Limited Overs

Last night I met Paul Molitor at a fundraiser.

Molitor was a favorite of mine growing up. He was a member of the 1982 Milwaukee Brewers team that lost the World Series in seven games to the St. Louis Cardinals – which was the very first World Series I remember watching, so it holds a special place in my heart.

Plus Molitor is also local guy, growing up just down the road in St. Paul. And he is a big supporter of the camp program I work for – donating his entire signing bonus in 1995  – over $100,000 – to help us buy our first permanent camp.

He also built the camp a ball field:

One of Molitor’s most famous accomplishments as a player was a 39 game hitting streak in 1987. For the baseball ignorant among you, that means he got a hit in 39 straight games – the fifth longest in the modern era.

The longest ever was Joe DiMaggio’s absolutely incredible 56 game streak in 1941. It is just one of those records that will never be broken.

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Cricket has a couple of those – records that will never be broken – Sachin’s 100 centuries springs to mind, of course – but what the game does not have…is streaks. At least not at the individual level.

When Googling “cricket streaks” – Google thinks I want “cricket streaker” instead. Or wants me to read about Zimbabwean cricketer Heath Streak.

And so I did some thinking, and a bit of searching, and decided that the closet thing to a hitting streak in cricket – that I could come up with anyway, I would love to hear your thoughts – is consecutive Test innings without a duck.

The longest streak ever? 119 innings for David Gower from August of 1982 to December of 1990 – nearly decade without getting out for naught, that’s really amazing.

What’s even more interesting is who has the third longest streak: Sachin Tendulkar.

And the who is not the interesting part, the when is.

Sachin’s streak lasted from July of 2008 to November of…2013.

That’s right. Sachin’s streak of 91 straight innings without getting out for a duck did not end because he get out for a duck, it ended because he retired from Test cricket.

Truly amazing when you think about it. During the last five years of his Test career – as his skills at the crease supposedly were in decline* – he did not get out for naught.

Not once. In 91 straight innings.

Even after his retirement, he still doesn’t cease to amaze.

Anyway, here’s Paul Molitor and me:

Hey look, it’s me and Paul Molitor at Holiday in the Heartland. pic.twitter.com/E34qtSvmCx

— Matt Becker (@matthewtbecker) December 12, 2013

 

*EDIT: His prowess with the bat did not start to – relatively and subjectively – go downhill until after the 2011 World Cup. I did not mean to imply otherwise. See comments*

Cricket is addictive.

That is of course obvious to all of you reading this blog – because otherwise why would you be here? – but it is a fact nonetheless.

It is addictive for many reasons – the characters, the history, the tradition – but it is also because of how the game itself is built.

Each match reinvents itself every six deliveries. No other sport ticks over play at that pace. And so while the matches last for days, you still find it hard to look away, because each over brings a new promise of hope for the attack, and another new wave of fear and trepidation for the defense.

Every new over brings the dawning of a new era. That’s 15 new eras an hour. 90 new eras a day. And as the matches go on and the pressure builds, it becomes impossible to look away. And you find yourself praying for a drinks break so you can let the dog out – because you dare not turn leave the room, not even for a second, for who knows what you might miss.

They say fielding in cricket is mentally and physically exhausting, because you spend hours and hours with nothing to do, but always there is the prospect that a catch might present itself, and you pray you don’t put it down.

The same is true for watching the game. Sure the ball gets soft and the part time bowlers can you lull the match to sleep a bit, but still, every six deliveries: a new chance for magic.

And it reinvents itself again with each new bowler brought into the attack. And again with each wicket that falls. And again as the morning’s dew becomes the afternoon’s clouds becomes the evening’s long shadows. And again with a new ball. And again with a new innings. And again with a new match, in a new ground, hundreds of miles away.

The play never stops ticking over.

Until it does.

But for now, for England, it is still ticking.

And that is why we will keep watching, that is why we won’t look away, even as neutrals, despite the fact that Australia are two-nil up and cruising, because there is always room for a new dawn in cricket. Every new match. Every new morning. Every six deliveries.

There are three matches left in this Ashes series. That’s potentially 1,350 overs.

1,350 reinventions to anticipate. 1,350 new dawns to savor.

I can’t wait.

