The essence of good fielding is, to start before the ball is hit,
and to pick up and return straight to the top of the bails, by one
continuous action. This was the old Wykehamist style--old, I hope
not yet extinct, past revival--(thus had we written, March 1851, and
three months after the Wykehamists won both their school matches
at Lord’s);--for, some twenty years since, the Wykehamist fielding
was unrivalled by any school in England. Fifteen years ago Mr. Ward
and, severally and separately, Cobbett instanced a Winchester Eleven
as the first fielding they had ever seen at Lord’s. And among this
chosen number were the yet remembered names of B. Price, F. B. Wright,
Knatchbull, and Meyrick. These hardy Trojans--for the ball never came
too fast for them--commenced fagging out long, very long, before they
were indulged in batting, and were forced to qualify, even for fagging,
by practising till they could throw over a certain neighbouring barn,
and were always in bodily fear of the pains and penalties of the middle
stump if ever they missed a ball. But these days of the voluntary
system are far less favourable for fielding. To become a good fieldsman
requires persevering practice, with a “big fellow” to fag for who will
expect a little more smartness than is always developed by pure love of
the game.
And now, Etonians, Harrovians, Wykehamists, I mention you
alphabetically, a few words on training your Eleven for Lord’s. Choose
first your bowlers and wicket-keeper and long-stop; these men you must
have, though not worth a run: then if you have any batsmen decidedly
superior, you may choose them for their batting, though they happen not
to be first-rate fieldsmen. But in most school Elevens, after naming
four or five men, among the other six or seven, it is mere chance who
scores; so let any great superiority in fielding decide the choice.
I remember playing a match in which I had difficulty in carrying the
election of a first-rate fieldsman against a second-rate bat. Now,
the said batsman could not certainly be worth above fourteen runs;
say seven more than the fieldsman. But the fieldsman, as it happened,
made a most difficult catch, put one runner out, and, above all,
kept the bowlers in good heart, during an uphill game, by stopping
many hard hits. A bad fieldsman is a loose screw in your machinery;
giving confidence to the adversary, and taking the spirit out of his
own party. Therefore, let the captain of an Eleven proclaim that men
must qualify by fine fielding: and let him encourage the following
exercises:--
Put in two batsmen, whose play is not good enough to spoil, to tip and
run. You will then find what very clean fielding is required to save
one run, with men determined to try it.
Let every man practise long-stop.
Long-leg is a fieldsman nearly as essential as a good long-stop. A
man who can run and throw well should make a long-leg his forte, and
practise judging distances for a long catch, covering ground both
to right and left, neat handling, with allowance for the twist, and
especially an arrow-like and accurate return. No thing is so likely to
put the runner out as a swift throw to the hands from a long distance.
Aspire to foil the usual calculation, that, at a long distance, the
runner can beat the throw.
Let the wicket-keeper take his place, and while some one throws or
hits, let him require the quickest and most accurate throwing. A
ball properly thrown comes in like an arrow--no time being lost by
soaring high in air. At short distances, throw at once to the hands;
where unavoidable, with a long hop. But this hop should result from
a low and skimming throw; or, the ball will lose its speed. Practise
throwing, without any flourish, by a single action of the arm. Any good
fieldsman will explain, far better than our pen, the art of picking
up a ball in the only position consistent with a quick return. A good
throw often runs a man out; an advantage very rarely gained without
something superior in fielding. Young players should practise throwing,
and remember never to throw in a long hop when they can throw to the
hands. “Many a ‘run out,’” says Mr. R. T. King, “has been lost by
that injudicious practice of throwing long hops to the wicket-keeper,
instead of straight, and, when necessary, hard, to his hands;” a
practice that should be utterly reprobated, especially as many rising
players will fancy it is the most correct, instead of the slowest,
style of throwing. To throw in a long hop is only allowable when you
might fail to throw a catch, and, which is worst of all, make too short
a hop to the wicket-keeper. The Captain should keep an account of the
best runners, throwers, clean pickers-up, and especially of men who can
meet and anticipate the ball, and of those who deserve the praise given
to Chatterton--“the safest pair of hands in England.”
So much for quick throwing; but for a throw up from long-field, Virgil
had a good notion of picking up and sending in a ball:--
“Ille manu raptum trepidâ torquebat in hostem;
Altior assurgens, et cursu concitus, heros.”
_Æn._ xii. 901.
