vb
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Post by vb on Aug 8, 2018 12:44:08 GMT
www.hindustantimes.com/cricket/bangladesh-bury-hatchet-with-ex-coach-gordon-greenidge-after-19-years/story-h21upkNwnHmoiJbJzlsUYK.html Bangladesh bury the hatchet with ex Coach Greenidge after 19 yearsHOME SPORTS CRICKET Bangladesh bury hatchet with ex-coach Gordon Greenidge after 19 years Gordon Greenidge, who was coach of the Bangladesh cricket team during the 1999 World Cup, was unceremoniously sacked during the middle of the tournament for opposing the country’s bid for Test status CRICKET Updated: May 15, 2018 15:15 IST Bangladesh national cricket team,Gordon Greenidge,1999 Cricket World Cup Gordon Greenidge led Bangladesh to the ICC Trophy title in Malaysia in 1997, and also steered the cricket minnows to their first World Cup in 1999.(GRAHAM MORRIS/AFP/Getty Images) Bangladesh have finally buried the hatchet with West Indies batting great Gordon Greenidge -- nearly two decades after unceremoniously sacking him as head coach in the middle of the 1999 World Cup. Gordon Greenidge took Bangldesh to their first ICC Trophy title in 1997.The Bangladesh Cricket Board hosted a reception for Greenidge late Monday in Dhaka, reuniting the coach with his former players and the executives who dumped him. Greenidge led Bangladesh to the ICC Trophy title in Malaysia in 1997, and also steered the cricket minnows to their first World Cup. He was awarded honorary citizenship of Bangladesh in recognition of his achievements. But his relationship with cricket officials soured after he opposed Bangladesh’s bid for Test status, a move he considered premature. Greenidge, who was sacked as Bangladesh prepared to play Pakistan in a World Cup fixture in England in 1999, had returned to Bangladesh just once since his sudden exit -- until Monday’s function. “The parting was disappointing. I would have liked to spend more time with Bangladesh cricket, but it wasn’t to be. I have no ills. But these things happen,” Greenidge told reporters at the reception. Members of the squad he steered to victory in the ICC Trophy swapped stories with their old coach at the function. Greenidge said he hoped the frostiness was resigned to the past. “I cherish all my memories here in Bangladesh. Now that we have met again, I sincerely hope that we can renew that relationship, and continue where we left off,” he said. In a goodwill gesture, Bangladesh cricket officials donated 500,000 taka to a school Greenidge founded in his native Barbados. Greenidge played 108 Tests and 113 one day internationals and was known as one of the most destructive batsmen of his time. First Published: May 15, 2018 15:15 IST
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vb
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Post by vb on Aug 10, 2018 3:05:10 GMT
When Gordon Greenidge unleashed hell against Australia
www.theguardian.com/sport/blog/2016/jan/08/west-indian-epic-when-gordon-greenidge-unleashed-hell-on-australia
On Australia’s spiteful 1991 tour of the West Indies, Gordon Greenidge’s 226 at Barbados was the last flickering of greatness from a master batsman, detailed by Daniel Harris in an extract from ‘Masterly Batting: 100 great Test centuries’
Daniel Harris
@danielharris
Fri 8 Jan 2016 03.52 GMT Last modified on Wed 21 Feb 2018 18.10 GMT
Smiling assassin: Gordon Greenidge was a towering figure at the top of the batting order in the greatest of all West Indies sides but he left his best until last in the Barbados Test of Australia’s 1991 Caribbean tour. Photograph: Bob Thomas/Getty Images
Cuthbert Gordon Greenidge. Cuthbert Gordon Greenidge. How could you possibly be called Cuthbert Gordon Greenidge and not be a brilliant bastard? You could not possibly be called Cuthbert Gordon Greenidge and not be a brilliant bastard. It is scientifically, biologically, psychologically, philosophically impossible to be called Cuthbert Gordon Greenidge and not be a brilliant bastard. Cuthbert Gordon Greenidge was a brilliant, brilliant bastard.
Most viscerally striking was the speed and power of his stroke, imparted via forearms fashioned from elasticated rope, but the apparatus underpinning them was equally important: dancer’s feet, and an eye that could curdle curd. Or, put another way, within Greenidge coalesced the qualities of timing and technique that define batsmanship. Most sportsmen are left with little choice as regards how to play, serfs to their talent, but the very best are able to do as they please, impressing personality upon ability. This was such a man.
That’s the brilliance; the bastardliness was more complex. Like so many of the best cricketers, sportsmen and anythings, Greenidge was cocky, aggressive and grudge-bearing, admirable and dislikeable for the self-same characteristics. Aspects of them were innate and aspects of them were provoked.
