--“si quid fricti ciceris probat et nucis emptor;”
that is, if the swillers of half-and-half and smokers of pigtail,--a
preponderating influence and large majority of voices,--applaud a
hit, it does not follow that it is a good one: nor, if they cry
“Butterfingers!” need the miss be a bad one. No credit for good
intentions!--no allowance for a twisting catch and the sun enough
to singe your eyelids!--the hit that wins the “half-and-half” is the
finest hit for that select assemblage, whose “sweet voices” quite drown
the nicer judgment of the pavilion, even as vote by ballot would swamp
the House of Lords.
LONG-STOP.--If you would estimate the value of a practised long-stop,
only try to play a match with a bad one. Still, patient merit is rarely
appreciated; for, what is done very well looks so easy. Long-stopping
requires the cleanest handling and quickest return. The best in form
I ever saw was an Oxonian about 1838,--a Mr. Napier. One of the worst
in form, however, was the best of his day in effect,--Good; for he
took the ball sideways. A left-handed man, as Good was, has a great
advantage in stopping slips under-leg. Among the ancients, Old Beagley
was the man. But there is many a man whose praise is yet unsung; for
when Mr. E. H. Budd saw Mr. R. Stothert at Lansdown, Bath, stop right
and left to Mr. Kirwan’s bowling, he alluded to Beagley’s doings, and
said Beagley never came up to R. Stothert. Mr. Marshall (jun.) in
the same Club stopped for Mr. Marcon without one bye through a long
innings. The gentleman who opposed the firmest front, however, for
years, to Messrs. Kirwan and Fellowes,--bowlers, who have broken studs
into the breast-bone of a long-stop, and then, to make amends, taken
fourpenny-bits of skin off his shins, is Mr. Hartopp, pronounced, by
Mr. Charles Burt,--himself undeniable at that point,--to be the best
for a continuance he has ever seen. _Vigeat vireatque!_ His form is
good; and he works with great ease and cool attention. Among the most
celebrated at present are Mr. C. Ridding, W. Pilch, Guy, and Dean.
On Long-stopping, Mr. Hartopp kindly writes:--“No place requires so
much patient perseverance: the work is so mechanical. I have seen many
a brilliant fieldsman there for a short innings, while the bowling is
straight and rarely passes; but, let him have to humdrum through 150
or 200 runs, and he will get bored, tired, and careless; then, runs
come apace. Patience is much wanted, if a sharp runner is in; for
he will often try a long-stop’s temper by stealing runs; in such a
case, I have found it the best plan to prepare the wicket-keeper for
a hard throw to his, the nearer, wicket; for, if this does not run
the man out, it frightens him down to steadier running. Throwing over
may sometimes answer; but a cunning runner will get in your way, or
beat a ball thrown over his head. Long-stop’s distance must often be
as much as four or five yards less for a good runner than for a bad.
Short distance does not make stopping more difficult; because, it gives
fewer hops and twists to the ball; but a longer distance enables you
to cover more tips and draws, and saves leg-byes. Good runners ought
to cross if the ball is in the least fumbled; but clean fielding, with
quick underhand return, would beat the Regent Street Pet himself, did
he attempt a run. Long-stop is wholly at fault if he requires the
wicket-keeper to stand aside: this would spoil the stumping. As to
gloves and pads, let every one please himself; we must choose between
gloves and sore hands; but wrist gauntlets are of great use, and no
hindrance to catches, which often come spinning to the long-stop, and
otherwise difficult.
“As to form, dropping on one knee is a bad position for any fielding:
you are fixed and left behind by any sudden turn of the ball. The best
rule is to watch the ball from the bowler’s hand and move accordingly,
and you will soon find for how much bias to allow; and beware of
a slope like Lord’s: it causes a greater deviation than you would
imagine in thirty yards. Just as the ball comes, draw yourself up heels
together (thus many a shooter have I stopped), and, picking as neatly
as you can, pitch it back to wicket-keeper as if it were red hot. Quick
return saves many byes, and keeps up an appearance which prevents the
attempt. The same discrimination of lengths is required with hands as
with bat. Long hops are easy: a tice is as hard almost as a shooter;
half-volley is a teaser. Such balls as pitch up to you should be
‘played forward’ by pushing or sweeping your hands out to meet them;
even if you do not field them clean, still you will often save a run by
forcing the ball up towards the wicket-keeper, and having it before you.
