Lawson Naidoo: Polymath pads up

“I would hope they support South African cricket rather than a 50-year-old vision of what South African cricket was.” – Lawson Naidoo, CSA board chair, on his compatriots.

Telford Vice | Cape Town

JAMES Brown was in jail. But that didn’t stop the queue from coiling around the block to see the James Brown All-Stars at the Jazz Café in Camden Town in London. Lawson Naidoo was happy with that: not because the “Godfather of Soul” was in the tjoekie but because more punters meant more money to fight apartheid.

It was circa 1990 and one of the venue’s owners, Jon Dabner, supported SA’s freedom struggle by donating the door takings from certain gigs. Naidoo, who worked for the ANC mission in London from 1987 to 1992, was instrumental in establishing the arrangement.

The story captures one of his Naidoo’s numerous lives and a sliver of his colourful times. If you’re old enough to remember the start of SA’s journey towards democracy in 1994, you recall Naidoo as a special advisor to Frene Ginwala, the post-apartheid parliament’s first speaker. If you fancy yourself a builder of a better world, Naidoo’s name registers as the executive secretary of the Council for the Advancement of the South African Constitution. For politics junkies, Naidoo is a founding partner of the Paternoster Group, a risk consultancy.

If you’re a certain kind of cricket person, you know Naidoo as the founder — in 1998 — and captain of the Spin Doctors XI, who delight in their flannelled foolery in Cape Town’s Friendly Cricketers’ Association. If you’re a more sensible kind of cricket person, you know Naidoo has been chairperson of Cricket SA’s (CSA) board since June.

It’s the most recent CV entry that jars. Not because Naidoo isn’t fit to hold the office, but because of the sorriness of the suits who have too often been charged with stopping SA cricket’s buck.

Ray White, who was forced to resign for undermining transformation efforts, damned the board as “little more than the cricket organ of the ANC”. Famously, Percy Sonn “fell out of his pants”, according to a parking lot eyewitness, after a long and liquid night during the 2003 World Cup. Chris Nenzani’s super power was inflicting something close to death by circumlocution on anyone uninformed enough to ask him a question.

They all came to CSA’s presidency from the provincial structures, where they spent years knee deep in manure backing the right horses until they were the horse to be backed. Naidoo is an independent member of the first majority independent board the game in this country has known, and the first independent director to lead the board. That changes things.

“This is not an ordinary organisation; it’s very complex,” Naidoo told the Financial Mail. “Fundamentally it’s a public asset. It’s not a private entity. It belongs to all South Africans. That brings a greater level of responsibility to everyone that’s involved in it. We’re custodians of a game that’s going to be here long after we’ve gone.”

Naidoo was at Kingsmead on February 5, 1970. He was not quite seven years old. By lunch, when Barry Richards was 94 not out having flayed Australia’s bowlers to all parts, the youngster had found a lifelong passion.

The Group Areas Act had slithered onto the statute books the year before. It would force the removal of the Naidoo family from Durban’s old casbah to Chatsworth. At 12, Naidoo was spirited away from the evils of apartheid to join an elder brother in the UK. He would remain in the other hemisphere for 17 years and earn a Masters in law from Cambridge.

Music became a tether to the real world: “I got to know some of the exiled jazz artists, Julian Bahula in particular and later Dudu Pukwana, and others like Hugh Masekela and Jonas Gwangwa. I got drawn into South African jazz through them.” So much so that, from 2011 to 2014, Naidoo managed the Mahogany Room, a jazz club in Buitenkant Street in Cape Town. Bra Hugh himself graced the stage.

Cricket, too, kept Naidoo from disappearing into Englishness: “The first thing I would check in the newspapers was how the South African players had done in the county championship — Barry Richards, Mike Procter, Clive Rice …”

Many of that generation would struggle to credit people like Naidoo with using sport to help change our society for the better. “I would hope they support South African cricket rather than a 50-year-old vision of what South African cricket was,” he said. “Some of them just don’t get it. The game has moved on and they’ll get left behind.”

To paraphrase James Brown, they won’t feel good.

First published by the Financial Mail.

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Heads up CSA: here comes Lawson Naidoo, ready or not

“I look at CSA in a very similar way that I would at state institutions that have been decimated in recent times.” – Lawson Naidoo, CSA board chair

Telford Vice | Cape Town

LAWSON Naidoo fell truly, madly, deeply in love on the morning of Thursday, February 5, 1970. He was weeks away from his seventh birthday. Fifty-one years on, his passion is undimmed. And thereby hangs a cricket story.