Here we have snatching up the ball with a quiver of the wrist, rising
with the effort, and a quick step or two to gain power.--Meeting the
ball requires a practice of its own, and is a charming operation when
you can do it; for the same impetus with which you run in assists the
quickness of your return. Practice will reveal the secret of running
in; only, run with your hands near the ground, so as not to have
suddenly to stoop; and, keep your eyes well open, not losing the ball
for an instant. In fielding, as in batting, you must study all the
varieties of balls, whether tices, half-volleys, or other lengths.
A fast runner _nascitur non fit_: still, practice does much, and
especially for all the purposes of a fieldsman near the wicket. A
spring and quick start are things to learn; and that, both right and
left: few men spring equally well with both feet. Anticipating the
ball, and getting the momentum on the proper side, is everything in
fielding; and practice will enable a man to get his proper footing and
quick shifting step. A good cricketer, like a good skater, must have
free use of both feet: and of course a fine fieldsman must catch with
both hands.
Practise left-handed catching in a ring; also picking up with left:
“Any one can catch with his right,” says the old player; “now, my boy,
let us see what you can do with your left.” Try, also, “slobbering”
a ball, to see how many arts there are of recovering it afterwards.
I need hardly say that jumping off your feet for a high catch, and
rushing in to a ball and patting it up in the air and catching it the
second attempt, are all arts of first-rate practitioners.
SAFE HANDS.--Your hands should be on the rat-trap principle,--taking
anything in, and letting nothing out again. Of course a ball has a
peculiar feeling and spin off a bat quite different from a throw; so
practise accordingly. By habit hand and eye will go together: what the
eye sees the right part of the hand will touch by a natural adjustment.
There is a way of allowing for the spin of the ball in the air: as to
its tendency at Cover, to twist especially to the left, this is too
obvious to require notice.
I am ashamed to be obliged to remind players, old as well as young,
that there is such a thing as being a good judge of a short run: and I
might hold up, as an example, an _Honourable_ gentleman, who, though
a first-rate long-stop and fine style of batting, has a distinct
reputation for the one run. It is a tale, perhaps, thrice told, but
more than thrice forgotten, that the partner should follow up the ball;
how many batsmen destroy the very life of the game by standing still
like an extra umpire. Now, in a school Eleven, running notches can be
practised with security, because with mutual dependence; though I
would warn good players that, among strangers in a country match, sharp
running is a dangerous game.
SYMPTOMS OF A LOSER OF RUNS.--He never follows up the ball, but leans
on his bat, or stands sociably by the umpire; he has 20 yards to
run from a state of rest, instead of 16, already on the move; he is
addicted to checks and false starts; he destroys the confidence of
his partner’s running; he condemns his partner to play his worst,
because in a state of disgust; he never runs and turns, but runs and
stops, or shoots past his wicket, making ones for twos, and twos for
threes; he often runs a man out, and, besides this loss, depresses his
own side, and animates the other; he makes slow fieldsmen as good as
fast; having no idea of stealing a run for the least miss, he lets the
fieldsmen stand where they please, saving both the two and the one;
he lets the bowler coolly experiment with the wicket, when one run
breaks the dangerous series, and destroys his confidence; he spares the
bowler that disturbance of his nerves which results from stolen runs
and suspicion of his fieldsmen; he continues the depressing influence
of maiden Overs, when a Single would dispel the charm; he deserves
the name of the “_Green_ man and _Still_,” and usually commences
his innings by saying, “Pray don’t run me out, Sir,”--“We’ll run no
risks whatever.” When there is a long hit, the same man will tear
away like mad, forgetting that both he and his partner (a heavier
man perhaps) want a little wind left for the next ball.--_O Ignavum
pecus!_ so-called “steady” players. Steady, indeed! You stand like
posts, without the least intuition of a run. The true cricketer runs
while another is thinking of it; indeed, he does not think--he sees and
feels it is a run. He descries when the fieldsman has a long reach with
his left hand, or when he must overbalance and right himself, or turn
before he can throw. He watches hopefully the end of a long throw, or
a ball backed carelessly up.--Bear witness, bowlers, to the virtue of
a single run made sharply and vexatiously. Just as your plot is ripe,
the batsmen change, and an ordinary length supersedes the very ball
that would have beguiled your man. Is it nothing to break in upon the
complete Over to the same man? And, how few the bowlers who repeat
the length from which a run is made! To repeat, passionless as the
catapult, a likely length, hit or not hit, here it is the professional
beats the amateur.--“These indirect influences of making each possible
run,” says Mr. R. T. King, “are too little considered. Once I saw,
to my full conviction, the whole fortune of a game changed by simply
effecting two single runs; one, while a man was threatening to throw,
instead of throwing, in the ball; the other, while a ball was dribbling
in from about middle wicket. This one run ended thirteen maiden Overs,
set the bowlers blaming the fieldsmen at the expense, as usual, of
their equanimity and precision, and proved the turning-point in a match
till then dead against us. Calculate the effect of ‘stolen runs’ on
the powers of a bowler and his tactics as against a batsman, on the
places of the fieldsmen, on their insecurity when hurried, and the
spirit it puts into the one party and takes away from the other; and
add to this the runs evidently lost; and, I am confident that the same
Eleven that go out for sixty would, with better running, generally make
seventy-five, and not uncommonly a hundred.”
