years in charge presents an insight into the at times schizophrenic nature of cricket in this intriguing country. Starting at the point when Butcher was offered the job, he describes the process of moulding a team out of a dispirited and disillusioned group of players. Part cricket memoir, part travelogue, part ode to Zimbabwe, part lament for a beautiful-but-troubled country, The Good Murungu? is a fascinating insight into Zimbabwean cricket.

Sujets

• Críquet
• Inglaterra
• England
• Cricket

Informations

• Publié par: Pitch Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 01 avril 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781785311741
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

First published by Pitch Publishing, 2016
Pitch Publishing
A2 Yeoman Gate
Yeoman Way
Durrington
BN13 3QZ
www.pitchpublishing.co.uk
Alan Butcher, 2016
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the Publisher.
A CIP catalogue record is available for this book from the British Library
Print ISBN: 978-1-78531-131-4
eBook ISBN: 978-1-78531-174-1
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Contents
THE GOOD MURUNGU
Acknowledgements
YEAR ONE
1 In My Beginning Is My End
2 Watching, Listening, Learning
3 Caribbean Again? Must I?
4 On Leaders, Lions And Loving It
5 A Beginner s Guide To Harare
6 Return To The Day Job
7 Bangladeshi Blues
8 It s Monday; It Must Be Ahmedabad
YEAR TWO
1 A Cultural Break and Lucky Escape
2 Preparation, Problems and Progress
3 The Unmistakeable Smell Of Test Cricket
4 Dropped Catches Lose Matches
5 Real Close Things In The City Of Kings
6 Family Time
7 Black Cap Carnage
YEAR THREE
1 Mind Games
2 How Not To Select A Cricket Team - A Masterclass
3 Administration Frustration
4 Racism, Resignation And Rum
5 In My End Is My Beginning
Photographs
THE GOOD MURUNGU
The word murungu, meaning white man , comes from the most widely spoken African language in Zimbabwe - which is Shona. Its meaning is also wrapped up in notions of power, money and authority and so carries with it connotations of colonisation. Nowadays it can be used to describe anybody who has acquired wealth and influence, although I never heard it used to describe anyone other than a Caucasian.
Murungu can be used in many ways; sometimes it is purely descriptive of a person s ethnicity, sometimes it is used in friendly jest and sometimes it can be used in a derogatory manner. It all depends on the context.
The title of this book refers to the moment in my story when Simon, my housekeeper, thanks me for buying him a bed. Sah, he said, you are a good murungu.
I must leave it to the reader to decide if the accolade was deserved.
Acknowledgements
F IRST of all I would like to offer my thanks to Paul and Jane of Pitch Publishing for taking a chance on my quirky account of the even quirkier state of cricket in Zimbabwe. That they agreed to take my title is due in no small measure to Peter Miller who not only edited the book but also convinced Jane and Paul that I had a tale worth the telling. Thanks Peter for your sympathetic but scrupulous handling of the text and encouragement at times when I doubted the point of the enterprise. Paul, Jane and Peter, thank you and I hope you feel the gamble is worthwhile.
I would also like to extend my thanks to Duncan Olner for his excellent designs, Gareth Davies for his help with editing, Graham Hales for the typesetting, Dean Rockett for proof reading and Derek Hammond for his marketing efforts. Thank you all.
From what I read, the route from page to publisher is a fraught one for most would be authors. This looked as if it would be the case for me until I did what doesn t come naturally to me and asked some mates for help. Accordingly I must thank literary agent KT Forster for showing such initial enthusiasm for my story and engaging The Times music and sports writer Matt Allen to collaborate in the writing of it. This gave me huge impetus to continue so I thank her for that but even more so for allowing me to walk away from our agreement when I happened upon someone who KT thought could help me more than she.
The person I happened upon was David Luxton, another literary agent whose contacts were given to me by former Glamorgan team mate and Telegraph sports writer Steve James. I was rewarded for ignoring my Capricornian reluctance to ask for help by David giving me Jane Camillin s mobile phone number. I therefore owe a debt of thanks to all those who gave me a literary leg up along the way.
The genesis for this book was a light bulb moment at 2.30 one morning in October 2013. I was in something close to self indulgent despair over what I was going to do with my life but suddenly made the decision that I was going to write the story of my years in Zimbabwe. I promptly got out of bed fired up my laptop and started to write. Now of course the story had already been written. I was only dredging things up from memory or consulting the notebooks I had filled. But memories don t always come at convenient times and so I must thank my wife Maddy for putting up with many nights of interrupted sleep as I leapt out of bed to capture the remembered snippet of conversation or hopefully amusing event before it slipped off into the darkness. Thanks too to my five children whose encouragement and interest got me back to the task when writers block, aka laziness, had stalled the process.
There are those with no knowledge of cricket, who have read odd chapters and declared them interesting for reasons other than cricket which also helped me keep faith with the project. There are countless others to whom l must apologise rather than thank for the countless hours I ve spent in their company talking incessantly about Zimbabwe and my book. I ll try to stop; but I can t promise.
Finally my thanks must go to the people of Zimbabwe; 99.9% of those I met welcomed me to their country with huge warmth and friendliness. To the rest - well I thank you too, for without you there would be no story.