“I was at the 1969/70 Test match against Australia at Kingsmead, when Barry Richards made 94 not out before lunch,” Naidoo told Cricbuzz. “My love of the game goes back to then, and I’ve been a keen follower for all those years.” He relocated to Cape Town in 1994, and says he has missed only one of the 33 Newlands Tests South Africa have played since: against Pakistan in February 2013, when he was on holiday in India.

Naidoo has written on the game for various publications, including the now defunct Wisden Cricketer, and captains the Spin Doctors XI of Cape Town’s Friendly Cricketers’ Association, an honour he has held since the club’s founding in 1998. He self-identifies as “nowadays a lower middle order journeyman”, and describes himself as “a keen observer of the game from a playing perspective as well as its administration and governance”.

About that last bit, as of Tuesday Naidoo has been the chairperson of CSA’s board. And the first independent director in a role that, previously, was reserved for whoever was also the president — who was, and still is, drawn from the ranks of the 14 provincial affiliates and associates. The glaring lack of oversight in that structure led cricket down many a dark governance path.

So Naidoo’s election, enabled by a new memorandum of incorporation (MOI), which stipulates a majority independent board chaired by an independent, is the most heartening sign yet that CSA is sincere about cleaning up its act. Because Naidoo is more than a cricket romantic. He’s a public intellectual who, armed with a masters in law from Cambridge, among many other qualifications, has built a strong record over the past 35 years for not hesitating to tell right from wrong. These days he does so as the executive secretary of the Council for the Advancement of the South African Constitution (CAFAC), a progressive organisation, and is also a founding partner of the Paternoster Group, a political risk consultancy.

A focus of Naidoo’s work has been the interrogation of an establishment he helped create. He was among the political activists who went into exile during apartheid, and from 1987 to 1992 he worked for the African National Congress’ (ANC) mission in London. From 1994 to 1999, during Nelson Mandela’s presidential term, he served as a special advisor to Frene Ginwala, the speaker of South Africa’s first duly elected parliament.

The ANC was an exemplary liberation movement, and for 15 years after the country embarked on the road towards democracy in 1994 — when South Africans of all races, not only whites, voted in a general election for the first time — the party tried to meet the challenges of fairly governing an entire nation. But, with major systems and infrastructure designed to cater mainly for the tiny white minority, that proved all but impossible.   

So hopes for “a better life for all” — an ANC slogan — were dashed, not least because of the intractable conflict between the expectations of a newly empowered electorate and a disproportionately white affluent class alarmed by the prospect of the revocation of its unearned privilege. But, in a country where opposition parties range from relics of apartheid to buffoons in berets, the ANC remains the only viable option at the polls even though all classes are dissatisfied with its performance.

The inevitable erosion in the integrity of South Africa’s experiment in democracy, and in the belief that it would succeed, made the ANC ripe for infection by abuse. In May 2009 Jacob Zuma was inaugurated, triggering almost nine years of rampant maladministration during which it was made increasingly clear that the presidency was little more than a front for a slew of corrupt figures. In October last year, Cyril Ramaphosa — also of the ANC — who became president after his predecessor was forced to resign under ever darker clouds, said more than USD34-billion had been stolen from state coffers during the Zuma years.

All of which is relevant, even in a cricket story. Naidoo has written widely on state corruption in South Africa and given evidence as an expert to an ongoing judicial commission launched in order to, government said, “investigate allegations of state capture, corruption, fraud and other allegations in the public sector including organs of state”. If you’ve kept up with developments at CSA since around 2009, that will sound familiar.

“I look at CSA in a very similar way that I would at state institutions that have been decimated in recent times,” Naidoo said. “I think the challenge of fixing CSA is not different from the governance challenges that the country faces in other respects. I see a direct correlation between what I do in my day job and what my role will be at CSA.”

To that end, Naidoo has put his trust in CSA’s new MOI: “Given my background at CAFAC, constitutions are very important. I see the MOI as the constitution for CSA, and we’ve got to live by that. Not just the platitudes about it but demonstrate it in how we operate — with openness and transparency.

“I think there’s been far too much secrecy about what happens, which is unnecessary in my view. We need much more open and transparent, and open to criticism. Because we will make mistakes. We mustn’t try and hide them from the public. If we make mistakes we must take responsibility and account for them. The biggest challenge is to restore public confidence in the administration of the game, and that includes players, fans, media, sponsors, and — very importantly — the ICC.”

The task of setting matters straight with the latter has fallen to Naidoo: on Thursday CSA said the board had decided he would represent the organisation at ICC meetings. In the past that was done by CSA’s president, a provincial leader and thus part of the old problems.

Naidoo will go into those meetings backed by the fact that South Africa is a full member of the ICC, and thus has to be taken seriously. The sponsors who have deserted CSA in recent years owe him no such respect. What might he say to them?

