SPORTING ASPECTS
Pity the Poor Player
By BERNARD DARWIN 66'D never have missed that catch," vociferated our old village slow bowler, "no, that I wouldn't." There was a Test match in progress in Australia, and some luckless I Englishman had missed a catch on which the fate of Empire depended. Here was our remorseless critic, whose experience did not go beyond the bowling of singularly innocuous donkey drops on a village green, perfectly confident that had he been transported to Sydney or Melbourne, a lone speck on a vast ground under the hostile eyes of thousands, he would infallibly have held the catch. Rather, perhaps, since he did not speak of himself as a hero, but as a plain man doing an obvious duty, he would not have been guilty of the criminal folly of dropping it.
This is too often the frame of mind of the spectator, whether on, the actual field of battle or on paper. Lookers-on are pro- verbially said to see most of the game, but they see it with unclear and ignorant eyes. This belief, that we should not have missed it, is one from which none of us is immune; but I think that those who have been out there in the middle, even in a comparatively humble capacity, take a more merciful view of error than those who have never been inside the ropes. There is a story of a young gentleman of Queen's at Oxford who, having achieved a first in his school, was celebrating it on the top of the cupola which is so well known a feature of the High Street. Enter to him the head of his college who indig- nantly bids him refrain from such scandalous conduct. The young man looks pityingly down on him and replies : "You don't know what it feels like. You only got a second." Many of those who watch games have no notion what it feels like. Wherefore I prefer, if possible, to read someone who has himself fought not without a little glory. He makes the kindlier allowances.
I remember once to have been talking to that delightful person and mighty athlete of a past epoch, high jumper, quarter- miler and football player, the late Mr. R. H. Macaulay. The conversation turned on Cobden's over and the immortal hat- trick that had won the match for Cambridge. Somebody, doubtless an Oxford man, alleged that Cobden's last two balls had been half-volleys. Mr. Macaulay refused to be impressed. After all, he said, it was no small thing at such a moment to be able to bowl two straight balls. There spoke one who knew what it felt like.
At most games the spectator is some distance away from the player. At golf, which I know best, he is close to him; he can see exactly what was demanded of him and what he has failed to do. Even so, putts have a habit of growing foreshortened, and that which is pityingly or scornfully described as a two- foot putt is more often than not a good, long yard.
We are apt to be more censorious about other strokes than putts. There was an old friend, now dead, one of whose alleged phrases was, and is, regularly quoted by his colleagues of the Press.' "He had only,' thus it ran, "to lay the simplest of brassie shots upon the green, but alas! " And then followed an account of the particular crime through which the match had been lost. Only to stand still, only to keep the eye on the ball, only to swing quietly, only to forget the crowd and the issues involved—that is all, but it is not so easy as it sounds.
"The little less, and what worlds away ! "
I am not sure which is the worse, only a simple brassie shot or only a short putt. Once upon a time a missed, putt used to be attributed by the reporter to carelessness. Carelessness- 0, heavens ! when it was palpable that the poor wretch was so frightened that the club shook in his grip. We know better than that today, but perhaps with greater knowledge some- thing of the quality of mercy.has departed. " Ah, all, stupid—Now, butter-fingers—Muff—Humbug." Such were the ejaculations of Mr. Jingle at the cricket match at Muggleton, and they are said to have established him as a judge of the game, but for my part I believe his match against Sir Thomas Blazo was apocryphal, and he had never played cricket in his life. The less we know about a game the more, I sometimes think, we incline to be tog critical or, at any rate, critical on the wrong points. I am very fond of watching Rugby football, but since I never played it, I see it entirely with a spectator's eyes. fhe forwards may commit all manner of crimes and I am too ignorant to detect them. On the other hand, when a poor fellow prematurely lifts his head and misses a goal kick from exactly in front of the posts, I am disposed unless I take myself in hand, to be much too fierce. It is like the short putt, it does look so easy; but with a greasy ball, the fate of the day depending on it, and an array of ruffians waiting to rush at him, his must be an odious ordeal. I only once played any kind of football before a crowd, at Eton upon St. Andrew's Day. I had one single kick, with a teed ball, and I half-topped and hooked it. That ought to have taught me a little Christian charity.
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