In 1965, when Greenidge was 14, he left Barbados for Reading, where differences in culture and climate were exacerbated by racism, making for a miserable time. But he developed as a cricketer, joining Hampshire and going on to form a legendary opening partnership with Barry Richards. Then, in 1973 and after rejecting England, he returned home to play himself into West Indies’ Test team, picked to make his debut at Bangalore a year later along with some other kid called IVA Richards. Pre-match, the chatter concerned how a rain-affected strip might assist the Indian spinners, and then West Indies won by 267 runs with Greenidge scoring 93 and 107.
Gordon Greenidge of the West Indies hooks during the World Cup semi-final at the Oval In London. Photograph: Adrian Murrell/Getty Images
But the innings that defined him - and in a way, his era - came at Lord’s in 1984. One-up after the first Test, West Indies were on the back foot in the second, England declaring early on the fifth day to set a notional victory target of 342. Incredibly, it was reached for the loss of just one wicket and in only 66.1 overs, thanks principally to Greenidge’s controlled, but not less alarming violence. Out of form at the time – in his six previous innings on tour he had managed just 85 runs – and batting with an injured leg, he scored principally in boundaries, annihilating 29 fours and two sixes in his 214 not out. “Every little bit of power you could imagine going into that”, marvelled Richie Benaud after one particularly vicious straight drive.
Though by then West Indies had been the best team in the world for a few years, Greenidge’s knock ported them into a different domain. Dominating and consistent victories are one thing, seemingly impossible victories something else entirely, and the preserve of the very finest; a self-fulfilling, self-perpetuating prophecy that endures even when the ability that facilitated it has expired.
Few teams in sporting history has carried similar aura, their strength grounded not just in ability but in attitude. Representing newly independent and confident islands united for nothing else, they inspired an identity that extended far beyond simple affiliation to a sports team based on coincidence of residence, proudly proclaiming a shared history and oppression.
The notion that international competition, the battle between one arbitrary landmass and another, is not political, is a fatuous one. But even in that context cricket is different, its fierceness of a different order to that in every other sport. The story of the game is the story of civilization – rather “civilization” – its rivalries based on more than simple them and us dichotomies with antipathies rooted not in competition but in actual, real things, a narrative with a moral dimension. And, in this case, a clear, unarguable line of right and wrong.
So against England, Greenidge unleashed the rage of generations. “All those years of hurt now have to be put in focus”, he explained. “My anger came up in the way I played. I felt that to forcefully go at what I was doing, to attack, perhaps was a way of letting out that anger. It wouldn’t be right to do that on another human being, although it felt like it at times, but I’m sure gonna take it out on five and a half ounces, so I took it out on the ball.”
And from December 1984 onwards, West Indies were led not by the measured Clive Lloyd but by Viv Richards, a man who put the ire into fire, the ow into power and the ing fury into ing fury. “Some of them really look at you out there like you should be hunted”, he said. “But I can tell you, no man is going to hunt me in this day and age. I take up the pursuing first.”
No side were pursued with greater alacrity than Australia. The last of the cricketing nations to disengage with apartheid South Africa, and only then following protests against a planned rugby tour, its sporting establishment had also raged at Peter Norman’s role in Tommie Smith and John Carlos’ salute at the 1968 Olympics – an event that meant a lot to many in the West Indies team.
Gordon Greenidge on the attack against England during the fourth Test at Bridgetown in 1990.
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But it was personal, too – with Richards and Greenidge, it always was – but in this instance, specifically so. Touring Australia in 1975-76, the racist abuse the players received from the crowd was both distressing and formative. “Being bombarded by comments and behaviour, well, I’d encountered some ignorance before, but this was very different, very very different...it degraded me and downgraded me a great deal,” said Greenidge.
Then, during the next series between the sides in 1977-78, Richards’ pectorals were traversed by Bobby Simpson, the Australia captain, with particular offence taken at his behaviour towards umpires. But there was more to it than that, and in later years, particularly once Simpson was appointed coach, he was one of the most outspoken critics of West Indian methods – “brutal”, “wild”, “dangerous” were some of those suggestions – and Richards was no fan.
Matters reached a pitch in 1991, when the teams, comfortably the world’s best, met to contest the ‘World Championship Series’. Simpson got things going by suggesting that West Indies’ batting was brittle, also accusing them of intimidating umpires and deliberately slow over-rates – what he termed “professional fouls” – and amity burgeoned from there. “Bobby Simpson and other individuals were shouting their mouths off”, Richards would later tell the press. “I never shouted my mouth off. I dismiss anything that Simpson says. He is a moaner and bad loser. He is a very sour sort of guy. Bobby Simpson ain’t our cup of tea at all.”
