Out-door Games: Cricket and Golf/Chapter 2
CHAPTER II
School Cricket
A leading statesman who is also a golfer, but not a cricketer in the sense of an actual player, has recently made a speech in Scotland in which he gives sundry reasons for placing golf above cricket as a game. There is a story of an acute, hard-headed Scotch engineer being cross-examined by a barrister on some point connected with the witness's own profession. The barrister asked some absurd question, which could not be answered on account of its absurdity, and all the witness would say in answer was to the effect that it was impossible to say. The poor fool of a barrister, however, continued to press his question, till finally the witness said, "Man, you might as well ask me how far it is from London Bridge to Christmas Day." I am tempted to make the same remark when I am asked which, in my opinion, is the best game—cricket or golf. The thing is not arguable. The only points of resemblance in the two games are that a ball is required in both games, and a weapon of some sort to hit the said ball. Mr. Balfour has urged with great truth that it is impossible to say that a man would go to Lord's or the Oval to enjoy scenery as he would, presumably, to North Berwick. Mr. Horace Hutchinson has somewhere said that a golfer who in the middle of a game makes any remarks on the beauty of the scenery is probably three holes down and only four to play. This would seem to imply that golf is such a great game that such trifling considerations as appreciation of the beauty of nature and love of the picturesque ought to have no place in the true golfer's constitution. There is, however, a great deal of golf played on wet clay fields with nothing striking in the way of scenery to charm the golfer. The oldest golf links in England, if not in the world, are at Blackheath, but golf at Blackheath is not played with anything like so picturesque a surrounding as cricket at Wilton or The Mote. Golf is no doubt a better game for the middle-aged and old and for busy men; the middle-aged and old are too short in the wind for cricket, the busy man has not the time. Mr. Balfour was undoubtedly right in this, but he prudently left out of the discussion the relative merits of the two games for youth and young men up to thirty years old, and on this ground I may be excused if I hold that cricket bears the palm.
Our games have to be considered from all points of view, and one of these is. Which has the best effect on character? Certain critics say that far too much time is given to games at our public schools and universities—a broad question which I do not propose to discuss at length here. I have, however, in the course of my life met with several men who hold this view, and I can with truth say that a great many ought not to be taken as fair judges of the question, for they have never played any game, except perhaps lawn tennis, in their lives. The contention of those who take the opposite view is that games have an important influence on the making or marring of a boy's character, and with this remark I cordially agree. There are many virtues which a game may instil into the boy, but the three most important are unselfishness, esprit de corps, and pluck. For youth, that is, boys, no game ought to be encouraged that does not keep these three points in view, and golf cannot be said to come up to the mark in this respect; but I am only speaking of youth and boyhood. As far as unselfishness and esprit de corps are concerned golf is a bad game; you play for yourself, and therefore it may be said to be selfish and lacking in esprit de corps. When a man has reached thirty years of age he may be expected to have reached a time of life when his character is moulded and fixed in some shape or other: if he is a good sportsman, well and good; if not, he never will be. I say, however, with confidence, that to train him into becoming a good sportsman at thirty ought to be one of the purposes and objects of games at school and during boyhood, and for this cricket is a better game than golf.
I do not wish it to be inferred from what I have said that golf is anything but a grand game: I only say that if I had the charge of boys I should only encourage golf to the extent of allowing just enough to implant a proper style and swing into the youth, and then I should stop it; he can always take it up later. The proper games for schoolboys are cricket and football. Rowing would also be included, but this is only practicable in a few schools; wherever it can be carried out, it ought to be, as in regard to unselfishness, esprit de corps, and pluck, rowing leaves nothing to be desired.
I am willing to admit that, the chief object of games for boys being what I have said, cricket is not absolutely perfect. It is quite impossible for a boy to be a selfish oarsman, it is difficult to be a selfish football player, but it is easy for a boy to be a selfish cricketer. It is possible that a boy or man should prefer to get 50 runs and lose a match than to get 10 and win it; and if this is the case the captain of the eleven, or anybody who has any management or guidance of games, should do his utmost to rid the eleven of such a member. But in cricket and football, as compared with golf, racquets, and other games, there is a side to be thought of as opposed to the individual, and so we get esprit de corps. I will say here that a middle-aged man is far more likely to play golf in a sportsmanlike way if he has in his youth been disciplined in temper and other ways by football and cricket. He will have learned the spirit in which games should be played, the way to appreciate an opponent's good stroke—in other words, he will play in a sportsmanlike way. Of course there are, and always will be, some boys and men who are past praying for—they never will be sportsmen; but let us all hope that these may be what John Bright called the residuum only. At any rate, I am sure that the best chance to make good sportsmen is to encourage games for boyhood, but they must be games in which the individual must be merged in the side, and therefore cricket in schools ought always to be an important element in the curriculum.