“A Long-stop wants much command of attention,--eye never off the
ball; and this, so little thought of, is the one great secret of all
fielding: you must also play your hardest and your very best; a habit
which few have energy to sustain. If you miss a ball, rattle away after
it; do not stand, as many do, to apologise by dumb show. If the ball
bumps up at the moment of handling, throw your chin up and let it hit
your chest as full as it may: this is Horace’s advice;--
‘_Fortiaque adversis opponite pectora rebus._’
“Long-stop should assist the backing up on the On side, and must start
at once to be in time. The attention he has to sustain is very trying
to the eyes, especially in windy weather.”
WICKET-KEEPING.--If not born with better ocular nerves than the
average, I doubt whether any degree of practice would make a first-rate
wicket-keeper. Still, since Lillywhite succeeded in training one of
the Winchester eleven in Wicket-keeping, by bowling accordingly,
wicket-keeping seems an art to be acquired. To place the hands
accurately, right or left, according to the pitch of the ball, and
to take that ball, however fast, unbaulked by the bat or body of
the player, is really very difficult. But what if we add--and how
few, very few, can accomplish it!--taking the ball in spite of an
unexpected bias or turn from the bat. Still, practice will do much
where nature has done a little; but with modern bowling you want a
man both “rough and ready.” Mr. Herbert Jenner was “the ready man;”
so also are Messrs. Anson, Nicholson, and W. Ridding, and Box; but
Wenman was ready and rough too. He had fine working qualities, and
could stand a deal of pounding, day after day: others have had a
short life and a merry one, and mere transient popularity; but, for
wicket-keeping under difficulties, give me Wenman. At wicket-keeping,
the men of labour ought to beat the men of leisure. Hard hands are
essential: and, hard hands can only come from hard work. Wenman’s
calling, that of a wheelwright and carpenter, is in his favour. “I
found my hands quite seasoned,” writes an amateur, “after a two-month’s
work at the oar.” Chatterton fears no pace in bowling. But Lockyer’s
name now stands highest of all: the certainty and facility with which
he takes Wisden’s bowling, both with right and left, can hardly be
surpassed. We leave wicket-keepers to emulate Lockyer, especially in
his every-day lasting and working qualities against fast bowling,
for that is the difficulty. Like Wenman, he does not stand too near,
so he is well placed for catches. Moreover, they both have weight and
power--a decided advantage: a feather weight may be shaken. Winterton,
of Cambridge, carries great weight with him at the wicket. This gives a
decided advantage over a player of the weight of Mr. Ridding: albeit,
in the Players’ Match in 1849, Mr. Ridding stumped Hillyer off Mr.
Fellowes’s bowling, and that with an Off-ball nearly wide! Hammond
was the great wicket-keeper of former days: but then, the bowling was
often about Clarke’s pace. Browne, of Brighton, and Osbaldeston put
wicket-keepers to flight; but the race reappeared in--the finest ever
seen for moderate pace--Mr. Jenner, famed not only for the neatest
stumping, but for the marvellous quantity of ground he could cover,
serving, as a near Point, Leg, and Slip, as well as Wicket-keeper.
Box’s powers, though he has always been a first-rate man, are rather
limited to pace.--“Have me to bowl,” Lillywhite used to say, “Box to
keep wicket, and Pilch to hit, and then you’ll see Cricket;” for Box
is best with Lillywhite.--As to making mistakes as wicket-keeper, what
mortal combination of flesh and blood can help it. One of the most
experienced Long-stops, after many years at Lord’s and in the country,
says, to take even one out of three of possible chances, has proved,
in his experience, good average wicket-keeping; for, think of leg
shooters! though Mr. Ridding could take even them wonderfully well.
“I have seen,” writes Mr. E. S. E. H., “Mr. C. Taylor--who was capital
at running in, and rarely stumped out, having an excellent eye, and if
the twist of the ball beat him it was enough to beat the wicket-keeper
also--I have seen him, after missing a ball, walk quietly back to
his ground, poor wicket-keeper looking foolish and vexed at not
stumping him, and the ring, of course, calling him a muff.” Really,
wicket-keepers are hardly used; the spectators little know that a twist
which misses the bat, may as easily escape the hand.