“You’ve been asking for an independent board, you’ve been asking for CSA to clean up its governance structures. I believe this MOI does that. We now have a properly constituted board in place with credible people on that board. You can now trust us with your money again.”

Unlike some of the suits who came before him, and spent thousands in company money on alcohol, Naidoo understands that “without money we’re not able to do what we need to do, which is to grow the game and broaden its appeal among all South Africans”.

And to keep the eyes of those who have made cricket their profession firmly on the ball: “One of our roles is to get cricket off the front pages and onto the back pages. If we fix the administration that will hopefully lead to success on the field, because the players have been distracted by what’s going on. Rightly so, because their livelihoods have been at stake. And not just at international level but at provincial and franchise level.

“We need to take away that concern for them and allow them to do what they’re best at, which is playing the game. Hopefully, by fixing this, we’ll allow the Proteas to resume their position as one of the top cricket teams in the world.”

If that makes Naidoo sound as if this isn’t his first cricket administration rodeo, maybe that’s because it isn’t. In 1991, when apartheid was still the law of the land but the wave of change was rising, Steve Tshwete — an ANC stalwart who would become sports minister — and Ali Bacher, by then the managing director of CSA’s forerunner, went to London to lobby the high commissions of West Indian countries to support South Africa’s readmission to the international game after 21 years of isolation. Naidoo arranged those meetings and accompanied Tshwete and Bacher to them.

That someone so deeply involved in the struggle should credit a man as polarising as Barry Richards with helping to spark his love for the game will make Naidoo difficult to put into one of the boxes South Africans reserve for each other — which will be a key advantage in an often cynically competitive arena where identity can matter more than anything else.  

Richards, playing only his second Test, went on to make 140 in that innings, and Graeme Pollock 274: South Africa’s highest Test score for more than 29 years, and a display of batting so arresting it is still spoken of in close to religious tones. The South Africans won the match, the second of the series, by an innings and claimed the other three, two by more than 300 runs. And then they disappeared from view as isolation took hold.      

One version of this narrative holds that team up as heroes who were unfairly denied their glory; that they were the best team in world cricket. Closer to the truth is that the Australians were reluctant tourists who arrived exhausted after a long tour of India, and wouldn’t have come at all had England’s 1968/69 visit not been cancelled by the South African government because the English had had the audacity to include Basil D’Oliveira in their squad. How dare they! Everyone knew South Africa didn’t sully themselves playing against opposition that wasn’t entirely white.

Others see that South Africa team as the apex of white supremacy, oblivious to the cruel joke that, had they been born any other race, their talent would have gone as undiscovered as that that lay dormant in their gardeners and maids.

Naidoo will know all that, and a lot more. For instance, the stands at Kingsmead on Thursday, February 5, 1970 would have been racially segregated. He was considered, by law, born not good enough to watch cricket among whites. And yet he still fell in love. A “lower middle order journeyman”? Yeah, right.

First published by Cricbuzz.

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Freshly fanged Cobras help Titans reach final against Dolphins

Pieter Malan makes highest score in the history of the Cape franchise, who record their biggest win; Aiden Markram evokes Barry Richards.

Telford Vice | Cape Town

TO the Dolphins and the Titans will go the distinction of playing the last match in this era of cricket in South Africa. The teams will clash in the first-class final at Kingsmead on Thursday, ending the domestic season — and bringing the curtain down on the six-team franchise model that has been the country’s highest level of domestic cricket since 2004/05. From next summer South Africa will revert to a 15-team provincial model.

The Dolphins booked their place in the final by beating the Warriors by seven wickets at St George’s Park in the last round of league matches, which ended on Friday. The Titans, who drew with the Lions at the Wanderers, were confirmed as the Dolphins’ opponents by the result of a remarkable game at Newlands.

The Cobras had been fangless for more than two years — they last won a first-class match in January 2019 — but they unsheathed a pair of the sharpest against the Knights, who went into the game having lost only two of their previous six games and as contenders for a place in the final. The visitors’ chances were dented when Nandre Burger and Tshepo Moreki shared eight wickets in the visitors’ first innings of 181. The Cobras batted until before tea on the third day before declaring at 523/8. Pieter Malan’s 264 was his career-best score and the highest in the Cobras’ history. He put on 219 with Zubayr Hamza, who made 86, and 217 with Kyle Verreynne, who scored 109. Kept in the field for 176.3 overs, the Knights lasted only 63.2 overs at the crease. They were dismissed for 127 — their last nine wickets fell for 77 — to seal victory for the Cobras by an innings and 215 runs, the Cape side’s biggest triumph. George Linde, who went wicketless in the first innings, took a career-best 7/29. 

