by Tim Wigmore
Sultan Zarawani and Alawi Al Braik bring just as much to the game in the UAE as David East, Aaqib Javed, Will Kitchen and Khurram Khan. Everyone just needs to realise that.
Scotland by Tim Wigmore
EVEN cricket was embroiled in the referendum on Scottish independence, which reached a conclusion of sorts with the No vote in September 2014. A week before the referendum, The Grange Ground in Edinburgh – the Scotland international side’s most regular home ground – hosted a 1,500-strong rally against independence. It was perhaps an appropriate setting, given cricket’s traditional role as a symbol of the English-loving posh elite. When I asked a Scottish cricketer about the team’s views on independence a few days earlier, the reply was terse, ‘We’re all against it.’
The presence of English international cricket on Scottish terrestrial television has long been a source of angst within a strand of the Scottish National Party, and, in their view, proof of the influence of English culture in Scotland. In 2009, an SNP Member of the Scottish Parliament even tabled a motion in protest at the level of Ashes coverage on the news on terrestrial TV.
To some Scots there remains a sharp sense of cricket as an alien, and deeply un-Scottish, game. The Scottish political journalist Fraser Nelson has written that, north of the border, the Conservative Party is viewed as ‘a harmless perversion, roughly in the same bracket as cross-dressing or cricket’. In the political comedy The Thick of It, the snarling Scottish attack dog Malcolm Tucker sneers at someone discussing cricket. ‘That’s the English equivalent of sport,’ he scoffs. ‘There’s no actual physical contact.’
The notion of cricket being an English interloper may never be entirely dispelled. ‘Some people always associate it with being an English game. I don’t think we’re ever going to get away from that,’ admitted Roddy Smith, whose ten-year stint as chief executive of Cricket Scotland ended in 2014. Cricket thrives in the Edinburgh public schools, while the Grange Cricket Club, formed in 1832 by members of the Edinburgh Speculative Society, has long been considered the MCC of Scotland. Players for the Grange are commonly referred to as ‘the Chaps’. Anyone who wants to play cricket for the club must stump up £390 a year for the right, in addition to match fees.
But the image of Scottish cricket as a fundamentally elitist pursuit is a myth. More people play organised cricket in Scotland than in any other country in the world that does not have Test status. Scotland has more cricket clubs than rugby clubs. In parts of the country, especially the Borders and Aberdeenshire, cricket has a classless appeal. Former SNP leader Alex Salmond, known to be a handy cricketer in his youth, was furious when the BBC did not broadcast Scotland’s first one-day international against England in 2008.
Since then, Scotland have played a biannual ODI against England; the two sides will also face each other in the 2015 World Cup. Yet cricket retains a unique place in Scotland: it is the only sport in which Scots find themselves cheering for England, regarding the England side less as a rival than a representative of the United Kingdom at Test level, akin to the British and Irish Lions in rugby.
In The Encyclopedia of Scottish Cricket, D.W. Potter argues that, because Scotland do not compete on level terms with England in Test cricket, England cannot be assigned the role of ‘the other’ as in other sports. As Alan Bairner and Dominic Malcolm assert in Cricket and National Identities on the Celtic Fringe, ‘There is less evidence of the Irish, the Scots and the Welsh supporting anyone who plays against England at cricket than would be the case in the context of football’ and ‘England is of necessity the surrogate British team in world cricket.’ The former Scotland cricketer and current head of performance Andy Tennant reflected, ‘The England cricket team was who you supported. A young boy’s dream was to play cricket for England.’
This state of affairs stems from the low regard in which the national side has been held – not least by those who have run the game in Scotland. Historically, Scotland viewed itself less as a sovereign cricketing nation than as a sort of auxiliary English county. While the situation conferred certain advantages – Scotland was guaranteed a semi-regular supply of fixtures from tourists to England – it meant that Scotland were not a true international side in their own right. Any Scot serious about cricket had to look south to forge a career.