But there was plenty that happened prior to then. Despite West Indies’ 10-year unbeaten run, the same England side filleted in the 1989 Ashes had then travelled to the Caribbean and competed; Australia had reason to believe. Though not yet the unfathomably confident lunatics they would become, they nonetheless boasted a collection of bristling, bustling larrikins: men like Allan Border, David Boon, Merv Hughes, Dean Jones, Craig McDermott and the Waughs. And their unique but still developing brand of psychicide went down exceptionally badly with their hosts. The insults began during the one-dayers that preceded the Tests, Mark Waugh’s invective directing Desmond Haynes hutchwards following a marginal lbw decision in Guyana. Then, during the Australian innings, when a ball sneaked out of Phil Simmons’ hand before intended, Border stepped down the pitch to whack it for four. As such, the two captains spent the tea interval exchanging language at volume.
Australia took the rubber 4-1, clinching it in Bridgetown where West Indies had not been beaten for 56 years. But it was once the Tests began that things became really serious, the series ringing and throbbing with every facet of the spontaneous drama that makes sport the most compelling of all human inventions, simultaneously reality and fantasy, epic and animation, buddy movie and biopic.
The contest began in Jamaica where, despite having the better of things, the visitors finished irate; rudimentary covers elongated the various rain delays, denying them the opportunity to force a win. And West Indies’ selectors were concerned, informing Richards of their plan to drop Jeff Dujon, Malcolm Marshall – and Greenidge – for the second Test. “He has been hit on the head” said one; “Haven’t we all,” rejoindered Viv. “He is not picking up the ball…He’s finished”, interjected a second; “He’s lost it”, agreed a third. Naturally, Richards was convinced that the matter was personal and protected his men, even though Greenidge had passed 50 just once in the previous two years.
Greenidge bats at Port of Spain, Trinidad, during England’s 1990 Test tour of the West Indies. Photograph: Bob Thomas/Getty Images
So the team for Guyana was unchanged – but the atmosphere there was very different. At the 50-over game, a vex crowd had supported the tourists; the country’s predominantly East Indian population took exception to Richards’ assertion that his team was an African one. But a later clarification meant that things were back to normal by the time the players returned, and a near run-a-ball partnership of 297 between Haynes and Richie Richardson helped West Indies to a first-innings lead in excess of 200, parlayed into a ten-wicket victory. And Richards was two-thirds vindicated: Marshall took three wickets in each innings and Dujon a total of seven catches. On the other hand, Greenidge was first out for 2 and then, with West Indies requiring just 31 to win, Haynes swiped 23 off 27 balls while he could only finagle 5 off 21.
But this was not all that happened; of course this was not all that happened. During Australia’s second innings, Courtney Walsh – who, playing for Jamaica earlier in the tour, had hit both Mark Waugh and McDermott – clean-bowled Dean Jones, who failed to hear the call of no-ball in the ensuing bangarang so departed the crease. In the meantime, Carl Hooper dashed across from gully, uprooted middle stump and begun a celebration as the square-leg umpire raised a finger – even though, in order to be run out, a batsman must attempt a run.
Convinced that Australia would have done the same, West Indies experienced not the remotest guilt, and after the game, when Jones was asked how he might have acted were the roles reversed, he smirked and said that he did not respond to hypothetical questions. He then approached Richards to offer his congratulations, only to be shocked by the stunted nature of the shrift dispensed thereupon. “After being abused by a guy,” Richards later explained, “you don’t expect him to come over and say, ‘How are you doing? You want a Toohey’s?’ You don’t do things like that. When I draw the sword, I draw the sword. When I draw it, that’s it.”
The confrontation crystallised the crux of the conflict. For West Indies, respect was essential, indivisible and absolute; the required intimidation was achieved via presence and deed. Australia, on the other hand, considered respect a fluid notion, largely irrelevant in the course of competition and most likely to take the form of disrespect, the aim distraction by provocation. Essentially, they were able to employ a certain levity, treating sport as simply sport.
The Trinidad Test was ruined by rain, after which the teams moved to Bridgetown – where, traditionally, West Indies bowlers were at their most sphincter-looseningly fearsome. Assessing the pitch as one that gave Australia a decent chance of winning, Border decided that he required just three frontline quicks, supplemented by his own spin and the Waughs’ trundlers. “Like a good Gabba or Adelaide Oval wicket,” he declared, “with predictable bounce and good pace.”
