Pedro Delgado
International Debutant
And the boy gets a cigar!! Well done archie mac.archie mac said:
Official scorecard read:
F.Pilch hat knocked on wicket b Bathurst 9
Had me in stitches when I read that.
The man himself, with hat.
-
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Can you beat for the cricket guru title?
- Thread starter Pratters
- Start date
Official scorecard read:
F.Pilch hat knocked on wicket b Bathurst 9
Had me in stitches when I read that.
The man himself, with hat.
archie mac
International Coach
By all accounts a great batsman, but don't tell C_C I said that, since he was born before 1980Pedro Delgado said:And the boy gets a cigar!! Well done archie mac.
Official scorecard read:
F.Pilch hat knocked on wicket b Bathurst 9
Had me in stitches when I read that.
The man himself, with hat.
In a game in 1884 a player demanded that two of the Australain players bats should be tested, the gauge was duly produced and one of the bats was in fact a trifle wide. It was then suggested that the player whom complained have his bat tested, to much amusement the bat did not pass muster. Name the oringinal player who complained?
Bonus if you can name the two Aussies?
archie mac
International Coach
Great effort Jason, Alick Bannermann not Giffen, your turnJASON said:
archie mac
International Coach
Crusoe on Cricket? or 46 Not Out?JASON said:
Charlie McGahey when asked who had dismissed him answered 'I've just been bowled by a chap called Robinson Crusoe'
archie mac
International Coach
Which player christened DKL, FOT?
archie mac
International Coach
Yes I thought some one would know this one, oh well your turn JasonJASON said:
Question
He wrote a book about another great spinner, although he was himself an accomplished spinner in his own right . But his autobiography was titled rather uncharacteristically - as a description of his character rather uncomplimentarily ( as a rough and disorderly character ).
Who is he ? what is the title of his autobiography ? what was the title of his other book about another famed spinner ?
He wrote a book about another great spinner, although he was himself an accomplished spinner in his own right . But his autobiography was titled rather uncharacteristically - as a description of his character rather uncomplimentarily ( as a rough and disorderly character ).
Who is he ? what is the title of his autobiography ? what was the title of his other book about another famed spinner ?
archie mac
International Coach
Is it Ashley Mallett?JASON said:
Is the book Rowdy?
Is the book Clarrie Grimmett the Bradman of Spin?
archie mac
International Coach
What thing do Cecil Parking and Lord Hawke share, that was rare in their day, but a common occurence of recent times?
archie mac
International Coach
No it has something to do with County Cricket, but more related to Yorkshire Cricket.Jamee999 said:
archie mac
International Coach
I will pay that, they are rare players who were not born in Yorkshire, but still played for the county. This restriction has been changed in recent times.JASON said:
Your turn Jason
Question
Who is the author of the following ? What is the book called ? (Too easy for Archie I think)
Here’s to the lad with his useful Fifteen,
Here’s to the Bowler that’s thrifty,
Here’s to the Bat who is Lord of the Green
With his frequent and thundering Fifty!
THE DARK BOWLER.
I know that Bowler, dark and lean,
Who holds his tongue, and pegs away,
And never fails to come up keen,
However hard and straight I play.
Spinning and living, from his hand
The leather, full of venom, leaps;
How nicely are his changes planned,
And what a lovely length he keeps!
Because he pulls his brim so low,
However earnestly one tries
One never sees the darkling glow,
That must be nimble in his eyes.
The fellow’s judgment never nods,
His watchful spirit never sleeps.
There was a clinking ball! Ye gods,
Why, what a splendid length he keeps!
At times he bowls an awkward ball
That in the queerest manner swerves,
And this delivery of them all
Takes most elastic from my nerves:
It comes, and all along my spine
A sense of desolation creeps;
Till now the mastery is mine,
But—*what a killing length he keeps!
That nearly passed me! That again
Miraculously missed the bails!
Too good a sportsman to complain,
He never flags, he never stales.
Small wonder if his varied skill
So fine a harvest daily reaps,
For how he marries wit and will!
And what a deadly length he keeps!
Excerpt from another -
"Remembering the Table Round,
Cricket at last begot a King, Sir.
One day was born the Bowler’s Thorn,
The Bat of Bats for Rhyme to sing, Sir.
As for the Lady Ball, he swept her
From pole to pole with willow sceptre!
Old Mother England was the place,
The pitch the throne, the monarch Grace!
Off with your hats! Your brims abase
To greet his Royal Highness, Grace!"
Many a mate of splice and leather,
Out in the stiff autumnal weather,
There we stood by his grave together,
After his innings;
All on a day of misty yellow
Watching in grief a grim old fellow,
Death, who diddles both young and mellow,
Pocket his winnings.