Scotland produced a surprising number of such players. Three England Test captains have had Scottish roots. Tony Greig was born in South Africa to Scottish parents. Douglas Jardine, that supposed embodiment of cussed Englishness, had only Scottish blood in him: his father was educated at Fettes College, later the alma mater of Tony Blair. Born in India, Jardine spent his formative years in Scotland, before completing his education in England. He always considered himself a Scot; after his death, his ashes were scattered in Perthshire. Mike Denness, whose 19 Tests as England skipper included the Ashes tour in 1974/75, is the only Test captain to have been born in Scotland. He played club cricket in Ayr and grew up in a house literally on the boundary’s edge of a ground.
In total, ten Test cricketers have been born in Scotland. The most tragic was the Rutherglen-born Archie Jackson, who emigrated to Australia as a boy and was considered the equal of Don Bradman. He died from tuberculosis midway through the 1932/33 Bodyline tour aged 23.
There was a fundamental link between all of these cricketers: the realisation that Scotland would not provide sufficient outlet for their talents. A sign of cricket’s standing was that, in 1990, the most famous Scottish cricketer was not really a cricketer at all. That was Andy Goram, the international football goalkeeper who played cricket for Scotland between 1989 and 1991. Against Allan Border’s Australian tourists in 1989, Goram, despite having been a professional footballer for a decade, was selected to bat at four as part of his fitness regime before the new football season. It was testament not only to Goram’s sporting prowess, but also the paucity of cricketing talent in Scotland. He made four.
Goram was a dual international but there was a chasm between the two sides he played for. He was selected in three football World Cup squads for Scotland (though never picked for a game). During his cricket-playing days, Scotland were not even members of the ICC and were ineligible for the Cricket World Cup. While first-class games against Ireland were hard-fought, games against tourists to England were merely exhibition matches.
In 1980, Scotland were invited to play against English counties in one-day cricket. They enjoyed scant success. Players used to fight over the free packets of cigarettes that were handed out after Benson & Hedges Cup games. Even when Scotland fielded a high-profile overseas player – the West Indian openers Gordon Greenidge and Desmond Haynes both had seasons as honorary Saltires, as did Malcolm Marshall in the last year of his career – their performances remained dire. Scotland won just three games in their first 23 years in county cricket.
The first recorded cricket match in Scotland was in 1785 in Alloa, between two aristocratic sides. In 1821, Kelso Cricket Club, Scotland’s oldest cricket club, was founded. An administrative body for Scotland, the Scottish Cricket Union (which would later change its name to Cricket Scotland), was formed in 1908; and an annual Scottish cricket yearbook – a Scottish Wisden – was published almost continuously from 1871 until the 21st century.
In the first half of the 20th century, cricket was much more than a niche pursuit; it was an intrinsic part of Scotland’s sporting culture. Every part of the country had a vibrant league – except Edinburgh, which did not adopt a league structure until 1953, in homage to gentlemanly ideals.
A young Wilfred Rhodes played for two seasons in the Border League in 1896 and 1897. And the crowds came: a report in The Scotsman newspaper in 1921 made reference to a crowd of 6,000 ‘keen cricket-lovers the people of Perth and surrounding district’ attending Scotland’s game against the Australians.
In another match between Scotland and the Australians that year, John Kerr hit 147 at Edinburgh, considered one of the finest innings against Warwick Armstrong’s Australians all tour. In an article for
Wisden in 1999, the journalist Allan Massie recalled that, as a child in the 1950s, trams ran up and down Aberdeen’s Union Street with placards reading ‘To and From the Cricket Match’. The Perthshire–Forfarshire derby regularly attracted over 5,000 spectators. Don Bradman’s last innings on British soil was 123 not out, in 80 minutes, against Scotland at Aberdeen in 1948. It was played in front of a crowd of 10,000.
Despite these deep roots, cricket’s ruling elite did not conceive of Scotland as an international entity in its own right. While New Zealand, with a smaller population, was granted Test status, Scotland continued to be viewed as an extension of England. The Test and County Cricket Board and its predecessor retained jurisdiction over Scottish cricket until 1992. The upshot was that Scotland’s fixture list seldom amounted to more than four or five games a year: an annual first-class game against Ireland, a game against MCC, and perhaps a couple of games against sides touring England. Other sports forged ahead in the public consciousness.