Since becoming Captain of England, Alastair Cook has batted in 18 Test innings and scored 1,669 runs for an average of 52.15 and a strike rate of 45.03. He has had seven centuries, four half centuries, and one duck. His highest score was 190.

Since becoming Captain of Australia, Michael Clarke has batted in 56 Test innings and scored 3,243 runs for an average of 63.58 and a strike rate of 61.64. He has had 12 centuries, seven half centuries, and three ducks. His highest score was 329.

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Now this is apples to oranges. Clarke and Cook are two very different batsman. Opening the batting versus coming in at number three is enough of a difference to make this a moot comparison. But I think the fact that Captain Clarke’s average is a full 10 points higher than Captain Cook’s says something: it says that Clarke, as Captain, is doing more to help his team win than Cook is.

Cook’s struggles are not England’s only problem right now. Not by a long shot, but they are one of them. And since he is wearing the armband, his struggles are notable.

When teams struggle, they need their Captain to stand up and put the team on his shoulders. Cook is not doing that. And he hasn’t done that in a long while. He is a fine cricketer and one of my favorites  in the game today, but at this point and time, he is letting his team down.

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This is Australia’s match to lose. And if they can go two-nil up before the Perth Test then I think the Ashes become Australia’s to lose, as well. Which is just wild when you think about it.

Cricket. Bloody hell.

As they say.

When I was in college, for a short time, I worked at the campus auditorium. This meant working a lot of weekends, and a lot of sitting around backstage with the union guys watching, of all things, golf.

I remember one of them remarking, off-handedly, that the reason he liked watching golf was because he liked seeing all the different courses.

At the time I thought that was kind of a silly reason to watch a sport, but nowadays I totally get it.

I watch (or, watched) cycling for the lovely French countrysides and mountain ranges, for instance, and I watch cricket – at least in some part – for the small taste of blue sky and sunshine during the Minnesota winters, and for the occasionally architecturally interesting and/or otherwise historical grounds.

And so that is why – again, partially – why I love the Australian summer so: for I get to see said blue skies and high suns and folks enjoying cold beers on green lawns when I really need it the most.

And I really needed it last night. For we have had seven inches of snow, and temperatures are in the single digits (Fahrenheit) and falling fast. But, unfortunately, when I tuned into the cricket last night, I saw grey skies and sweater vests. I saw fans blowing on their hands to keep them warm. And I saw a full third of the ground under construction.

It was deflating.

And then the cricket was just not quite there either. England landing hammer blows before lunch aside, it was unaggressive, defensive, uninteresting cricket – and so without the Adelaide summer to hold my attention, I found myself heading to bed early.

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Quick food update: last night I didn’t get home until late, so I had leftover Indian food grilled up in corn tortillas with a spinach salad. I also had a couple Leinenkugels – a cheap Wisconsin swill that I don’t know why I bought.

All of the above hit the spot last night, though, after a long day at work, a terrible commute, and having to shovel seven inches of wet, heavy snow off of the driveway – but it did not really go all that well with Australia versus England. So maybe that also explains the early bed time.

Until tomorrow.

I am definitely a “when in Rome” kind of guy – when it comes to food, drink…and sport. I don’t care for hockey but if I am in a hockey bar and hockey is on and people are watching hockey, I will watch hockey too. And probably enjoy myself.

I don’t like warm and flat beer generally – but when I am in London that’s what I drink, and I love it.

And while I do try to watch what I eat carefully, if I am in an English pub and Rugby is on then I will order the fried sodium bomb that is the fish and chips and it will be grand.

Often, too, I marry all of the above together. We all do, of course, to an extent, but I like to think I take it a step farther. I like English beer when watching soccer – even at home. I like a nice chai when watching a cricket match that’s taking place in India, but I go back to big pint of something amber when the cricket is happening in England or Australia.

It’s silly, I know – but hey, it’s fun. (I do it for more than just sport. I made gritty coffee and huevos rancheros when I was reading Cities of the Plain, for instance, but I digress…)

It’s easier with drink than it is with food, of course – especially at home. I do experiment with some Indian dishes, but they don’t feel like something one would eat, authentically, while watching the cricket. And I need to work on a decent cucumber (?) sandwich for the English summer. And just what do they eat in New Zealand or the Caribbean when the cricket is on?

