In the days of yore, when these white hairs were brown—or was it black? At any rate, they were not white—and I was at school, it was always my custom, when Fate obliged me to walk to school with a casual acquaintance, to whom I could not unburden my soul of those profound thoughts which even then occupied my mind, to turn the struggling conversation to the relative merits of cricket and football.
'Do you like cricket better than footer?' was my formula. Now, though at the time, in order to save fruitless argument, I always agreed with my companion, and praised the game he praised, in the innermost depths of my sub-consciousness, cricket ranked a long way in front of all other forms of sport. I may be wrong. More than once in my career it has been represented to me that I couldn't play cricket for nuts. My captain said as much when I ran him out in the match of the season after he had made forty-nine and looked like stopping. A bowling1 acquaintance heartily2 endorsed3 his opinion on the occasion of my missing three catches off him in one over. This, however, I attribute to prejudice, for the man I missed ultimately reached his century, mainly off the deliveries of my bowling acquaintance. I pointed4 out to him that, had I accepted any one of the three chances, we should have missed seeing the prettiest century made on the ground that season; but he was one of those bowlers6 who sacrifice all that is beautiful in the game to mere7 wickets. A sordid8 practice.
Later on, the persistence9 with which my county ignored my claims to inclusion in the team, convinced me that I must leave cricket fame to others. True, I did figure, rather prominently, too, in one county match. It was at the Oval, Surrey v. Middlesex. How well I remember that occasion! Albert Trott was bowling (Bertie we used to call him); I forget who was batting. Suddenly the ball came soaring in my direction. I was not nervous. I put down the sandwich I was eating, rose from my seat, picked the ball up neatly11, and returned it with unerring aim to a fieldsman who was waiting for it with becoming deference12. Thunders of applause went up from the crowded ring.
That was the highest point I ever reached in practical cricket. But, as the historian says of Mr Winkle, a man may be an excellent sportsman in theory, even if he fail in practice. That's me. Reader (if any), have you ever played cricket in the passage outside your study with a walking-stick and a ball of paper? That's the game, my boy, for testing your skill of wrist and eye. A century v. the M.C.C. is well enough in its way, but give me the man who can watch 'em in a narrow passage, lit only by a flickering14 gas-jet—one for every hit, four if it reaches the end, and six if it goes downstairs full-pitch, any pace bowling allowed. To make double figures in such a match is to taste life. Only you had better do your tasting when the House-master is out for the evening.
I like to watch the young cricket idea shooting. I refer to the lower games, where 'next man in' umpires with his pads on, his loins girt, and a bat in his hand. Many people have wondered why it is that no budding umpire can officiate unless he holds a bat. For my part, I think there is little foundation for the theory that it is part of a semi-religious rite15, on the analogy of the Freemasons' special handshake and the like. Nor do I altogether agree with the authorities who allege16 that man, when standing17 up, needs something as a prop18 or support. There is a shadow of reason, I grant, in this supposition, but after years of keen observation I am inclined to think that the umpire keeps his bat by him, firstly, in order that no unlicensed hand shall commandeer it unbeknownst, and secondly19, so that he shall be ready to go in directly his predecessor20 is out. There is an ill-concealed restiveness21 about his movements, as he watches the batsmen getting set, that betrays an overwrought spirit. Then of a sudden one of them plays a ball on to his pad. ''s that?' asks the bowler5, with an overdone22 carelessness. 'Clean out. Now I'm in,' and already he is rushing up the middle of the pitch to take possession. When he gets to the wicket a short argument ensues. 'Look here, you idiot, I hit it hard.' 'Rot, man, out of the way.' '!!??!' 'Look here, Smith, are you going to dispute the umpire's decision?' Chorus of fieldsmen: 'Get out, Smith, you ass13. You've been given out years ago.' Overwhelmed by popular execration23, Smith reluctantly departs, registering in the black depths of his soul a resolution to take on the umpireship at once, with a view to gaining an artistic24 revenge by giving his enemy run out on the earliest possible occasion. There is a primeval insouciance25 about this sort of thing which is as refreshing26 to a mind jaded27 with the stiff formality of professional umpires as a cold shower-bath.
