City-based T20 is the future, says international fielding guru

By Sam Blackledge

County cricket must move with the times and embrace city-based T20 franchise tournaments, according to an international coach.

Former baseball player Julien Fountain, who has coached top cricket teams around the world in all formats of the game, says administrators should recognise a growing “instant gratification culture” while keeping sight of the appeal of Test matches. 

“I think the city-based T20 option is the one that works in most places around the world,” Fountain tells Learning is Fun.

“You only have to look at other sports and the majority of teams are city-based. Spreading the entire tournament across an entire summer and eighteen teams makes it impossible to involve large numbers of foreign international players, which is part of the T20 attraction.

“A one-month condensed tournament suits everybody and is the way forward. County cricket must move with the times.”

The 46-year-old, who played baseball for Great Britain between 1988 and 2002 before moving into cricket coaching with the West Indies, Pakistan and Bangladesh, says the way fans watch the game is changing. 

“Cricket has to contend with the same social factors as everything in this era,” he says.

“People have different expectations for their leisure time. Back in the 80s when I was a kid, it was completely OK for boys and men to spend their entire weekends at a local cricket club or watching a professional county fixture.

“Now, the thought of spending an entire day watching cricket draws gasps of amazement from many people.

“This culture of immediate gratification, whilst not being the best attitude, must at least be understood and factored into the enhancement of cricket in all formats.

“T20 is a great platform for introducing people to the game, but the precise nuances and the depth of tactical battles in a Test match should also be marketed.”

Fountain’s specialist area is fielding, an aspect of the game which has changed beyond recognition over the last 20 years. 

“All coaches are working towards creating the most athletic and skilful fielding team possible,” he says.

“Practices involve skill execution and often involve stop watches and speed guns. The margin for error is so small that everybody is striving to achieve the fastest and most accurate piece of fielding possible.

“The speed of the ball; the distance of the throw versus the speed of the batter: margins are incredibly tight

“I always tell fielders: ‘If we can make the runners stutter through indecision, it increases the time for skill execution, and consequently increases our chance of success.”

Expectations have changed, Fountain says, to the point where every player is required to be athletic.

“In the 70s and 80s if a fielder dived to stop a ball they were in the minority,” he says. 

“Now it is considered the norm. Having players that simply cannot field at all has become virtually non-existent, as captains and coaches have realised each run saved in the short format is vital and errors can be very costly as the game reaches a conclusion.”

Fountain believes that while crowds love to see sixes raining down into the stands, the balance between bat and ball has shifted too far. 

“I hope the powers that be start to take the bowlers into account when they think about game improvements, as there currently seems to be a batter-friendly attitude,” he says.

“Fans want action, but it must come from both batters and bowlers. Bowlers are not merely glorified bowling machines and should be treated fairly by legislators.”

He warns against the assumption that successful cricketers will go on to achieve great things as coaches. 

“Having played cricket at a high level can help a coach, but it can also hinder them,” he says.

“Many coaches today are awarded their positions because they have played the game at a high level. Which is great because they bring with them some first hand experience of competition.

“But you should consider that their career has been spent looking after themselves and not worrying about how other players do things.

“Good coaches are able to enhance the performance of a cross-section of players with varied abilities. It is not about simply ‘Do it my way’, because their way may not be appropriate for some players.”

New memories and a familiar feeling

by Sam Blackledge

The cry echoed around the Nursery End toilets, bouncing off porcelain urinals. “Warwickshire, la la la. Warwickshire, la la la.”

Trott carried on, oblivious to the merriment. Scratch. Fiddle. Grimace. Flick to leg.

Returning to my seat in the lower Edrich stand, I realised I could relax. The job was nearly done.

 

 

I can’t write about September 4, 1993 any more. Nostalgia is all well and good, but if you keep looking back you might trip over your own feet. A generation has passed; it’s time for new memories to be made.

Journalist Emma John tells of the “coming of age moment” when she crossed over into adulthood.

After years of being taken to cricket matches by her mum, one day she bought their tickets and made the arrangements herself.

