If Not Me, Who?

Andrew Murtagh

Description

In March 1977, England cricket captain Tony Greig was arguably the most famous and popular sportsman in the country, and the best all-rounder in world cricket. He had recently led England to a famous series victory in India, her first successful campaign on the subcontinent since the Second World War. Then he had conjured a doughty performance from his travel-weary troops in the dramatic, one-off Centenary Test in Melbourne, narrowly losing by 45 runs. Within weeks, though, his reputation was in tatters. He was branded a traitor and mercenary, stripped of the England captaincy and excluded from the national side. He was also relieved of the Sussex captaincy and banned from first-class cricket for eight weeks. His involvement in the controversial 'Packer Revolution' had caused his fall from grace. Soon afterwards, he left England for good for a commentary career in Australia. At 6ft 7in, Greig was a giant of the game both figuratively and literally. His life story is every bit as fascinating as the controversy that engulfed him.

Sujets

• Críquet
• Cricket

Informations

• Publié par: Pitch Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 20 juillet 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781785317095
• Langue: English

Extrait

First published by Pitch Publishing, 2020
Pitch Publishing
A2 Yeoman Gate
Yeoman Way
Durrington
BN13 3QZ
www.pitchpublishing.co.uk
Andrew Murtagh, 2020
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A CIP catalogue record is available for this book from the British Library
Print ISBN 9781785316418
eBook ISBN 9781785317095
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Contents
Introduction
The unveiling of the monument dedicated to Bomber Command - 28 June 2012
Queenstown: The Greig Clan 1943-68
Queenstown 1946-66
The County Player 1966-72
County Captain 1973-77
England 1972-77
England captain 1975-77
Annus Mirabilis Tour of India 1976/77 Centenary Test 12-17 March 1977
Kerry Packer s Revolution and the High Court 1977
World Series Cricket 1977-79
The Commentary Box 1980-2012
Acknowledgements
Epilogue
This book is dedicated to the memory of Squadron Leader Alexander Broom (Sandy) Greig DSO DFC (1922-1990) and the crews of RAF Bomber Command who flew on missions during the Second World War.
Freedom is the sure possession of those alone who have the courage to defend it.
Pericles
If not now, when? If not us, then who?
President Kennedy announcing in 1962 his country s mission to the moon.
The story of Tony Greig, the reluctant rebel
I hold that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing and as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical.
Thomas Jefferson
Introduction
I T was a hot day. One of so many in that interminable summer heatwave of 1976. The young lady, only recently married, was faced with a quandary. As a working woman, she felt the need to get outside this Sunday afternoon for a spot of sunbathing, having been cooped up all day in the office during the week. But there was a mountain of ironing, mainly cricket shirts, to get through and she dare not leave it until the following weekend. And she also wanted to watch the cricket; Hampshire against Sussex in the Sunday League was on the box and she was desperate not to miss it. She looked longingly out of the open back door onto the postage stamp they called their very own garden but the pile of ironing gave her a look of such deep reproach that she sighed and went to fetch the ironing board. At least she could keep an eye on the cricket at the same time.
In fact, ironing was no chore at all, really. She actually enjoyed it and took pride in the sharp creases at the sleeves and the neat edges of the collars. The picture on the television was not very sharp, however. The set, admittedly on the small size, was in the sitting room where she had set out her board but the sunshine pouring through the window was so intense that the figures in white were difficult to make out. But it would do. Slowly but steadily, the pile of clothes diminished as she expertly wielded her iron. Outside, the sun blazed down from a phosphorescent sky, the air was still and heavy, there was not the faintest hint of a draught, even though all windows and back door were wide open. The only sound was the occasional thud of the iron on the padded surface of the board. She felt happy enough and it was midsummer so perhaps there would be time for an hour or so of relaxation in the garden when the sun had gone down, the heat had abated and the cricket had finished.
She paused in order to watch the bowler turn at the end of his run-up, jog forward, gathering speed as he approached the stumps to deliver the ball. What happened to the ball she couldn t make out but there was a muffled shout, the camera switched to the umpire and up went his finger. He s been given out! exclaimed the disembodied voice of the commentator, That looked pretty plumb to me. The England captain out, lbw - for a duck!
The ironing lady gave a squeal of elation, rushed out into the garden and excitedly lapped the postage stamp several times, her iron held aloft in jubilation, its lead snaking around in her wake, the plug having been unceremoniously ripped from its socket. Lace curtains twitched and the gossipers and busybodies in the local store told and re-told the extraordinary tale of a young woman in shorts and t-shirt cavorting in a suburban back garden as if she were a football supporter down at The Dell, home to Southampton FC. Chandlers Ford had never seen anything like it.
