British prime minister John Major led a host of international sports stars and the media around township sports facilities, writes Paul Martin
WITH Wednesday’s rival attractions conveniently divided by that compulsory cricket tradition, the lunch-break, cognoscenti had the mouth-watering prospect of admiring the 12 or so balls Brian Lara stroked in the Soweto nets after a warm-up comedy double-act put on by John Major and Steve Tshwete in Alexandra.
The bulk of the world’s television predictably voted with their feet, elbows, arms, and shoves, to dog the British Prime Minister’s every step, skip and forward-defensive prod, rather than the sublime subtlety of the world’s greatest batsman.
So obtrusive were the television lenses that on his first whistle-stop, Major, England fly-half Rob Andrew, and some bemused youths, were confined to tossing their yellow rugby ball in a tiny circle smaller than that on a soccer pitch.
A semblance of order was restored for the soccer, where a regular visitor, the balding but fit-as-a- fiddle-looking England World Cup hero of 1966, Bobby Charlton, spoke wisely of the way sport can galvanise township life. “What else have these kids to play with except a football? What else can enrich their lives in these awful conditions?” he asked in almost Tshwetean terminology.
Throughout it all, the gorgeous ebony-skinned Judy Simpson was instructing battle-hardened Alexandran youth with a new weapon of war, the javelin. “These things kill,” she warned, as the imperilled sprawling tide around the star visitor spilled inexorably towards her pupils.
“Nothing you see or hear on television,” she noted, “prepared me for what I saw yesterday in Cape Town at Khayelitsha. I’ll be recommending British Sports Council funding for facilities right now. There are some areas of deprivation in Britiain but nothing that compares with this.”
Then came the cricket. The ubiquitous Baker’s boys and their photogenic mini-games preceded a net- opening.
Once he had cut the ribbon there was no stopping the Prime Ministerial zeal. Padless and presumably boxless, he took his stand against all-comers. His Wessels-like front-foot jabs received, upon enquiry, paeons of praise from Sir Colin Cowdrey, the International Cricket Council president when South Africa got the nod to play in the 1992 World Cup.
As a pacy-looking fellow started his run, Major strode forward demanding a sight-screen. “Put it halfway down the pitch, between me and him!” he quipped. Retired, despite one snick (“past slip for four,” declared Cowdrey), undefeated.
Next batsman: Steve Tshwete. Bowled Major, 0 (first ball), was the result. And what a ball! Describing it as a vicious in-swinger, Sir Colin joked: “I bet there’ll be a new Sports Minister tomorrow!”
Unabashed, for he is a rugby player, Tshwete later told the Weekly Mail & Guardian how thrilled he had been at Mr Major’s emphasis on sport during his speech to Parliament on Tuesday. “Those parliamentarians are stupid when it comes to realising what sport can do for South Africa,” he opined. “That’s why I have such a miniscule budget.”
The afternoon session in Soweto, featured an elegant Weast Indian genius with some more Baker’s babes, the rapacious press held back this time by a long yellow tape. Lara blared by loud-speaker: “When you’re young, most of all enjoy the game” and tickled his first ball for a fine four. “Now I’ve bowled to the world’s greatest bastman,” enthused the young bowler, “I’ll always have the confidence to bowl at anyone. And I’ll get Lara out next time!”
An uneseemly scrum of autograph-hunting youths caused Lara to rush for his car, but ensconced safely behind a cold-drink at his Sandton hotel, the Carribbean prodigy was still thrilled by his contribution to the new South Africa. “It’s nice to be a role-model for these kids. They seemed to feel free to do as they like. Just as the flare that West Indians play cricket with had to do with their freedom from the plantation-owners.”
At senior level, he added, “What South Africa has acheived in international cricket is unbelievable. A tremendous team that can only imporve, especially with township cricket coming through.”
His fame since his two world record scores this year (375 in a Test and 501 not out in a First- Class match) had, he told me, “been very difficult, but I’m trying to cope with it: the public expectation, the media ready to latch on to anything negative. I know it’s a lot of responsibility and pressure, but
I prefer that to being ignored.”
Lara clings to old values, like loyalty to his old friends in Trinidad, while being wary of would-be fair-weather accolytes. A deeply religious man who remains a Catholic despite his mother’s best efforts to convert him to Seventh-Day Adventism, he still finds her a comforting “saftey”, and his father, who died five years back before his Test career, a source of “inspiration to keep going. “
What more is the to keep going for? “A couple of hundreds every Test series for ten years means consistency like Viv Richards. That makes a batsman great. Records are far less important. I want to be remembered not just as a cricketer, but as a simple, friendly, respected all-round person, mixing with all classes.”
Thanks to his agent, Lara’s services do not come cheap. A week’s coaching, with a day at his Warwickshire colleague Allan Donald’s Benefit in Bloemfontein, reputedly cost Baker’s 20,000 pounds, additional to their existing mini-cricket budget. But it was worth it, said UCB President Krish Mackerdhuj, for the “inspiration” vitally needed in the township programme and as a way forward in the new South Africa.
