My Hundred: from 10 to 6

 10: Majid Khan

The Pakistani’s career was already well established when he exploded into my consciousness in 1974. I think I was at my Nanna’s house one August day when Dad and I were watching an ODI against England. Majid Khan was blazing a century at a pace almost unknown in those days. I was an instant fan. Sadly he had few opportunities to play international one-day cricket although he was a brilliant batsman to watch in the first-class game, too. He was undoubtedly a superior strokemaker to his cousin Imran but of course not quite up to his bowling standard. Majid also graced Glamorgan for a few years in the Seventies, consistently one of the best in the county game. What I particularly liked about him was his old-school attitude. He would think nothing of ‘walking’, and had the serenity to defy the feared West Indian pace attack on their own territory while retaining a sense of style. 

9: Sunil Gavaskar

Another hero of mine from the 1970s was Sunil Gavaskar. There was something noble about such a short batsman ducking and weaving against the world’s fastest bowlers and to this day nobody has beaten his aggregate of 774 in a Test series against West Indies. He could be frustratingly slow, as illustrated by his notorious 36 not out for India in a 60-over World Cup innings but in the Test match arena, he was the greatest batsman of his era, able to defend stolidly then hook a bouncer with ease.

‘Sunny’ rewrote the record books many times, becoming the first man to play a hundred consecutive Tests, score 10,000 Test runs, and setting the bar for centuries at 34, which lasted for almost two decades until his famed successor Tendulkar zoomed past. Gavaskar managed just one season in county cricket (for Somerset!) but my abiding memory is of his wonderful last day 221 at The Oval in 1979 which so nearly earned India a sensational victory. Chasing a target of 438, stumps were drawn at 429-8, ending an absorbing day’s play. Having willed him to succeed I was left emotionally drained. He was an inspiration. 

8: Sarfraz Nawaz

A contemporary of both Majid and Gavaskar, Sarfraz Nawaz was a very different kettle of fish. At six feet six he was unusually tall for the sport in those days but he was nowhere near as quick as Thomson, Holding, Garner et al. I recall trying to copy his short, shuffling stride, which deceived so many batsmen. He was a stalwart of the Northamptonshire attack for many years, an almost alien presence with his height, moustache and consistent success with the ball.

What he lacked in pace he gained in skill, a pioneer of reverse swing which influenced fellow Pakistan legends such as Imran or Waqar Younis. Like Stuart Broad, for instance, he could be distinctly average, then produced devastating bursts. His 7-4 in 33 balls to turn the tables on Australia in 1979 at the MCG was astounding, and his bowling was decisive in Pakistan’s first series win over India. He wasn’t always a gentleman on the pitch and in retirement was often outspoken about issues such as match-fixing: a better cricketer than politician! 

7: Sarah Taylor

On the face of it, perhaps an unexpected choice for a top-ten position, but Sarah Taylor epitomises the importance of personality and enjoyment of playing cricket that seems rare in this modern world of millionaire contracts and hard-nosed professionalism. She first made her mark for England as a 16 year-old and, as women’s cricket boosted its profile, Taylor was undoubtedly one of the world’s shiniest stars. She became the first woman to play men’s grade cricket in Australia and has contributed to assorted record ODI partnerships, in the process exhibiting some flamboyant strokeplay. She also demonstrates the tidiest, most athletic wicketkeeping standing up of anyone I can recall, of any gender.

However, when I first watched women’s cricket on the telly, Sarah stood out for her sunny disposition on the pitch. Instead of snarling sledging she could be heard bantering with colleagues, always bright as a button. For instance, I was at Cardiff enjoying an Ashes T20 when she was forced to make an acrobatic catch from an over-enthusiastic Katherine Brunt throw. Even from my seat I noted her exaggerated glare towards the fielder before her face exploded into a smile. You don’t get that from Jonny Bairstow! She was probably the last person I'd expect to have her career curtailed by anxiety issues, but her first time-out was announced in 2015. This speaks volumes for the horrors of mental illness as well as the character of Sarah Taylor.

