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18
tvint
June, 1945
ball with the meat hand is roughly equivalent to fielding hot rivets without a bucket, the game is only for daredevils and he-men.
Now here's the rub (as an early Danish player remarked) : the batsman doesn't have to run out a hit unless he's pretty doggone sure of making it safely to the other wicket, while his batting partner runs the other way, exchanging places with him. A pair of conservative old codgers can stand up there all day, punching out safe one-run grounders. They can be retired only if they hit a fly ball which is caught, or if the bowler gets one past them and clips off the bails, or if they are thrown out by a fielder, who tosses the old agate to the wicket-keeper, cricket's well-padded "catcher," who then swipes off the bails with his mitted fist before the batsman arrives safely at destination.
There is also some very technical business about the batsman blocking the wicket with his leg, a foul glibly referred to as "l.b.w.," rendering him liable to being thumbed "out" by the umpire. Plus a ruling that an eager beaver who steps out of the batter's box (crease) to swing at a cripple, and then misses, may be put out by the wicketkeeper's catching the ball and flicking ye olde bails away before the slugger gets back in the crease, or groove, as Americans would say. But all this is much too complex to worry about.
Murderers' row in cricket is composed of the "four" and "six" hitters, who get four runs for belting one beyond the field boundaries on the ground and six on the fly. Such swinging for the fences, however, heightens the risk of being bowled or popping up to the infield, and puts a premium on conservatism — possibly a clue to the British character.
Ergo, it is not uncommon for a lad with a sharp eye to "hit up" a hundred runs in one batting session, said performance being called a "century," which is just how long it seems to the spectators. With whatever little action there is proceeding in the middle of the large pitch, the grandstands cannot be closer than 75 yards distant, so the avid cricket fan gets a rough shuffle. This may be why the crowds are so restrained, indulging in desultory applause and drinking innumerable cups of tea in the shade of the pavilion. A good guess is that many cricketwatchers get the fine points of a match only by conning the newspaper over breakfast next morning.
Australian Don Bradman, modern cricket's most prolific scorer, rang the bell for 452 runs at one clip in a 1930 match played in Queensland, probably leaving the scorekecper with a hand permanently deformed from writer's cramp. John B. Hobbs, at mention of whom ^..^ English cricket
^ yT'^y fans stand to attention, legged up a snappy 61,221 runs in his 29year career. By