World Cup Memory Lane

Domestic competition and bilateral series are all very well, but everyone loves a World Cup, don’t they? In the past six years I’ve become rather attached to the alternative Champions Trophy, if only because the use of Cardiff as a venue has enabled me to tag along several times in person. However, with only the top eight  ranked nations eligible to participate,  it lacks the cache of a genuine World Cup. 

The growth of Twenty 20 has inevitably led to the format’s own global tournament every two years. However, for me, the only cricket World Cup that matters is the one based on official one-day international rules. That now involves fifty overs a side but when the Prudential Cup launched in 1975 the poor things had to play sixty. Too long for twenty-first century viewers but great value for teenage fans like me.

The ODI as a concept was very much in its infancy; prior to this tournament the total number contested by the six Test-playing nations was fewer than twenty. With a straightforward format comprising two groups of four, semis and final, the World Cup was easily condensed into a fortnight in June. All the more reason to relish all fifteen matches. Given that all twelve group fixtures took place on just three days, the simultaneous scheduling and only two available BBC TV channels meant that few were televised live.

To be honest I have no recollection of watching England sail through Group A against India, East Africa and New Zealand. The other quartet was far more interesting and it was Pakistan who fell victim to the Group of Death, their fate determined by a thrilling finish at Edgbaston. Despite the efforts of Majid Khan, Sarfraz Nawaz et al, the West Indies scraped home by one wicket with just two balls to spare.

Infuriatingly, both semis were contested midweek, so pesky school commitments precluded a full day’s feast of TV cricket. I expected to get home to watch the England-Australia finale so was staggered to find it had already been wrapped up. Instead of Lillee and Thomson, it was the little-known left-arm swing bowler Gary Gilmour who dominated, taking a stunning 6-14.

And so it came to pass that the inaugural final involved the Aussies and Windies who were becoming bitter rivals. It turned out to be one of the most memorable matches I’ve ever watched. Annoyingly, we missed the middle section – including Clive Lloyd’s magnificent century – because Dad’s school fete took priority. However, from Roy Fredericks treading on his stumps in executing a hooked six of LIllee to some fabulous run-outs by Viv Richards and premature pitch invasions near the end, all the game lacked was a nail-biting last-ball climax. Just writing this 44 years later sets my skin all a-tingle.

The next two World Cups were also hosted by England who still couldn’t quite make home advantage count. In 1979, I glowed with pride and wonder as my idol Viv Richards flayed England’s finest to all corners of Lord’s. That audacious match-winning flicked six off Mike Hendrick will never leave me an image of an alien beamed down from a planet where cricket was played on an altogether higher plane.

Four years on and Viv was at it again, part of a Windies side that was if anything even firmer favourites. They cruised to the final where the fantasy fast bowling quartet of Roberts, Marshall, Garner and Holding dismissed India for under 200. And yet this time the script was ripped up. Once Kapil Dev had pulled off a terrific backpedalling over-the-shoulder catch to end Richards’ menacing innings, Amarnath and Madan Lal completed the job and we had new world champions.

England’s monopoly on hosting duty was over, and the Asian subcontinent assumed the role in the autumn of ’87 followed by Australia/New Zealand in ’92. The time difference and for us, out-of-season scheduling, meant I didn’t watch much of either tournament. The sport was becoming more open, with the Aussies and Pakistan respectively, holding the cup aloft. Imran Khan’s moment appeared destined, achieved at the age of 39 in his very last ODI. The crumbling of cricket’s barriers was further illustrated in 1996 when little Sri Lanka shocked the world by beating Australia with an innovative brand of limited-overs strategy, and the skill of Aravinda da Silva.

In the summer of ’99, cricket ‘came home’, sort of. In fact, England shared fixtures with Scotland, Wales and the Netherlands but at least the premier tournament was held in our summer and our time zone. That said, I don’t recall watching much of it on the box. One exception was the India v Sri Lanka group stage game at Taunton. I was working in London at the time but our office featured a little TV set high on the wall. Someone – not me - had the foresight to switch it on just as Sourav Ganguly and, more surprisingly, Rahul Dravid, piled on a terrific triple-century partnership. I doubt much work was done that afternoon. South Africa were looking likely winners only to lose their heads in a climactic semi-final scramble against eventual champs Australia. Thus the competition introduced not only the Super Six and the white ‘Duke’ ball but also the unwanted ‘chokers’ label around the Proteas’ necks. Twenty years later, rightly or wrongly, it’s still there.

Things took a political turn in 2003 and the combination of eye-catching results (e.g against Sri Lanka) and fortuitous boycotts in Africa propelled lowly Kenya and Bangladesh into the semi-final stratosphere. For all the giant-killings, Australia were unbeatable and duly thumped India in the final by 125 runs. I caught a few late-evening highlights on BBC2 of the 2007 event, which featured an early exit for India (which prompted a change of format to prevent any repeat of such a financially damaging scandal), Ireland’s defeat of Pakistan, the latter’s coach Bob Woolmer suffering a fatal heart attack and a farcical final completed in near-darkness.

