Can Anyone Hear Me? (30 page)

England had won by 77 runs and with twelve wickets in the match it was an easy choice to make Matthew Hoggard man of the match.

A week later, an hour up the motorway at Centurion,
England clinched the series with a draw in the rain-affected final Test. Since South Africa's re-admittance to world cricket, it was the first series victory on their turf for England. It was a moment to be savoured by the tourists.

For
Test Match Special
it was a relief that Talk Sport's interest in covering cricket rather waned from that point. Football had always been their preferred sport, anyway. The England and Wales Cricket Board played a few canny games to try to convince us that they were a viable option for domestic rights and certainly they did us the service of reinforcing our standing within the BBC.

Three days before the first Test of the 2001 series in Sri Lanka, Jonathan Agnew and I called in to have a quick look at the International Stadium in Galle, on the south coast of the island. We found the groundsman, Jayananda Warnaweera, who I remembered having one of the most suspect looking bowling actions I had ever seen. That may have been one of the reasons that he only ever played a couple of Test Matches outside Sri Lanka.

Aggers had played against him on an England ‘B' tour.

‘You bounced me,' said Warnaweera.

‘Surely not,' said Aggers.

As we were leaving, Aggers muttered to me: ‘Actually, we all bounced him, because we knew he was a chucker.' It seemed that England had forced him out of the game. I wondered if
we should be worried that he was now preparing a pitch for them to play a Test Match on against Muralitharan.

In the event, Sanath Jayasuriya out-bowled Murali by eight wickets to seven. Atapattu made a double hundred and, though Trescothick made his first Test hundred, Sri Lanka won by an innings and 28 runs. It made what happened in the other two Tests of the series all the more remarkable.

That Galle Test Match was a bad-tempered affair, probably not helped by some poor umpiring. Neither aspect was any better in Kandy for the second Test, but this time the breaks seemed more inclined to go England's way.

Gough, Caddick and White had removed the top four Sri Lankan batsmen by lunch on the first day, though there was to be no further wicket till after tea, by which time Mahela Jayawardene had made a lively 101 and added 141 for the fifth wicket with Russel Arnold. Thereafter, Gough and Caddick with the second new ball finished the innings off that evening.

After losing Atherton and Trescothick early on the second day, Hussain and Thorpe put on 167 for the third wicket, with Hussain enjoying a certain amount of good fortune over decisions in getting to 109, before he was bowled by Muralitharan.

The eventual England lead was 90 and the start they made on the Sri Lankan second innings seemed to put them in complete control. In the third over Gough and Caddick had reduced them to three for three, though one of those did involve an umpiring howler. Jayasuriya stood his ground when a bump ball went to third slip. The third umpire was asked only whether the catch was clean and was not permitted to point out that it had hit the ground as it left the bat. So, by the end of the third day, Sri Lanka seemed to be in disarray, only eight runs on and six wickets down.

The Test has been played amidst a good deal of rancour between the players. There were more incidents today and Jayasuriya has already been given a suspended ban and a large fine. So we decided to have the match referee, Hanumant Singh, on
TMS Report
tonight.

If England had hopes of finishing the match on the fourth day, they reckoned without Sangakkara. He took the fight to them, adding 93 with Dharmasena for the seventh wicket, before becoming Robert Croft's third victim, just before lunch, for 95.

Even then, Sri Lanka kept their innings going until the tea interval, with a potentially difficult target for England growing all the time. In the end it was to be 161 in four sessions. At 25 for two, with both Atherton and Trescothick out to Vaas, that looked some way off. And it was by no means certain at the end of the fourth day, with England 91 for four. Alec Stewart was in with the nightwatchman, Croft, and Graeme Hick to come.

The day started with the match intriguingly poised. Stewart was out to Vaas, with the score 97. At 122, Hick was bowled by Jayasuriya. 39 needed – four wickets in hand. It was agonising stuff, with the spinners now in control. Croft went just before lunch, which came with nine runs still needed.

It took twenty minutes after the interval to get those nine, but Craig White and Ashley Giles held their nerve and you could see it was a very big moment for the team when the win came.

In
all the circumstances, there was euphoria in the England camp at having levelled the series.