Flew from his hand the matchless skimmer!
Breaking a yard, the destined trimmer,
Beating the bat and the eyes grown dimmer,
Shattered the wicket!
Slow to the dark Pavilion wending,
His head on his breast, with Mercy friending,
The batsman walked to his silent ending,
Finished with cricket.
Whether or not that gaunt Professor
Noting his man; that stark Assessor
Of faulty play in the bat’s possessor
Clapped for his foeman,
We who had seen that figure splendid
Guarding the stumps so well defended
Wept and cheered when by craft was ended
Innings and yeoman!
Not long before the ball that beat him,
All ends up, went down to meet him,
Tie him up in a knot, defeat him
Once and for ever,
He told his mates that he wished, when hoary
Time put an end to his famous story,
To trudge with his old brown bag to Glory,
Separate never!
There on the clods the bag was lying!
There was the rope for the handle’s tying!
How can you wonder we all were crying,
Utterly broken?
Scarred and shabby it went. We espied it
Deep where the grave so soon would hide it,
Safe on his heart, with his togs inside it—*
Tenderest token!
There we stood by his grave together,
Out in the stiff autumnal weather,
Many a mate of splice and leather,
After his innings;
All on a day of misty yellow
Watching in pain a grabbing fellow,
Death, who diddles both young and mellow,
Pocket his winnings.
Who is the author of the following ? What is the book called ? (Too easy for Archie I think)
Here’s to the lad with his useful Fifteen,
Here’s to the Bowler that’s thrifty,
Here’s to the Bat who is Lord of the Green
With his frequent and thundering Fifty!
THE DARK BOWLER.
I know that Bowler, dark and lean,
Who holds his tongue, and pegs away,
And never fails to come up keen,
However hard and straight I play.
Spinning and living, from his hand
The leather, full of venom, leaps;
How nicely are his changes planned,
And what a lovely length he keeps!
Because he pulls his brim so low,
However earnestly one tries
One never sees the darkling glow,
That must be nimble in his eyes.
The fellow’s judgment never nods,
His watchful spirit never sleeps.
There was a clinking ball! Ye gods,
Why, what a splendid length he keeps!
At times he bowls an awkward ball
That in the queerest manner swerves,
And this delivery of them all
Takes most elastic from my nerves:
It comes, and all along my spine
A sense of desolation creeps;
Till now the mastery is mine,
But—*what a killing length he keeps!
That nearly passed me! That again
Miraculously missed the bails!
Too good a sportsman to complain,
He never flags, he never stales.
Small wonder if his varied skill
So fine a harvest daily reaps,
For how he marries wit and will!
And what a deadly length he keeps!
Excerpt from another -
"Remembering the Table Round,
Cricket at last begot a King, Sir.
One day was born the Bowler’s Thorn,
The Bat of Bats for Rhyme to sing, Sir.
As for the Lady Ball, he swept her
From pole to pole with willow sceptre!
Old Mother England was the place,
The pitch the throne, the monarch Grace!
Off with your hats! Your brims abase
To greet his Royal Highness, Grace!"
Many a mate of splice and leather,
Out in the stiff autumnal weather,
There we stood by his grave together,
After his innings;
All on a day of misty yellow
Watching in grief a grim old fellow,
Death, who diddles both young and mellow,
Pocket his winnings.
Flew from his hand the matchless skimmer!
Breaking a yard, the destined trimmer,
Beating the bat and the eyes grown dimmer,
Shattered the wicket!
Slow to the dark Pavilion wending,
His head on his breast, with Mercy friending,
The batsman walked to his silent ending,
Finished with cricket.
Whether or not that gaunt Professor
Noting his man; that stark Assessor
Of faulty play in the bat’s possessor
Clapped for his foeman,
We who had seen that figure splendid
Guarding the stumps so well defended
Wept and cheered when by craft was ended
Innings and yeoman!
Not long before the ball that beat him,
All ends up, went down to meet him,
Tie him up in a knot, defeat him
Once and for ever,
He told his mates that he wished, when hoary
Time put an end to his famous story,
To trudge with his old brown bag to Glory,
Separate never!
There on the clods the bag was lying!
There was the rope for the handle’s tying!
How can you wonder we all were crying,
Utterly broken?
Scarred and shabby it went. We espied it
Deep where the grave so soon would hide it,
Safe on his heart, with his togs inside it—*
Tenderest token!
There we stood by his grave together,
Out in the stiff autumnal weather,
Many a mate of splice and leather,
After his innings;
All on a day of misty yellow
Watching in pain a grabbing fellow,
Death, who diddles both young and mellow,
Pocket his winnings.
Last edited:
, I think the author is Norman Gale