SPECTATOR SPORT
The talent that never was
Simon Barnes
I1 THE first sign of spring is the sound of Chris Lewis mending his ways, the infallible confirmation that summer is finally upon us Comes with the first Chris Lewis disap- pointment. But this, surely, is the last one ever. I shall miss him. Lewis was selected to play in the England one-day squad against South Africa England lost the series 2-1 — and once again proved his ability to drive the cricket- log world insane. He played in the first two Matches and missed the third with a sore hip. There is generally some bit of Lewis that is bewilderingly and untreatably sore. He has the great ability to seize a cricket niatch by the scruff of the neck and then let go. There are many times when he looks !Ike the best cricketer that England has pro- duced in a decade. Then some strange quirk of mind, some commonplace or bizarre mis- fortune, will overtake him. He bowls pace and fire, and then comes back having decid- ed that he is really a wily old pro. He bats like an absolute dream: clean striker, wonderful eye and appetite for strife, like no one else. Then when it really matters, his bat turns into a stick of celery. He is a man who rises to the small occasion. If he tested opposition batsmen the way he tests the patience of those around him, he would be Dennis Lillee come again. There has never been a better athlete in the England side. His run-up, all grace and power, was a marvel to behold. The only thing that spoilt it was the way he let go of the ball at the end of it. Now he has changed to an economy-style, wily-old-pro run-up, still propelling the same mixture of fire and ordure. As a fielder he is a panther, attacking the ball; his swoop and throw on the run are among the most graceful things you will ever see on a cricket field. How many times has he found disaster? Let me count the ways. The most recent was turning up late for a Test match at the Oval. He had a puncture, he said. This was regarded as an excuse out of the same drawer as, 'I did my homework, sir, but the dog ate it,' Lewis was dropped for two years after that. He has changed county constantly. No county, save the latest, ever quite manages to understand him, and even then not for long. Right at the start of his career he was unable to play for England because he was suffering from a migraine. Migraine is a dreadful thing, but it didn't go down at all well. Not tonight, England, I have a headache. Various injuries, notably that nagging hip, have kept him out of vital matches. But perhaps the definitive Chris Lewis story is the affair of the shaven skull. Selected for a tour of the West Indies, he decided to shave his head the day before the first Test. A lot of great black American sportsmen take the shaven-skulled route to instant recognisability, the most famous being Michael Jordan, the pan-galactic basketball star. So Lewis shaved his head and looked the very model of a modern black super- star. Unfortunately, he got sunstroke and was unable to play in the match. And so he has continued, mixing sublime moments with absurdity, a perpetual victim of his own perpetual promise and troubled nature. Lewis has frequently complained that no one understands him, and with rea- son. Much about the man is incomprehen- sible. But also, sport likes simple character- isation and Lewis doesn't fit. Heaven knows there have been enough eccentric, and indeed neurotic, cricketers, for this is a game that tends to prey on the nerves. But there had never been a hypersensi- tive, inwardly troubled black cricketer before. So cricket was at a loss. His mixture of braggadocio and timidity has been seen as an impossible contradiction. Lewis was always destined to become the glorious tal- ent that never was, misunderstood by all and, perhaps most of all, by himself.
Previous page
