Shoaib Bashir grabs six Zimbabwe wickets but England can have learned little from this win writes Michael Henderson
“BUT first,” as Frankie Howerd liked to say, leering at the audience, which expected nothing less, “the prologue.”
There will be five acts later this summer, when India’s mummers put on the motley, and five more when England go to Australia in November. At Trent Bridge there was a clearing of throats, as England won by an innings and 45 runs, and it didn’t make a pleasing sound. Until Brian Bennett stroked a honey-coloured century on the second afternoon, the swiftest in Tests by a Zimbabwean, this felt less like a Test match than a professional obligation.
So well played, Bennett, 21 years young. His was an innings of gossamer delights, which will be recalled decades from now, as the lucky ones present recall David Gower’s century here against the Australians in 1985. Those of a certain vintage may remember Graeme Pollock’s century for South Africa in 1965. Golden hours by the Trent.
The first-day frolics, when three Englishmen tonked centuries against junior house match bowling, held little value, save for the players and their loved ones. Easy runs, like St Cake’s making hay against St Custard’s. Up goes the price of shoddy.
Ben Duckett made the merriest century, as though he had rolled in from a three-bottle lunch in Mayfair. Each year he looks shorter. Each year he bats taller.
Ollie Pope raised a few bumpers, passing the port in the approved manner. He’s such a toothsome batsman when he gets the taste. The problem is, he doesn’t get it often enough, which is why his place is threatened by Jacob Bethell. He can sleep more soundly for the time being, though his Test career remains one of promise, not fulfilment.
This was an innings of gossamer delights, which will be recalled decades from now
As if by decree, Zak Crawley also took his place in the pageant. His record now reveals five centuries in 54 Tests, yet only one may be considered significant, the 189 bricks he paved on the road towards a probable victory against Australia at Old Trafford two years back, before rain took the gilt off the gingerbread.
In his eight years at the crease Crawley has had more identities than Steve Miller’s Joker. Picker, grinner, sinner. The Gangster of Love doesn’t suit him, true, but other sobriquets roll off the tongues of his admirers like spears of asparagus: The Kentish Cavalier, The Swan of Canterbury, The Wizard of the Weald. They come just as easily to his detractors, for whom he remains The Tonbridge Fraud, whose sixth-form charms stretch only so far.
For Brendon McCullum and “Uncle Bobby” Key, their pet opener is evidently The Last of the Edwardians, whose flashing blade reduces fast bowlers to lumps of jelly. As Crawley sculpted his latest masterpiece – and, comme d’habitude, he did play some splendid drives – McCullum’s gaze fell just short of approval.
An average of 30 in Tests, which mirrors his record in county cricket, cannot justify all the kind words spoken on Crawley’s behalf. If sustained performance was the criterion (and it must count for something), Crawley would find it difficult to hold his place in the Kent team.
But he’s going nowhere soon. His benefactors retain the view that an England team without Ranji’s long-lost grandson was like an ice floe without a polar bear.
If the customary rules of selection have been suspended for one man, they remain set in stone for others. Will we see Sam Cook play again at this level?
The Essex seamer looked over-parted on his debut. Yet, with so many fast-medium bowlers unable to stand upright for more than five minutes, it is difficult to say anything with certainty. This could be a long summer of exploration.
Once again England turned to Ben Stokes when the game was there to be shaped. “Do you fancy a bowl?” the captain asked himself when Bennett was delighting the spectators. “There’s nothing I would like more,” he replied, and soon he had the Zimbabweans hopping about, and two wickets to show for his groove and swing.
He’s a brave man, the skipper, and he will have to be brave a little while longer if England are to prosper. There is still talk of Jofra Archer coming in from the cold, to give England a bowler who can ping it down at 90mph. Don’t put more than a bob or two on that outcome. So the troupers plough on, hoping the summer shows will revive their spirits. There are good features in this team, as there are in Crawley’s batting, but there are holes. In short, there is a lack of identity.
People like to use that ghastly B-word to describe the change of attitude on McCullum’s watch, and the coach is healthily in credit, but there’s something missing. Otherwise England wouldn’t lose so many matches in so abject a manner.
Character: that might be the word. You don’t acquire it by slogging sixes, or wearing your cap backwards.
There was another participant in this preliminary drama, whose contribution cannot be overlooked. Trent Bridge always provides a handsome frame, however unpromising the picture, and it looked at its best as Bennett brought grace to the proceedings on Friday.
This is the friendliest ground, as the world knows, where people take pride in making all-comers welcome, and that second afternoon felt special. Hundreds of Zimbabwean supporters enhanced the experience.
In the last 30 years each side of this great ground has been transformed, and the homely pavilion is finally being restored. Under its sheets of protective wrapping it resembles a Christo installation. Modern art comes to West Bridgford!
No human agency can disturb the secret harmonies attentive listeners pick up by this lovely meadow. And now there is even “Mexican street food” behind the Fox Road Stand. Just think how much fiercer Larwood and Voce might have been in the glory days of Notts cricket if they had wolfed down that fiery fare!
The past lives on in this parish, agreeably, and Trent Bridge never lets you down. A day here should be available on the NHS for all who feel low in the water. There is no finer place in this land to enjoy cricket, whatever the quality. And that’s a fact.
No wonder The Adolescent Sorcerer rose to the occasion, almost. They love their ducks here.
Photograph by Mike Egerton/PA Wire
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