As in the previous two Tests, Sri Lanka won the toss at the Sinhalese Sports Club in Colombo for the final match of the series and batted. England were pleased enough to bowl them out on the second morning for 241, with Croft taking four, including the crucial wickets of Jayawardene for 71 and Jayasuriya for 45.

It took an undefeated 113 from Graham Thorpe to give England a first innings lead of only eight. Chaminda Vaas had been the main destroyer, taking six wickets.

There was no hint of what was to come when Sri Lanka started their second innings just after lunch on the third day. It began with Gough making sure that Atapattu bagged a pair and finished with Giles and Croft in control and Sri Lanka all out for 81.

England needed only 74 to win and, while all the rest of the specialist batting fell – largely to Jayasuriya's left-arm spin – Graham Thorpe kept cool and saw them home by four wickets in the gathering dusk that same evening.

Remarkably, England had come from behind to take the series 2-1. That does not happen much – particularly on the sub-continent.

The
first three cricket World Cups were held in England in 1975, 1979 and 1983. While the West Indies, who won the first two tournaments, had no real ambition at that time to try to stage anything like that in the Caribbean, when India were the surprise winners in 1983, it was different.

The fourth World Cup would be shared between India and Pakistan.

Even arriving in the early morning, Delhi had the promise of a hot day ahead. As soon as the advance guard of the press checked into our hotel we were bidden to a reception at which the Reliance Cup was dramatically unveiled.

Then it was a gentle stroll to the hotel where all the teams – 112 cricketers – were being put up, for the purpose of accreditation. This inevitably was peppered with interminable delays, particularly when the police photographer disappeared. But we filled in plenty of forms and I had the opportunity to clarify some points in our broadcast rights contract.

We were back at the same hotel in the evening for a banquet to launch the tournament. It was a glittering affair,
impressing particularly those of us who had experienced functions in India before.

The eight countries involved mixed happily with each other, though I for one found the lack of sleep on the overnight flight from London catching up with me and was not sorry when the end of the fifth speech meant that we could slip away.

Opening ceremonies thus far had really been confined to photo calls, but this time it was a little more ambitious, though mainly centred on a game between the two host nations, not part of the competition and played under lights at an athletics venue – Delhi's Nehru Stadium.

As the Prime Minister, Rajiv Gandhi, was to meet the teams, security was very tight. I was searched twice and one Indian TV commentator was refused entry because, although he had the right pass, he was carrying binoculars and throat lozenges.

The opening ceremony was pretty low-key. The players lined up in files in front of the Prime Minister's box and then, led by Pakistan and India and followed by the rest in alphabetical order, they trooped up the steps to shake Mr Gandhi by the hand.

As India and Pakistan took the field for their match, hundreds of balloons were released. Only a few went up and the first big bunch, carrying the sponsor's banner, caught in a floodlight pylon, but most just bounced round the playing area until a bunch of pyjama-clad Keystone Cops rounded them
up. By that time the start of the game had been delayed by ten minutes.

The next day I went to Pakistan for the first time.

At the airport we were told we weren't on the flight to Lahore. The problem was eventually solved when we realised that the travel agent had listed the names, for instance, as ‘Mr Baxter'. But when local officials who check it see ‘Peter Baxter', they look for ‘Mr Peter'. And so we are greeted with, ‘You are not on flight.'

With a flight to Pakistan from India, there were even more security checks than usual, including a final one at the door of the PIA aircraft by a smiling Pakistani sky marshal.

On our arrival in Lahore, we were all – players from both England and the West Indies and the British press party together – crammed into a small, but plush VIP waiting room. There was a considerable hold-up while the West Indian team discovered to their surprise that you need a visa for Pakistan, even during a World Cup.

Eventually the England part of the crowd was allowed to catch our onward flight to Islamabad. When we checked into our hotel I saw that the journey had taken over eight hours – for a distance of perhaps a couple of hundred miles.

By that time I knew all too well that travel days on the sub-continent are usually a bit like that.

England warmed up for that tournament in Rawalpindi, a
fifteen-mile drive from our rather more sedate surroundings in the modern capital of Islamabad.

