The Ashes has got me falling in love with cricket again

When he retired from cricket, Ed Smith sought some distance from sport and in particular from cricket. But the first Ashes test of 2013 at Trent Bridge has brought him back to his first love - cricket.

Innocence and experience – that should be the subtitle of the near-perfect first Ashes Test match at Nottingham on 10-14 July. Innocence, appropriately, had the first word and left the abiding memories, but experience ultimately settled the issue.

I have long argued that professionalism is more dangerous than it looks. It can confuse instincts, dull enthusiasm, curtail joy, damp - en spirits and derail ability. Professionalism is the attempt to superimpose handed-down expertise on to talent. What about preserving innocence? Like most professional sports men, I was a better player at 19 than at 22. The system, with its clichés and worldweariness, interfered with what I’d always done instinctively. I spent my mid-twenties unlearning bad lessons, trying to restore the child at the centre of my game.

With the performance of Ashton Agar, the 19-year-old Australian who made his Ashes debut at Trent Bridge, I rest my case. For the first two days of the Test, both sides looked edgy and nervous, their performances lacking in spontaneity and play, as though the stage were too important to permit self-expression and naturalness.

By the time Agar walked to the wicket, Australia, trailing behind at 117-9, were almost finished. Agar did not chance his arm, as many tail-enders do. His exquisite 98, the highest-ever score by a No 11 in Test history, was a classical innings full of shots that would have made Brian Lara proud. Asked how he did it, Agar replied that he tries to emulate the way his younger brothers play in the back garden. Everything he did was natural and unburdened. Deprived by a great catch of what would have been the most remarkable debut 100 in history, Agar just smiled broadly and handsomely.

The Test match was too complete to allow innocence to steal the show without reply. Experience, too, played its hand. Australia’s hero on the last day was the 35-year-old wicket-keeper and batsman Brad Haddin, who nearly delivered an astonishing fourthinnings win. Haddin has a crew cut and chews gum. At first glance, the upturned corners of his mouth suggest a permanent smile; only on closer examination do you realise that it is more of a grimace. Just months ago, his international career seemed over. Recalled for his leadership and flinty competitiveness, Haddin provided a masterclass of measured counter-attacking, absorbing pressure from the main threats while ruthlessly exploiting opportunities to score against weak links. Last man out, 14 adrift, Haddin’s bitter disappointment revealed an emotion that cannot be soothed by friendly words: I hope there will be more opportunities to touch greatness; in reality, I suspect it has just slipped through my fingers.

For England, innocence and experience were jumbled together within the central protagonists. Ian Bell, whose 109 set up the win, has had an uneasy relationship with maturity. A child prodigy, Bell has suited precociousness. There is less pressure to perform if you have “potential”; when there is always tomorrow, the demands of today are less absolute. Bell has lurked in the slipstream of his potential, sliding away from responsibilities, always looking new to the stage, even though he has now played 89 Tests. You find yourself thinking, “God, he’ll be good when he grows up,” forgetting that 31-year-olds are fully grown. For much of his career, Bell has looked better than he has performed. In making a restrained, match-defining 109 at Trent Bridge, he performed better than he looked.

James Anderson, whose ten wickets decided the contest, once faced criticisms similar to those levelled at Bell. But Anderson’s trajectory has been more straightforwardly upward; if anything, his reputation has lagged behind reality. This Test cemented a change that happened years ago: the former pretty boy is now a hardened champion.

As a story, the Test match was almost perfect. “Did I care about it? And if I cared about it, what was the quality of my caring?” – that was Philip Larkin’s acid test for literature. The same applies to sport. Watching it is not just about taking sides. Wanting one side to win at all costs, no matter how victory is achieved, is like wanting a novel to end happily even if the protagonists behave out of character. Great sport transcends mere tribal belonging. You can be on both sides of the story at once. Superficially, you know the ending you want. However, at a deeper level, you share something of the opposition’s joy when its success is deserved. In the process, the experience begins to approach the arts. When you feel an openness to the truth of the tale, as well as deep affinity with one side, you know you are watching great sport.

A few years ago, I took part in a BBC Radio 3 debate called “Sport v the Arts”. With a foot in both camps, I intended to avoid predictable advocacy. I was dragged off the fence when the classical scholar Edith Hall said, “There are only two narratives in sport: win or lose. How boring.”

Compare this to how we felt after Trent Bridge. Elation, certainly, but leavened by relief. A hint of regret, too, that we got the ending we wanted at the expense of a story that would have been rarer and more memorable. Sympathy for the players, who can give so much and still end up “losers”, if that is the right term. Thankfulness for the depth of their investment in the occasion. Above all, anticipation, the prospect of the future adding to the intoxication of the present.

When I retired from cricket, I sought some distance from sport and in particular from cricket. Professionally, I joined the Times as a leader writer. As a pure fan, I experienced more wonder and emotion watching tennis.