But the principal focus of attention was Cuthbert Gordon Greenidge, playing on his home ground where he had scored just one Test century in 21 innings. He was also just a couple of weeks shy of his 40th birthday, and his fame was such that everyone on the island knew it. “Gordon, he over de ropes, man” was the refrain amongst the locals, according to The Daily Telegraph.
Amidst a cacophony of horns and improvised drums, Australia won the toss and elected to field, the 10th team in a row so to do – though the tactic had only delivered victory for West Indies. But given their line-up they had no choice, needing the benefit of whatever juice was in the pitch, and they used it well. McDermott made the first incision, tempting Greenidge to hook directly to Bruce Reid at long leg with the score on 17, and wickets fell rapidly thereafter.
And – of course – there was additional beef. With the score on 22-3, McDermott swung a ball away from Haynes, who shouldered arms as it caught his shirt on the way through. Behind the stumps, Ian Healy went up for the catch without really meaning it, so Haynes indicated what had happened, only for Healy to apprise him of the extent to which this was not his place – in explicit style. But Haynes was in Barbados, ‘my home, in front of my people’, and accordingly found such behaviour ‘harder to take and easier to snap back’. So he didn’t take it and he did snap back, theatrically flinging off his helmet and brandishing his bat behind his head, suggesting that the two of them reconvene at close of play in order to perpetrate violence. Accordingly, Healy blew him a kiss, and when a speck of dust landed in his eye shortly afterwards, Boon refused to clear it for him.
Because the series was transmitted from the islands to a worldwide audience, the first between the sides so to be, kerfuffle begat kerfuffle; the global pandemic of remote offence-taking had begun its creep as early as 1991. Meanwhile, out in the middle, Haynes was then dismissed for 28, after which the hosts collapsed to 149 all out in just 61.1 overs.
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But any side facing West Indies knew well the downside – and trepidation – that a pitch offering help to its bowlers would do the same for their better ones, and thus it was. In the space of just six overs, Taylor was out lbw after a delivery from Ambrose kept low, Ambrose broke Border’s finger for him, and Jones was also forced to seek medical attention. Then Marshall bowled Border with a grass-cutter, and suddenly the impression was of a pitch misbehaving; Australia were decimated for 134, their last seven wickets contributing just 39 runs.
So it was on the second afternoon that West Indies came out to begin their second innings, Greenidge not so much fighting for his place – he didn’t have long left, whatever happened – but for dignity and pride. And he was seriously feeling the pressure.
There is perhaps no sporting examination more severe than opening the batting in Test cricket, certainly none more extensive and probing. The Tour de France might be harder, but is principally a suffering competition, the aim for most of those involved simply to finish; combat sport is painful but lasts a maximum of 33 minutes, three or four times a year; tennis is physically arduous, but there is neither variety of opponents nor frisson of danger.
Facing the new ball, on the other hand, taxes every faculty, physical and mental, that a sportsman can possibly be forced to employ: speed, skill, strength, agility, bravery, application, improvisation, instinct and intellect.
The first delivery of the innings was an obliging one, McDermott straying onto the pads and Greenidge turning it down towards the fence at square-leg. Hughes then garnished the error by galumphing into a misfield, exceptionally well-received by the exceptionally proximate locals – in particular a dancing man with a long, inflatable banana, able to lean over and wave it about his ears.
Steadily, Greenidge settled in, taking the score to 30 before beating a booming drive through extra-cover off the bowling of Reid. Gradually, he widened his array of strokes to include his trademark drives and pulls, the glorious thwack of leather on willow suddenly more menacing than comforting. But though his batting was fuelled by anger, never did it manifest in indulgent explosion, rather a focused, rolling boil. Consequently, if a ball could be hit, it was obliterated, but if it couldn’t, then it wasn’t; there was no compulsive flailing. Replete with arrogance, devoid of ego, his shot selection showcased the beautiful side of discrimination.
And he was discriminating hard against Reid, hooking a low bouncer to the boundary – precisely the shot that had got him out in the first innings. Only this time he was well on top of the ball, the sign an ominous one: Australia had only three real bowlers and a captain stuck on the balcony.
In the circumstances, they needed all the help that they could get, so appealed confidently when a Hughes inswinger clattered the inside of Greenidge’s front pad, below the knee-roll. But umpire Cumberbatch, the man responsible for Jones’s dismissal in Guyana, had seen an inside-edge and adjudged him not out.
With Steve Waugh already on, the Australian attack must surely have suspected its impending destruction, but the manner in which Greenidge raised his fifty told of a despisèd life. First, a power-tuck to the mid-wicket boundary sent Jones thudding against the hoarding in deepest futility, and then the landmark was greeted with the most cursory of bat raises. This was not over, not by a long way.