The Dolphins rumbled the Warriors for 124 in Port Elizabeth with Eathan Bosch taking 3/18 and Kerwin Mungroo, Ruan de Swardt and Keshav Maharaj claiming two wickets each. Senuran Muthusamy’s 52, Khaya Zondo’s 111 and Maharaj’s 66 powered the Dolphins’ reply of 358. They lost 5/87 before Zondo and Maharaj added 132 for the eighth wicket. Eddie Moore, who scored 155, and Gihahn Cloete, who made 65, put the Warriors on the path to better things with an opening stand of 145. Then Moore and Yaseen Vallie shared 100 for the second wicket. But the end of that stand, when Maharaj had Vallie stumped, was where it all started going wrong for the home side, who lost their last nine wickets for 100 and were dismissed for 345. Maharaj took 6/93, his third five-wicket haul in two matches and his fourth in five games in the competition this season. The Dolphins needed 112 to win, and Muthusamy scored 57 of them unbeaten.

The Lions and Titans pulled the plug on their match at tea on the fourth day, when the Titans required 164 to win but had already been confirmed as finalists. Dominic Hendricks’ 99 stuck out in the Lions’ first innings of 206. Hendricks’ dismissal was the start of a slide of 6/51. Opener Aiden Markram was eighth out for 100. And a good thing too for the Titans: Sibonelo Makhanya’s 23 was their next best effort in a total of 202 in which Kagiso Rabada took 5/51 and Lutho Sipamla 5/37. Markram’s century was his fifth of the season in this competition, which put him in a club with Peter Kirsten, Graeme Pollock, HD Ackerman, Dean Elgar and Stephen Cook for the most hundreds in a single senior domestic campaign. The Lions found their roar in their second innings, when they declared at 308/9 after Lizaad Williams had taken 4/74. Having ridden high on the swings, Hendricks found himself on the roundabouts when he was caught behind the single he didn’t score in the first innings. But Ryan Rickleton made 58, Reeza Hendricks 96 and Wiaan Mulder 56 not out to keep the Lions in the hunt. Set 313 to win, the Titans looked up for it while Elgar and Markram were scoring 68 and 64 and sharing 125. They equalled the record for the most century opening stands in senior domestic cricket in South Africa — in 1998/99, Sven Koenig and Adam Bacher also mounted four such partnerships. Markram’s aggregate of 945 runs for the season, at an average of 94.50, left him 55 short of emulating Barry Richards, who topped 1,000 runs in a domestic season in 1971/72 and 1972/73. But Richards had 15 and 16 innings during those summers, compared to Markram’s dozen trips to the crease in 2020/21.

On Thursday the Dolphins will try to clear the last hurdle of a campaign for the only time in three attempts in 2020/21. But it’s the first time this summer that the Lions have not reached a final. Those teams shared the one-day title after that decider was washed out, and the Lions beat the Dolphins in the T20 final.

First published by Cricbuzz.

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Robin Jackman: A life in much more than cricket

Decent, loved, complex. Jackman was, like all of us, someone of light and shade.

Telford Vice | Centurion

ROBIN Jackman smiled as easily as he made others smile. He knew how to tell ordinary stories in extraordinary ways and in a warm, welcoming voice that helped him earn another career in the game. He could bowl a bit, talk a bit, and sing a bit: “Jessie, paint a picture about how it’s going to be. By now I should know better, your dreams are never free.”

Few of the evenings on which South Africa’s cricket media gathered didn’t feature Jackman crooning soulfully through Joshua Kadison’s 1993 song. Those happy times are no more. Jackman died on Friday. He was 75.

He lived a life that seemed to have spilled from the pages of a novel. His father was a one-legged officer with the Second Gurkha Rifles, which is why he was born in the Indian hill station of Shimla. His uncle was Patrick Cargill, a noted actor, who one day invited his nephew, then 15, to lunch. Also there were Charlie Chaplin and Sophia Loren — who arrived in a Rolls Royce and elegantly swept into the kitchen, carrying her own pots and pans, to do the cooking.

“She was drop dead gorgeous, sitting in a chair, a bit like royalty … I wish I could claim that I dazzled her with my scintillating conversation and rapier wit but I don’t think I said anything to her other than ‘Good afternoon’,” Jackman wrote, with the help of cricket journalist Colin Bryden in “Jackers: A Life In Cricket”, of his encounter with perhaps the most famous woman in the world at the time.