British prime minister John Major led a host of international sports stars and the media around township sports facilities, writes Paul Martin
WITH Wednesday’s rival attractions conveniently divided by that compulsory cricket tradition, the lunch-break, cognoscenti had the mouth-watering prospect of admiring the 12 or so balls Brian Lara stroked in the Soweto nets after a warm-up comedy double-act put on by John Major and Steve Tshwete in Alexandra.
The bulk of the world’s television predictably voted with their feet, elbows, arms, and shoves, to dog the British Prime Minister’s every step, skip and forward-defensive prod, rather than the sublime subtlety of the world’s greatest batsman.
So obtrusive were the television lenses that on his first whistle-stop, Major, England fly-half Rob Andrew, and some bemused youths, were confined to tossing their yellow rugby ball in a tiny circle smaller than that on a soccer pitch.
A semblance of order was restored for the soccer, where a regular visitor, the balding but fit-as-a- fiddle-looking England World Cup hero of 1966, Bobby Charlton, spoke wisely of the way sport can galvanise township life. “What else have these kids to play with except a football? What else can enrich their lives in these awful conditions?” he asked in almost Tshwetean terminology.
Throughout it all, the gorgeous ebony-skinned Judy Simpson was instructing battle-hardened Alexandran youth with a new weapon of war, the javelin. “These things kill,” she warned, as the imperilled sprawling tide around the star visitor spilled inexorably towards her pupils.
“Nothing you see or hear on television,” she noted, “prepared me for what I saw yesterday in Cape Town at Khayelitsha. I’ll be recommending British Sports Council funding for facilities right now. There are some areas of deprivation in Britiain but nothing that compares with this.”
Then came the cricket. The ubiquitous Baker’s boys and their photogenic mini-games preceded a net- opening.
Once he had cut the ribbon there was no stopping the Prime Ministerial zeal. Padless and presumably boxless, he took his stand against all-comers. His Wessels-like front-foot jabs received, upon enquiry, paeons of praise from Sir Colin Cowdrey, the International Cricket Council president when South Africa got the nod to play in the 1992 World Cup.
As a pacy-looking fellow started his run, Major strode forward demanding a sight-screen. “Put it halfway down the pitch, between me and him!” he quipped. Retired, despite one snick (“past slip for four,” declared Cowdrey), undefeated.
Next batsman: Steve Tshwete. Bowled Major, 0 (first ball), was the result. And what a ball! Describing it as a vicious in-swinger, Sir Colin joked: “I bet there’ll be a new Sports Minister tomorrow!”
Unabashed, for he is a rugby player, Tshwete later told the Weekly Mail & Guardian how thrilled he had been at Mr Major’s emphasis on sport during his speech to Parliament on Tuesday. “Those parliamentarians are stupid when it comes to realising what sport can do for South Africa,” he opined. “That’s why I have such a miniscule budget.”
The afternoon session in Soweto, featured an elegant Weast Indian genius with some more Baker’s babes, the rapacious press held back this time by a long yellow tape. Lara blared by loud-speaker: “When you’re young, most of all enjoy the game” and tickled his first ball for a fine four. “Now I’ve bowled to the world’s greatest bastman,” enthused the young bowler, “I’ll always have the confidence to bowl at anyone. And I’ll get Lara out next time!”
An uneseemly scrum of autograph-hunting youths caused Lara to rush for his car, but ensconced safely behind a cold-drink at his Sandton hotel, the Carribbean prodigy was still thrilled by his contribution to the new South Africa. “It’s nice to be a role-model for these kids. They seemed to feel free to do as they like. Just as the flare that West Indians play cricket with had to do with their freedom from the plantation-owners.”
At senior level, he added, “What South Africa has acheived in international cricket is unbelievable. A tremendous team that can only imporve, especially with township cricket coming through.”
His fame since his two world record scores this year (375 in a Test and 501 not out in a First- Class match) had, he told me, “been very difficult, but I’m trying to cope with it: the public expectation, the media ready to latch on to anything negative. I know it’s a lot of responsibility and pressure, but I prefer that to being ignored.”
Lara clings to old values, like loyalty to his old friends in Trinidad, while being wary of would-be fair-weather accolytes. A deeply religious man who remains a Catholic despite his mother’s best efforts to convert him to Seventh-Day Adventism, he still finds her a comforting “saftey”, and his father, who died five years back before his Test career, a source of “inspiration to keep going. “
What more is the to keep going for? “A couple of hundreds every Test series for ten years means consistency like Viv Richards. That makes a batsman great. Records are far less important. I want to be remembered not just as a cricketer, but as a simple, friendly, respected all-round person, mixing with all classes.”
Thanks to his agent, Lara’s services do not come cheap. A week’s coaching, with a day at his Warwickshire colleague Allan Donald’s Benefit in Bloemfontein, reputedly cost Baker’s 20,000 pounds, additional to their existing mini-cricket budget. But it was worth it, said UCB President Krish Mackerdhuj, for the “inspiration” vitally needed in the township programme and as a way forward in the new South Africa.