An awkward customer
Derek Pringle
GOOCH by Graham Gooch and Frank Keating Midas, £15.99, pp. 320 hat can there possibly be left to say about a man whose public and, occasional- ly, private life, has been endlessly docu- mented, analysed and then promptly consumed by the masses? Well, quite a lot actually, especially when that man is Essex and England cricketer Graham Gooch. A player whose battling deeds, particularly against the West Indies, helped set a new benchmark for defiance, but whose famous reticence has meant there are still layers under which to peek.
It was in 1978 — the year I joined Essex CCC — that Gooch was told by his county captain Keith Fletcher to go and open the innings. It was to prove a crucial moment in his transformation from middle-order county bludgeoner to Test-class opening batsman, and both his and the county's stock rose rapidly.
Having played with and under Gooch for both county and country, I witnessed this period at close quarters. And, yet, though I admire and like him, I feel that the man and the fuels that drive him, remain largely unknowable. Such is his dedication to cricket and reticence about personal goals, that being with Gooch on a daily basis was like meeting a distant relative on the odd family occasion. Instead of a seamless con- tinuity, there would be awkwardness, as if the relationship had to be built all over again each time from scratch.
Gooch possesses a Calvinist's capacity for self-atonement. Everything he does is conducted as a bargain with himself. His obsessive training and practising — much of it superfluous for such a talented player and central to his falling out with David Gower and others — are done to reassure himself that nothing has been left to chance. As captain of England, he set him- self punishing standards few others could reach. Gooch distrusts shortcuts and hates sloth. Even a fondness for jam doughnuts involves constant trade-offs with three-mile runs.
Like most working-class East Enders (his term not mine), Gooch places total trust in loyalty, particularly to family and close friends and probably doesn't see it as fit or fair to delve too far beyond the remit of his swishing bat. A pity, for it would have made an interesting book even better, and given its stolid subject an extra dimension. Perhaps Frank Keating, a good friend of Gooch's from England's 1981-82 tour of India and his co-author here, didn't try to extract that kind of information.
The device of using twin narratives — Keating's to set scene and context through a variety of newspaper, personal and third- party accounts, followed by Gooch's, whose anecdotes are what the real fan craves works well enough, though I was left want- ing to know more about his obsession with Mammon and the problems of dealing with sudden fame.
Cricket's controversial events, from Gooch's childhood onwards, are all tackled hard but fair as if by his 'Hammers' hero, Bobby Moore. The Packer revolution gave him a better chance and pay- cheque at Test level after his painful debut against Australia in 1975, which had disorientated him and led him into the wilderness. His famous stubbornness over the decision to go on the first Rebel tour to South Africa — a decision he still doesn't regret — is given a lengthy airing, as is his love of Essex and Lord's, the latter the scene of his 333, still a modern marvel despite Brian Lara's later achievements.
The best sporting autobiographies should not only recall the colourful and sombre parts of a life, but help join up the dots too. Gooch is someone distinctly ill at ease with himself and the world. But confronted by that implacable, heavily moustachioed façade, we never really find out why. Only that an ordinary young man with a fond- ness for spam and chips went and picked up a bat and in doing so illuminated his own life and the lives of countless others.
`It did say "Open At Other End"
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