Why the Beamer is No Laughing Matter

Among the quirks that cricket offers is the idea that it is a game of mixed ethics: one where something contradictory to the spirit and laws, such as a batsman remaining at the crease when he knows he is out, is regarded as perfectly legitimate, yet to run out a non-striker who is backing up without a prior warning, an action quite within the laws, is considered as heinous as it gets.

On one thing, though, most cricketers agree: the deliberate beamer, headhunter, killer ball, call it what you will, is beyond the bounds of the laws and acceptability.

So the missile Brett Lee sent down to Marcus Trescothick in last Saturday's NatWest Series final rightly saw condemnation heaped upon him. Appearing as it did out of the minuscule sightscreen at the Pavilion End at Lord's (once there was no such thing, incidentally, interfering as it would with the view of members in the Long Room), Trescothick did well to spot it and react by swaying backwards and coming close to putting himself in traction.

Lee, who for some reason reminds me of Tin Tin, and always looks just a little too scrubbed up for a fast bowler, offered a cheery wave of the hand by way of apology and afterwards said how it had shaken him up and probably the batsman as well. It was, he said, accidental.

For those who have never been on the receiving end of such a thing, it might be hard to understand quite why there should be such difficulty in handling it. Indeed baseball, a sport in which the ball is delivered at a similar pace to that of Lee, consists of nothing but full pitches, and there does not seem to be too much trouble in hitting those into the bleachers.

The difference is in the expectation. A baseball slugger knows where to look for the ball in such circumstance, while a batsman is programmed to search for and follow the path of the ball from hand and down into the surface of the pitch. If in the split second allowed it does not appear, there is no time to readjust and look elsewhere. Hence its danger. Trescothick is fortunate it was not even faster.

I subscribe to the view that although Lee has, shall we say, history, it was an attempted slower ball gone awry. Indeed, if the umpires had decided that there was malicious intent, then that would have been curtains for the bowler as far as the match went.

Over the years there have been well-documented instances of more sinister intentions. The West Indian fast bowler Roy Gilchrist, for example, had a particular fascination for beamers while playing in the Lancashire League, and I recall Wayne Daniel, in his first season at Middlesex, being most affronted when told that no, he couldn't whistle one down to keep the fellow at the other end honest.

The worst incident I have witnessed occurred during a county match at Northampton when the Warwickshire captain Dermot Reeve, in the process of compiling a double century, had the temerity to go down on one knee and sweep the great Curtly Ambrose over square leg for six.

The bowler's response was to send down a sighter, something posing as an attempted yorker that slipped a bit. At that level a straightforward delivery doesn't slip to that extent.

That, though, was just the hors d'oeuvre. Next ball had the full Curtly surge, screamed through at head height, roared past David Ripley's diving gloves and did not come to earth until it was two thirds of the way to the boundary. The batsman, who scarcely blinked, escaped serious injury only by inches.

Only once, when a bit long in the tooth, did one such ball ever come my way. Glamorgan, with nine wickets down, required three runs to win a championship match from the final ball to be bowled by Sylvester Clarke, in poor light at The Oval, to me. So far, so scary.

In a career drawing to a close, I had never had the misfortune to face a single delivery from Clarke. I reasoned, however, that it would not be slow, that it most probably would not give me the chance to drive, but on the other hand might just threaten my toes.

I had not legislated for what emerged from the hand of the barrel-chested assassin, a very rapid, throat-high beamer, seen miraculously early, which swung in sharply and was homing in on my Adam's apple when I just managed to get the splice in the way. The ball skittered to third man for a single and the game was drawn.

Why he bowled that, I know not. I never faced Clarke again.

Pay cricket back in 2012

In the euphoria that will surround London's successful Olympic bid, I hope that Lord Coe's team find it in themselves to acknowledge the contribution made by our cricketers.

It is not yet a year since the issue of touring Zimbabwe was at the top of the sport's agenda. Firm guidance was sought from the government who, while offering weasel words, stopped short of forbidding the team from touring even though it was in their power to do so.

The reason? To pull out of the tour might have antagonised some African nations, and the Olympic bid may have suffered accordingly. So our cricketers swallowed their morals, most of them, and toured. The bid was won by four votes and who knows from whence those came?

Now there is a chance to make a meaningful gesture in return. I notice that for 2012 baseball and softball are to be dropped. Those who decide these things might like to know that 92 countries are now members of ICC at various levels, and that Twenty20 cricket would make a phenomenally good Olympic sport.

So how about including it as a demonstration event for 2012?