And even the beverages are sometimes difficult. The tea never feels authentic, for instance; and I need to think of less alcohol based drinks to enjoy during the morning matches. Is a coffee authentic for a cricket match in Australia? And if so, how do most take it? These are the questions I want to have answered.

And so I have decided to have a little fun with it. To marry my sport, and my food and drink, and my books, and everything – to bring it all together – and do it a bit more authentically then I have in the past.

This is where you come in. What should I eat and drink while watching a cricket match that’s taking place in your neck of the woods?

I will do my share of the research of course (the menu at the Hit Wicket Bar has been a good start, but I have no idea how authentic everything is) but if you have suggestions for what tea to drink or Indian street food to recreate when watching a match in Kolkata versus watching one Mumbai – or what beer, coffee, tea and food I should prepare for the Adelaide Test that starts up tomorrow night – I would love to hear them.

I will, of course, keep every one updated with the results – I am sure you can’t wait.

I felt like I should write something about Jonathan Trott.

George Dobell summed everything up perfectly on Cricinfo – and so really we should all just give the man his privacy and turn to other matters.

But I still wanted to post. To say that I was thankful to be living in a world where a professional athlete can publicly admit to a mental illness, walk it away from it all, and not suffer the slings and arrows of an ignorant populace. That we live in a world where he does not have to feign a phantom physical injury. That we live in a world where, for the most part, everyone around him – fans, media, fellow players, board members – offer their full and public support.

I looked far and wide for criticism of Trott’s decision from a creditable source – and found none. The worst I found was people blaming the Aussies’ sledging – but I think that is more a matter of ignorance about the cause of mental illness, rather than out and out cruelty.

I was blown away by how the whole situation was handled by everyone involved. And I would like to offer my sincere congratulations to World Cricket – and my sincere best wishes to Jonathan Trott.

Unfortunately, however, Trott – and others who have admitted to stress related illnesses and sought help – are the exception to the rule. More often than not, the stigmas surrounding anxiety and depression related illnesses keep people from admitting they are suffering – sometimes with dire consequences.

Trott is a millionaire. And can afford to walk away from his profession until he is healthy enough to return. Most average Joes do not have that luxury. Furthermore, while we can all agree that athletes are under immense amounts of pressure to perform, that does not make it okay for us to forgive their lack of mental fortitude more easily than, say, the mental frailties of someone who picks up trash for a living, or an unemployed teenager, or soldier returning from active duty.

And more: Trott was surrounded by doctors, team psychiatrists, handlers, agents, coaches – people watching his diet, his caloric intake, and consistently monitoring all his vitals such as blood pressure and heart rate and body weight. Any change physically was surely noticed and reported. And he was, thankfully, given plenty of support in his decision to return home. Unfortunately, outside of sport, all too often people with mental illness suffer in silence, or slip through the cracks, or worse.

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I say all of this not to blame Jonathan Trott for being a professional athlete. Nor do I say it to imply that his illness is not as serious because of the fact that he plays cricket for a living. Nor do I mean to infer that his decision to walk away was not a brave one – for it was. I say it because we, as a society, have a long way to go toward properly recognizing and treating the mental illnesses of all our citizens. There is a very large and powerful stigma in western society still to this day – despite how far we have come. Over 38,000 Americans committed suicide in 2010 – the equivalent of 100 fully loaded jumbo jets crashing and killing all aboard – and a similarly high number will continue to die every single year until that stigma is gone and programs are in place that help everyone who is sick get the help they need.

The silver lining of the Jonathan Trott situation is that it is forcing people to discuss, read about, and learn about mental illness without there first being a horrible tragedy. These discussions and educations will help erode said stigma – and they might very well save lives.

What I am trying to say is that let us never forget that we as a society have a long way to go toward properly treating mental illness – decisions like Trott’s will help – but there are still many mountains left to climb. The National Alliance on Mental Illness is a great resource if you are looking for ways to help. In the meantime, listen to your friends, your loved ones, and encourage them to get help if they need it.

Get well soon, Jonathan. You have reminded us all how frail the human soul can be – even among the strongest of us – and your legacy will be one of bravery and of trail blazing.

