Cricket lessons

I enjoy watching cricket, particularly the long-form version of the game, in which a match can last for up to five days.  The short-form variant – in which each side bats for a set number of overs (or balls) – lasts only for a few hours, and while it can be exciting, it tends to be less engrossing, less subtle, less amenable to connoisseurship.  Just as I prefer the Grand Tours to velodrome cycle-racing, and the 10,000m to the 100m on the athletics track, so too I prefer Test Matches to T20 cricket games, mostly because the extended forms of each of these sports allows for lengthier and more sophisticated pleasures.  Why rush such a good thing?

In the past two-and-a-half years, the English cricket team have introduced certain elements of short-form tactics into the longer-form version of the game.  The results have been impressive.  In the first year of this new style, the English team scored at a rate of 4.76 runs per over, whereas all other of the eight full Test Match nations scored at rates of between 3.03 and 3.56 runs per over.  (England’s run rate in their twelve games prior to the change in style was 2.97).  This new run rate is also the highest in cricket history – surpassing the 4.12 achieved by the Australians in 2003, which cricket aficionados have long considered to be exceptional.    Although England have just lost a three-match Test series in Pakistan, they won the first game in impressive fashion, scoring 823 runs in their first innings, their highest total since 1938.  Their improved performance is due to both to the material increase in their run rate per over, as well as high individual scores throughout the team, for not only their specialist batters, but also their bowlers and wicket-keeper are regularly making plenty of runs. 

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Cometh the hour …

There is a deservedly famous scene early in the film Annie Hall, in which Woody Allen and Dianne Keaton, are waiting in line to see a movie.  Behind them in the queue a man noisily opines on the demerits of the films of Frederico Fellini and the ideas of Marshal McLuhan.  When Woody challenges him about his loudness and his erroneous views, he responds by saying that he teaches classes on “TV, Media and Culture” at Columbia University.  At which point, Woody brings Marshal McLuhan himself on-screen, who then confirms that Woody is right and the opiniated academic is wrong.  “Boy, if life were only like this,” says Woody, direct to the camera. 

I should confess that on a number of occasions – during interminable and unwinnable arguments about the correct interpretation of some author’s or some artist’s work, or about the best explanation for an historical event or an economic process, or about the real meaning of an idea or concept in philosophy – I have wished to be in a similar situation.  Would it not be truly wonderful if the person in the world most authoritative on the topic of the argument in question, just happened to be standing nearby and willingly and decisively intervened in the argument, telling my interlocutor that they were mistaken and that I was right.  It is not just the wish to be proved right, but also the wish for there to be a right answer that is instantly and conclusively available, that makes this thought so wonderful. 

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