Attend, therefore, to the following rules:--1. Back up every ball as
soon as actually delivered, and as far as consistent with safe return.
2. When both men can see the ball, as before wicket, let the decision
depend on the batsman, as less prepared to start, or on the elder
and heavier man, by special agreement; and let the decision be the
partner’s when the ball is behind the hitter. 3. Let men run by some
call: mere beckoning with strangers leads to fatal errors, backing
up being mistaken for “run.” “Yes,” “no,” or “run,” “stop,” are the
words. “Away” sounds like “stay.” 4. Let the hitter also remember that
he can often back up a few yards in anticipation of a ball passing the
fieldsman. 5. Let the first run be made quickly when there is the
least chance of a second. 6. Let the ball be watched and followed up,
as for a run, on the chance of a miss from wicket-keeper or fieldsmen.
So, never over-run your ground. 7. Always run with judgment and
attention, never beyond your strength: good running between wickets
does not mean running out of wind, to the suffusion of the eye and
the trembling of the hand, though a good batsman must train for good
wind. Henry Davis of Leicester was fine as ever in practice, when too
heavy to run, and therefore to bat, in a game. The reason of running
out and losing runs is, generally, the want of an established rule
as to who decides the run. How rarely do we see a man run out but
from hesitation! How often does a man lose his chance of safety by
stopping to judge what is his partner’s ball! Let cricketers observe
some rule for judging the run. There will then be no doubt who is to
blame,--though, to censure the batsman because his partner is run
out, when that partner is not backing up, is too bad. Let the man
who has to decide bear all the responsibility if his partner is out;
only, let prompt obedience be the rule. When a man feels he must run
because called, he will take more pains to be ready; and, when once it
is plain that a batsman has erred in judgment and lost one wicket of
his eleven, he will, if worth anything, make a study of running, and
avoid so unpleasant a reflection for the future. Fancy such a _mem._ as
this:--“Pilch run out because Rash hesitated,” or “Rash run out because
when the hitter called he was not backing up.”
These and many other ideas on this most essential, yet most neglected,
part of the game, I shall endeavour to illustrate by the following
computation of runs which might have been added to an innings of 100.
Suppose, therefore, 100 runs scored; 90 by hits, 4 by wide balls, and 6
by byes and leg byes--the loss is commonly as follows:--
1. Singles lost from hits about 10
2. Ones instead of twos, by not making the
former run quickly and turning for a second,
but over-running ground and stopping ” 4
3. Runs that might have been stolen from balls
dropped and slovenly handled ” 3
4. Loss from fieldsmen standing where they
please, and covering more ground than they
dare do with sharp runners ” 5
5. Loss from not having those misses which result
from hurrying the field ” 4
6. Loss from bowlers not being ruffled, as they
would be if feeling the runs should be
stopped ” 7
7. Extra loss from byes not run (with the least
“slobbering” the runners may cross--though
Dean is cunning) ” 6
8. From having draws and slips stopped, which
long-stop could not stop if nearer in ” 5
9. One man run out ” 8
10. Depressing influence of the same ” ?
11. From not having the only long-stop disgusted
and hurried into missing everything ” ?
12. From not having the adversary all wild by
these combined annoyances ” ?
--
Total ” 52
13. Loss from adversary playing better when
going in against a score of 100 than against
152 ” ?
Now, though I have put down nothing for four sources of loss, not
the less material because hard to calculate, the difference between
good runners and bad seems to be above half the score. That many will
believe me I can hardly expect; but, before they contradict, let them
watch and reckon for themselves, where fielding is not first-rate.
It was only after writing as above that I read that in “North _v._
South,” 1851, the North lost six wickets, and the South two, by running
out! In the first Gentlemen and Players’ match, of the same year, it
was computed that one man, who made a long score, actually lost as many
runs as he made! In choosing an eleven, such men should be marked, and
the loser of runs avoided on the same principle as a bad fieldsman.