There was a strenuous practice session for the England players in the morning – the hottest day since we left Delhi. Our journey back in the minibus consisted mainly of getting stuck in spectacular Rawalpindi traffic jams, including some time alongside a small ambulance, whose number plate read ‘R.I.P.' Considering he had been stationary for ten minutes, with his red light flashing, it may have been all too appropriate.

A couple of days later we moved south to Lahore, our base for England's opening match.

My morning task was to check on our facilities at Gujranwala, where England are due to play their first game tomorrow. It is 40 miles from Lahore, but Micky Stewart, the coach, was also planning to go and make an inspection, so we agreed to go together.

Our chauffeur was the local MP for Gujranwala, Sheikh Masood, who told us proudly that he had unseated a cabinet minister to win his seat in Parliament.

The road there was an impressive dual carriageway without much traffic, except at one stage a tractor and overloaded trailer, which was coming towards us in the fast lane. Some local farmers had evidently not quite got the hang of modern road regulations.
Sheikh Masood was inordinately proud of his city and the stadium, which was impressive. I was invited to choose a commentary box and Micky was astonished by the size of the dressing rooms.

After seeing what we needed, we were asked to the home of the match organiser for a cup of tea. With the tea came a huge array of finger food, from toasted sandwiches to cakes. Micky, not being a huge fan of the local food, declined, but, when we were told that our host's wife had spent all day preparing this, we felt we had to have a toasted sandwich at least.

As Micky was just taking his first bite, our host said, ‘I hope you are liking green chillies.' Micky, with his eyes out on stalks, was just discovering how hot his sandwich was. But he ploughed on manfully.

We went back up that same road next morning well before dawn in a convoy of six minibuses – two for each team, England and the West Indies – and two for the press – with a truckload of armed police fore and aft.

And a very exciting game we had for the start of England's campaign. The West Indies rather broke the shackles towards the end of their innings on an exceptionally sticky day, to get to 243 for seven and, after a slow-ish start, England seemed to be in trouble at 131 for six in the 39th over. At that point, needing over ten an over, Allan Lamb was joined by first John Emburey and then Phil DeFreitas, who helped him keep the challenge up.

With both those partners gone, an exhausted Lamb had to be cajoled by the number 10, Neil Foster, with 35 needed from
the last three overs. That came down to thirteen needed off the last over from Courtney Walsh. And it was Walsh who found the pressure too much. After giving away six runs from his first two balls, he bowled four wides and a no ball and Foster hit the third legitimate ball for four to win the match by two wickets.

Lamb almost had to be carried off, so I was flattered that he agreed to see me for an interview afterwards – ‘As long as it's only you' – and I found him slumped in a wicker armchair in the dressing room.

As we followed England round, Christopher Martin-Jenkins and I did our best to cover other matches in the tournament from hotel room televisions, whenever travel plans allowed. With half the commentary in Urdu, this was not always straightforward.

Meanwhile, in India, Henry Blofeld, sometimes accompanied by Trevor Bailey, was providing reports from various selected matches.

England were beaten by Pakistan in their second game, back in Rawalpindi.

There was one unsavoury incident, when Javed Miandad was given out lbw by the Australian umpire, Tony Crafter. It was the first time, apparently, that he had ever been out lbw in Pakistan and it was followed by a bit of a shoving match with Mike Gatting before he would leave.

Our
next journey involved a three-hour bus trip from Islamabad to Peshawar, on the North-West Frontier.

I decided to go for a walk after we arrived, to see more of this fascinating place and maybe find the cricket ground.

Some poor information from a policeman sent me on a circuitous route. When I came past him again, he looked most concerned.

‘There is a problem?' he asked.

‘I don't think the cricket ground's up there,' I said.

‘You want bus ticket or train ticket?'

I explained, with appropriate gestures and we both laughed at the misunderstanding and shook hands, before he showed me the right way.

It led me past a row of barbers, each one operating on a plank over an open drain on which he and his customer squatted. I managed to cross a very busy junction only when it became sufficiently clogged with tonga-carts, auto-rickshaws, lorries and buses. Just by it was a roadside stable, mostly for donkeys, with a farrier's hut attached. And there, just behind this mayhem, was a beautifully peaceful park, with the cricket ground at the end.

