In Twenty Twenty
I've been a little nostalgic lately. I remembered my first ever competitive game of cricket, as a little 8 year old playing for Ealing Under 11s against Turnham Green Under 11s on a leafy summer evening in Chiswick. It was another boy's first game for Ealing too, though he was 10 already. He was called Umer Rashid.
Like me, he was a left-hander, and bowled left-arm medium pace. I remember I batted Number 11, naturally, and joined Umer at the crease with us needing about 3 to win. I managed to get an edge on one and he called me through for what would have been my first ever run, but Umer managed to get himself run out (I think cos he dropped his bat!). We lost the game, and I'd have to wait a little longer for my first run. Curses.
Umer developed pretty rapidly through the ranks of Ealing, in particular when one of the coaches, Roger Yowart (the least said about whom, the better) changed him from a left arm seamer to a left arm spinner. It was not long before he was actually playing at a higher age group, in my brother's team, the Under 15s, while I was still in the Under 11s.
He was a nice kid, tall and goofy. His dad was also really nice, a pushy cricket parent, sure, but enormously friendly and enthusiastic. In fact, after (at Yowart's suggestion) I also changed from left arm seamer to left arm spinner, with positive results though not spectacular like Umer's, his dad used to always watch me bowl in the nets held at Ealing CC on a Friday evening, giving me all kinds of praise and encouragement ("Wonderful", "Beautiful flight, beautiful"). This always baffled me as I was basically doing exactly what his son did, except a lot less well. Perhaps he enjoyed watching me so he could judge for himself what lifted Umer to the level of excellent above my level of merely quite good.
He also had a brother, Burhan, several years younger, who seemed to follow him everywhere and was a keen cricketer who shared none of his older sibling's natural talent.
Umer continued to develop, playing for Middlesex age group teams all the way up. The last time I saw him, I dropped in at Ealing's ground when I was about 15 to watch the men's team, which he played for occasionally. He was already playing for Middlesex Young Cricketers and so in my eyes was a bit of a celebrity. He was his usual friendly self and we had a nice chat about cricket.
By this stage, I'd stopped playing for Ealing pretty much by that point ( a mistake for my cricketing development, no doubt, as they're consistently one of the best club sides in England). I was playing for school and for my school's old boy team, where I played one day against Sunbury, a notoriously strong side. They had a guy called David Nash who was tipped for greatness. He played several years for Middlesex but never made it for England. There was another guy I hadn't come across before called Hollioake, who I actually managed to get out that day. B Hollioake bowled D McGaughey 36. Doesn't tell the full story. He'd already walloped me for two sixes and the ball that got him out was a hopeless full toss that pretty much landed on top of the stumps.
After that, I kept tabs on Hollioake and in 1997, aged only 18, he sensationally made his England debut in both ODI and test cricket alongside his brother Adam. When I saw him hitting the best bowling attack in the world for sixes, I felt happier about the club I belonged to.
The Hollioake sensation was a bit of a flash in the pan that summer. Neither developed into top test players, though both enjoyed a lot more success in limited overs forms. Ben Hollioake was considered one of the most naturally talented players in the game.
Umer Rashid also made it to the professional level, first for Middlesex and then, with more success, for Sussex. Like Hollioake, he had more glory in limited overs than first class.
As for me, I was a decent cricketer, in particular at the age of 16 or so, and I often felt a bit hard done by, as guys with no more ability than me (I thought) got breaks and favouritism that I didn't, whether because they had a pushy parent (who was also the coach!), the right look, the right equipment, whatever. It was people like Umer and Hollioake, however, that provided a salutary reminder that a few extra breaks would merely have pushed me from decent to good, and that some folk had that extra level of talent which meant they were deserving of the real attention which would give them the opportunity to make a career in the game.
I was listening one night in early 2002 to England playing test cricket in New Zealand - it was the series where Andrew Flintoff first began to show signs of test match class - when news came through on TMS that Ben Hollioake had died in a car crash in Australia. Only 24, it's pretty likely his best years were ahead of him. Then, just 10 days later, I read on the BBC website that the Sussex cricketer Umer Rashid had drowned in Grenada, at a waterfall which was a popular tourist spot, trying in vain to save his brother Burhan. I thought of their father, that cheerful, proud man.
The two most talented cricketers in whose hinterland I'd grown up were gone just like that. Hollioake was more celebrated, but both had real cricketing gifts. I can't help but think that they had died the year before the cricketing juggernaut that was Twenty20 arrived. Both were made for that form of the game. Hollioake, in particular, it could have made very rich.
I always find it funny that Twenty20 was seen as this huge innovation, when in fact it is just the game Umer and I grew up playing in the Middlesex Colts League. Twenty overs a side, starting at 6pm, often playing on into summer darkness. And I remember playing with Umer for Ealing Under 15s against Wembley, when he and guy called Laurence Buchanan walloped 280 in our 20 overs, a score I've never seen beaten in the whole Twenty20, IPL, Big Bash, Champions League shebang. Some player.