I have made a special study of last-wicket men; they are divided into two classes, the deplorably nervous, or the outrageously28 confident. The nervous largely outnumber the confident. The launching of a last-wicket man, when there are ten to make to win, or five minutes left to make a draw of a losing game, is fully29 as impressive a ceremony as the launching of the latest battleship. An interested crowd harasses30 the poor victim as he is putting on his pads. 'Feel in a funk?' asks some tactless friend. 'N-n-no, norrabit.' 'That's right,' says the captain encouragingly, 'bowling's as easy as anything.'
This cheers the wretch31 up a little, until he remembers suddenly that the captain himself was distinctly at sea with the despised trundling, and succumbed32 to his second ball, about which he obviously had no idea whatever. At this he breaks down utterly33, and, if emotional, will sob34 into his batting glove. He is assisted down the Pavilion steps, and reaches the wickets in a state of collapse35. Here, very probably, a reaction will set in. The sight of the crease36 often comes as a positive relief after the vague terrors experienced in the Pavilion.
The confident last-wicket man, on the other hand, goes forth37 to battle with a light quip upon his lips. The lot of a last-wicket batsman, with a good eye and a sense of humour, is a very enviable one. The incredulous disgust of the fast bowler, who thinks that at last he may safely try that slow head-ball of his, and finds it lifted genially38 over the leg-boundary, is well worth seeing. I remember in one school match, the last man, unfortunately on the opposite side, did this three times in one over, ultimately retiring to a fluky catch in the slips with forty-one to his name. Nervousness at cricket is a curious thing. As the author of Willow39 the King, himself a county cricketer, has said, it is not the fear of getting out that causes funk. It is a sort of intangible je ne sais quoi. I trust I make myself clear. Some batsmen are nervous all through a long innings. With others the feeling disappears with the first boundary.
A young lady—it is, of course, not polite to mention her age to the minute, but it ranged somewhere between eight and ten—was taken to see a cricket match once. After watching the game with interest for some time, she gave out this profound truth: 'They all attend specially40 to one man.' It would be difficult to sum up the causes of funk more lucidly41 and concisely42. To be an object of interest is sometimes pleasant, but when ten fieldsmen, a bowler, two umpires, and countless43 spectators are eagerly watching your every movement, the thing becomes embarrassing.
That is why it is, on the whole, preferable to be a cricket spectator rather than a cricket player. No game affords the spectator such unique opportunities of exerting his critical talents. You may have noticed that it is always the reporter who knows most about the game. Everyone, moreover, is at heart a critic, whether he represent the majesty44 of the Press or not. From the lady of Hoxton, who crushes her friend's latest confection with the words, 'My, wot an 'at!' down to that lowest class of all, the persons who call your attention (in print) to the sinister45 meaning of everything Clytemnestra says in The Agamemnon, the whole world enjoys expressing an opinion of its own about something.
In football you are vouchsafed46 fewer chances. Practically all you can do is to shout 'off-side' whenever an opponent scores, which affords but meagre employment for a really critical mind. In cricket, however, nothing can escape you. Everything must be done in full sight of everybody. There the players stand, without refuge, simply inviting47 criticism.
It is best, however, not to make one's remarks too loud. If you do, you call down upon yourself the attention of others, and are yourself criticized. I remember once, when I was of tender years, watching a school match, and one of the batsmen lifted a ball clean over the Pavilion. This was too much for my sensitive and critical young mind. 'On the carpet, sir,' I shouted sternly, well up in the treble clef, 'keep 'em on the carpet.' I will draw a veil. Suffice it to say that I became a sport and derision, and was careful for the future to criticize in a whisper. But the reverse by no means crushed me. Even now I take a melancholy48 pleasure in watching school matches, and saying So-and-So will make quite a fair school-boy bat in time, but he must get rid of that stroke of his on the off, and that shocking leg-hit, and a few of those awful strokes in the slips, but that on the whole, he is by no means lacking in promise. I find it refreshing. If, however, you feel compelled not merely to look on, but to play, as one often does at schools where cricket is compulsory49, it is impossible to exaggerate the importance of white boots. The game you play before you get white boots is not cricket, but a weak imitation. The process of initiation50 is generally this. One plays in shoes for a few years with the most dire10 result, running away to square leg from fast balls, and so on, till despair seizes the soul. Then an angel in human form, in the very effective disguise of the man at the school boot-shop, hints that, for an absurdly small sum in cash, you may become the sole managing director of a pair of white buckskin boots with real spikes51. You try them on. They fit, and the initiation is complete. You no longer run away from fast balls. You turn them neatly off to the boundary. In a word, you begin for the first time to play the game, the whole game, and nothing but the game.