But something in me changed at Trent Bridge. Perhaps enough time has passed for me to watch with the freedom of the disinterested observer, rather than the mixed feelings of a recent former player. Trent Bridge felt like a renewal – perhaps even like falling in love again.

Ashton Agar of Australia plays defensively during the second day of the first 2013 Ashes test. Photograph: Getty Images

Ed Smith is a journalist and author, most recently of Luck. He is a former professional cricketer and played for both Middlesex and England.

This article first appeared in the 22 July 2013 issue of the New Statesman, How to make a saint

Photo: Getty
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In focusing on the famous few, we risk doing a disservice to all victims of child sexual abuse

There is a danger that we make it harder, not easier, for victims to come forward in future. 

Back in the 1970s when relations between journalists and police were somewhat different to today a simple ritual would be carried out around the country at various times throughout the week.

Reporters, eager for information for their regional newspaper, would take a trip to the local station and there would be met by a desk sergeant who would helpfully skim through details in the crime Incident Book.

Among the entries about petty thefts, burglaries and road accidents there would occasionally be a reference to an allegation of incest. And at this point the sergeant and journalist might well screw-up their faces, shake their heads and swiftly move on to the next log. The subject was basically taboo, seen as something ‘a bit mucky,’ not what was wanted in a family newspaper.

And that’s really the way things stayed until 1986 when ChildLine was set up by Dame Esther Rantzen in the wake of a BBC programme about child abuse. For the first time children felt able to speak out about being sexually assaulted by the very adults whose role in life was to protect them.

And for the first time the picture became clear about what incest really meant in many cases. It wasn’t simply a low level crime to be swept under the carpet in case it scratched people’s sensitivities. It frequently involved children being abused by members of their close family, repeatedly, over many years.

Slowly but surely as the years rolled on the NSPCC continued to press the message about the prevalence of child sexual abuse, while encouraging victims to come forward. During this time the corrosive effects of this most insidious crime have been painfully detailed by many of those whose lives have been derailed by it. And of course the details of the hundreds of opportunistic sexual assaults committed by Jimmy Savile have been indelibly branded onto the nation’s consciousness.

It’s been a long road - particularly for those who were raped or otherwise abused as children and are now well into their later years - to bring society around to accepting that this is not to be treated as a dark secret that we really don’t want to expose to daylight. Many of those who called our helpline during the early days of the Savile investigation had never told anyone about the traumatic events of their childhoods despite the fact they had reached retirement age.

So, having buried the taboo, we seem to be in danger of giving it the kiss of life with the way some cases of alleged abuse are now being perceived.

It’s quite right that all claims of sexual assault should be investigated, tested and, where there is a case, pursued through the judicial system. No one is above the law, whether a ‘celebrity’ or a lord.

But we seem to have lost a sense of perspective when it comes to these crimes with vast resources being allocated to a handful of cases while many thousands of reported incidents are virtually on hold.

The police should never have to apologise for investigating crimes and following leads. However, if allegations are false or cannot be substantiated they should say so. This would be a strength not a weakness.

It is, of course, difficult that in many of the high-profile cases of recent times the identities of those under investigation have not been officially released by the police but have come to light through other means. Yet we have to deal with the world as it is not as we wish it would be and once names are common knowledge the results of the investigations centring on them should be made public.

When it emerges that someone in the public eye is being investigated for non-recent child abuse it obviously stirs the interest of the media whose appetite can be insatiable. This puts pressure on the police who don’t want to repeat the mistakes of the past by allowing offenders to slip through their hands.  And so there is a danger, as has been seen in recent cases, that officers lack confidence in declaring there is a lack of evidence or the allegations are not true. 

The disproportionate weight of media attention given to say, Sir Edward Heath, as opposed to the Bradford grooming gang sentenced this week, shows there is a danger the pendulum is swinging too far the other way. This threatens the painstaking work invested in ensuring the public and our institutions recognise child abuse as a very real danger. 

Whilst high profile cases have helped the cause there is now a real risk that the all-encompassing focus on them does both victims of abuse and those advocating on their behalf a fundamental disservice.

As the public watches high -profile cases collapsing amidst a media fanfare genuine convictions made across the country week in week out go virtually unannounced. If this trend continues they may start to believe that child sexual abuse isn’t the prolific problem we know it to be.

So, while detectives peer into the mists of time, searching for long lost clues, we have to face the unpalatable possibility that offences being committed today will in turn only be investigated fully in years or decades' time because there is not the manpower to deal with them right now.

So, now the Goddard Inquiry is in full swing, taking evidence about allegations of child sex crimes involving ‘well known people’ as well as institutional abuse, how do we ensure we don’t fail today’s victims?

If they start to think their stories are going to be diminished by the continuing furore over how some senior public figures have been treated by the police they will stay silent. Therefore we have to continue to encourage them to come forward, to give them the confidence of knowing they will be listened to.

If we don’t we will find ourselves back in those incestuous days where people conspired to say and do nothing to prevent child abuse.

Peter Wanless is Chief Executive of the NSPCC.