6: Peter Trego

In May 2019 I was at Lord’s to witness Somerset’s One Day Cup triumph. Tom Abell lifted the trophy but nobody looked more delighted to have won than Peter Trego. The all-rounder had been an integral part of Somerset in all competitions for so long, with little silverware to show for it so he could be forgiven for hurrying around the entire boundary clasping every outstretched hand, including mine. It was the highlight of my day.

Whilst Tregs hasn’t represented his home county throughout his career, it was still a shock when, last season, having limited opportunities in our First XI, he transferred to Nottinghamshire. At 39, he has nonetheless done a cracking job with the ball in the four-day Bob Willis Trophy, and I don’t begrudge him one bit. He was probably the first sportsman I observed wearing an ugly ‘sleeve’ tattoo but I much preferred watching his energetic fast-medium bowling and wide smile as he crashed another T20 ball into the Taunton crowd. He probably peaked too late for England selectors but he will always be a West Country folk hero - and mine.

My Favourite Bowlers of all time

As with music, football clubs or TV programmes, favouritism makes no claim to equate with sheer quality, no matter how passionately the advocate makes his or her case. My personal favourite cricketers cover a wide range from undisputed giants of the game to aficionados of specific counties and/or those with lengthy memories. The list of bowlers is a case in point.

As a child, I loved to watch bowlers’ actions face-on, a standard perspective in the days when the Beeb could only afford cameras at one end. Many of my most memorable pacemen in particular date from that period when I’d channel my studies of the people I’d watched on TV into personations in the back garden. England’s John Snow had a distinctive delivery action but my first fave was someone whose notable quirk was the way during his run-up he held both arms low.

Sarfraz Nawaz was a staple of Northamptonshire’s attack in the Seventies, winning many caps for Pakistan along the way. Although taller than most, it was his moustache which also made him stand out. More recently he has been credited with inventing reverse swing, which has become an essential part of a fast bowler’s armoury.

Talking of cricketing moustaches, as much part of the mid-Seventies as flares and ‘O’ level revision, Dennis Lillee’s facial fuzz was even more recognisable, and remains his trademark to this day. His bristling, bustling demeanour and devastating pace combined to hammer thorns in the side of England on many occasions, from 1972 to the early Eighties, when his moustache was complemented by a coloured headband. He was no shrinking violet, often controversial for the sake of it, but always watchable. Even in his slower dotage, his skill and accuracy knew no bounds. Had it not been for a few brilliant Botham performances, the 1981 Ashes could well have been named after Lillee and Terry Alderman who between them garnered 81 wickets!

In mid-decade, Dennis and Jeff Thomson wreaked so much havoc against the West Indies that Clive Lloyd fathomed that his side needed to meet fire with fire. Thus the strategy of four-man Caribbean seam attacks was born. At first, this looked thrilling. The brutal bouncers, run-ups so long that they began almost from the laps of front row spectators, the prospect of athletic evasive action or humungous hooks for six  all added to the atmosphere of open hostility. The snorting Andy Roberts, smooth-as-silk Michael Holding, Colin Croft and Wayne Daniel got away with almost anything but after a year or two the novelty began to wear off rapidly. The average over rate dropped from around eighteen an hour to eleven, batsmen suffered more nasty injuries and, much as I adored Caribbean cricket, the bowling philosophy was making Test matches increasingly tedious to watch. Eventually the authorities had to introduce restrictions on the short-pitched stuff and minimum over rules to restore the balance between bat and ball before boredom and broken bones took control.

Holding in full flight was a wonder to behold, and his predecessor Keith Boyce always lively but my favoured West Indian quick was Joel Garner. Apart from the fact he played for Somerset, he didn’t rely on a relentless sprint to the wicket to breed fear in the facing batsman. Off a mere dozen loping languid strides, ‘Big Bird’ could deliver a snorting lifter, in-swinger, off-cutter or devastating yorker at will, using his six feet eight frame to the max. He was equally brilliant in one-dayers as first-class matches; nobody has got close to his career ODI economy rate of 3,09 and his 146 wickets were achieved at under 19 runs apiece. Imagine how effective he would have been in Twenty20!