Despite the title of that 2012 book, Jackman’s life involved so much more than cricket. Even his playing career collided with the real world. His record lists four tests and 15 ODIs for England, but the truth is he was as much South African as he was English. His widow, Yvonne Jackman, is a nurse originally from Grahamstown in the Eastern Cape. His home was in the Newlands area of Cape Town. Along with Surrey, he played for Western Province — and managed and coached them — and what was then called Rhodesia. All that connection to pariah states like South Africa and Rhodesia was bound to raise red flags.

So what were England thinking when they picked Jackman for their tour to West Indies in 1981, considering by then his ties to South Africa stretched back 11 years? Guyana revoked his visa, England refused to back down, and consequently the second Test at the Bourda in Georgetown was cancelled. Barbados let Jackman in, and on debut at Kensington Oval he had Gordon Greenidge and Clive Lloyd caught at slip and Desmond Hayes taken behind.

No-one who knew Jackman was surprised by those polar opposites. He was made for drama, or comedy-drama. His uncle was the thespian in the family, but one of Jackman’s early ambitions was to follow him to the footlights. Instead he developed one of the most theatrical appeals of his era, which upset with Ian Botham. “When I first played against him I wanted to knock his head off because he really antagonised me; I thought you arrogant, strutting gnome,” Botham wrote in his autobiography. 

Jackman was proud of being able to bowl fast despite, as he described it, being “five-foot fuck-all” and built like an old-fashioned rugby scrumhalf. In the Times, Alan Gibson dubbed him the “Shoreditch Sparrow”. He was a workhorse for Surrey, sending down 71,094 deliveries in the 611 matches he played for the county from June 1966 to September 1982. He took 1,206 first-class wickets at 22.36 for them, and 399 at 20.73 in list A games.

His eyes shone like medals when he was told, in 2010, that he had dismissed Barry Richards more times — 16 — than anyone else who dared bowl to him in first-class cricket. That was no doubt influenced by the fact that Jackman had more chances than others to get Richards out because both played in England and South Africa, but it tells the story of Jackman’s class nonetheless. As did his decision not to use that truth to talk himself up, but to paint a picture of Richards’ greatness: “When the fixtures came out at the beginning of the season, one thing we always used to look at was whether we were playing Hampshire over the Wimbledon fortnight. Because if we were, there was very little chance that Barry would be playing. He managed to find a groin injury when Wimbledon was on.”

CSA’s interim board captured something of what Jackman meant to cricket in a statement on Saturday: “His passing … leaves a void in the cricketing world but particularly in South African cricketing life. We mourn the loss of a fine man, a lover of life, a cricket aficionado and a commentator who became part of the fabric of South African cricket in so many ways.”

A little later came confirmation that South Africa would wear black armbands on the second day of the first Test against Sri Lanka at Centurion on Sunday. But that wasn’t soon enough for Jacques Kallis, who tweeted on Saturday: “Sad to see no black armbands worn by Proteas for Robin Jackman today. A man that gave so much to SA cricket at all levels and all walks of life. RIP Jackers.” That would be same Kallis who has said nothing for all the months that the fraught conversation about racial injustice in cricket has ripped through the game in his country, and who has shown that he is not above using sport to talk abut politics by calling for the return of the death penalty in South Africa.

Ben Dladla, the president of the KwaZulu-Natal Cricket Union, a candidate for the vacant CSA presidency, and one of the few figures on the members council who commanded respect, died in the early hours of Sunday morning. Nobody said a word about him until a CSA statement landed at the stroke of lunch on Sunday. There was no mention of black armbands, although the team has been asked to state their position.

Even in death, Jackman can’t avoid the real world. The fact that he was fathered by a member of a colonising army in a brutally colonised country is in itself worthy of honest examination. Jackman wasn’t responsible for that, of course. But it was his decision to associate himself so closely with apartheid South Africa and Rhodesia, where a war between a minority white regime and a subjugated black majority raged even as cricket continued regardless.

And yet, it was impossible not to like Jackman. He neither suffered fools nor put himself on a pedestal. He afforded all he encountered a level of respect that, were it more widespread, would make today’s social media poisoned world exponentially more kind. It was as much a pleasure to talk to him as it was to listen to him. “Howzit Jackers,” was among the most common things you could hear in South Africa’s press boxes. As was: “Fine, thank you, mate. And how are you?”

Jackman’s life teaches us what we should know already: that no-one is entirely good nor entirely bad, and that most of us — if we’ve lived decently — will be closer to the former than the latter when we die. Jackman, who spent his evenings drinking and smoking but always looked good as new in the morning, who could crackle with swearwords and cackle with joy all in the same sentence, was decent. And complex. And loved. He will be missed, including by those who question aspects of his life and times.

An hour before the resumption at Centurion on Sunday morning, with the players warming up and the press filtering in for work, the strains of Joshua Kadison’s “Jessie” echoed around the ground, courtesy of the public address announcer. Few seemed to understand the significance, but those who did allowed their eyes to shine like medals.

