da mrbet： Roll the tape
da luck： Mike Whitaker18-Aug-2001Roll the tape.A familiar rhythm, drumstick on cowbell, and then the organ riff thatinsinuated its way into many lives: Booker T and the MGs’ “Soul Limbo”.Ian Botham, Headingley 1981, driving imperiously and slashing deliveries over the slips. Cut to Bob Willis, staring, intent, focused,his right arm trailing behind him on that familiar curving run up tothe wicket, and watch as the hapless Ray Bright’s middle stumpcartwheels out of the ground, and the crowd boil over on to the pitchin jubilation.Edgbaston, two weeks later. Botham again, charging in to take thefinal wicket in an incredible spell, roaring his joy, brandishing a stump.On again to Old Trafford: a Saturday afternoon of total mayhem, as thescoreboard scurries to keep up with an onslaught from Botham asprecise, as technically perfect as the Headingley one was anything but.Then cut to Mike Brearley’s softly spoken acknowledgement of victory.Time passes.Hazier images: Kensington Oval, the West Indies visiting. The picturesare unclear, but the description is Brian Johnston’s, on a cracklingcar radio, as Phil Tufnell spins the West Indies out in the time ittakes to drive home, Richards’ stumping the catalyst for a processionback to the pavilion that had seemed unlikely not so long before.On to the Ashes, 1993. Atherton takes over for his first two Tests andthe final two of the series: again the radio tells the story as thereturning Fraser brings England victory, relayed, too, to distant,unknown names on CricInfo’s first home, the #cricket chat channel.Change the music: Sky have the coverage now, England’s story unfoldinglate at night, early in the morning, as time zones permit. The WestIndies – memories of 46 all out all too present: Tufnell wheeling awayto Chanderpaul for what seems like forever, that trademark step, skipand run, hair flopping into eyes, teasing him, coaxing him into afatal indiscretion; Alec Stewart’s centuries in a Bridgetown groundwith a crowd that sounds more like it’s The Oval; and then Caddick andTufnell bowling England to the unlikeliest of wins.Radio once more: nine wickets for Devon Malcolm in an inspiredspell to rout South Africa at the home of so many England victories,The Oval. Maybe someone should have hit him on the helmet more often.Back to the Ashes, and back to late nights in front of the TV: away inAustralia. Darren Gough warns Mark Nicholas ‘there’ll be fireworks’,and proceeds to blaze away at the Australian attack for a totallyunexpected (except maybe by Dazzler himself) half-century. Cut to BigDev, willow like a matchstick in his hands, depositing Shane Warne wayback over his head. And later in the series, Tuffers’ running catch,sheer joy, as England, Fraser, Malcolm, Caddick claim a victory,Charles Colville shouting himself hoarse for Sky TV.Sky takes us to Johannesburg. Atherton. Chanceless, resolute, thequintessential immoveable object, for a day and a half, to earn a drawthat must have tasted like defeat to the South Africans. Boycott, smugand certain on the radio, a Yorkshireman praising a Lancastrian afterhis own heart: “Tha’ll not get him out.”Dissolve now to 1997: the Ashes again. Edgbaston again, Gough andMalcolm charging in, Mark Taylor fishing and caught in the gully,Hussain and Thorpe batting on and on, and Stewart and Athertondeciding four days is plenty, and they’ll finish it tonight, thank youvery much, with overs to spare. To The Oval, where Caddick and Tufnellwipe away some of the pain of losing the Ashes on an amazing Saturday,as Graham Thorpe dives forward at mid off to cling on to the finalcatch. Cut to the Cat, fag in one hand, champagne bottle in the other,up on the balcony, absolutely drained.The memories are less hazy now, recent, bright. Stewart and Thorpetough it out on a Sabina Park wicket that keeps Wayne Morton on asemi-permanent shuttle run from dressing room to pitch, before,incredibly, Atherton is out in the middle and the game is calledoff. Butcher and Headley inch us to victory in Trinidad, nervesjangling.South Africa at home. Old Trafford. A follow-on we have to save: GusFraser, unlikely hero with the bat in an excruciatingly tense finalsession, described in words by CricInfo’s commentator. Another drawthat seems almost like a win. Onward, cutting again to TV images:Donald steaming in, an assault that Atherton responds to with thatfamilar, blank, almost insolent look back down the wicket; Donald’sfury at a dropped catch; Athers missing out on a century to make surewe win. Fast forward to Headingley: South Africa 27-5 on a sunnyafternoon, and then the roar that greets Gough and Fraser thefollowing morning: two wickets, and a home series win.Australia again: Dazzler’s joy at his hat-trick. Later in the tour,coming downstairs to breakfast in England to find, amazingly, anextended evening session in Australia that’s still going. Ramprakashpulling off a blinding catch at point, fists clenched in triumph,screaming “come ON!” at his tiring teammates. Stewart wanting to leavethe field, but Australia claiming the extra half-hour. Gough andHeadley almost out on their feet as the Aussies tumble.New music: Lou Bega, “Mambo Number 5”. And a new hero: Alex Tudor,nightwatchman, and almost-centurion, as Thorpe does his best to givehim the strike against New Zealand.Now it’s last summer, the memories and images still fresh. The huddle,after the West Indies are skittled out for next to nothing at Lord’s,Stewart emphasising every word with clenched fist. Gough playingAtherton to Cork’s Stewart on a sunny afternoon, the crowd chewingtheir nails as they inch closer and closer to victory. Up to Leeds,Caddick ripping the heart out of the West Indies with an incrediblespell, and then cut to the balcony at The Oval, champagne sprayfilling the air as Caddick, Hussain and Thorpe celelebrate with therest of the team.Change the music. The Barmy Army. “Jerusalem”.Winter, Pakistan. A run chase in the dark. Hicky and Thorpe can see itwell enough to nudge and nurdle ones and twos, and when Hick finallysuccumbs, it’s Nasser who charges down the wicket waving his bat likea madman as the winning run is scored. Jubilation in the pavilion,all except for Thorpe, alone with his thoughts.Cut again, to Sri Lanka: one down, two to play. Athers and Sangakarrahave words, fingers are pointed, and Nasser finally finds some form aswe bring the series level. On to Colombo, where Thorpe stays unbeatenin the match and shepherds England home for the third time in fourTests.Home. Lord’s. Pakistan are here for a two-Test series. Dazz has nevertaken five in an innings here, so badly wants his name on the board,cheered every time he takes his cap and makes his way down to longleg: his joy when he gets it is unconfined, greater even than thecelebrations when he gets his 200th Test wicket not so long later.These are my memories. There are others, darker. But these chase awaythose shadows.We can beat anyone. If we remember how.