Reckon not only the runs a man may make, but the runs he may lose, and
how the game turns about sometimes by a man being run out. A perfect
cricketer, like a perfect whist-player, must qualify his scientific
rules, and make the best of a bad partner--but, how few are perfect,
especially in this point! Talk not alone of good batsmen, I have often
said.--Choose me some thorough-bred public-school cricketers; for,
“the only men,” says Clarke, “I ever see judges of a run, are those
who have played cricket as boys with sixpenny bats, used to distances
first shorter, then longer as they grew stronger, and learnt, not from
being bowled to by the hour, but by years of practice in real games.
You blame me because the All England Eleven don’t learn not to run out,
though always practising together. Why, a run is a thing not learnt
in a day. There’s that gentleman yonder--with all his fine hitting he
is no cricketer; he can’t run; he learnt at a catapult, and how can a
catapult teach a man the game?”
Great men have the same ideas, or Clarke would seem to have borrowed
from Horace
“Qui studet optatam cursu contingere metam
Multa tulit fecitque puer, sudavit et alsit.”
A good innings disdains a sleeping partner. Be alive and moving;
and--instead of saying, “Well played!” “Famous hit!” &c.; or, as we
sometimes hear in the way of encouragement, “How near!” “What a close
shave!” “Pray, take care, Smith!”--think of the runs, and say “run”
or “stop” as the case may be. Thus, you may avoid the ludicrous scene
of two big men rushing from their wickets, pausing, turning back,
starting again, and having a small talk together at the eleventh yard,
and finding, one or the other, a prostrate wicket, while apologies and
recrimination are the only solace.
Old players need keep up a habit of throwing and of active movements.
For, the redundant spirit and buoyancy of youthful activity soon
evaporates. Many a zealous cricketer loses his once-famed quickness
from mere disuse--_Sic omnia fatis, in pejus ruere_. Instead of always
batting, and practising poor Hillyer and Wisden till their dodges are
dodges no more, and it is little credit to score from them, go to your
neighbour’s wicket and practise fielding for an hour, or else, next
match, you may find your throwing at fault.
Fielding, I fear, is retrograding: a good general player, famed for
that quick return which runs the adversary out, one who is, at the
same time, a useful change in bowling, a safe judge of a run, and
respectable at every point of the game--this is becoming a scarce
character, and Batting is a word supposed coextensive with Cricket,--a
sad mistake.
SPARE THE BOWLER.--One reason for returning the ball not to bowler, but
to wicket-keeper, who should advance quietly, like Box, and return
a catch. A swift throw, or any exertion in the field which hurts the
bowler’s hand, or sets it shaking, may lose a game. If a bowler has
half-volleys returned to him, by stretching and stooping after them,
he gets out of his swing. Now, this same swing is a great point with
a bowler. Watch him after he has got his footsteps firm for his feet,
and when in his regular stride, and see the increased precision of his
performance. Then comes the time when your great gun tumbles down his
men: and that is the time that some sure, judicious batsman, whose
eminence is little seen amidst the loose hitting of a scratch match,
comes calmly and composedly to the wicket and makes a stand; and, as
he disposes of maiden Overs, and steals ones and twos, he breaks the
spell that bound his men, and makes the dead-straight bowling good
for Cuts and leg-hits. In no game or sport do I ever witness half
the satisfaction of the bowler who can thus bowl maiden Overs and
defy a score; or of the batsman who takes the edge off the same, runs
up the telegraph to even betting, and gives easier work and greater
confidence to those who follow. A wicket-keeper, too, may dart off and
save a bowler from fielding a three or four; and, whenever he leaves
his wicket, slip must take wicket-keeper’s place. “How stale,” “true;
but,--_instantly_’s the word,”--from neglect of which, we have seen
dreadful mistakes made even in good matches.
Ay, and what beautiful things are done by quick return and a low shy;
no time wasted in parabolic curves: ball just skimming the ground when
it comes in a long hop, but quickest of all returns is a throw to the
top of the bails into wicket-keeper’s hands.
POINT.--Your great strength lies in anticipation: witness Ἄναξ ἀνδρῶν.
To that gentleman every ball seems hit, because he always gets
thereabouts; yet is he near-sighted withal! ’Tis the mind that sees,
eyes are its glasses, and he is too good a workman to want excuse for
his tools. With slow bowling and a bad batsman, Point can anticipate
easily enough. Still, with all bowling, fast and slow, the common fault
of Point is, that he stands, if near, too near; and if far off, yet not
far off enough. Stand where you yourself can catch and stop. If slow
in hand and eye stand off for longer catches, else, by standing where
a quick man would catch sharp catches, you miss everything. With fast
bowling, few balls which could be caught at seven yards ground short of
twelve. Though, if the ground is very rough, or the bowling slow, the
ball may be popped up near the bat, even by good players. Whenever a
ball is hit Off, Point must cross instanter, or he’ll be too late to
back up, especially the bowler’s wicket.