Jackers, paint a picture about how it’s going to be. By now we should know better, our dreams are never free.

First published by Cricbuzz.

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DHS calls back the dishonourable, dishonoured past

“To some people it will, and to other people it won’t.” – Steven la Marque, marketing head for Durban High School, on whether naming a facility after Barry Richards instead of Hashim Amla sends the wrong message.

TELFORD VICE | Cape Town

AN elite school produces someone who goes on to play four Tests. Another of the institution’s alumni plays 124. Yet it is the former whose name is used to lend gravitas to the facilities. Could this be? Yes, but surely only in South Africa.

The Barry Richards High Performance Cricket Centre was inaugurated at Durban High School (DHS) on October 9. The guest of honour, now 75 but still possessed of the physical grace and mental sharpness that helped make him a champion in every team that counted him in its XI, was in attendance.

Richards features in any serious list of the game’s greatest players, including Donald Bradman’s selection. He scored 80 centuries — nine of them before lunch — in 339 first-class matches for 16 different teams, including Hampshire, South Australia and what was then called Natal. But he played only four Tests.

His international career was stunted because it coincided with his country being punished for its racist policies partly by its expulsion from world sport. We can only wonder what might have been for a player universally acknowledged as one of the finest yet to pick up a bat.

But it is equally true that, in the South Africa of his youth, Richards would never have reached the heights he did had he been born anything other than white. His shimmering talent would have remained undiscovered except by his similarly black or brown teammates and their opponents. If he had time and opportunity away from the menial work black and brown people were restricted to, and money to spare, he might have played cricket. Only with and against those of the same race, of course. But the door to what was then recognised as South Africa’s only first-class cricket and the professional ranks abroad would have remained firmly shut. Richards was spared that fate solely by the privileges his whiteness gave him.

The other bloke? The one who attended the same school as Richards and played 120 more Tests than he did but does not have his name mounted high on a wall in large capital letters? Hashim Amla — who as a South African of Asian descent, and a muslim besides, would not have been allowed, by law, to attend a formerly all-white school like DHS nor share a dressingroom, a cricket ground, nor even a beach with whites had he been born in Richards’ day. Happily, in the flawed but fairer era South Africa entered in 1994, when the country held its first democratic elections, Amla’s talent did not go to waste.

He inspired thousands of crooked backlifts in players made aware of the value, and good sense, of hitting the ball where the fielders weren’t, wherever they were. Unlike South Africans of Richards’ time, whose government wouldn’t allow them to sully themselves in matches against West Indies, India and Pakistan — those teams weren’t white, you see — Amla had to find ways to survive and prosper in entirely foreign conditions. He did, handsomely.

Most importantly, his calm and decency educated his compatriots on the pricelessness of diversity. Not for him the damaging shrieking that has, sadly, become the sound of the race debate.

Amla retired last year as loved as he is respected: no mean feat in an ever more divided society. Richards has become emblematic of a generation of embittered white dinosaurs whose social media feeds offer succour to Covid-19 denialists and white genocide conspiracy theorists.

How, then, did DHS choose to elevate a figure from South Africa’s horrific past instead of an impeccable symbol of hope for a better future? “The boys who play cricket at the school know Barry Richards,” Steven la Marque, DHS’ head of marketing, told Cricbuzz. “He’s a hero in this place. And he supports the school. He was here last year to support the golf day, and again this year. He’s such a good DHS man who sets incredibly high values. He was an obvious choice.”

DHS is now racially integrated. Would harking back to a dishonourable and dishonoured past not send the wrong message? “To some people it will, and to other people it won’t,” La Marque said. “DHS has embraced the new South Africa. We’re very proud of it and quite vocal about it. We’re promoting the rainbow nation.

“Hashim Amla is a scholar and a gentleman. He has incredibly high values and is a very humble guy. But, at an institution like ours, it’s about legacy. ‘Hash’ is still young but his turn will come, make no mistake. He’s also had a huge impact on the boys at the school.”

DHS has also turned out cricketers of the stature of Hugh Tayfield, Trevor Goddard and Lance Klusener, along with a world-renowned palaeoanthropologist in Phillip Tobias, a Nobel chemistry prize winner, Aaron Klug, and Fernando Pessoa, a global giant of 20th century literature. Et al: a couple of judges here, a few Rhodes scholars there, a splatter of notable journalists here and there. They are all, like Richards, white.

And then there’s Amla. Peerless, in every way.

First published by Cricbuzz.

