Attack leaves bowler fighting for life

Club launch crowdfunder to help cover costs.

Telford Vice | Cape Town

A young South African fast bowler is fighting for his life in the wake of a brutal assault in England on Saturday night. Mondli Khumalo, a former under-19 international, was attacked outside a pub in Bristol — where his club, North Petherton, had been celebrating a win.

Khumalo, 20, is in an induced coma in hospital after suffering significant head injuries. His condition remains serious and his prognosis uncertain. Efforts are being made to bring his mother, who lives in Umlazi in Durban, to his bedside. Police have arrested a 27-year-old on suspicion of causing grievous bodily harm.

At under-19 international level, Durban-born Khumalo played two Tests for South Africa in England in July 2018, and 10 one-day games including four in the 2020 World Cup in South Africa. He has played four first-class matches, a list A game and four T20s for KwaZulu-Natal Inland, where he is on a high-performance contract. 

Khumalo is in England as a professional for North Petherton. He is the club’s leading bowler this season with 15 wickets at an average of 14.93, and has scored 191 runs — among them two half-centuries — in seven innings.

While Khumalo’s medical bills are covered while he is in hospital, he will likely need access to financial resources once he is discharged. To that end, North Petherton have launched a crowdfunding bid.

First published by Cricbuzz.

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Cricket’s ugly old man is a knight, and good men do nothing

“I don’t care a toss about her, love.” – Geoffrey Boycott doesn’t get why people are aghast that he has been honoured despite his conviction for beating up a woman.

TELFORD VICE in London

RAIN, cricket and England. That’s just how things are here in summer. So there was nothing unholy about the trinity gathering over Lord’s last month on what was billed as the first day of the second men’s Ashes Test.

It’s at times like these that commentators earn their money. Without field placings to fuss about, strokes to salivate over, bouncers to babble on, and the drama of dropped catches, what’s going on out of the pressbox window — not a lot besides the groundstaff’s hard work — won’t hold an audience for long.

If the rain keeps coming, broadcasters who aren’t resourced well enough admit defeat and resort to alternative programming.

That doesn’t include Test Match Special (TMS), which has brought cricket to the BBC’s listeners since 1957. Regardless of the weather TMS is on the air and in a class of its own, at least in English.

Nowhere else is cricket presented anywhere near as wonderfully. Television has yet to beam footage as captivating as the spoken word pictures painted by the TMS team.

They’re a touch fuddy-duddy — there’s a poshness about too many of them that doesn’t sit well with those of us who aren’t — it took them far too long to involve women, and they are too accepting of the banality of those who were exponentially better at playing cricket than they are at talking about it.

But TMS is unarguably the best in the business and a blessing the cricketminded among us should count at every opportunity.

As rain soaked Lord’s on August 14, TMS went above and beyond even all that.

Cancer ended, cruelly early, the lives of Ruth Strauss and Jane McGrath. Emma Agnew is also battling the disease, and winning. Strauss and McGrath left behind them four children and two husbands: Andrew Strauss and Glenn McGrath. Agnew’s husband, Jonathan Agnew, is the BBC’s cricket correspondent and the fulcrum around which TMS turns.

Instead of filling the empty airtime with wittering about long ago exploits on faraway fields, or nurdling this way and that through a debate about who should bat at No. 5, or wondering what’s for lunch — all staples of cricket conversation on TMS and elsewhere — the three husbands spoke about their wives. And about cancer.

They talked of bravery and commitment, of love given and received, of the best times of their lives. And the worst.    

They told their stories with openness and honesty, and with an uncommon softness that only added to the strength of what they said.

It’s rare to hear men express themselves with such care and goodness, more so on a prominent mainstream platform and even more so by such unvarnished examples of the species.

They were beautiful, and it rubbed off: unusually, it was uplifting to be a man listening to other men talk about women.

But the bubble has burst.

Geoffrey Boycott is an unpleasant old man. He is possessed of an ego monstrously bigger than anything he ever did as a player, which took him — willingly and profitably — to apartheid South Africa. He is a caricature of someone the world should have left behind by now; an unreconstructed bigot. He has somehow made a second career spouting clichés as profundities. He adds nothing to TMS except a rich Yorkshire accent.

None of which is news. Neither is it a secret that, in 1998, he was found guilty of the vicious assault of his then partner, Margaret Moore, in France. Moore testified that Boycott pinned her to a hotel room floor using his legs and unleashed 20 or more punches into her face, body and limbs. The photographic and medical evidence concurred. Boycott said she had injured herself in a fall.

The judge believed that evidence, as well as Moore and her blackened eyes and swollen face, and convicted Boycott — who appealled. And lost. He was given a suspended sentence of three months and fined £5 000.

It was also unsurprising that, in one of the last failures of her calamitous tenure as the United Kingdom’s prime minister, Theresa May decided to give Boycott a knighthood in her resignation honours list, which was announced on Tuesday.

Adina Claire, the co-acting chief executive of Women’s Aid, said: “Celebrating a man who was convicted for assaulting his partner sends a dangerous message that domestic abuse is not taken seriously as a crime.

“With increasing awareness of domestic abuse, and a domestic abuse bill ready to be taken forward by government, it is extremely disappointing that a knighthood has been recommended for Geoffrey Boycott, who is a convicted perpetrator of domestic abuse.”

Neither did it raise eyebrows that Boycott’s tone turned menacing when he was asked, elsewhere on the BBC, by Today’s Martha Kearney, whether the honour had taken so long to come his way because of his crime.