Only in 1994 did Scotland become an autonomous cricket nation, acquiring associate membership of the ICC and, with it, the chance to qualify for the World Cup. ‘It didn’t do a lot of good for players to get pumped in international cricket,’ Bruce Patterson said. ‘We missed a layer of competitive development.’
In essence, the choice for Scottish cricketers remained as it had always been: go to England and pursue a professional career, or stay in Scotland and mix weekend cricket – whether against counties or other countries – with a full-time job. Not that many got the choice: few players received any interest from English counties.
‘There was no scouting and no trialing of any players from Scotland,’ Dougie Brown reflected. Brown turned professional for Warwickshire at the age of 22, from the start of the 1992 season, and was often the only professional in the Scotland team. Even though it scuppered his chances of playing for Scotland in a home World Cup, Brown did not regard it as a tough decision to pursue an ODI career with England. ‘It wasn’t really. I’m a passionate Scot and proud to be Scottish, but I wanted to challenge myself to play at the highest level I could.’
By April 1998, Brown’s England career had been and gone: nine matches spread over four months. It meant that he wasn’t playing for either England or Scotland at the 1999 World Cup.
Without Brown, Scotland played their first ODI on 16 May 1999. Many feared that it would be embarrassing: Scotland were taking on Australia at Worcester in the World Cup. It was the first time that many had cause to take notice of Scottish cricket: it was Scotland’s first ever match broadcast live on terrestrial TV.
Scotland lost the toss, exposing them to Damien Fleming, one of the best seamers in the world, with the new white ball. It did not seem much of a fair contest against the opening batsman Patterson, an estate agent from Ayr. He had been a fine batsman in his time, scoring 70 against Allan Border’s Australians in 1989, but the World Cup was no place for a 34-year-old amateur cricketer. With three slips waiting expectantly, the first delivery was pitched up enticingly outside off stump. Patterson could not resist. He leant in to attempt a cover drive. The ball did not take the edge of his bat; instead, it was lashed gloriously through the covers for a boundary. ‘A half-volley’s a half-volley,’ he said. ‘I should have hit the second ball for four as well.’ While Australia still won easily, it took them 44.5 overs to chase down Scotland’s 181/7. Ignominy had been averted.
These were exciting times for Scottish cricket. Scotland had qualified for the World Cup at their first attempt and believed that they could compete in their fixtures. ‘There was no fear of being embarrassed,’ reflected Gavin Hamilton, who played for Scotland between 1993 and 2010. ‘We had quite a mature side in those days, and a fantastic mix of characters. It was certainly the best bowling attack I played in for Scotland by an absolute country mile.’
The World Cup would come to Scotland too: in an enlightened move, Scotland were awarded two home games in the tournament. ‘The game changed during the 1999 World Cup when people started seeing what Scotland were doing – and more importantly Scotland could see what Scottish cricketers were doing,’ Hamilton said. The media could not help but notice: papers went from a few hundred words of coverage on Scotland’s county matches to a few thousand. Even the tabloids could not ignore cricket.
It was the first home game that Scotland anticipated particularly eagerly. After beginning the World Cup with defeats to Australia and Pakistan in England, Scotland faced Bangladesh in front of over 4,000 spectators at The Grange. Scotland’s director of cricket Jim Love labelled the game their World Cup final. Bangladesh, at the time a fellow associate, represented by far Scotland’s best chance of a win in the five group games.
The day began perfectly, too. Put in to bat, Bangladesh subsided to 26/5 against consummate new-ball bowling in overcast conditions. It should have been 45/6 soon afterwards when Minhajul Abedin edged to slip. The catch was put down, Abedin’s unbeaten 68 held Bangladesh together, and Scotland were set 186 to win. It would not have been daunting to a side of professionals but then, with a couple of exceptions, Scotland were a side of amateurs.
They batted like it, too. Emulating Bangladesh’s mistakes, Scotland collapsed to 8/3 and then 49/5. Fortunately they had, in Hamilton, a man with the temperament and skill for the challenge. He went into the tournament as Scotland’s only established county player and would score more runs than any England player could muster: 217 at an average of 54. ‘Every shot I played and every situation I got involved in it came off. I was quite proud of the way I played some of the world’s best bowlers. I had it in my mind that I’d rather go down taking them on and just seeing how good I was.’
