Part 17 (1/2)

”In theory, yes; but he has to satisfy the crowd. It is the crowd's 'reasonable right' to be satisfied; and by virtue of it the crowd becomes the final judge. It allows the captain to decide, but will barrack him if displeased with his decision. Moreover, you have given me examples to ill.u.s.trate this 'reasonable right,' but you have not defined it.

Now I want to know precisely how far it extends, and where it ceases.

Does Ranjitsinhji provide this definition?”

”No,” said I; ”I cannot find that he does.”

”To be sure he does not; and for the simple reason that these claims on the side of the public are growing year by year. Already no one can say how much they cover, and a.s.suredly no one can say where they are likely to stop. You observe that our author includes even University matches under the head of exhibition cricket, in which obligations towards the spectators have to be taken into account. You remember the scene at Lord's in 1893 when Wells purposely bowled no-b.a.l.l.s; and again in 1896 when s.h.i.+ne bowled two no-b.a.l.l.s to the boundary and then a ball which went for four byes, the object in each case being to deprive Oxford of the follow-on. This policy was hotly discussed; and luckily the discussion spent itself on the question whether play could be at the same time within the laws and clean contrary to the ethics of cricket. But there was also a deal of talk about what was 'due to the public'; talk which would have been altogether wide of the mark in the old days, when Oxford and Cambridge met to play a mere friendly match and the result concerned them alone.”

”And is this,” I asked, ”the sum of your indictment?”

”Yes, I think that is all. And surely it is enough.”

”Then, as I make out, your chief objections to spectacular cricket are two. You hold that it gives vast numbers of people a false idea that they are joining in a sport when in truth they are doing no more than look on.

And you contend that as the whole inst.i.tution resolves itself more and more into a paid exhibition, the spectators will tend more and more to direct the development of the game; whereas cricket in your opinion should be uninfluenced by those who are outside the ropes?”

”That is my case.”

”And I think, my dear Verinder, it is a strong one. But there is just one little point which you do not appear to have considered. And I was coming to it just now--or rather Prince Ranjitsinhji was coming to it--when you interrupted us. 'From a purely cricket point of view,' he was saying, 'not much can be said against exhibition cricket.' And in the next sentence he goes on: 'At any rate it promotes skill in the game and keeps up the standard of excellence.'”

”To be sure it does that.”

”And cricket is played by the best players to-day with more skill than it was by the best players of twenty or forty years ago?”

”Yes, I believe that; in spite of all we hear about the great Alfred Mynn and other bygone heroes.”

”Come then,” said I, ”tell me, Is Cricket an art?”

”Decidedly it is.”

”Then Cricket, like other arts, should aim at perfection?”

”I suppose so.”

”And that will be the highest aim of Cricket--its own perfection? And its true lovers should welcome whatever helps to make it perfect?”

”I see what you are driving at,” said he. ”But Cricket is a social art, and must be judged by the good it does to boys and men. You, I perceive, make it an art-in-itself, and would treat it as the gardeners treat a fine chrysanthemum, nipping off a hundred buds to feed and develop a single perfect bloom.”

”True: we must consider it also as a social art. But, my dear fellow, are you not exaggerating the destruction necessary to produce the perfect bloom? You talk of the crowd at Lord's or the Oval as if all these thousands were diverted from honest practice of the game to the ign.o.ble occupation of looking on; whereas two out of three of them, were this spectacle not provided, would far more likely be attending a horse-race, or betting in clubs and public-houses. The bricklayer, the stockbroker, the archdeacon, by going to see Lockwood bowl, depopulate no village green. You judge these persons by yourself, and tell yourself reproachfully that but for this attraction _you_, John Verinder, would be creditably perspiring at a practice-net in Tooting or Dulwich; whereas, the truth is--”

”Why are you hesitating?”

”Because it is not a very pleasant thing to say. But the truth is, your heart and your conscience in this matter of athletics are a little younger than your body.”

”You mean that I am getting on for middle age.”

”I mean that, though you talk of it, you will never subscribe to that suburban club. You will marry; you will be made a judge: you will attend cricket matches, and watch from the pavilion while your son takes block for his first score against the M.C.C.

”And when with envy Time transported, Shall think to rob us of our joys, I, with my girls (if I ever have any), will sit on the top of a drag (if I ever acquire one) and teach them at what to applaud, While you go a-batting with your boys.”

Verinder pulled a wry face, and the Boy smacked him on the back and exhorted him to ”buck up.”

”And the round world will go on as before, and the sun will patrol Her Majesty's dominions, and still where the Union Jack floats he will pa.s.s the wickets pitched and white-flannelled Britons playing for all they are worth, while men of subject races keep the score-sheet. And still when he arrives at this island he will look down on green closes and approve what we all allow to be one of the most absolutely gracious sights on earth-- the ordered and moving regiments of schoolboys at cricket. Grayson, reach round to that shelf against which your chair is tilted; take down poor Lefroy's poems, and read us that sonnet of his, 'The Bowler.'”