The next milestone was the hundred partnership, established by way of a deft flick to fine-leg and showing Greenidge to be complete control of his technique. This was further illustrated by an apparently gentle drive to the cover boundary off Mark Waugh, its apparently dainty execution belied by a resonant knuck and the speed at which the ball disappeared. At close of play, he stood at 85 not out, now batting with the nightwatchman, Malcolm Marshall, sent out when Haynes was caught behind for 40.
Marshall’s dismissal early the following morning served only to bring Richie Richardson to the crease, who quickly unfurled the more relaxed sadism of the younger generation. Not a man to drop twice, Australia dropped him twice, and he set about administering due punishment, his timing exquisite and square-drive causing particular devastation.
At the other end, Greenidge accumulated more slowly, determined to take maximum advantage of the form he’d somehow manufactured. Then, with his score on 93, he hopped to hammer a short one from McDermott, missing out on a boundary after picking out Steve Waugh at cover-point. Sufficiently demoralised to consider this a victory, the bowler disbursed various verbals to which – obviously – Greenidge responded, finger-pointing a threat as McDermott ironically intimated fear.
And the patter continued after Hughes again beat the bat with an inswinger, this time hitting even lower on the pad and with Greenidge even further across his stumps. Again, the appeal was rejected, the two men sarcastically clapping one another after a subsequent delivery was met with the perfect forward-defensive shot.
Soon after, Greenidge raised his century with an almighty cover-drive off McDermott, though despite the jubilation in the crowd, there was still neither fist-pumping nor bat-swiping; this was not over, not by a long way. Even when Richardson came down the pitch to offer congratulation, leading with a handshake but hankering for a hug, the focus remained, Greenidge turning away to ensure only a brief touch of gloves.
In quick time, the score motored towards 200, whereupon an irate McDermott was persuaded to bang one in short, and in response, Greenidge performed a one-legged pirouette – but not to play a pull. Instead, he somehow kept his bat straight, adding a flourish at once necessary and exaggerated, and once more, the ball steamed to the square-leg boundary.
At 220-2, Australia’s last chance to avert a massacre: the second new ball. Immediately: a massacre. Their bowlers were savaged for 40 runs in five overs and 85 in 12, the 23 overs between lunch and tea yielding a total of 124.
This persuaded Reid to have a shy from around the wicket, clunking in like a human-shaped ironing board. So Greenidge clouted him through extra-cover, elaborate backlift flowing into a drive and following through into a whipcurl, then swatted the next, fuller effort to long-off for four more. He was seeing it.
And he was also approaching satisfaction, arriving at 150 with a drive taken from outside off stump and dispatched to long-on for three. This time the bat was waved – now it was a proper innings, and it was he who had compiled it: time to drub it in.
West Indies’ 300 was achieved by way of straight-drive – “a bit of variety” explained Michael Holding’s laconic commentary – before another drive was abused through the covers and a flagellation through mid-wicket brought up his double-century. The third-oldest man to reach the landmark behind Jack Hobbs and Patsy Hendren, the hint of a smile played across his moustache as he pointed pointedly towards the pavilion at the only men who hadn’t doubted him. His fourth Test 200 had taken 563 minutes and 402 balls – almost twice as long as his first – and was furnished with 30 fours.
Then, after two more boundaries – one a murderous crack to square-leg – he played across the line trying to swish Hughes from off to leg, missing when it kept a little low and falling lbw. But given the 226 runs he’d accumulated it seemed more like an act of sarcasm than a genuine dismissal; West Indies’ lead now stood at a match-winning 469.
On his way off, Greenidge removed his helmet, looking dapper even in headband and the sweat of more than 11 hours at the crease, pausing to wave his bat to all sides of the ground; it was over and he made sure everyone knew it. Throughout his career he batted for the cause, but this one was for him: his highest Test score, in his penultimate Test match, to clinch a series; less dead cat bounce, more resuscitated lion vault. The brilliant bastard.
This essay is an extract from Masterly Batting: 100 Great Test Centuries, by Von Krumm Publishing.
Greenidge's epic 226 vs Australia in Barbados, 1991.