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And they’re back: Boucher, Kallis all grown up

“Dean Elgar won’t come out batting right-handed, or anything like that.” – Jacques Kallis assures South Africans that not everything about cricket has changed.

TELFORD VICE in Cape Town

MARK Boucher and Jacques Kallis. For all but 19 of the 156 men’s Tests South Africa played from October 1997 to March 2012, there was no separating them: behind the stumps, Boucher; at second slip, Kallis. They batted together 33 times and shared 1,157 runs, among them two century stands. They felt South Africa’s pain together at the 1999, 2003 and 2007 editions of the World Cup.

Where one went the other was sure to follow, on and off the field. Sometimes they seemed to be two halves of the same person. Boucher had enough brashness for the both of them. Kallis’ sheer stature seemed to add a foot to Boucher’s height. Boucher did almost all of the talking, Kallis almost all of the listening. At least, that’s how it looked from outside their bubble.

The partnership was broken, on the field, at Taunton on July 9, 2012, when a bail tumbled into Boucher’s left eye, ending his playing career. Off the field, the bond was seamless. They lived close to each other. They produced a brand of wine together. They were bestmen at each other’s weddings.

And, as of Wednesday, they are back in South Africa’s dressingroom. Boucher’s appointment as coach and Kallis’ acquisition, for the summer, as the batting consultant are the biggest pieces in the puzzle Graeme Smith is trying to solve since his own enlistment as acting director of cricket last Saturday. With those three giants has come some of the belief that has been seeping out of South Africa’s cause since Smith’s retirement in March 2014. Add Charl Langeveldt as the bowling consultant — he has had a previous and successful coaching stint with the team — and there are reasons to be cheerful that rise above even Cricket South Africa’s (CSA) shambolic administration.

Or are there? The jury in the court of public opinion would seem to be out. In captioning a photograph of Boucher, Kallis and Langeveldt on social media, Boeta Dippenaar connected the dots to the ills of South Africa’s wider society: “Are these gentlemen the answer to CSA’s problems? The short answer is no. Why? Because years of neglect got us to where we are today. A systematic breakdown of structures is the root cause. It’s politics, it’s about ‘me’ and not the game. CSA is a reflection of what we see happening at SOE’s [state owned enterprises] and most local municipalities. The appointment of the three gentlemen represents a small step in the right direction. That brought Vince van der Bijl into the conversation: “African proverb … How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. We have started the meal.” Soon Barry Richards was at it: “Cricket sense from a cricketer. Right direction of course. But the elephant is still in the room.”

The elephant is CSA and its gift for losing money and stumbling down dark alleys in governance terms. At board level, that is — the appointment of the respected Jacques Faul as acting chief executive, to replace Thabang Moroe, who has been suspended, elicited almost audible sighs of relief. Moroe’s removal was required to get Smith aboard, and here we are a week later with a newly minted coaching staff and rather more than we previously had of the precious metal Dippenaar referenced to end his post: “#hope”. But there are no honeymoons after shotgun marriages, and South Africa’s new regime will hit the ground running in a Test series against England that starts at Centurion on Thursday.

“Two weeks ago I thought I was going to be in St Francis [a resort on South Africa’s east coast] over Christmas, maybe take a little trip to Fancourt for some golf,” Boucher told reporters in Centurion on Friday, where South Africa’s camp was in full swing with him directing operations. “Things have changed …” Things like the people in top jobs: “I had faith that the guys who had been put in those leadership positions would be able to take care of certain things and I would be able to focus on this job and try to take this group of players forward.”

Something else that would seem to have changed is that Kallis isn’t letting Boucher do all of the talking anymore: “Jacques mentioned in the changeroom the other day about preparing for an exam. If you go into an exam and you don’t feel prepared, you are not going to have the confidence. That’s what we are trying to do — get the guys’ confidence back and make sure we have ticked every box possible, so that when they do get into the Test match they feel they are ready.”

While Boucher is calculating and canny, Kallis is as close to instinct on legs as it is possible to be for someone steeped in the complexities of cricket. He thinks, but he doesn’t let thought get in the way of action. “I’m just trying to get to know the individuals,” Kallis said. “‘Bouch’ and Enoch [Nkwe, the assistant coach] have worked with a lot of the guys so they know them pretty well. I’m trying to get a relationship with the players and see how they are thinking and trying to give them game plans. I’m not a big one for changing too many things. Dean Elgar won’t come out batting right-handed, or anything like that. I’m just trying to give the guys options and ideas and make them realise you can’t bat the same way every time you walk out to bat. You have to adapt your game. I’m trying to get them to know their game plan a lot better so they can try and adapt while they are batting. It’s not the spoonfeeding of coaching; it’s trying to educate them so they can educate themselves while they are out in the middle. It’s a lot of off-the-field stuff, the mind stuff, along with the technical stuff.”