By Spring 2011, I was seeing Angie, who had Sky Sports at home, so in between her precious football, I sneaked a few glimpses of cricket at weekends. England’s embarrassment at the hands of the green-haired Irish was joyous to behold but it was also a pleasure to witness the concluding hour or so of the final in Mumbai. The decision to stage the World Cup across the entire Asian subcontinent, with Dhaka hosting the opener, proved a resounding success. For all the caring and sharing, it has to be said that from Sehwag’s brilliant 175 in Match 1 to MS Dhoni’s characteristically piece of perfect pacing six weeks later, the trophy had India’s name on it throughout.

The most recent edition saw another Aussie triumph although co-hosts New Zealand pushed them hard with their aggressive play. Ireland won more games than England, whose chances of progression were ended by Bangladesh, but I was disappointed that for 2019 the ICC decided to raise the drawbridge to stop the Associate nations getting ideas above their station. 

On the plus side, the tournament is returning to these shores. Consequently, subject to politics, personal health and that perennial enemy of cricket, inclement weather, the coming weeks will allow me to watch my first ever World Cup matches live in Cardiff. This time, top-ranked hosts England will start hot favourites but above all I look forward to enjoying the multinational atmosphere and exciting performances. It may not match up to the nostalgic aura of 1975 – Viv, Clive, Lillee and all that – but here’s hoping for a summer to remember.

Gary Gilmour remembered

I've reminisced before about the inaugural World Cup but, following the death of Gary Gilmour, it's only right I should do so again. After all, until that memorable tournament, few had heard of the man from Waratah. He scored a century on his New South Wales first-class debut and a 50 on his Test debut against New Zealand at the MCG at the end of 1973. Gilmour took 2-19 in his first ODI a few months later in Dunedin but his next was the match that defined his career, tragically short as it turned out to be.

In 1975, England was clinging on grimly to its position at the centre of the cricketing universe but it was certainly the place to be that hot summer. Hosting the first global tournament ever and an Ashes series within a few short months, it was a great time to be a cricket-loving schoolboy. One-day internationals were still rare despite their accidental birth three and a half years earlier. As Australia and England met in the first World Cup semi-final, it was still only the 31st fixture of that ilk. The format was 60 overs a side so there was plenty of cricket to enjoy, weather permitting!

We all knew about Lillee and Thomson but Gilmour didn't make an appearance in the competition until that humid Headingley day on 18th June. The clips now form a potent reminder of how cricket has changed in the intervening four decades. Not only did everybody boast a scary full head of hair but the Leeds ground still possessed an air of old-school semi-rurality; mostly low-rise tiers of seats against a verdant backdrop of trees and suburban rooftops rather than the towering corporate pavilions we see at every Test venue these days.

England were highly fancied to win the tournament, largely on the basis of it being 'our competition' and the fact that foreigners couldn't possibly sustain top cricket over a few weeks in an unfamiliar format. That was, of course, ignoring the presence of players such as the aforementioned Aussie pace duo, Glenn Chappell, Clive Lloyd, Rohan Kanhai, Andy Roberts, Sunil Gavaskar, Imran Khan, Richard Hadlee et al. Anyway, Ian Chappell won the toss and opted to field on a day made for swing and seam. It was, in other words, made for a skilful left-arm seam bowler like Gary Gilmour.

Bowling his twelve overs in a single spell from the start, he proved unplayable. While Dennis Lillee was a fairly benign presence at the other end, Gilmour claimed the first six wickets to leave the home team in tatters at 36-6. Four of the dismissals were LBWs to fast inswingers, Barry Wood was bowled by a similar ball while Tony Greig fell to an atrocious shot to a wide one which was taken superbly by a horizontal Rod Marsh in front of first slip. England were skittled for 93 and Gilmour finished with figures of 12-6-14-6.

My misty-eyed memories of the Final the following weekend hadn't included Gilmour's 5-48 as Australia struggled to contain Lloyd, Kallicharran, Boyce and co. He made 14 in the riposte in the fading light of a glorious summer Saturday, but it wasn't to be. The burly left-armer played only one more ODI. He played just a single Ashes Test match, too, taking nine wickets, again at Headingley. By the time of the Centenary Test in early 1977, a debilitating foot injury had left him a pale shadow of that swing sensation who blew away Mike Denness' men just a few years earlier.

By his own admission, his personality and lifestyle would not have gelled with the tight ultra-professional approach to modern cricket which developed from the 1980s. He had a reputation for hard drinking and fast living which made him a popular bloke to have around the dressing room. He was neither the first nor the last Aussie cricketer to fit that particular description; just think Walters, Boon, Merv Hughes and Symonds. Flintoff's pedalo escapade pales into insignificance! However, his charisma, brisk batting, sharp fielding and those devastating in-swinging yorkers might have earned him a fair few dollars at the IPL had he been born thirty years later

Whether or not it was related to his prodigious beer intake, Gilmour suffered more and more from liver problems. He needed a transplant in 2005 and remained in poor health until he passed away today at the age of 62. His rather thin career statistics do not reflect the popularity accorded him in Aussie cricketing circles. Lillee, Thomson and another swing merchant Max Walker boast superior hauls of wickets but Gilmour's 6-14 in that World Cup semi thirty-nine summers ago will always stand the test of time. Watch YouTube to experience swing bowling at its best.