“I don’t care a toss about her [Claire], love. It was 25 years ago. You can take your political nature and do whatever you want with it. You want to talk to me about my knighthood. It’s very nice of you to have me, but I couldn’t give a toss.

“This is just recognition of my cricket. Very nice, very honoured, thankful to Theresa May, and I thank all the people that supported me and cared for me throughout my cricketing career.”

He claimed, wrongly, that in France “you’re guilty until you’re proved innocent” and listed that as “one of the reasons I [didn’t] vote to remain in Europe”.

So far, so Boycott. The only unanswered question in all that is why the BBC continue to employ him.

And this: what would the good men of TMS — who had at Lord’s used their platform to raise matters vastly more important than cricket — do about Boycott’s unrepentant, outrageous, disgusting answer to fair questions about his criminal past?

The question loomed when Boycott took his spot behind the microphone on the first day of the fifth Test at the Oval on Thursday. Would it be asked, nevermind answered?

That duty fell to Agnew, who greeted Boycott with: “Clanking in in his suit of armour, sword dangling by his side, visor down — I’ve called you ‘Sir Geoffrey’ for so many years, it’s ridiculous — but, Sir Geoffrey Boycott. Congratulations from all of us. Good man.”

Rain, cricket, England. And extreme disappointment.

First published by Times SELECT.

And so to Australia, or Upsidedown Under

Ball-tampering matters more than gun crime there.

Sunday Times

TELFORD VICE in London

EVIL growled at us out of the darkness as we stood on a street corner in Adelaide post-dinner on a Sunday night in November 2016.

The malevolent, rough, fragmented sound of whatever was labouring up the road stabbed the minds of those on the kerb who were old enough with a line from Jethro Tull’s “Aqualung” — “… spitting out pieces of his broken luck” …

Presently the monster emerged into the sallow glow of the streetlights. It was a car; ghostly, dirty white, headlights deadened, all four tyres shredded, metal rims biting bitterly into the tar road — hence the rumble — and oozing at a fraction of the speed it would have been travelling at had all been well.

Clearly, all was not well. We watched in puzzled silence as the car disappeared into the next trough of night’s blackness, and went warily on our way.

The next morning we learnt that the driver had forced a woman and her two-year-old child into the car at gunpoint and driven into the city, bound for the gods knew where.

The alarm was raised and the authorities sprang into action, trying to talk the driver back from the abyss, then casting caltrops into his path to rip into his tyres and give him four noisy reasons tae think again, then descending to his level and resorting to guns and bullets and violence.

The driver was wounded, not lethally, happily, and, even more happily, his terrified passengers were unharmed. Physically, at least.

South Africa’s team, who were in town to play the third test of a series they had already won, had no idea what was going down less than a kilometre from their hotel.

But they knew what would feature more prominently than most stories on the next day’s news agenda: that bloody cheating Faf du Plessis bastard and his ball-tempering.

And so it was. You could have consumed all flavours of truth, untruth, innuendo, exaggeration and just plain lies about what happened in Hobart with South Africa’s then stand-in captain — AB de Villiers was injured — the mint in his mouth, and the ball long before you were informed, briefly, that a woman and a two-year-old had been terrorised on some of the safest streets in the world.

Welcome to Australia, land of such clanging contradictions we should label it Upsidedown Under.

“No matter how much you’ve seen, you haven’t seen anything,” is how Stephen Cook remembers the squad’s senior men trying to explain the challenge of touring Australia to the newbies. “Depending on who the enemy is, it can make it interesting.”

For the Perth and Hobart tests, both won by South Africa, the enemy had been clearly caught in the crosshairs.

“The Aussie press had been hammering their team, but once we won the series the narrative suddenly turned,” Cook said.

Writing in The Australian, Peter Lalor, as civilised and intelligent an Aussie as can be found and a damn fine writer to boot, mainlined the nation’s pulse: “Faf is a man the Australian cricket team loves to hate. In 2014 there were constant asides among the touring Australians about the batsman’s penchant for going shirtless at every opportunity. The batsman is proud of his body and is even said to have had his sleeves taken up to further expose his biceps.”

Cook arrived in Adelaide carrying the cares of having scored only 25 runs in his three previous innings in the rubber: “I was under quite a bit of pressure before that, but people seemed to have forgotten that I hadn’t scored runs for a couple of games.”

With the eyes off him, Cook scored a flinty 40 in the first innings and followed it with 104 in the second dig.

Made of different stuff, Du Plessis delivered a defiant 118 not out in the first innings.

“That was one of the finest innings I’ve seen,” Cook said. “There was a fire in his eyes that made you think, ‘Hold on — maybe this isn’t the best way to try and get at him’.”

Du Plessis and his team are back in Australia for what would, ordinarily, be billed as their most searching test ahead of the 2019 World Cup.

Come through next month’s three ODIs and sole T20 OK and they will earn credit they can spend on planning for the tournament. Come second and the pressure will be on to fix what’s wrong.

But even this apparently unshakeable nugget of cricket orthodoxy has been upended. Australia are enduring their worst year in one-day cricket since they played England in ODI No. 1, which was minted in 1971, the same year as “Aqualung”. They have won only one of their 10 games and are 2018’s most poorly performing team in the format.

Even so, they are still Australia. And South Africa are not at their best, having won just half of their 14 ODIs this year.

A batting line-up that led to more questions being asked than answered in five white-ball games against Zimbabwe this will have to make do without the injured Hashim Amla and JP Duminy.

But, after what happened at Newlands in March, at least the Aussies can’t claim the moral high ground. You would hope.