An epic battle between W.G. Grace and Charles Kortwright in the match between Gloucestershire and Essex in 1898:
Kortright definitely had a vicious streak. Playing an army side he once took exception to one of the officers taking a stance with a raised left toe. Kortright explained he allowed no-one but WG himself to **** his toe at at him, and ordered the batsman to desist. When he declined, Kortright simply blitzed the offending foot with yorkers until he caught it with a direct hit and broke it.
Grace's ****ed foot might have gone unchallenged, but that was about the only concession Korty allowed, and what followed after lunch at Leyton was the start of a great duel. Kortright ran like fire though the Gloucestershire upper order but he could not shift Grace whom he hit repeatedly on the gloves. His bowling was described as 'absolutely terrific. He was banging ball after ball down with almost reckless virulence, but WG never seemed perturbed...' Grace's response to Kortright's continuous short pitched bowling was to advance down half the length of the pitch to pat the wicket where the majority of his deliveries were aimed, a gesture which did not go unnoticed by the crowd. Grace supported only by Townsend (51) scored 126. Kortright took 5 for 41....
The rowdy section were to have more to shout about during Gloucestershire's second innings. Chasing only 148 to win, their task seemed a mere formality. However they were starting their innings at 5.15pm with an hour and a quarter to bat before close, and by now Kortright was seriously angry...It was quite clear that the man - as opposed to the wicket - in Kortright's sights was WG. Gone was the off-stump line in the first innings. Now he aimed straight at the inviting bulk of the Champion and got him repeatedly. On one occasion he struck him on the stomach, and play was held up while Grace set off on a recuperative hobble round the wicket-keeper, who was standing many yards back...
Grace rose magnificently to the challenge, drawing on his inexhaustible supplies of courage, skill and cussedness. When Kortright was rested, Mead had a spell. At one point, Grace hit what the Essex team was sure was a return catch. So certain indeed that no one appealed, until they saw Grace calmly settling himself for the next delivery. On appeal, the umpire raised his finger only to retract it when Grace roared down the pitch, 'what George?'
If Kortright had been angry before, this drove him to the pitch of homicidal fury and he signed off a day of blood and thunder with a final burst of aggression. His last over consisted almost exclusively of bouncers, one of which Grace tipped into the slips. The chance, such as it was, was not accepted...
Battle was resumed the next morning. Gloucestershire had scored 81 off the 148 they needed, but now the wicket was deteriorating. Kortright, refreshed from a night's rest..tore into the attack. Grace kept him at bay and had inched the score up to 96 when the fast bowler summoned everything for one last fling. He hit Grace's front pad plum in front of the wicket and appealed with the heartfelt relief of a man who knows he has achieved his aim. From half-way down the wicket he watched mesmerised as Grace, through sheer power of personality, willed the umpire to keep his finger down. Kortright snatched the ball and returned to his mark before launching at the himself like a sprinter at the wicket. This time Grace got a snick to the wicket-keeper. Another clamorous appeal, another almost tangible laser beam of authority from the Champion to the umpire. Kortright took the ball in silence and wound himself up for one final, fate-defying attempt. The result was almost certainly the fastest ball ever delivered up to that time. It knocked the middle stump out of the ground and propelled the leg stump several yards.
After a momentary pause - perhaps in the hope of a late no-ball call, but more probably out of pure shock - the great man set off for the pavilion. This gave Kortright the cue for his immortal line: 'Surely you're not going, Doctor? There's still one stump standing.'
Taken from It's Not Cricket by Simon Rae.
