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When a batsman edged too often, Fred Trueman (born 6 Feb 1931) remarked “You’ve got more edges than a broken piss pot.”
Or sometimes he threw a question: “Where did thee learn your cricket, at Edgbaston?”
#onthisday #cricket
When a batsman edged too often, Fred Trueman (born 6 Feb 1931) remarked “You’ve got more edges than a broken piss pot.”
Or sometimes he threw a question: “Where did thee learn your cricket, at Edgbaston?”
#onthisday #cricket
The country had hoped, prayed and hankered for a bowler of searing pace who could do unto the Australian batsmen what Ray Lindwall and Keith Miller had done unto their own. And when this earthy Yorkshire youth ran in to bowl, he emerged as an answer to their ardent prayers.
Not only was Trueman fast, he was soon entrapped in an image that quickly moulded his personality.
He was seen as blunt, honest and destructive as a bowler, theatrical on the field, a creature of impulse and emotion, almost beyond his own control, known for his boyish brashness
He was seen as blunt, honest and destructive as a bowler, theatrical on the field, a creature of impulse and emotion, almost beyond his own control, known for his boyish brashness
Even when well into manhood, he had a penchant for wisecracks that mixed sharpest witticism with crude four-letter profanity, and at constant odds with authority.
The real Fred Trueman was soon submerged under these layers of popular appeal and he played his projected role with all the eagerness of a larger than life hero.
There rose around him the huge collection of Trumaniana – tales of his atrocious adventures, many true and many more extrapolated products of imagination. It is impossible to sift through his life and judge the veracity of all that is attributed to him.
Much of it worked in his favour, lending credence to his huge appeal as the most popular British sportsperson of his era. Often it had adverse effect on his career when he was accused of misdeeds he was not remotely responsible for.
But, all these were essential ingredients of the legend of Fred Trueman, the greatest fast bowler produced by England.
There was Frank Tyson with his terrific pace that even outshone Trueman for a few years. There was Brian Statham with his whippet-like build and energy, whose career overlapped with Trueman to produce a fast bowling combination of rare quality.
But, no one really seized the fantasy of the fans like this dark-haired, pale faced, heavy shouldered Yorkshireman.
Trueman charged in along a run-up more than a pitch length, at least twenty two measured paces and then three or four walking steps for launching the attack. When the batsman seemed unsure, he added a few steps to go nearer the sight-screen.
The actual approach, though, was of thirteen fully utilised strides. In his later years, when he was less concerned with the fiery image of the fast bowler, he often bowled from thirteen paces.
When at his fastest, he moved up in a curve, swerving out round the umpire. He stalked back to his mark with bowed arms, threatening gait and turned to charge like a Spanish fighting bull. The acceleration was gradual and, hair flopping, he sprinted the last few steps.
His body swung round so completely the batsman saw his left shoulder-blade, for a short while the left foot – large as a policeman’s according to rustic analogy – hovered in the air before thudding on the ground with violence. The left arm pointed high, head steady, eyes glaring.
From this cocked action, the right arm slashed down, the ball was fired down the pitch and his body followed it with unbridled eagerness.
He hit the ground firmly with the ball. His natural outswing, a deadly weapon which often moved late from the middle stump, gave him innumerable edges. The in-swing was rarer, but potent. And on a green wicket he could move the ball off the seam.
He had a crushing yorker, and bowled his bouncers a bit too frequently throughout his career. And while he was proud of the wickets he took with his slower ball, the batsmen tended to remember the faster ones – those that hastened even quicker than his constant frantic pace.
After the ball was bowled commenced the reaction routine. Trueman scowled at the batsman’s face. If there was an edge that eluded fielders, there was a mix of disgust and resentment against the hands of fate.
If the batsman was beaten, two hands went heavenwards, and fists were often clenched in agony. If nothing happened, he would rock on his heels, utter a brisk word to the batsman or the close in fielders, toss his hair and walk back, hoisting his trousers, rolling the right sleeve
After the game he would hold his session over beer, where each dismissal would be explained with colour & imagination, and no one could book him for being overly modest. That one was an in-swinging yorker, the other one a late out-swinger, the third one deceived by a slower one.
Richard Hutton, son of Trueman’s first Test captain Len Hutton & a teammate of his last years, once asked him, “Did you ever bowl a plain straight ball?” Trueman replied quick as a flash, “Aye, I did – and it went straight through like a stream of piss and flattened all three.”
His acerbic wit did not often peeped through on field. Raman Subba Row, profusely apologising for a catch that went through his legs in slips, offered, “Sorry Fred, should have kept my legs together.” Trueman's answer was legendary, “Not thee son, tha’ mother should ’ave.”
And when Reverend David Sheppard, touring Australia after a long break, dropped a number of catches, he was advised, “Kid yourself it’s Sunday, Rev, and keep your hands together.”
Peter May's attempts at inspiring him into bowling one more over with the famed "England expects" fell with a thud after hitting the armour of deadpan humour. “England always expects, doesn’t she? No wonder she’s called the Mother Country.”
The lightning wit was matched by the speed of his deliveries. When he reached 300 Test wickets, the first bowler to do so, Trueman was asked whether anyone else would get there. His response was typical: "Whoever does will be damn tired."
And his wit did not always limit itself to the cricket field. When someone in Aden pointed out a local Sheikh saying, “He has 196 wives,” Trueman shot back, “Does he know that with another four he can have a new ball?”
And of course he knew he was a great bowler. When John Arlott asked whether he had a suggestion for his classic biography (ultimately called 'Fred') Trueman answered "‘T’ Definitive Volume of t’Finest Bloody Fast Bowler that Ever Drew Breath’"