Like me, he was a left-hander, and bowled left-arm medium pace. I remember I batted Number 11, naturally, and joined Umer at the crease with us needing about 3 to win. I managed to get an edge on one and he called me through for what would have been my first ever run, but Umer managed to get himself run out (I think cos he dropped his bat!). We lost the game, and I'd have to wait a little longer for my first run. Curses.
Umer developed pretty rapidly through the ranks of Ealing, in particular when one of the coaches, Roger Yowart (the least said about whom, the better) changed him from a left arm seamer to a left arm spinner. It was not long before he was actually playing at a higher age group, in my brother's team, the Under 15s, while I was still in the Under 11s.
He was a nice kid, tall and goofy. His dad was also really nice, a pushy cricket parent, sure, but enormously friendly and enthusiastic. In fact, after (at Yowart's suggestion) I also changed from left arm seamer to left arm spinner, with positive results though not spectacular like Umer's, his dad used to always watch me bowl in the nets held at Ealing CC on a Friday evening, giving me all kinds of praise and encouragement ("Wonderful", "Beautiful flight, beautiful"). This always baffled me as I was basically doing exactly what his son did, except a lot less well. Perhaps he enjoyed watching me so he could judge for himself what lifted Umer to the level of excellent above my level of merely quite good.
He also had a brother, Burhan, several years younger, who seemed to follow him everywhere and was a keen cricketer who shared none of his older sibling's natural talent.
Umer continued to develop, playing for Middlesex age group teams all the way up. The last time I saw him, I dropped in at Ealing's ground when I was about 15 to watch the men's team, which he played for occasionally. He was already playing for Middlesex Young Cricketers and so in my eyes was a bit of a celebrity. He was his usual friendly self and we had a nice chat about cricket.
By this stage, I'd stopped playing for Ealing pretty much by that point ( a mistake for my cricketing development, no doubt, as they're consistently one of the best club sides in England). I was playing for school and for my school's old boy team, where I played one day against Sunbury, a notoriously strong side. They had a guy called David Nash who was tipped for greatness. He played several years for Middlesex but never made it for England. There was another guy I hadn't come across before called Hollioake, who I actually managed to get out that day. B Hollioake bowled D McGaughey 36. Doesn't tell the full story. He'd already walloped me for two sixes and the ball that got him out was a hopeless full toss that pretty much landed on top of the stumps.
After that, I kept tabs on Hollioake and in 1997, aged only 18, he sensationally made his England debut in both ODI and test cricket alongside his brother Adam. When I saw him hitting the best bowling attack in the world for sixes, I felt happier about the club I belonged to.
The Hollioake sensation was a bit of a flash in the pan that summer. Neither developed into top test players, though both enjoyed a lot more success in limited overs forms. Ben Hollioake was considered one of the most naturally talented players in the game.
Umer Rashid also made it to the professional level, first for Middlesex and then, with more success, for Sussex. Like Hollioake, he had more glory in limited overs than first class.
As for me, I was a decent cricketer, in particular at the age of 16 or so, and I often felt a bit hard done by, as guys with no more ability than me (I thought) got breaks and favouritism that I didn't, whether because they had a pushy parent (who was also the coach!), the right look, the right equipment, whatever. It was people like Umer and Hollioake, however, that provided a salutary reminder that a few extra breaks would merely have pushed me from decent to good, and that some folk had that extra level of talent which meant they were deserving of the real attention which would give them the opportunity to make a career in the game.
I was listening one night in early 2002 to England playing test cricket in New Zealand - it was the series where Andrew Flintoff first began to show signs of test match class - when news came through on TMS that Ben Hollioake had died in a car crash in Australia. Only 24, it's pretty likely his best years were ahead of him. Then, just 10 days later, I read on the BBC website that the Sussex cricketer Umer Rashid had drowned in Grenada, at a waterfall which was a popular tourist spot, trying in vain to save his brother Burhan. I thought of their father, that cheerful, proud man.
The two most talented cricketers in whose hinterland I'd grown up were gone just like that. Hollioake was more celebrated, but both had real cricketing gifts. I can't help but think that they had died the year before the cricketing juggernaut that was Twenty20 arrived. Both were made for that form of the game. Hollioake, in particular, it could have made very rich.
I always find it funny that Twenty20 was seen as this huge innovation, when in fact it is just the game Umer and I grew up playing in the Middlesex Colts League. Twenty overs a side, starting at 6pm, often playing on into summer darkness. And I remember playing with Umer for Ealing Under 15s against Wembley, when he and guy called Laurence Buchanan walloped 280 in our 20 overs, a score I've never seen beaten in the whole Twenty20, IPL, Big Bash, Champions League shebang. Some player.
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