CRICKET
Quickening the Pace o facts are most apparent about the present cricket sc.:son: the first is that the pace of county matches has i•ibly quickened ; the second that the West Indies, though they have now shown their teeth, will be a taxed team before the end of August. If the rest of the summer is wet, they mil be dispirited ; if fine, their bowlers will have weary feet. Though they took heart against the powerful Middle- sex, their keenest supporter could not rank them among the classic visiting sides.
The speeding of the pulse is general. It ranges from York- shire to Kent, indeed a match between those counties pro- vided a striking example : quick fall of wickets, bowlers exultant, and a definite result. Yorkshire supremacy generally shows itself as firm in these sharp encounters as in the stone- %% ailing games which are now less evident: indeed the dullest cricket seems to come most often from the weaker counties which cluster, year by year, at the bottom of the table, wait- ing for a strong-minded committee to shake them into the Second class.
Such a course, which has had annual if ineffectual advo- cates, would have one excellent effect: it would reduce the number of matches played. Perhaps the most self-evident fact about county cricket is that there are too many games played per spectator, particularly among those which occur on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday in each week, when far the larger number of people (like the cricketers them- selves) are at work. The more important counties, with a wealth of reserves, suffer less than their weaker rivals, but the programme falls hardest on a touring side with limited talent and resources.
O'Reilly's complaint of being overworked last summer has rumbled across the world. However solid may be his case, and there are those who have produced figures which make it seem querulous, men such as Constantine, Martindale, Hylton, Cameron—stalwarts of the West Indian attack—will without question feel as great a strain. Nor can there be the least doubt that long before the three Tests are played out, they will sigh for a winter's rest beneath their azure skies.
All such strains could be avoided with skilful management, or so one would have thought, and with a touch of hardness of heart where disappointing a particular locality is con- cerned. The result should be increased gates for fewer fixtures, and the players near the top of their form throughout the season. As with so many affairs in this imperfect world, finance is, of course, at the root of the present system ; but revolutions have been made in finance before now, with good effect upon the universe at large.
The greater figures of the day remain in splendid form, the fruit perhaps of a long and early spell of sun: Hammond, Hutton, Gimblett, Compton, Leyland and others, not forgetting Sutcliffe—all are doing as they should. It is a particular pleasure to see Sutcliffe, in the middle forties, assuming the dignity of veteranhood, with its tradition, in cricket, of strength. It may be disputed that he is the oldest regular player in the game, but none will deny that he is the most effective, even as he is the most illustrious, of those who played in the later Hobbs era.
There is much in cricketers' names. When a bowler has got rid of Sutcliffe and Hutton, what a catalogue he has to face: Barber, Mitchell, Leyland, Turner, Sellers, Smailes, Wood—thick, no-nonsense names smacking of the champion- ship. Many stem overs will he reel off before the day is done. Or take Kent's passion for brevity: Fagg, Todd, Ames, Watt, Lewis, Chalk, Knott, Dovey, here is clearly a side of neat,
crisp strokes. Sussex delights in rural assonance : Cornford, Oakes, Holmes, Parks, Bartlett, Nye, Langridge (James and John), while the Papal Derbyshire (A. V. and G. H.), with the resounding core of Worthington, Townsend, Alderman, Copson, proclaims itself a county of a High Peak. A melodious England team could be picked simply by name. Crusted old stagers—or " old woods," as they should perhaps be called —will say that sillier methods have been tried before now.
England's Test teams will not be picked by euphony, and it will be discreditable if within the compass of four days they cannot unloose an attack to rout our nimble guests. But why does Hammond, like his brother-captain, the South African Melville, himself bowl no more? OLIVER WARNER.
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