Our ancestors, and indeed some of ourselves, played cricket in private schools in a very different way to what we do now. Everything was rougher thirty years ago. The rod governed our morals; we were insufficiently fed; the stamp of master was by no means high; we never washed in hot water; and our cricket was invariably played on rough wickets. We may have gone to the other extreme now, but that is the way of things generally in these days. The playground where I first learned the elements of eleven-a-side cricket was more like a hayfield than a cricket ground. Our knowledge of the rules was by no means perfect, and was the constant cause of disputes, even to the extent of pugilistic encounters. At the leading private schools now there is a beautiful smooth wicket, perhaps a professional bowler, and very likely one or two masters who have played for the University. There is drill and method in the choosing of sides, and the boys get systematic coaching. The mere fact of good wickets being the rule at private schools is a change of the first magnitude; I can say with truth that, taking all my school-days at a private school in Brighton and at Eton, I never played on what would now be called a first-rate wicket till I got into Upper Club or the top game at Eton. There are still, in the case of public schools where such a lot of cricketers have to be provided for, roughish wickets to be found, but there is much improvement. It may appear strange, when we think how a ball bumps on hard, rough wickets, that bad accidents did not occur by the ball hitting boys on the head, and to me I confess it is surprising still. I think, however, that, taking the bowling generally, it was by no means so high as it is now. Round-arm bowling was the rule, and this explains the comparative immunity from knocks and blows of a serious nature. Knocks and blows of a milder form, however, we had in plenty, and we endured them in a way I venture to think the modern schoolboy has no idea of. The common fault of boy-batting was just what was natural when bumpy wickets were so common; the right foot was not kept still. No fault is so easy to acquire; no fault is so difficult to get out of.
Youth is the time to learn and to be taught, in cricket as in everything else—how and what to teach is in every case entirely dependent on the boy. Some will never be taught; there is something wrong; hand and eye never can be made to agree. On the other hand there are others, very few in number, who want practically no teaching; they see the ball, judge its length, and play accordingly. My own belief is that if you were to ask but Mr. Mitchell of Eton—and the late I. D. Walker would have said the same—What did you teach Maclaren, Jackson, Forbes, Ottaway, and a few more? he would have replied: "Nothing; the right principles were born in them, all they required was practice, and not half as much of this as boys of less skill." A little advice on matters that experience alone can give, such as judging a run or the peculiarities of a sticky wicket, may be given with advantage. When a golfer or billiard player of mature years wonders why he is never able to play a certain club or a particular stroke, you may point out to him the fact that there are a great many boy cricketers with quite a fair talent for the game, who with the best coaching in the world cannot get rid of some particular fault, such as a fatal one of pulling a leg-stump ball. In practice the coach sometimes hugs himself with the belief that the fiend is banished, but in a match it may come back any moment; the boy forgets himself, the old Adam is there, and bang goes the leg stump or l.b.w. The golfer has a habit of pulling his arms in when playing quarter shots with the iron; the billiard player feels happy when he has to play almost any stroke; but no matter how much practice he gives himself, he never feels confident or at ease when a stroke requiring half a screw presents itself.
I have heard it said of a wonderfully successful head-master—successful I mean in his boys getting scholarships—that his success is the result, not as may be imagined of his own teaching of the sixth form, but of his practice of taking classes and prowling about among the lower forms. This master had an eye, and an unerring eye, for youths who were likely to become scholars. He caught these boys when young and taught them himself, and in due time he passed them on to his most learned and experienced masters to be finished; they had the scholarship gloss put on them, and University rewards poured down. It might be the same, I believe, if a master or some other coach who had the same gift could, by observing lower boy cricket, spot the boy who had cricket in him. Such a boy need not be taken away from his surroundings, but there are sundry hints that may be given him. If he is a fast bowler and is left to himself he will probably overbowl himself; it may then be possible to prevent this. I have known many an instance of a boy of fourteen or fifteen, a bowler of natural spin or break and very fairly accurate; but at seventeen or eighteen what is he? A bowler with tolerable length, but the spin and break are gone for ever. He has been overbowled, or perhaps he has got into a bad habit of bowling beyond his natural pace, or he has bowled in practice and tried tricks, or got into careless ways; all this may have been prevented by kindly advice, but in many cases this advice has not been given and a good bowler has been spoiled.
It is true of matured cricketers that temperament has a great deal to do with success. We all know cricketers whose play at the nets gives one hope of great things in matches, but the result falls far short of the promise. Such a boy wants encouragement, but not very much can come of this, and unless nature works some change, it is probable that such boy will never develop into a really successful bat. He will play an occasional fine innings, but cannot be depended on. On the other hand, as there are some billiard players who may be generally depended on to show their best form when they are far behind, so there are cricketers who appear at their best, the more important the match and the more critical the position. There appears to be some quality or gift in their constitution that can be pulled out when wanted like an organ stop. Nobody is more aware of this than the player himself. I believe nervousness in a greater or lesser degree is common to all, but it is certain that while this affects some boys and men so as to discount much of their skill, in others it hardly affects their play at all.
School cricket has every element of fun and enjoyment in it; the scoring is not too high, for the wickets are not always dead true; the hits, except in the school matches, are all run out, the spirits are elastic, and hope springs eternal in the boyish breast. The school hours have to be kept, and in the games there is not often continuous cricket for more than two to three hours, so there is none of the weariness that is the curse of the modern first-class cricket—the inevitable result of batting preponderance and bowling impotence.