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vb
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Post by vb on Aug 24, 2018 21:01:21 GMT
'When I take the fight to you, I make you change your game plan'
INTERVIEW BY SUBASH JAYARAMAN Former West Indies opening batsman Gordon Greenidge on batting at the top, playing India's spin quartet, and that Lord's chase in 1984 www.espncricinfo.com/magazine/content/story/766875.htmlSubash Jayaraman: What is essential for an opening batsman, in Test matches, especially? Gordon Greenidge: You have to have a serious portion of self-confidence to get the job done. You have to be technically able to withstand the pressure and know when to apply pressure. It is not a position a lot of people would put their hands up and say "Yes, I will do it." You need to set the tone for the day and a platform for the team to build on. SJ: The odds of failure are much higher when you are opening the batting and the ball is swinging all over the place. How does one gain that confidence? GG: It is not that you get thrust into that position. It takes a special type of person to want to do that job. You know, you have to be very focused technically, well groomed, and be able to absorb a lot of tension and pressure that goes into the job. SJ: I am assuming you can put pressure on the opposition in two ways - by attacking the bowlers and scoring a lot of runs, and where you defend all day and not give them your wicket? GG: I don't think defence is more "all day", but some days or games where you have to bat very hard because you need to keep the opposition out there and develop a score, because the pitch and the conditions may not be suitable to the way you want to play. It means you have to curb your normal way of play and be very stubborn and focused to get the job done. That technical side of you is what is going to carry you through. SJ: We have seen batsmen of all kinds open the batting. Some very aggressive, some very defensive. How do you define that balance? "You don't play the man, you play what you see, regardless of the reputation. You know what you can do. If you play the calibre of the bowler, then you are probably 30% to 40% beaten already"
GG: I like to feel I am going to take the fight to the bowlers. I believe when I take the fight to you, I make you change your game plan. It didn't always work, of course, but I thought this was the best game plan for me. SJ: When would you say a batsman is ready to open in Tests, in terms of age, experience, the amount of first-class runs? GG: A lot of individuals choose where they prefer to play. That is not the case with Nos. 1, 2 and 3, because those are the positions for people who are groomed, who groom themselves. Persons at Nos. 4, 5, 6 or 7 could alternate, because they are very similar positions. I only batted down the order a couple of times when playing international cricket. I am not certain I would be suited to go in any lower than 1 or 2, because to have sat there waiting to go in would not have worked out for me. SJ: Was there a point in time where you thought, "I am made to be an opening batsman"? GG: Not made to be. I wanted to do it. I couldn't honestly feel I could have been anything other than an opening batsman, regardless of whether someone thought my technique to be good or not as good as it should be. I tried to make that position my own. If anyone wanted to come into the team, it had to be a case where someone was seriously ill, or had an injury, because there is no way I would give my position to someone else. SJ: What was the role of county cricket in sharpening your role as an opening batsman? GG: I suppose what helped is the regular games you had to play on varying types of wickets. There were seasons of county cricket on uncovered pitches; they started the season with pitches which were very green, and some of them played very true; some played low, some seamed a lot. So from season to season, you had to make some adjustments to the game. That helped make my game more compact. SJ: What was the role of beach cricket in your youth? GG: One of the favourite things of beach cricket is that some guys stood more on the back foot, because the bowler was waiting for the water to come on to the hard part of the sand and the ball just skidded. They would bowl very short and the batsmen just sat back on the back foot and pulled or cut. I wasn't a great puller or cutter. I was more of a front-foot player. I did play a lot of beach cricket, it was fun. Beach cricket, or cricket at the school in the evening, used to last for weeks. Guys used to bat for weeks. If you couldn't get them out, the next day you can't get the bat back. You had to learn to bowl your heart out. It is only the person who bowls who gets a chance to bat. If you are fielding for the whole while, you are not going to bat. "I couldn't honestly feel I could have been anything other than an opening batsman, regardless of whether someone thought my technique to be good or not" SJ: How did you switch on and off between deliveries in Test matches? GG: You focus on various things around you, like the pitch. You gather your thoughts. The hardest one is after each session, because after you have sat for a while you have to come back and say, "This is the beginning of the innings." You cannot and shouldn't be saying, "I am continuing from where I left off." Yes, runs are on the board, but the whole cycle has to start - your feelings, your footwork, the coordination, the timing on the ball. SJ: Opening batsmen generally tend to be really good at facing pacers and seamers and not so good perhaps against spinners. In your time you had to face some of the best spinners in the game, especially against India. What did you do to prepare against them? GG: Technique comes in to play again. You have to develop that skill. I am happy to have gotten the opportunity