Rite of Spring
FRANK KEATING
England's cricketers might have won a ravishing victory in the Caribbean, but back home spring announces itself with humdrum business as usual. Around 10.55 a.m. on Friday, in a dingy little first-floor servants' room at the side of a handsome Victorian pink-brick folly in London's St John's Wood, two arthritic codgers with sunbrown faces of varnished leather caught each other's eye. Merv, the senior, chivvied his apprentice Nigel: 'Got ball and bails, lad? — righty-o, let's get the show on the road.' With a final pat of the bulging pockets of their white coats, the two then trod in leisurely gait down the wide staircase, across the splintery Long Room floor, and through the wicket-gate to ease themselves into their long johns and on to the lush emerald grass of cricket's most famous field, As they did so, a smatter of desultory handclaps broke out from a few hundred pilgrims speckled in ones and twos around the vast empty arena.
At once the two weatherbeaten cronies, Messrs Kitchen and Cowley, were followed gingerly by 13 white-sweatered younger men. At once all took up their appointed stations and after a glance at the faraway clock tower, a bending Kitchen softly intoned 'Play!' and, just like that. MCC were indeed at play with Sussex, the champion county — and another English cricket season was up and running.
No pomp, no hymns nor arias — certainly no photo-op grin and Tony Blair to whizz down the opening onion off his longer run. Can he even bowl overarm? They'd know in America all right. Whambam-razzmattaz, On Tuesday President George W. was floatin* down the first ball at the Cardinals' opener against the Brewers. 'Cos Boy George knows the form all right for Opening Day. Even in election year. Especially in election year. In 94 Aprils, baseball's Opening Day has been attended by 15 presidents on more than 60 occasions, more often than not the Senior Citizen winding himself up to fire the first fizzer. The inaugurator was lazy old Taft on a whim at Washington's National Park in 1910 — 'a faultless delivery with his good trusty right arm and the virgin sphere scudded across the diamond, true as a die to the pitcher's box', whooped the Post next day. Since when Harding, Truman and Kennedy never missed one opening day. Roosevelt pitched up in his wheelchair for seven, Coolidge for four. Ike even skipped golf to be there, as did Clinton; Carter rolled up his sleeves and served up the first humdinger twice. Nixon was even a baseball radio commentator; Reagan never missed the opening honours and the good old ham forever reckoned his most touching Hollywood part was as the legendary Cardinals' pitcher Grover '01' Pete' Alexander in The Winning Team (1952).
Come to think of it, cricket's opening day April ritual was not Sussex v. MCC at Lord's on Friday — our timeless pontifical ceremony in fact had been enacted at the same place two days before, on Wednesday, when the 141st edition of liVisden was launched. Wisden's arrival is England's seignorial and imperishable announcement of summer, and 2004's primrose harbinger, edited with glistening fresh innovation by the returning grandee Matthew Engel, must be the best ever. Old ones, new ones, loved ones, neglected ones .. . at 1,650 pages it is an utter triumph of publishing, right down to the (happily) restored traditional front-cover Ravilious woodcut.
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