Point is sometimes Point proper, like a Wicket-keeper or Short-slip,
to cramp the batsman, and take advantage of his mistakes; but with
fast bowling and good batsmen, Point may advantageously stand off like
any other fieldsman. For then, he will save many more runs, and may
make quite as many catches. If Mr. King stood as Point, and Chatterton
as Cover in the same line, with Pilch batting and Wisden bowling,
they would not (as I presume they are well aware) work to the best
advantage. When Clarke is bowling he generally wants a veritable Point
for the catch. But, to stand near, as a Scientific Point, with wild
bowling is absurd.
SHORT-LEG is often a very hardly used personage, expected to save runs
that seem easy, but are actual impossibilities. A good ball, perhaps,
is pushed forward to middle wicket On, Short-leg being square, and
the bowler looks black at him. Then a Draw is made, when Short-leg is
standing rather forward, and no man is ubiquitous. If the batsman often
does not know where the rise or bias may reflect the ball, how should
the fieldsman know?
COVER-POINT and LONG-SLIP are both difficult places; the ball comes so
fast and curling, that it puzzles even the best man. No place in the
field but long-stop has the work of long-slip. This used to be Pilch’s
place.
The chief point in these places is to stand either to save one or
to save two. This depends on the quickness of the fieldsman and the
judgment of the runners. With such judges of a run as Hon. F. Ponsonby,
Parr, Wisden, and J. Lillywhite, you must stand rather near to save
one; but quick return is every thing. Here Caldecourt was, years since,
first-rate. I have seen him, at Cover, when past his best, judge well,
start quick, run low, up and in like a shot to wicket-keeper’s hands;
and what more would you have in fielding? When E. H. Budd played and
won a second match for 100_l._ with Mr. Brand--two fieldsmen given,--so
much was thought of Mr. Brand’s having engaged Caldecourt, that it
was agreed he should field on both sides. He did so, and shied Mr.
Budd out at a single stump. To save two, a good man may stand a very
long way off on hard ground, and reduce the hardest cuts to singles.
But a common fault is, “standing nowhere,” neither to save one nor to
save two. Remember not to stand as sharp when fast bowling is replaced
by slow. Cover is the place for brilliant fielding. Watch well the
batsman, and start in time. Half a spring in anticipation puts you
already under weigh, and makes yards in the ground you can cover. The
following is curious;--
“You would think,” said Caldecourt, “that a ball to the right hand may
be returned more quickly than a ball to the left.” But ask him, and he
will show you how, if at a long reach, he always found it otherwise.
The right shoulder may be even in the better position to return (in
spite of change of hands), when the left picks up the ball than when
the right picks it.
Some good Covers have been quicker with a hard jerk than a throw, for
the attitude of fielding is less altered. Still a jerk is less easy
to the wicket-keeper. A long-slip with good head and heels may assist
long-stop; his triumph is to run a man out by anticipating the balls
that bump off long-stop’s wrists and shins.
A third man up, or a middle-slip, is at times very killing: this
allows long-slip to stand back for hard hits, and no catch escapes. A
forward Point, or middle wicket close in, often snaps up a catch or
two, particularly when the ground is dangerous for forward play, or the
batsman plays hesitatingly.
Thick-soled shoes save colds in soppy weather, and do not jar when the
ground is hard; for the Cantabs say that
Thin soles + hard ground = tender feet,
is an undeniable equation. Bowlers should wear worsted socks to save
blisters, and mind the thread is not fastened off in a knot, just
under the most sensitive part of the heel.
Much inconvenience arises in a match (for the best player may be out)
by spectators standing in the eye of the ball; so, stretch strips of
white canvass on poles five feet high; for this, while it keeps the
stupid away, provides a white background for each wicket.
This is good also in a park, where the deep shade of trees increases
the confessed uncertainty of the game. Some such plan is much wanted
on all public grounds where the sixpenny freeholders stand and hug
their portly corporations, and, by standing in the line of the wicket,
give the ball all the shades of green coat, light waistcoat, and drab
smalls. Still, batsmen must try to rise superior to such annoyances;
for, if the bowler changes his side of the wicket, the umpire will
often be in the light of the ball.