Kallis has come a long way since his playing days, when you could look into his eyes and see not a flicker of life if he wasn’t interested in what was going on around him. Boucher, too, has become a proper human being compared to the time when his primary ambition was to, he used to say, “walk onto the field as if you own the place”. Losing half his sight may have helped make him see things more accurately, or at least in a light favourable for more positive, less competitive interaction with his world. “I’ve learnt a lot of lessons along the way,” Boucher said. “I learnt that my way is not always the right way. There were times in my career where I used to go out there and be quite aggressive and try and impose myself on teammates. This is what I have learnt on diversity within a set-up. Sometimes you won’t get the best out of the players if you are trying to get them to be like you. My biggest lesson is to let people be who they are and let them be natural. I played at my best when I was natural but my natural wasn’t the same as AB’s [De Villiers] natural or Jacques’ natural. That’s a big lesson I have learnt with regards to leading individuals. Whenever I make a decision, I ask myself, ‘Is it a good cricketing decision?’. And if I can answer yes, then I go with it and I tap into other knowledge in the dressingroom to back that up. And then we go full steam ahead with that. The last thing you want to do is second-guess yourself.”

Some things don’t change. Boucher is still a hard bastard. Kallis is still a colossus who owns any room he steps into. Other things do change: they’ve learnt how to be themselves better. For the rest of us, that’s called growing up. For people like Boucher and Kallis, who aren’t allowed the time and space to mature naturally, it’s called success. If they can get that into their charges’ heads, nothing will stop South Africa.

First published by Cricbuzz.

Leading Edge: Canned interview missed chance to talk about more than cricket

You have to wonder when the lightbulb went on and it was realised that Mark Nicholas interviewing Barry Richards, Graeme Pollock and Mike Procter was a dumb idea.

Sunday Times

TELFORD VICE in London

LET’S put three of the whitest white players in the history of whitehood on screen together and have them interviewed by an even whiter player.

It’ll be perfectly fine, as long as no-one mentions the unbearable whiteness of all that being beamed to an audience in a country that is 91.14% black and 100% unequal in every sense that matters.

They’ll talk about the cricket, the whole cricket and nothing but the cricket. That means they won’t talk about the real world they came from that put them on pedestals from which they peer still. They deserve to — they were part of the best team in the game, even though they didn’t play against half the other teams in the game. Because those teams were, you know, black.

They won’t talk about how much they didn’t do to use the privilege they were born into and the position that happy accident helped them attain to fight for a fairer world, and certainly not about how they have no concept of the fact that as long as one of us isn’t free then none of us is free.

Besides, they did their bit when they walked off at Newlands in 1971. They even went to the trouble of writing a statement, which was read out: “We fully support the South African Cricket Association’s application to invite non-whites to tour Australia, if they are good enough; and further subscribe to merit being the only criterion on the cricket field.” Because they know all about being good enough. And about merit. And about how to deploy a semi-colon.

It took a few minutes, and then they went back to what they had always done and would do for years afterwards: play cricket as if their abnormal society was normal. As long as they were able to do that, wherever they wanted to, all was right with the world.

Not a lot has changed. As long as they have the right to talk cricket — only cricket, and only on their terms — everything will be alright. How could anyone possibly object …

You have to wonder when the lightbulb went on at SuperSport and it was realised that having Mark Nicholas interview Barry Richards, Graeme Pollock and Mike Procter during lunch on the second day of the third test against Pakistan at the Wanderers was a dumb idea.

Who turned on the lightbulb? Not Cricket South Africa (CSA), apparently, who said: “All breaks belong to the broadcaster including decisions on what to show during those breaks. There has never been any interference from our side and definitely not on this one.”

Besides, anyone who thinks CSA and SuperSport are on cosy terms in the wake of their messy divergence about the rights for what became, by hook or by crook, the Mzansi Super League probably also thinks the team that called itself “South Africa” in 1970 was the best in the world. 

Who’s idea was the interview? Nicholas’, apparently, who it seems floated it with the three proposed subjects before he spoke to SuperSport’s production staff, who favoured a recorded insert — which was canned after Richards vented on social media.

SuperSport are excellent at putting sport on television. But, as with all rightsholders, journalism is bad for their business.

Thus an opportunity was missed. Richards is as sharp, articulate and willing to engage as he is strident. Procter proved his down-to-earth openmindedness when he was a selector. Pollock is out of touch these days, but he’s still Pollock.

Their voices are valuable and they should be part of the conversation. They should have been put up there, live and in living whiteness. And asked about everything.

Including the cricket? Maybe, but only after the important stuff.