to play against the great spinners in that time. India had four excellent spinners, and that was my first tour. There is a sense of fear when you play these spinners, because you know the calibre of the players you are facing. But you have to play what is happening on that day. You can't go that far back anymore because then you are just playing the experience and the calibre of the person in the past. Today may be the day that the person is not spinning so much, his length is not good. I was a big reader of spin. I did use my feet when I thought it was necessary, and was very watchful of the ball. I read more off the pitch than in the air. I was able to cope with it reasonably well. In that first tour, it did me a lot of good to deal with the four great spinners that India had. I was able to survive and score runs. SJ: Were there subtle changes in your technique, depending on whether you are playing in England or Australia or India, in terms of movement in the crease and the grip on the bat? GG: Not too much movement in the crease, as you have to stay still. Your head needs to stay still when you are watching the ball to get a better view of what is happening. To move around the crease, you may bat leg stump, sometimes middle and leg, sometimes middle stump, or your head goes a little further to the off stump than where you are looking at. I don't want to play too many balls out of my line of head, especially if the ball is shaping away. Even so, you need to be watchful, because some balls go straight and some will come back. I am certain that bowlers delivered deliveries to shape away from the batters, but it may hit the wrong side of the seam and cut back at you. You have to watch very carefully. SJ: As a front-foot batsman, what were the shots you liked to play and shots you avoided? GG: It depends on the delivery you receive. Don't premeditate. When you have seen the delivery, your experience and practice will tell you this is the shot you are playing to it. SJ: Did you ever compare yourself to other opening batsmen of your time, like Sunil Gavaskar? GG: I don't make comparisons. You look at those players and appreciate how they got their job done. Some looked very subdued, very quiet in their approach, and some were explosive. You develop your skills the best way you can and deal with it. A lot of people didn't want to be [Geoffrey] Boycott. I thought he was technically excellent. Boycott could play a lot of attacking shots when he got in the mood. England would be very happy he was in that position, because otherwise they would have been bowled out for a much lower score. "The Lord's Test in 1984 wasn't a planned situation. I saw what was coming, played a shot to the delivery. I got dropped in the latter part of the innings. You play the game the way you saw it"SJ: Could you talk a bit about your partnership with Desmond Haynes? GG: We didn't see a lot of each other outside of cricket, although we didn't live far apart. But the team, the dressing room, the camaraderie, the relationship, the partnership was good. A great understanding had developed over a number of years. There were times where we felt we didn't call enough. We looked up and mostly knew it was a yes and we could have run it. It is not something that you want to practise or have the youngsters practise. It was just an understanding that had developed over a number of years. He would sometimes be the aggressor, or I would. We always had a battle on. He wanted to face the first ball, and I would say, "No, you haven't matured yet." I wouldn't just let him. SJ: There might have been spells or times when one of you says "You are not in the zone", so you let the other batsman take the strike as much as possible. GG: That has happened on quite a few occasions. We were able to rotate to make sure the person who was playing better on the day received more of the bowlers who were more troublesome in that particular case. SJ: You had Viv Richards, Clive Lloyd and Larry Gomes coming after you. Did that free your mind to go out and play? GG: It was a case where you played the game the way you want to play. That was the freedom given to the players. Don't be inhibited in any way. This made you happy and comfortable. I think in that 16-year period we didn't play more than 25 or 30 players at the most. That is perhaps not heard of. SJ: Could you elaborate on that Lord's innings and whatever else sticks in your mind as being your very best? GG: The Lord's Test in 1984 wasn't a planned situation. The score of 340 runs in two sessions and maybe an hour - it is not a score that you will say: "We will measure it." There is no way that you could have done that. You could have liked to start off with a flurry of runs and developed the score before the first break. You hope you can reach that so you can give a more forceful challenge in the next two sessions. It wasn't like we sat down in the dressing room saying, "We will do this." I cannot recall exactly how it happened. I saw what was coming, played a shot to the delivery. I got dropped in the latter part of the innings. You play the game the way you saw it. On my part, there was an innings in 1976 at Old Trafford that was more planned. We ended up getting bowled out for just over 200 runs. I batted right through the innings. That innings was more set in my subconscious than anything else, because of what happened in that particular match. It wasn't a pitch where you should be bowled out. The bowler wasn't a demon bowler, he was a seam bowler. We weren't pressured in any way. That was one of those days where you could not have foreseen what happened. We lost so many wickets in such a short time for so few runs. It meant that the battle was twice as hard. SJ: In the Lord's Test, it wasn't some random bowlers. You had Bob Willis, Ian Botham, Neil Foster and Derek Pringle coming at you. And it was a