I remember that ball well. I was bowling down the slope at Hove and the ball was swinging. Thank God. If the ball didn t swing, at my pace I was dead in the water. The conditions, hot and sunny, were not the ones usually conducive to swing - cloud cover and a gentle breeze normally helped - but for some reason, the ball always seemed to swing at Hove. Perhaps it had something to do with the sea air. Or perhaps we were playing with one of those balls that swung. Some did. Some didn t. To be honest, the aerodynamics of a cricket ball always remained a mystery to me, and remained so throughout my career and to this day. This despite having a physics teacher for a brother who has done his best, and failed, to explain to me the mysteries of boundary layer , turbulent state , seam angle , pressure differential and other impenetrable phrases. No matter the theory, the fact was that this ball pitched on middle and would have hit middle and if you know your angles as a ball is delivered from alongside, not in line with, the stumps, you will understand that it had got off the straight and narrow.
Tony Greig had bustled to the wicket in his usual forthright, combative manner, whirling his arms and loosening his muscles. I had seen him take a covetous glance once he had taken guard towards the shortish boundary, square on the leg side, where lay the invitingly squat contours of the pavilion and dressing rooms, weighing up in his mind whether he should have a go and try to clear its roof. Rather early on in his innings, you might think, for contemplating all-out assault on a hapless bowler but this was a Sunday League match, 40 overs per side, and Tony Greig was nothing if he wasn t a positive player, one who believed in the efficacy of attack. I knew what was coming.
Fortunately, he missed as he heaved at the ball and it hit him on the front pad, below the knee roll. Out! Plumb! Would ve knocked middle stump out of the ground if only I was that quick. My bellow of appeal, supported noisily by Bob Stephenson, our wicketkeeper, and just about everybody else in the team, was delivered twisting in mid-air as I beseeched the umpire behind me. I knew it was out but I wasn t at all convinced he was going to give it. You see, Tony Greig was the captain, not only of England but also of Sussex, and in those far-off days, umpires were judged on their competence by a system of marks awarded after every match by the two captains. That is why you will find that not many captains were ever given out lbw in the county game. Furthermore, Greig was a tall, gangly fellow with long legs; a case could have been made, I suppose, that as he had a long stride, he had got far enough forward down the pitch to introduce a smidgen of doubt in the umpire s mind that the ball would definitely have gone on to hit the stumps.
Bill Alley, an Australian with sharp edges and a ready wit, was however no respecter of reputations, as you would expect of a former boxer as well as a long-serving county player. That s arht, Greigy! he announced loudly in his much-imitated Aussie tones, simultaneously raising an almost accusatory finger. And what kinda fackin shot was that! he added sotto voce , although Bill Alley s sotto voce was anybody else s foghorn. I m sure Greig must have heard him but he chose not to react; he simply shrugged, turned on his heels and quitted his crease.
Were you watching? I asked Lin on my return home a few days later.
Watching what?
The match. On the box.
When you got er, what s his name, I ve forgotten you know, the blond one
Peter Graves?
No, no, not him-
It was him! I bowled him with an unplayable delivery!
No, the other blond one.
They re all blond at Sussex. Which one do you mean - Jerry Morley, John Spencer, Roger Knight, Alan Mansell?
You know who I mean. The captain, the tall one Tony Greig! You got him out! Well done! How exciting.
She then described her excited lap of the back garden at Tony Greig s dismissal, a scene that I wished I had witnessed for myself.
You see, at that time in 1976, Greig was at the height of his fame - or notoriety perhaps, if you take into consideration his ill-advised comment about making the West Indies grovel in advance of that summer s Test series - and it was no mean feat to have dismissed the England captain for a duck, even if it was only in a Sunday League match. I was certainly determined to enjoy my 15 minutes of fame and so was my wife. I had met, and played against, Tony Greig before of course. The first time I had encountered him was three years previously, during my debut season at Hampshire. We won the Championship that year, 1973, and though my contribution towards any of the ten victories that secured the title had been minimal, I always contented myself - and bragged about it thereafter - that I had made significant contributions towards not losing a couple of matches. One of them was helping Hampshire to a draw in mid-June against Sussex, again at Hove, a happy stamping ground of mine. In a low-scoring game, I had top-scored with 47 in the first innings and when four quick wickets fell in our second inni