There are misguided people who complain that cricket is becoming a business more than a game, as if that were not the most fortunate thing that could happen. When it ceases to be a mere business and becomes a religious ceremony, it will be a sign that the millennium52 is at hand. The person who regards cricket as anything less than a business is no fit companion, gentle reader, for the likes of you and me. As long as the game goes in his favour the cloven hoof53 may not show itself. But give him a good steady spell of leather-hunting, and you will know him for what he is, a mere dilettante54, a dabbler55, in a word, a worm, who ought never to be allowed to play at all. The worst of this species will sometimes take advantage of the fact that the game in which they happen to be playing is only a scratch game, upon the result of which no very great issues hang, to pollute the air they breathe with verbal, and the ground they stand on with physical, buffooneries. Many a time have I, and many a time have you, if you are what I take you for, shed tears of blood, at the sight of such. Careless returns, overthrows—but enough of a painful subject. Let us pass on.
I have always thought it a better fate for a man to be born a bowler than a bat. A batsman certainly gets a considerable amount of innocent fun by snicking good fast balls just off his wicket to the ropes, and standing stolidly56 in front against slow leg-breaks. These things are good, and help one to sleep peacefully o' nights, and enjoy one's meals. But no batsman can experience that supreme57 emotion of 'something attempted, something done', which comes to a bowler when a ball pitches in a hole near point's feet, and whips into the leg stump58. It is one crowded second of glorious life. Again, the words 'retired59 hurt' on the score-sheet are far more pleasant to the bowler than the batsman. The groan60 of a batsman when a loose ball hits him full pitch in the ribs61 is genuine. But the 'Awfully-sorry-old-chap-it-slipped' of the bowler is not. Half a loaf is better than no bread, as Mr Chamberlain might say, and if he cannot hit the wicket, he is perfectly62 contented63 with hitting the man. In my opinion, therefore, the bowler's lot, in spite of billiard table wickets, red marl, and such like inventions of a degenerate64 age, is the happier one.
And here, glowing with pride of originality65 at the thought that I have written of cricket without mentioning Alfred Mynn or Fuller Pilch, I heave a reminiscent sigh, blot66 my MS., and thrust my pen back into its sheath.
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1
bowling
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| n.保龄球运动 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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endorsed
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| vt.& vi.endorse的过去式或过去分词形式v.赞同( endorse的过去式和过去分词 )；在（尤指支票的）背面签字；在（文件的）背面写评论；在广告上说本人使用并赞同某产品 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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bowler
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| n.打保龄球的人，（板球的）投（球）手 | |
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bowlers
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| n.（板球）投球手( bowler的名词复数 )；圆顶高帽 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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allege
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| vt.宣称，申述，主张，断言 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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restiveness
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| n.倔强，难以驾御 | |
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overdone
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| v.做得过分( overdo的过去分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
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execration
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| n.诅咒，念咒，憎恶 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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insouciance
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| n.漠不关心 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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outrageously
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| 凶残地； 肆无忌惮地； 令人不能容忍地； 不寻常地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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harasses
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| v.侵扰，骚扰( harass的第三人称单数 )；不断攻击（敌人） | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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crease
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| n.折缝，褶痕，皱褶；v.(使)起皱 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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lucidly
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| adv.清透地，透明地 | |
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concisely
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| adv.简明地 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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initiation
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| n.开始 | |
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spikes
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| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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dilettante
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| n.半瓶醋，业余爱好者 | |
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dabbler
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| n. 戏水者, 业余家, 半玩半认真做的人 | |
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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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