Again, “the best piece of stumping I ever saw was done by Mr. Anson,
in the Players’ Match, in 1843. Butler, one of the finest of the
Nottingham batsmen, in trying to draw one of Mr. Mynn’s leg shooters,
just lifted, for an instant, his right foot; Mr. Anson timed the feat
beautifully, and swept the ball with his left hand into the wicket. I
fancy a feat so difficult was never done so easily.”--“I also saw Mr.
Anson, in a match against the Etonians, stump a man with his right,
catch the flying bail with his left, and replace it so quickly that
the man’s surprise and puzzle made all the fun: stumped out, though
wicket seemingly never down!” Mr. Jenner was very clever in these
things, skimming off one bail with his little finger, ball in hand, and
not troubling the umpire. Once his friend, Mr. R. K., had an awkward
trick of pulling up his trousers, which lifted his leg every time he
had missed a ball: Mr. Jenner waited for his accustomed habit, caught
him in the act, and stumped him. “A similar piece of fun happened in
Gentlemen of England _v._ Gentlemen of Kent in 1845. A Kent player sat
down to get wind, after a run, his bat in his ground but with seat of
honour out, and for a moment let go the handle, and the wicket-keeper
stumped him out. He was very angry, and said he never would play again:
however, he did play the return match at Canterbury, where he was put
out in precisely the same manner. Since which, like Monsieur Tonson, he
has never been heard of more.”
That a fieldsman wants wits to his fingers’ ends, was shown by
Martingell one day: being just too far to command a ball he gave it a
touch to keep it up, and cried, “Catch it, Slip.” Slip, so assisted,
reached the ball.
The great thing in Wicket-keeping is, for hand and eye to go together,
just as with batting, and what is exercise for the former, assists the
latter. Any exercise in which the hand habitually tries to obey the
eye, is useful for cricket; fielding improves batting, and batting
improves fielding.
Twelve of the principal wicket-keepers of the last fifty years were all
efficient Batsmen; namely, Hammond, Searle, Box, Wenman, Dorrington, C.
Brown, Chatterton, Lockyer, with Messrs. Jenner, Anson, Nicholson, and
Ridding.
“How would you explain, sir,” said Cobbett, “that the player’s batting
keeps pace with the gentleman’s, when we never take a bat except in a
game?”--Because you are constantly following the ball with hand and
eye together, which forms a valuable practice for judging pace, and
time, and distance: not enough certainly to teach batting, but enough
to keep it up. Besides, if you practise too little, most gentlemen
practise too much, ending in a kind of experimental and speculative
play, which proves--like gentleman’s farming--more scientific than
profitable. Amateurs often try at too much, mix different styles, and,
worse than all, _form conflicting habits_. The game, for an average, is
the player’s game; because, less ambitious, with less excitement about
favourite hits, of a simple style, with fewer things to think of, and a
game in which, though limited, they are better grounded.
Amateurs are apt to try a bigger game than they could safely play with
twice their practice. Many a man, for instance, whose talent lies in
defence, tries free hitting, and, between the two, proves good for
nothing. Others, perhaps, can play straight and fairly Off;--and,
should not they learn to hit On also? Certainly: but while in a
transition state, they are not fit for a county match; and some men are
always in this transition state. Horace had good cricket ideas, for,
said he,
“_Aut famam sequere, aut sibi convenientia finge._”
Either play for show off, and “that’s villanous,” says Hamlet, “and
shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it;” or, adopt a
style you can put well together--and _sumite materiam--æquam viribus_,
adopt a style that suits your capabilities; _cui lecta potenter erit
res_; try at no more than you can do--_nec deseret hunc_,--and that’s
the game to carry you through.
“A mistake,” said an experienced bowler, “in giving a leg ball or two,
is not all clear loss; for, a swing round to the leg often takes a man
off his straight play. To ring the changes on Cutting with horizontal
bat, and forward play with a straight bat, and leg-hitting, which takes
a different bat again, this requires more steady practice than most
amateurs have either time or perseverance to learn thoroughly. So, one
movement is continually interfering with the other.”