tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638619958588096610.post468890730395043487..comments2023-11-22T09:11:01.567+00:00Comments on George Szirtes: The Hungarian Mid-OffGeorge Shttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08889600788146987089noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638619958588096610.post-32356286826389412562014-01-07T15:35:17.508+00:002014-01-07T15:35:17.508+00:00You really are remarkable, Tom.You really are remarkable, Tom.George Shttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08889600788146987089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638619958588096610.post-29695302599863781012014-01-07T09:38:56.062+00:002014-01-07T09:38:56.062+00:00April 1968 - I've gone to call on Rupert Roopn...April 1968 - I've gone to call on Rupert Roopnaraine in Cambridge to have tea with him and his family. Rupert had taught me French in the sixth form when he was a post-graduate student, but now lives in Cambridge. [ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rupert_Roopnaraine ]Later he's to go back to Guyana to become a prominent and incorruptible left-wing politician and a prize-winning writer, but today he's just a young man having fun with two other friends. I realise they are Rohan Kanhai and Lance Gibbs, both Guyanese, both playing for Warwickshire against the university [ http://www.cricketarchive.com/Archive/Scorecards/29/29317.html ]. Rupert used to play for the university beside Mike Brearley. All four of us get down on the floor and start a game of cricket with a ping-pong ball and rulers. Kanhai and Gibbs are two of the greatest cricketers in the world; I was lucky to get in my school's Third XI. My cup runneth over.tomdhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03766237341387024779noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638619958588096610.post-58563666309186802032014-01-05T22:33:28.301+00:002014-01-05T22:33:28.301+00:00The unflappable Bird.The unflappable Bird.George Shttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08889600788146987089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638619958588096610.post-28444846534817466222014-01-05T21:13:12.147+00:002014-01-05T21:13:12.147+00:00And in the centre of it all the unflappable Dickie...And in the centre of it all the unflappable Dickie Bird. Gwil Whttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03305768121713053837noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638619958588096610.post-24898387732600571182014-01-05T16:24:47.793+00:002014-01-05T16:24:47.793+00:00Richards was magnificent, Gwilym, of the same cut ...Richards was magnificent, Gwilym, of the same cut as Botham but more reliable, more imperious more of the time - nevertheless, the same type. Of course he wasn't a front line bowler the way Botham was. They had a lot of time for each other.<br /><br />But I suspect Worrell, Sobers, bd clice Lloyed brought a lot of fresh wind with from the Caribbean too, not to mention Greenidge, Gibbs, Marshall, Ambrose, Garner, Holding, Bishop, Roberts, Kanhai, Lara. More gale than wind really.<br />George Shttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08889600788146987089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638619958588096610.post-91709514659937414082014-01-05T16:11:52.435+00:002014-01-05T16:11:52.435+00:00i don't want to make too much out of the sense...i don't want to make too much out of the sense of exclusion, James. It is much more interesting to understand what one might be included in. In any case there are degrees of both inclusion and exclusion and I think there is a due and proper regard for these things. There are close places in the heart and we should respect them.<br /><br />When I first encountered cricket there were two main counties: Surrey (Peter May, Laker, Lock, Bedser, Barrington) who won the championship five or six times in a row, and Yorkshire (Close, Trueman, then Boycott), later Illingwhorth, Sharpe etc). Of the others, Cowdrey was Kent. Dexter was Sussex. I can't remember them all. Freddie Titmuss was Middlesex, my 'home' county at the time.<br /><br />George Shttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08889600788146987089noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638619958588096610.post-16376574598437499092014-01-05T14:15:31.349+00:002014-01-05T14:15:31.349+00:00I was a child when the Marley/10cc song first came...I was a child when the Marley/10cc song first came out. I couldn't make out the words, but what I now know to be "I don't love cricket etc." sounded unbearably melancholy, tired but loaded with fresh pain. They still do. <br /><br />(It's quite a southern English version of cricket that you're discussing, despite the presence of Brian Close. Perhaps someone with knowledge of the Northern Leagues will help out with that in this thread - that, and the Betjeman. I once lived that poem out, fiancee, Aldershot Officer's Club, tennis, dancing and Camberley golf club the lot, but that doesn't mean that the poem entirely belongs to the likes of me, but then, it didn't entirely belong to the likes of Betjeman either).Jamesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638619958588096610.post-8815586046031411732014-01-05T13:41:04.934+00:002014-01-05T13:41:04.934+00:00Lovely article, thanks G. I remember that era well...Lovely article, thanks G. I remember that era well (I think). And nice to think of Bob Marley singing that great 10CC song, even if he was more a football (Arsenal?) man. But do I remember him (in a documentary) playing cricket in his garden in Jamaica, or only football? Great stuff, as always!Clydesdale Jeffersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14631644050118490759noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4638619958588096610.post-51968079807419842622014-01-05T13:20:41.019+00:002014-01-05T13:20:41.019+00:00The cricket I like is played by the likes of Viv R...The cricket I like is played by the likes of Viv Richards. He brought a fresh wind with him from the Caribbean. He knocked them over the walls and into the streets at Rishton. He was more like an American baseball star. <br /><br />The gentle knock of of cork on willow, the ruby faced Colonel Blimps dozing behind their copies of the Times, the sparse scatterings of families on wet benches gazing into the vague distance, the rain covers always on and off the wicket, and often not even a winner at the end of it all. It was all too much for me. <br />Gwil Whttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03305768121713053837noreply@blogger.com