day-five pitch. Once you got in and got a flurry of runs and got to the first break, what was your thinking process when you came back out? GG: We were only about 40-odd runs in the first session. We still needed 300 runs. We just wanted to bat out the next two sessions and not create a crisis out there. It could have easily happened that we could have chased down the next 290 or 300 runs in two sessions. But come on, it may occur now, because teams are scoring 400 in a day, but back then if you scored 300 in a day in the first innings, you did exceptionally well. It was either a case where you had runs, maybe seven wickets, or you got bowled out. If you are looking at 280, you did very well in the day. On batting with Desmond Haynes: "We always had a battle on. He wanted to face the first ball and I would say, 'No, you haven't matured yet'" © Getty Images Yes, you knew the calibre of the bowlers. But like I said, you don't play the man, you play what you see, regardless of the reputation. You know what you can do. But you play what you see. If you play the calibre of the bowler, then you are probably 30% to 40% beaten already. SJ: Haynes gets out when the score is 57. Larry Gomes comes in. There is a phenomenal partnership. You go for the next session break and come back out. Now it is a definite possibility that you can take it down. What was said in the dressing room? GG: Once we got to the last hour, we probably had less than 80 runs or 100 runs to get. We still had nine wickets and we thought: we'll give it a thrash. We had to continue playing how we were playing - start all over again, playing what you see in front of you at the time. We got a chance to increase the tempo and we did that. You don't plan it. I can't think anyone is going to plan 340 runs in five hours, regardless of who you are playing against. Larry is a very pragmatic player. He was quite explosive in that innings as well. A lot of you don't look at the way Larry played, the role he played. The sort of mentions that I get for what I did... Larry played an exceptional innings too. When we discussed the matter about him getting his hundred, it wasn't a matter to him at all. He said, "Let's get the game over with." That was brilliant. History was to be created that day, and we had done so.
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Post by Admin on Jan 3, 2020 19:38:57 GMT
guardian.co.tt/sports/holding-viv-stood-between-greenidge-and-greatness-6.2.1019938.e7adbed7c4Holding: Viv stood between Greenidge and greatness
BRIDGETOWN – Fast bowling icon Michael Holding believes only the sheer genius of Sir Vivian Richards prevented Gordon Greenidge from becoming the quintessential batsman of his generation. Greenidge was recently honoured with a knighthood in the Queen’s New Year list for his “services to cricket and the development of sport” and Holding, who played alongside the legendary opener, said there was never any doubt about the Barbadian’s immense status. “Gordon was a great player,” Holding said in tribute to Greenidge during an interview on the popular cricket radio show Mason and Guest. “He had one bad tour that I can remember and that was the first time he went to Australia in 1975-76 when he wasn’t the only one, but since then he just blossomed and became a great player. If it hadn’t been for Sir Isaac Vivian Alexander Richards, everyone would’ve been talking about Gordon Greenidge.” Greenidge, considered one of the finest technicians of the game, gathered 7,558 runs at an average of 44 with 19 centuries. He struck a century in either inning of the 1976 Old Trafford Test, lashed two double hundreds on the 1984 tour of England and was a member of the West Indies side which won the first two World Cups in 1975 and 1979. Sir Viv, widely considered the most dominant batsmen of his era, amassed 8,540 runs with 24 hundreds at an average of 50. His career-best 291 at the Oval in 1976 was one of two double hundreds on a tour when he thrice reached triple figures in a record aggregate of 829 runs. An imperious 138 in the 1979 World Cup final at Lord’s handed West Indies an historic second straight title. Holding said of all the great innings by Greenidge, the one performance which had remained with him was the 226 at Kensington Oval in Barbados in 1991, when on the cusp of his 40th birthday, he carved out a defiant double hundred against Australia. “I can remember one [inning] when he really applied himself greatly in Barbados when people were saying he had gone past his prime and he made a [double century] in that Test match,” Holding recalled. “Gordon has played so many great innings and of course with his opening partner Dessie Haynes, they built so many foundations for West Indies in the past.” Holding, now a well-respected international television broadcaster, also praised legendary former captain Clive Lloyd, who also received a knighthood for his “services to cricket”. “He was captain for almost all of my Test matches. I played perhaps one or two series after Lloydy retired so he was my captain for most of my career, and I looked upon him pretty much as a father figure and I think most people thought of him as my cricketing father,” Holding pointed out. “I remember once when I was still a youngster, he called my house in Jamaica … and my father answered the phone and shouted to me ‘Mikey, your father’s on the line’.” The Jamaican added: “Clive Lloyd was a great leader. When you look at the team that Clive Lloyd had, everybody would say ‘oh, he had so much talent’. He’s not the only one that has had talented cricketers under him but he knew exactly how to get the best out of his players. “He was a father figure to most of the players, people looked up to him, he respected the players, the players respected him and so that’s why we had so much of a great team.” (CMC)
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