FAST BOWLERS DID HUNT IN PAIRS BUT OVERWORK IS TAKING A TOLL
Garfield Robinson looks back at the sustained reigns of terror by the fast men of yesteryear and wonders whether we will see them as often again
In the days of the great West Indies four-pronged pace attacks, crowds would turn up for Test matches in the Caribbean humming with anticipation.
There’d always be a noisy throng and, if you didn’t get there early enough, you knew there’d be a long lines and therefore a long wait.
Arriving on the first morning of an England/West Indies Test at Sabina Park in 1986, shortly before the scheduled start, a friend recalled that he did not gain entry until lunchtime.
Yet, no matter how long it took, you persevered, confident in the knowledge that an exciting day of cricket lay ahead. Most fans prefer to see their side bat whenever they turn up for the first morning of a Test. But in those days Caribbean fans wanted to see their side bowl just as much.
Fast bowlers hunt in pairs. We have been told that from the game’s earliest beginnings. Pairs of fast men have been praised and evaluated over the years: Gregory and McDonald, Larwood and Voce, Lindwall and Miller, Trueman and Statham, Hall and Griffith, Lillee and Thomson, Holding and Roberts, Marshall and Garner, Wasim and Waqar, Walsh and Ambrose, to name some of the most famous pairings.
But is the saying true? Do fast bowlers really hunt in pairs, or is it just another one of those maxims we hear all the time that are actually not factual. “Blind as a bat,” for example, or that “we only use 10 per cent of our brains”. Both are popular sayings. Both are untrue.
It turns out, however, that there is something to the assertion that fast bowlers do in fact hunt in pairs.
During India’s last visit to South Africa a chart was unveiled demonstrating that whenever Morne Morkel, with his prohibitive pace and steep bounce, was engaged in the attack, batsmen were more unlikely to push forward, even when facing the bowler at the other end.
This, for sure, is concrete manifestation of the old adage. What we have here is the forcefulness of one bowler pushing the batsman deep into his crease at one end provides wickettaking opportunities to the bowler operating at the other.
Often, one of the pair is more frightening than the other. During the Bodyline series, Larwood was much more the aggressor than Voce.
Lillee was quick; Thomson was much quicker and could urge deliveries to jump from a length probably more viciously than any other bowler.
Roberts was a cunning terror who probably scored more hits on batsmen than anybody else. But Holding was quicker still, and normally more direct in his approach.
Dale Steyn and Vernon Philander both have better records than the towering Morkel. Both would, I’m sure, be chosen ahead of him. Both are better bowlers most would argue. And yet, both would probably be slightly less successful without his pace and bounce at the other end.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if Thommo don’t get ya, then Lillee must.” That was the verse bellowed around Australian grounds during the 1974-75 season, when England were battered and bruised by the two.
A year later it was the West Indies’ turn. “Not even God could play that,” bemoaned Lawrence Rowe as he walked by his batting companion on his way to the pavilion after getting out to a particularly brutal delivery from Thomson. Or so the story goes.
The batsman related, though, that he has no recollection of saying those actual words. “Many things happened during that series,” he said, “so while I don’t remember saying that, I might well have.”
“Dennis Lillee,” was the answer Rowe gave some years ago when asked to name the most difficult fast bowler he ever faced.
“Lillee was more consistent and was the better bowler overall,” he said when I called to ask if he was sticking to that answer, “but Thomson was quicker.” Asked who he’d have chosen to face were he given the choice, he found it a very difficult decision to make, and eventually never gave an answer.
Holding, however, had no doubt as to which of the two his teammates preferred to see running in from the other end.
“Thomson always seemed to be on everyone’s mind – not Lillee…” Holding recalled in Whispering Death, his first autobiography.
“Thommo was the one who really made the difference. Everyone knew Lillee was a class bowler who could get you out with more than just pace although he was fast enough. But his partner presented the additional fear of physical danger.
“I still haven’t seen anyone bowl quicker than he did in that series.” In those days, remember, there were no helmets, arm-guards or chest protectors.
After Australia, the West Indies were to face India in the Caribbean, and Deryck Murray, according to Holding, commented that the “batsmen all had to learn to play forward again”.
The lessons learned from that Australian experience were taken to heart by West Indies captain Clive Lloyd. It planted a seed which, watered by his dissatisfaction with the performance of his spinners during India’s world-record run chase in Trinidad a few months later, grew into the famed four-pronged pace attacks which were instrumental in the West Indies’ world domination.
Decline had long set in by the time the Caribbean side were unseated by Australia in 1995, yet it was no coincidence that the great four-man pace units were now operating at less than full throttle. Ambrose and Walsh remained, but the back-up men were not able to maintain the level of unpleasantness that the teams who went up against the West Indies throughout the 80s encountered.
We do not often now see the kind of uncompromising pace we used to; the kind that was regularly served up by the likes of Larwood, Frank Tyson, Thomson, Holding and Sylvester Clarke. Perhaps it’s just that the amount of cricket being played nowadays has
There have been those who’ve bowled extremely quickly on occasions but sustained unvarnished pace is not as abundant as it used to be
diluted the urge for speed. There have been bowlers who bowled extremely quickly on occasion: Shane Bond, Shoaib Ahktar, Brett Lee, and Shaun Tait immediately come to mind. But sustained, unvarnished pace is nowhere as abundant as it used to be.
A few years ago, however, Mitchell Johnson took us back in time. England travelled to Australia for the 2013-14 Ashes series as favourites, riding a wave of confidence having defeated their arch-rivals only a few months before.
They were in for a surprise. The Mitchell Johnson they had the misfortune of facing was nothing like the wayward, inconsistent speedster they had faced many times before. This was a man transformed. He was focused, direct, accurate, and bowled with the kind of unremitting pace they would not have experienced before.
Johnson’s fire and brimstone yielded 37 wickets in the five Tests. His average, unbelievably, was 13.97. His strike rate 30.59. England were smashed to bits, losing the series 5-0. By the end, the England team and English cricket were in disarray. And while there were rifts to begin with, it was Johnson’s pace that widened those fissures.
Later that same season, Australia travelled to South Africa where Johnson repeated the dose. This time his take was 22 wickets in three games at 17.36 with a strike rate of a wicket every 34.41 balls.
His was a reign of terror that season, the likes of which had never been witnessed before. Left in his wake were shattered helmets, bruised limbs, broken bats, and broken spirits.
In Beyond A Boundary, CLR James mentions Trinidad tearaway of the early 20th century, George John. Popular opinion had it that he “was one of the most formidable fast bowlers who ever handled a ball”.
James remembered “his John” when he saw reports of Tyson hitting the stumps with balls that didn’t touch the ground. “…a fast bowler in the sense that John was a fast bowler I have only seen one – Tyson in 1954, James said. “The type I will always plump for.”