I was lucky to follow cricket in an era chock full of fabulous fast bowlers. Kapil Dev, Imran Khan, Richard Hadlee, Waqar Younis, Wasim Akram, Allan Donald, Malcolm Marshall, Courtney Walsh and Curtly Ambrose were the cream of an abundant crop. In more recent times I have admired Glenn McGrath’s metronomic line and length, Dale Steyn’s rhythmic action and Shoaib Akhtar’s thunderous pace and Chaminda Vaas' impressive set of initials, but where are the English in my list?

Yes, I am impressed by Jimmy Anderson’s ability to swing it both ways but I can’t say I like him that much. A generation earlier, I was a big fan of John Lever’s left-arm swing bowling. Indeed, I saw quite a lot of him playing for Essex. In the Nineties, I was a fan of another left-arm fast-medium-pacer reliant on movement through the air for his success. This Yorkshire-born Gloucestershire pro became a one-Test wonder in 1997 but he secured my loyalty by dint of his name: Mike Smith, of course!

Top-class namesakes are rare, nor are there a plethora of fellow redheads in the sport. An exception is Glen Chapple, who bowled his fast-medium seam for Lancashire across more than two decades. I was at Lord’s for his almost singlehanded demolition of Essex in the Nat West Final of 1996, the year of his one and only England ODI appearance. Nineteen years later, I again felt deeply sorry for him when, in his forties and his hair less ginger than salt and pepper, form and fitness conspired to end his cricket career with a first-class wicket tally an agonising fifteen short of the thousand milestone.

Another long-standing stalwart of the Red Rose was David Hughes. Although primarily a left-arm spinner, he first attracted my attention with the bat. I was watching live coverage of the 1971 Gillette Cup semi-final against Gloucestershire when, in deep gloom and time running out, he proceeded to flay 24 off John Mortimore’s final over to win the match.

Of those who did manage a longer run in the England side, I quite liked Norman Cowans. His run-up was almost Holding-esque but without his fellow Jamaican’s end product. However, my favourite has to be Gladstone Small. Barbados-born, his hunched physique created an illusion of having no neck, exaggerated by the extravagant shirt collars worn at the time. His comical appearance nonetheless disguised a very useful quick bowler and, as well as a Warwickshire favourite, he was Man of the Match in England’s 1986 Boxing Day Test success in Melbourne.

Spinners have barely featured in this chapter. As with many cricket fans, it’s the pacemen who take my eye, all speed, strength and sizzle. There’s something almost primeval about a middle-stump sent cartwheeling by a 90mph nip-backer, which a gentle bat-pad catch simply cannot match. The slow bowler’s art is very different yet just as vital to an attack. Even in England teams featuring the likes of Snow, Willis or Ward, it was left-armer Derek Underwood who earned the nickname ‘Deadly’! If the Seventies and Eighties had been dominated by sneering, snarling fast bowlers, the subsequent decades were marked by the emergence of world-class spinners.

In any other era, India’s Anil Kumble would have been a global icon. And yet it was the record-breaking rivalry between Muttiah Muralitharan and Shane Warne which stole the show. Murali went on to set the amazing mark of 800 Test wickets and he was a magician of such sleight of hand that I could watch him for hours and never work out how he bowled at all, let alone pick his doosra. In contrast, Warne was a straightforward ‘leggie’ who burst onto the Test scene when leg-spinners were as rare as British Wimbledon singles champions. 

I was to have a love-hate relationship with the Aussie. I couldn’t embrace his bleach-blonde, beer-guzzling surfer-dude personality but there was something endearingly basic about that three-pace amble and roll of the wrists. Whilst an astute captain at Hampshire, he never got to lead Australia in their absolute pomp but he was undoubtedly one of the best bowlers of my lifetime. In particular, anyone who can make Mike Gatting so hilariously bamboozled as Shane Warne so memorably did in 1993 has to be an all-time favourite. And this portrait, which I once saw close up in the Lord's Long Room, captures his charisma perfectly.