The Rocker Finds His Muse

The Rocker

T

he President sat just off the boundary’s edge in the shade of the chestnut tree that kept the harsh sun from his neck and watched the ebb and flow of the game before him. Once or twice he left his stripped deck chair to stoop and retrieve the ball after it had been struck over the boundary. He revelled in the feel of the ball as it nestled in his hand and for just that moment he remembered the thrill of his own playing days until he threw the ball and he remembered his more recent arthritis.

The President loved to watch the second team play because here were the youngsters beginning to make their way into senior cricket in the company of the more mature players who had once been in the ‘ones’ but now were stepping down. Many of these playing in the game had played when the President was still a player himself and the President could remember their first encounter with senior cricket and the first time they heard a ball fizz as it went past them.

There was the sudden cry from the centre of the field that accompanied the fall of a wicket and the end of another dream of a century, this quickly brought him out of his reverie and the President was aware of the silent trudge away from the playing area of a young man who he had recognised as being a promising player but who, as yet, didn’t posses the necessary patience for the game. The young man veered away from the pavilion and the safety of the dressing room instead he came to the boundary near to where the President sat and flinging down his bat began to remove his protective leg guards whilst declaring to anyone who would listen that he was giving up this stupid game forthwith.

The President stirred from his place and went to talk to Christopher Allard for it was he who had declared so vehemently to have finished with the game. Christopher had once played for the President as an Under 12, scoring a useful dozen in the County Youth Cup final and it grieved him to see the young man so out of sorts with the game.

‘Christopher.’ began the President, ‘Don’t take it all to heart so much.  Cricket is a game to be nurtured and cherished. Its rewards are not easily gained.’

The young man was not to be so easily comforted and declared that it was his opinion that cricket was the silliest pastime that man had ever managed to invent and from now on he was only going to play football. Sally Jeffreys likes football and thinks cricket is boring. The President winced at this news and settled on the bench at the side of Christopher began to tell him a tale.

‘Do you mind if I tell you a small story about another young man, Andrew Henderson, who played for the County for several seasons and was even a twelfth man for England at Lord’s against the West Indians. He too was once on the verge of giving up the game until fate stepped into the lists and championed him to the utterance.

Just like you young Henderson was in love with a young lady; for really I detect that it is not cricket that is causing you this pain but the refusal of Miss Jeffreys to succumb to your approaches.’

Christopher smiled ruefully as the President began his tale.

‘It was the long hot summer of ’76. The West Indian bowling machine was in its prime stirred up by the ill advised declaration of Tony Grieg that he would make them ‘grovel’. Andrew at the time had just got into the County ‘Ones’ and had even been talked about in terms of a possible winter tour. He had played here with me in the ‘twos’ a couple of years before and I had watched his development with some keenness. It was early in the season when I met him and it was obvious that everything was not as it should be with him. He was listless and seemed distracted. Was he getting too much bottom hand into his off-drive I thought? Could it be that he was falling away to the off side when playing through mid wicket? Whatever it was it was having a disastrous effect on his form and his average was dropping. It was during the luncheon interval on the second day of a county second eleven match against Essex that I met him after he had been dismissed cheaply playing wildly at a full length ball from a swing bowler and had been caught at the wicket. When I approached him he was reluctant to discuss his form and it was with a troubled heart that I left him.

Now it transpired that he had fallen in love with Joanne Stevens, who saw no value in cricket. Preferring to devote her time to listening to the music of one of the new music combos and she was rather infatuated with a local lad, Jason, who apparently could play guitar very much in the latest style. Poor Andrew didn’t know what he could do.

Joanne had told him that she had ambitions; a desire to seek the heights of creation. Andrew protested that as far as he was concerned she was the height of creation. He told her that he loved her with a passion known only by Geoffrey Boycott for the forward defensive stroke. “Be that as it may.” Said Joanne, “However, what can you offer me? Where would you take me? I haven’t an incurable disease so I have no desire to go to Lourdes.”