Twenty-three years had passed since my first Lord’s final; 11 years since my last. Marriages, divorces, house moves and babies peppered the intervening period, but cricket carried on in the background like a familiar song at a tense family wedding.

 

 

Surrey got off to a flyer, pinging long-hops and half-volleys to the boundary at will. Please not today, I thought. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. We need a win.

With the score on 45, Jason Roy took a couple of steps down the pitch and creamed a short-armed pull. Laurie Evans dived full length to his right and plucked the ball from the air.

We jumped up, cheese sandwiches and Country Slices flying in all directions.

A few minutes later Steven Davies was stumped down the leg side. Sangakkara appeared to be booking in for breakfast, lunch and dinner, but then he edged behind off Hannon-Dalby, sparking the sort of collapse usually only seen on eroding Cornish clifftops.

I’d packed a couple of beers, having carefully checked the Home of Cricket‘s strict alcohol allowance, and produced them when the fifth wicket fell.

I’d even remembered a bottle opener, the sort of detail which would have eluded me in years gone by when I was pretending to be a grown-up.

 

 

Days like this always hit a natural peak. I went out after the match and had a few too many drinks which, mixed with exhaustion and adrenaline, took their toll in a mediocre curry house near Vauxhall.

The high point was probably during the second innings, Trott and Bell strolling towards their modest target, victory all but assured.

I laughed as a familiar feeling returned, like catching a whiff of a long-lost memory. Childhood Christmases; chalk on classroom blackboards; sunny days at the beach.

Later on, picking over how the final was won and lost, a journalist friend told me there had been rumours of disharmony within the Warwickshire camp.

“I reckon you needed that,” he said. I smiled to myself and nodded back. “I think you’re right. We did.”

Champagne and heartbreak at the Home of Cricket

by Sam Blackledge

They talk about it like a place of worship.

The pilgrimage up St John’s Wood Road; the Grace gates; the hallowed turf. The Home of Cricket (their capitals) emblazoned across every tie, every programme, every souvenir fridge magnet.

Lord’s is special, no doubt. But for me it was never about the tradition, the history, or what blogger Alex Bowden pithily calls the “great swathes of flowery sentimental guff about a load of grass surrounded by plastic seats.”

For me it was always about the cricket.

My team, Warwickshire, have appeared in 11 Lord’s finals since my first visit in 1993, when they beat Sussex in a famously thrilling last-ball finish.

I was eight years old and it was my dad’s 34^th birthday – three years older than I am now. This fact has just hit me for the first time and I feel a bit dizzy. Trust a pocket calculator to spark an existential crisis.

Many of our cricketing memories are, of course, bound up in Edgbaston. We lived a few miles away from the ground and were season ticket members throughout the Bears’ glory years.

Edgbaston was our second family home, the place where – like cleaning the toilet and changing the bedsheets – we got on with the everyday work of winning championships and Sunday League titles.

But the big stuff – the champagne and heartbreak – always took place 100 miles south.

We attended eight finals in 12 years: four wins and four defeats. I’ve just made a list on my notepad, and I barely had to employ the services of Google.

I’m not sure I could point to any particularly memorable home match during that period, except for Lara’s 501. Something about Lord’s just made it all a bit more special.

In 2004 we saw Wigan play St Helens in Rugby League’s Challenge Cup final, a showpiece event traditionally held at Wembley. But the twin towers had come down and the new arch was still under construction, so the final found a temporary home at Millennium Stadium in Cardiff.

I don’t remember feeling much different. The burgers were just as overpriced, the action on the pitch just as brutal and pulsating.

I have been to Lord’s for other games. A couple of Test matches; a Twenty20 group match; a one-day final between Surrey and Somerset. All were pleasant experiences, but nowhere near the same as seeing my boyhood team fighting for silverware.

On Saturday my dad and I will take our seats in the Edrich stand for yet another final.  We will gaze approvingly at the pavilion and pay our respects to Old Father Time, but at 10.30am our attention will be fixed well and truly on the men in the middle.