May you continue to find peace.

May we all.

I don’t watch a great deal of scripted television.

Oh, I will do a Hulu here and there, maybe a Netflix, but honestly I find most TV programs boring, predictable, and not nearly as good and/or intelligent as most people say (hope?) they are.

I do, however, watch a great deal of sport. And love it because no matter how confident and educated we are in our predictions, the games still have to be played, and the outcome is always in doubt until they are.

There are no “spoiler alerts” in athletic contests. And that’s why I love them. Pure human drama. Unpredictable. Unscripted. Real.

And far more cerebral than most non-sports people think.

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If last week someone had told me, for instance, that the Ashes would be heading to Adelaide with Australia up 1-0 over England, I would told them they were crazy. And so would have most sane cricket followers – including a great many in Australia. But that is why we play the games and don’t rely just on computers spitting out formulas and outcomes.

But if last week someone had told me that not only would Australia win at Brisbane, but it would be an all out clobbering, I would have told them they were crazy AND I probably would have called the police and reported a delusional madman on the loose.

Not really but you know what I mean.

Australia looked cool, stylish, talented. They had swagger and panache. And England meanwhile looked lost.

Confused.

Old.

And now we have a series on our hands, which is such fantastic news. I cannot wait to see what Adelaide brings us. And then Perth. Melbourne. Sydney. A competitive five Test series played during prime time hours here in the States.

Spoiler free.

Merry Christmas.

See everyone at the Oval.

I spent the last 24 hours and change at my nonprofit’s camp facility in Willow River, Minn. and therefore missed all of yesterday’s play.

But that’s all right:

It was an inspiring and transformative time – to say the least.

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And speaking of transformative: England’s collapse yesterday at the hand’s transformed the first match of the Ashes – and with it the entire series.

I am no fan of Australia – but I want them to win this Test. I want them to win it for all of us neutrals out there, and I want them to win it for cricket itself – because an Australian win means a competitive Ashes series, and a competitive Ashes series isn’t just good for Cricket Australia, it is good for Test cricket and for the game overall.

Lots riding on this one, fellas – don’t blow it.

More tomorrow.

The curtain rises on Brisbane, and another Ashes series begins.

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All the talk on social media yesterday was the Aussie’s disdain for Stuart Broad. He’s a “smug pommie cheat” and so on.

Unfortunately for Australia, they learned a very hard lesson last night: never give “bulletin board material” to an opposition player as good as Broad.

And, yes, he is that good – he has been taking wickets at the highest level for more than five years now – and firing him up – waking the sleeping lion as it were – was simply a terrible idea. And yesterday as I watched “Barbie” rip – and I mean RIP – through the Australian top order – taking five wickets a long the way – I just sat there shaking my head and thinking: let sleeping dogs lie next time, eh?

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Australia, for their part, ended the day honors even in my mind. 273/8 is not ideal, but it also isn’t all that bad considering they were 153/6 at tea. Haddin’s calm 78 off of 132 pulled them out of the fire and, honestly, is my favorite kind of innings in cricket. The grizzled veteran comes in, sets up shop with his team on the ropes, and bats on and on and on.

The bad news here for Australia is the kind of innings we saw from Haddin is few and far between. On most days, the bottom order collapses all out for 200 and that’s that. This does not bode well for the Aussies for the rest of the series.

Until tomorrow.

 

Right. So the Tendulkar era has ended. Cricket will never be the same, that is for certain, but how exactly it will change has yet to be determined.

Cricket, the game, changes swiftly and easily, but it also adheres tightly to its traditions – traditions like the Ashes.

And so it is fitting that as the sport bravely enters a world that no longer contains Sachin, that its most traditional series starts up almost immediately. It is almost as if the game is telling us, look, it’s cool, the game has gone through monumental, geological changes over the last 140 years – pandemics, world wars, natural disaster – but the Ashes is still here. And it will continue to be here no matter what. It can weather SRT’s retirement.

The game changes quickly, but it is grounded in its traditions. Today, more so than ever, it is nice to be reminded of that.

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I will be writing daily recaps of the series, just as I did with the series this past summer, but I also wanted to pen a quick and dirty prediction:

England 3, Australia 0.

See everyone on, Twitter.