While Hamilton cruised to 63 at nearly a run a ball, he appeared to be steering Scotland to their first World Cup win. Manjurul Islam’s fingertips put paid to that: Islam steered a booming straight drive on to the stumps from Alec Davies, who had combined with Hamilton to add 55 for the seventh wicket. Hamilton was run out and Scotland promptly collapsed. ‘It was one of the most disappointing days in Scottish cricket history,’ he said. Victory would have given a significant boost to the profile and funding of Scottish cricket, and might also have made it harder for Bangladesh to become a full member of the ICC the following year. More than 15 years later, Scotland are still waiting for their first World Cup win.
As for Hamilton, the World Cup provided him with a platform to impress the England selectors. It was a mark of Scotland’s standing that, immediately after the end of the tournament, Love said, ‘I hope that we lose him to England.’ The implication was clear: Hamilton had outgrown the little that Scotland could bring. ‘Playing for England was the be-all and end-all in those days,’ he reflected. ‘It was an obvious decision.’
He was selected for Duncan Fletcher’s first Test as England coach. Hamilton faced nine balls in the match, falling twice to Allan Donald without scoring a run. His 15 overs went for 63 and he was never picked by England again.
For Scotland, the vision that the 1999 World Cup would galvanise the country’s cricket remained unrealised. ‘There is a sense that the administration of cricket didn’t really seize on the marketing opportunities as well as they could have done,’ Tennant said. ‘There was no reason to expect them to – it was amateur committeemen giving up their time.’
Craig Wright, who captained Scotland in 107 matches and is now the side’s assistant coach, called it, ‘A little bit of a flash in the pan. The problem with the World Cup is there wasn’t really anything to sustain us after that. It gave us a bit of visibility but if you look at the cricket we played in 2000, 2001 and 2002, there wasn’t a lot backing it up.’
In 2001, Scotland performed terribly to miss out on qualification for the World Cup; had Brown and Hamilton been available, things might have been different.
Fresh hope came in 2003. Scotland were invited to play in the English National League, guaranteeing them 18 one-day matches per season against county sides: unimaginable riches compared to the piecemeal fixt
ure list that Scotland were used to.
And the side was treated to the best gift imaginable: Rahul Dravid would join as an overseas player. The Scottish cricketing community united to pay Dravid’s salary. Events were organised with the Asian community; private schools were enticed by the promise of Dravid coaching for a day; and a donation from a particularly generous Glaswegian dentist sealed the deal. Not that it seemed like Scotland needed him: before Dravid arrived they won three of their first five games – matching their total wins in the previous 23 years of county cricket in 22 days. This included a miraculous chase of 181 runs in 14.3 overs in a rain-affected game against Somerset.
‘This was prior to Twenty20 cricket – nothing had been achieved at over ten runs an over,’ the burly opener Ryan Watson remembered. ‘I remember hitting the first ball for a one-bounce four and thinking this could be my day. You just went out and tried to hit every ball for four.’ He also harrumphed seven sixes in a sensational 44-ball hundred.
When Dravid arrived, he did not disappoint. ‘He was amazing – such a nice approachable guy, and he really cared which I remember being very impressed about,’ Watson recalled. ‘He spent a lot of time with the batsmen.’ In 11 matches, Dravid scored three centuries and averaged 66. Yet Scotland only won one game with him in the side.
Dravid’s experience with Scotland was far removed from his time with India. Most fundamentally, he was playing with complete amateurs. A lack of government support certainly did not help: just before the season began, Sport Scotland withdrew National Lottery funding, meaning that plans to award eight professional summer contracts had to be abandoned. Players were asked to play for free, not that it quelled their enthusiasm.
‘The guys thought, “We are on holiday – we might as well enjoy this and have a crack”,’ Watson remembered. After Scotland won their first game in the National League in 2003, wicketkeeper Colin Smith, fresh from hitting the winning runs, had to drive back from Durham to Aberdeen overnight and deliver the post the next morning.