1
In My Beginning Is My End
I WAS at home with nothing but returning to an Open University degree course on the horizon. I was taking a break in the garden. Our resident robin was inches from taking a breadcrumb from my outstretched hand for the very first time when the phone beside me on the garden bench rang.
The robin backed off but didn t fly away.
Bugger.
Should I answer or stay with the bird? It had taken a long time to get him this close, a lot of patience and stillness. But time was one thing I wasn t short of. I had loads of it to spare. I answered and I m glad I did. It was my old mate, the Zimbabwe great David Houghton.
Butch, what are you up to?
Nothing much.
I think you should apply for the Zimbabwe job. You re just the kind of guy they need.
Oh? I wasn t aware the job is available.
It is, but closing date is next week. If you re interested I ll get them to hang on a bit for you if you want.
Mmm. Okay, sounds interesting. Give me a bit of time to think about it and discuss it with Maddy. I ll get back to you quick.
Okay Butch, but I really think you re perfect for the job. See you, mate.

My recent experience of job hunting had taught me to be cautious. In the previous month I had got to the final two for head coaching roles with the West Indies academy and the Kenyan national team. On both occasions my rival and I waited for six weeks for a decision, only for me to find out I had not got the job by reading it on the cricket website ESPNCricinfo. My eggs were not going to be put in one basket, but I decided to give it a go.
On 18 February 2010 I was booked on the 5.30pm Air Zimbabwe flight to Harare where I was to interview for the position of Zimbabwe national cricket coach. I had been tutoring an ECB Level Three batting module in Derby which was scheduled to finish around lunchtime that day. I figured it would give me enough time to get to Gatwick for the flight. I knew it might be tight but I had only just started tutoring for the ECB and didn t want to give it up. After all, I might not get the Zimbabwe job.
I enjoyed the course in Derby; the module had gone well. I had a quick lunch, decided to change at Gatwick, said my goodbyes and jumped in the car to head for the M1. Fortunately I had the radio on as ten minutes into my journey the traffic news informed me that the motorway was closed between junctions 20 and 16 with no immediate prospect of reopening. Panic! Okay, think - what to do? Think. Think.
I decided that my best bet was M42/M40/M25, a circuitous route but I couldn t think of a better one. To make matters worse it started to snow heavily. Traffic was getting worse and the snow slowed things down; several stoppages on the M25 made me think I was going to miss the flight, which was really not going to look good. Fortunately the traffic eased as I got close to the airport and I arrived at Gatwick with limited time to spare. There was nothing for it but to change in the car park, much to the surprise of the woman in the car next to mine. Her obvious embarrassment reminded me of being stuck on the M11 for ten hours a few years before and, glancing to my right, I saw the woman in the car next to mine peeing on the road between our cars, jeans and panties around her ankles. Where to look!
I sprinted to the check-in desk which by now was empty, but fortunately still open. Then I had a relatively calm saunter to the departure gate followed by a comfortable executive-class seat. Despite everything I was on my way.
I was travelling with another applicant, Zimbabwean Grant Flower, who I knew to be a good bloke, although we had some issues later. Both of us, I think, preferred to make the journey separately to give ourselves time to think and prepare for what was going to be a busy few hours ahead.
We arrived in Harare at 6.30am and were transported to the Holiday Inn on Samora Machel Avenue to find our rooms unavailable until midday. Breakfast was also not yet available so I decided on a short walk to kill some time and get a feel for the place. I wandered up Fifth Street in what I knew from previous visits to be th