“Erm. Its Lord’s actually. The cricket ground in the Swiss Cottage area of north London, named after Thomas Lord who originally owned the land on which it was built.”

“Whatever. The point is I want glamour and what glamour can you offer me?”

“Well it’s true that I’m only in the county twos at the moment but I have been to Australiawith the Under 19s and I scored a ‘ton’ at the MCG.”

“Cricket!” said the divine Joanne “Is just a bunch of men in white chasing around for days on end and you often don’t even know who won.” And she walked away seemingly out of Andrew’s life for good, leaving not a wrack behind.

Now it happened that Andrew had managed to get himself invited to a party at which Garth Fretwell a virtuoso on the electric guitar and member of the Broken Biscuits, a band who were very much on the up in the world of popular music, was going to be present. Joanne was also due to attend with Jason her guitar playing beau. Poor Andrew just wanted to be near to Joanne To hear her laugh and listen to her voice was quite enough for him knowing how she felt about cricket he knew that he could hope for no more.

Came the day of the party and Andrew couldn’t make up his mind what he should wear. Should it be his County Second Eleven tie, his Lord’s Groundstaff tie or his England School Boys Tour of India 1973 tie? Eventually he went for the Lord’s tie and made his way to the party. He soon found out that he was rather overdressed for the style of the party was distinctly casual.

Now Garth Fretwell was getting weary of the kind of adulation and stardom that had come his way. Whilst it would be true to say that he enjoyed the girls flocking around him there were also times when it became a little tiresome and he longed for the days when he was just ‘one of the lads’ and could go to his local for a quiet pint and a game of darts. Now here he was stuck in the corner of this provincial party surrounded by girls who wouldn’t know a diminished seventh from an augmented third if one came and hit them. Then there were the lads who were all trying to look like him and his group each one sporting identikit beards and long hair. Garth knew they would have all brought along with them a cassette tape of their band recorded in a bedroom somewhere hoping that he would take it away to play to the Artist and Repertoire Man back at Rotting Fruit Records and propel them to stardom. One lad had already been trying to attract his attention for the last ten minutes. Yes, Garth could spot a no hoper from a hundred yards away.

Garth had also spotted Andrew stood looking rather awkward in the corner of the room. Just who was that jerk? He thought. He looked like he’d just come from his bank not to a party where there was a hope of some interesting substances later on. Yet there was something familiar about Andrew that Garth couldn’t quite put his finger on. Andrew has spotted Joanne with Jason. She seemed drawn to Garth like an outside edge is drawn towards first slip. It was about now that Joanne moved across to speak to Garth with Jason hanging on her arm. “Hey man.” Said Joanne, affecting the lingo of the day. “We really dug your last LP. It was so far ahead and such a great concept for the songs.” Jason added, “Yeah, far out.”

“Jason plays in a band as well, you know.” continued Joanne.

“Yeah,” added Jason, “we’re a fusion band. We draw our influences from The Broken Biscuits and people say my guitar sound and Dave Wright’s are very similar.”

“Dave Wright!” exclaimed Garth, “He’s just out. His sound is manufactured in the studio. I wouldn’t give you two bits for Dave Wright.”

“Well,” stuttered Jason, “Maybe not Dave Wright so much as Jeff Lee”

“Aw, man, Jeff Lee really sucks. You know he is just soulless. That solo on Screamin’ really is so predictable.”

Jason was aware that the room seemed to have gone very quiet this was partly because the record had finished but it was also because everyone there seemed to looking at him in rather a distant way. Jason had been used to having his every word listened to and considered himself up with the latest trends. Now it seemed that there was a space appearing around him as people moved away. Even Joanne seemed to be slightly distant.

The silence was broken by Garth himself who suddenly leaped across the room to Andrew saying, “Hey, man, you’re Andrew Henderson aren’t you?” Andrew was somewhat taken aback by this recognition but confirmed his identity to Garth who carried on with his exclamation. “I read about you in the Spring edition of The Cricketer. You were one of the Twelve to Watch for 1976. Hey man what’s gone wrong, you were only in the seconds last week?”