In those days in the World Cup group matches, each team played the other three in their group twice. Here in Peshawar, it was to be England's first encounter with Sri Lanka.

I went down to the ground in the morning and met the PBC engineers who were rigging our box for tomorrow's game. It was split by a half-glazed partition, which made it rather impractical. I asked why.

‘One half for Sri Lanka Radio,' I was told.

‘But they're not covering it,' I said.

‘No, they are taking your commentary.'

I tried to work out the logic that had produced one microphone in each box for this purpose and proposed that the partition be removed and that we might use both microphones and let the feed to Sri Lanka be split by the engineers at their equipment.

This revolutionary thinking seemed to satisfy everyone.

This tournament was, I think, the only time that BBC television staged their own commentary on an overseas cricket series. Although members of their commentary team, like Tony Lewis, Ray Illingworth and Jack Bannister, fitted in with the usual press party, the production team never quite managed to.

We had agreed, before leaving England, that we would share the services of Messrs. Lewis and Bannister. I would fit our commentary rota round the television one. The television producer was not accustomed to co-operating with anyone else and matters came to a head in Karachi during England's second game against Pakistan.

Tony Lewis had been more and more in demand in the television box – so much so that he told me he would only be available during one hour in the first half of the day. I allocated him two twenty-minute spells in that hour, but he had just begun the first of them when the TV producer, Keith McKenzie, burst in, pushed between CMJ and me and, ignoring the fact that Tony was in full flow, tugged his sleeve and said, ‘You're wanted.' Then, still ignoring the rest of us, he stalked out.

Tony handed over to CMJ in mid-over and was back later to apologise and explain that the demand had come from the
Breakfast Time
programme in London. But there was never a word from McKenzie.

After a later discussion with Tony, it was clear that it was not going to be possible to continue the arrangement of sharing resources with what was nominally another branch of the same organisation.

Pakistan had won again in Karachi, leaving England needing to win both their remaining group matches to progress. That was their task. Mine was to find another commentator to replace Lewis and Bannister.

Tim Rice was travelling with us as what he called a ‘cricket groupie' and so I asked him if he'd like to try his hand at commentary for England's next game in Jaipur. I had woken him with my phone call, so when I saw him as we were setting off to return to India, he asked, ‘Was that a dream, Backers, or did you ask me to join the commentary team?'

At that point in the tournament, all roads seemed to cross in Delhi.

I met Henry Blofeld and Trevor Bailey in the hotel and we were able to exchange tales and discuss their future plans.

It has been a pleasant crossroads, with the same hotel housing for 24 hours England, the West Indies, India, Australia and Sri Lanka, before we all separate again. I also came across the two English umpires, David Shepherd and Dickie Bird, who have been operating in the other group. Shep reports that Dickie's really happy now he's feeling properly ill!

And so to Jaipur and the first of England's must-win games – against the West Indies. We had found ourselves at the opposite end of the ground from the television boxes, so the shared commentary arrangement would have been doomed anyway.

It was a big day for Tim Rice and, if he wasn't perhaps quite as nervous as for a big first night, there can't have been much in it. He need not have worried. He did splendidly and had a good match to start on.

England survived a torrid opening hour on a lively pitch to make 269 for five, but we were a little afraid that that wasn't enough.

When Richards and Richardson were in full cry, it certainly didn't look enough, but, not for the first time in this competition, scoreboard pressure told and they were all out 34 runs short.

In
Pune four days later, England made sure of their semi-final place by beating Sri Lanka comfortably and Tim Rice made the acquaintance of some long Sri Lankan names. He eventually decided that Vinothen John, ‘the burly John', was going to be credited with a lot of the fielding, whether he did it or not.

The semi-finals had been resolved as Pakistan vs. Australia in Lahore and India vs. England in Bombay. The locals in both countries and the organisers now knew for certain that the cup had resolved itself as intended to provide an India–Pakistan final in Calcutta.

There was, therefore, stunned reaction first when Australia won in Lahore and then when England did the same the following day in Bombay. In fact, so disappointed were the organisers with the final line-up, that a play-off match between India and Pakistan was discussed, but eventually rejected. And the day after the second semi-final we were off to Calcutta, a thousand miles to the east.