SPECTATOR SPORT
A nation of moaners
Frank Keating
ENGLISH sportsmen are getting it in the neck from all sides. I detect the feeling that they are somehow being deemed represen- tatives of the country's government — as in plonking and posturing (rugby), dithering and fluke-ridden (soccer), and blaming everybody but themselves for ineptitude (cricket).
Outside England's own diehard knot of blinkered supporters, neutrals in these islands (certainly Celtic neutrals, unless that's a contradiction) perceive the Eng- land rugby XV to be unmitigated swankpots and bully-boys; England's soccer team to be almost anonymous in its medi- ocrity; and its cricketers facing the double charge of being not only totally hopeless but moaning minnies with it.
In Edinburgh and Dublin for the rugby last week, there was a general agreement that, however many more matches they lose, Wales are the team of the year, simply for deflating England's self-esteem and swagger and the presumption that every- thing's going to be okay if we just keep going through the motions. As for the cricket news from India, as usual Matt in Monday's Daily Telegraph was spot-on (and J. Major-related) with his bloke watching the debacle and observing, 'I think we should condemn a little more and under- stand a little less.'
The day before, in the sister Sunday Tele- graph, a good piece by Amit Roy had him quoting the former Yorkshire bowler, Don
Wilson: 'How sad for Englishmen every- where to be represented by this collection of moaners. If you have a taste for some- thing more than a pint of beer and a bag of chips, the sights and sounds of India are a glorious delight.' That same day, on the radio, Tony Lewis had reported from Bom- bay the pathetic sight of the whole England team spurning, with a lack of grace, the fresh-cooked choice of lunch prepared by their hosts, and retiring to a private room to munch hamburgers which had been flown out from England the week before. Courtesy of whom? A Wimpy bar in Ley- ton? As Roy said, Indian cricket had not yet caught up with the arrival of yobbo Britain.
I have been in on two cricket tours of India. Both times those who were moaning as we embarked at Heathrow continued the whinge throughout the trip, overdosing themselves with 'cautionary' pills and potions brought from Blighty, forever demanding 'English-style' meals. They still got the 'runs' — but very few actual runs or wickets. The other half ate anything put in front of them without suspicion, enjoyed enormously the 'sights and sounds' and any liquor we happily came across and fell upon — and, on the field, time and again shored up the ineptitude of the moaners.
Lord's have a 'medical adviser', a Dr Tony Hall, who has been sounding off (from London) about all the dietary `orders' he gave the team before they set off. 'None of this, none of that . . .', all the modern baloney. Even `no alcohol because it is a poison and can weaken the resistance to infections'. No wonder the whole of this team are wandering around like morose zombies.
In 1982, between the fifth and sixth Tests, at Madras and Kanpur, the England team had a game at Indore against the strong Central Zone. David Gower deservedly took it 'off and went up into the hills for a tiger 'shoot' with his Pentax, and with a saved-up case of claret to accompany his camp-fire curries outside his tent. Ian Both- am, meanwhile, played in the match at Indore. A curry banquet at the Maharani's was followed by contented enjoyment of a whole bottle of brandy into the night. Next day, Botham scores the fastest ever century seen in India (122 in 44 balls). For the Test, Gower comes down from the hills and makes a sublime 85 in a partnership of 130 with Botham, who ends with 142 — that night yet more curry and alcohol was con- sumed in celebration.
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