Lobster under the Hedgerow: A day in Headingley's West Stand
Scooby Doo, a big baby and a chicken - some of the more normal modes of dress
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Wednesday, 30, May 2007 02:35
Headingley has often been referred to as Test cricket's Beecher's Brook, but while the perennial Gump-like uncertainties over how the pitch will play can unnerve all but the finest players, there is always one certainty: that the West Stand will bring out some remarkable human specimens.
Of course, to some, the West Stand is the ultimate proof that civilisation is in terminal decline, yet the stand is better behaved than it once was - a fact somewhat lost on the garish green-jacketed stewards. Of course what exactly is expected of spectators can be confusing, not least for the Ukrainian sat behind me at his first cricket match who had discovered to his horror that coming dressed as a woman, which he and his friends had done, was not mandatory.
This sort of thing is commonplace at Headingley. At the turnstile I found myself queuing alongside a group of airline hostesses sporting five o' clock shadows, which reminded me of flying with Iberian. More innovative fancy-dress wearers included the frogmen dressed in no more than flippers, speedos and snorkels, the lifeguards on Pedalo Rescue in case Freddie Flintoff turned up and a group dressed as large KP nuts.
The last was the most appropriate. Kevin Pietersen was certainly going that way as he gave the hapless West Indian bowlers a dry roasting. Having reached 150, he finally passed 158 at the fourth attempt and proceeded to bludgeon his way to a double century. A missed umpire's signal for four after a boundary fielder touched the rope caused one scoreboard to have Pietersen down on 196 when he took two, causing confusion for some as he leaped in the air to apparently celebrate reaching 198, which even for one as exhibitionist as him seemed to be taking things a bit far.
At the other end Matt Prior continued to look the part, battering his way to 75 before being bowled by the one decent ball the visitors produced all day. It was a ragged performance by the West Indians, who produced another howler in the field when Liam Plunkett was dropped off a skyer on the way to his highest Test score of 44 not out. KP hoisted a six into the nuts before he finally holed out for 226 and England declared on 570-7. Given the weather forecast for the days ahead England had probably achieved the first half of their task which was to ensure they only needed to bat once.
This runfest, in which three hours of cricket brought 204 runs, was accompanied by an increasingly raucous and celebratory crowd. Banshee wailer balloons shot into the sky and landed on the outfield to huge cheers. An inflatable crustacean bounced around the stand while people sang: "what's that coming over the hill, is it a lobster?" Then somebody really upped the inflatable ante by introducing a nine-foot palm tree. Beer snakes, made by linking empty plastic glasses, began to be constructed and the fluorescent minimum-wage mercenaries started ejecting the hardened criminals responsible.
Back in the middle, England entrusted the new ball to Ryan Sidebottom. Many of us had raised an eyebrow at his selection but, as with Prior, this was another Peter Moores masterstroke. The hedgerow haircut, doubtless home to several rare species, was still the same as before but the bowling wasn't - in no time he had both openers lbw. Hitherto he had been a wicketless one-Test wonder just like his Dad Arnie, who had toiled through 18 fruitless overs on a flat track at Trent Bridge in 1985 before limping off with a toe injury. Now, having ironically moved from Headingley to Trent Bridge, young Ryan had learned to swing the ball prodigiously and proved it back on his old stomping ground. After 22 years, a Sidebottom was in the Test wickets column at last.
If his bowling had been a revelation to those of us who had seen him go for 39 off three overs in a Twenty20 game at Old Trafford shortly before Yorkshire released him, it also astounded his former county colleague Michael Vaughan, who said as much after the game.
With Plunkett taking wickets with the few decent balls he bowled and even the wayward Steve Harmison getting a couple, the inexperienced tourists, shorn of the retired Lara, the injured Chanderpaul and now, thanks to a damaged shoulder in the field, Sarwan, capitulated for just 146. Only Bravo showed any pluck and technique before contriving to get bowled behind his legs. England caught nearly everything and one man in the crowd celebrated by surfing over the heads of the crowd on the back of our favourite inflatable. As both were summarily ejected, some booed and others sang "we want our lobster back".
There was still time after the follow-on began for Sidebottom to snare two more wickets and Prior to make his one mistake in two otherwise immaculate Tests when he dropped Gayle. The Barmy Army sang Bohemian Rhapsody, an Alec Guinness lookalike downed his pint in one to the thunderous acclaim of thousands and the Green Team gave up trying to stop the ever-lengthening beer snakes. Yet at no stage did things get out of hand. Someone dressed as Dafydd from Little Britain was the only pitch invader in this village.
Despite some nippy weather, it had been a wonderful day to watch as England trounced their once mighty opponents. Even the rain which wiped out all of Sunday and much of Monday could not stop the hedgerow finishing with match figures of 8-86, or the eventual victory by an innings and 283 runs. In strictly statistical terms this was the biggest slapping the West Indies had ever had. Hopeless against the swinging ball, it remains to be seen if their depleted and inexperienced side can do any better on a bouncy pitch at Old Trafford. If not, the series will soon be as irretrievable as the once proudly inflated lobster now lying in shreds on some landfill site. And there's more than one metaphor in that analogy.
Charles Britten