Andrew looked sheepish and muttered about a loss of confidence. Garth listened, sympathetically, before adding, “Always remember, Andrew, class is permanent, form is only temporary.”

Garth then took Andrew in a corner as someone had replaced the LP on the hi fi and the music was once again pounding out. Garth was keen to quiz Andrew on his method of playing leg-spinners. It seemed that Garth had played a certain amount of cricket in his youth and even now was often seem turning out for the Lord’s Taverners and next week was due to play for them against a team of ex first class cricketers and he needed some tips.  Andrew who bowled a few leg breaks himself in his time offered to take Garth to the County ground the next day and bowl at him for an hour or two. Garth was so taken aback at this he immediately invited Andrew and guest to come to his band’s next concert at a converted cinema in Hammersmith. More to the point Andrew was to go along to the after show party held for the band and crew which was to be at one of the smarter clubs in London. Garth left Andrew by simultaneously winking, clicking his fingers and pointing all at the same time.

Joanne had heard all of this and was looking at Andrew through new eyes. Andrew for his part was still in a bit of a daze after his encounter with the great guitar god but he was soon aware of Joanne looking at him.

“Oh hello Jo. Fancy Garth being a cricketer eh? Who’d have thought it?”

Joanne hesitated slightly before approaching Andrew. “Who do you think you’ll take with you to the gig in Hammersmith?”

“And the party afterwards, don’t forget that” Added Andrew.

“No who could forget that?”

“I don’t know. Er you wouldn’t like to come with me would you?

The world held its breath as Joanne considered her reply and although it only took her half a second to make up her mind to Andrew it was a life time or as long as it takes Umpire Bucknor to raise his finger in response to an appeal for LBW.

So it was that Andrew and Joanne went to the Hammersmith gig and then to the party. Later when Andrew took his turn with the Twelfth Man duties for England he was able to return the favour and get Garth tickets to sit in the pavilion for the Saturday. Joanne, of course had to be content with a seat in the in front of the Tavern where her décolletage provoked several comments from a group of young men there for the cricket.

The two men became firm friends. Garth’s proudest moment wasn’t when his record went straight into the charts, with a bullet, as I think the term is but when he made a fifty for the ‘Taverners’ against The Television Soap Stars, at Berkhampstead, with Andrew watching from the sidelines.

Andrew and Joanne were married a year later and Garth came with a few mates and played at the reception. A bootleg recording of the event was recently sold for a considerable sum of money on the black market.

Joanne learned to love cricket and was soon attending a course designed to instruct her in the art of scoring. The very next season, Andrew’s first full season in the county ones, saw her attending every one of Andrew’s games and keeping her own score book. The county even used her on two notable occasions to wield the pencil in an official capacity when their regular scorer had been laid low with a strained wrist brought on by recording too many wickets falling to the bowling of Mr Malcolm Marshall.

When Andrew’s county career came to an end he took up a post teaching at a local primary school and could be found turning out for the ‘ones’ here again. Joanne by now had produced two fine boys and it was only a matter of time before they too came to wield the willow. Garth was God father to their eldest and even wrote a song about him which I believe was something of a hit.

As for Jason he was last heard of playing in a Broken Biscuits tribute band in Paignton.

So you see, cricket can be the gateway to many things. Think hard before you throw in the towel so soon.’

The President finished his tale and once more turned his attention to the field of play and watched approvingly as a cover drive sent the ball sizzling over the outfield for four. Christopher removed his leg guards and stood to retrieve his box from his nether regions.

‘You know something?’ He said thoughtfully, ‘I think you’re right. I’m going to load some balls into the bowling machine and work on building up my top hand to stop me driving in the air. Then I’m going to see if that rather pretty girl, Alice, who does the teas from time to time is here today and if she is I’m going to ask her to come to the club dance with me.’

So saying Christopher strode purposefully away and returned to the pavilion. The President was delighted later in the autumn to present Andrew with the award for the second eleven batting averages and nobody applauded louder than Alice.