Trevor Bailey has gone on record as saying, ‘Botham is our most spectacular, dynamic and suecessful allrounder in Test cricket this century. His only serious rival is the immortal W. G. Grace from the previous one.’
Hooking Imran Khan, Fourth Test, England v Pakistan, Edgbaston, July 1987. If you are going to hit the ball, hit it hard.
What a double billing that makes – ‘Grace & Botham’ – or should I insist on alphabetical order!
I have often been criticized for attacking too much with the ball, but the plain truth is that I have always been prepared to gamble a few runs away for a wicket, whereas some bowlers simply do not have that attacking streak in their make-up. For instance, Mike Hendrick was a fine bowler, with all the attributes of line and length, stemming from a lovely high, sideways action. Yet in 23 Tests for England he never took five wickets in an innings.
My bowling is always aimed at taking wickets, and I am always prepared to try a slower ball, or a bouncer. As well, of course, as using the width of the return crease to increase the batsman’s problems with a different angle of delivery.
There are so many variations for a seam bowler to try, and he should never settle for containment, even on a flat pitch. That is, unless the state of the game calls for a ‘mean spell’.
With the bat, when I attack – which is most of the time – I reckon the safest way is to play and hit straight. My margin of error is greater because every time a batsman plays with a crooked bat, he is reducing his area of contact with the ball.
Again Trevor Bailey was kind enough to comment: ‘In my career, I encountered very few hitters, and nobody in the same class as Ian Botham. His straight back stroke, whether used for defence or offence, is mainly with the full face, while his feet are in the correct position and his downswing from the top of the full backs wing is copybook.’
I also remember Alan Smith, the England manager of the 1981 tour of the West Indies which I captained, telling me that I could play as straight as anyone in the game, and that was my real strength.
Before I move on to the detail of technique, let me summarize my attitude, which I have had through every level of cricket I have played: I only want to win, and am prepared to gamble when others are not. Sometimes it comes off and my side wins a match from nowhere, and then I’m a hero in the public’s eye. But sometimes, my side loses a match we might have drawn, and then I get plenty of stick. I only want to win and hate losing. Coming second is nothing; but you have to lose sometime, and then comes the next test of character.
Some dressing rooms become morgues, and I cannot understand that – not if everyone has done his best. I try to use defeat as a spur for the next game. My motto is to have a drink with the enemy and get on with life. I always wanted to be a winner. That is why my approach is based on an unshakable confidence in my own ability never to back off, and always to attack when there is the slightest chance of affecting the course of a match.
Even as a kid, I would not compromise my approach, and because I have never accepted the idea of defeat, we pulled through.
It sounds so obvious to say ‘never give up’, but so often the temptation is overwhelming to accept the cards dealt you. Resist it always, and you will be amazed at how much more you will enjoy the game.
BOTHAM ON THE ATTACK
A fair example of that is one of my first games in 1974 in the Benson and Hedges quarter-final on June 12th at Taunton against Hampshire.
‘What a glorious twelfth it turned out to be, even though it cost me a few broken teeth from an Andy Roberts bouncer. Needing 183, we were 113 for 8, with Roberts still to bowl seven overs.
‘The game was gone – nearly. I notched a 45 not out, we won the game, and the lesson is there for all to see.’
THE GRIP
The most important part of batting is for a batsman to find out for himself the most comfortable way of holding the bat and standing at the crease. Grip, stance and back-lift are the key to everything, and if they are not mastered, the rest of batting becomes more and more difficult.
There are one or two golden rules, but not half as many as the average coaches say. If they were right then everyone would hold the bat and stand at the crease in exactly the same way.
But they don’t – just think for instance of the different stances of Peter Willey and Graham Gooch. Or Viv Richards and me, Mike Gatting and Allan Lamb, and so on. They have all worked out what suits them best, but although there are huge differences, certain basic details are common, and it is these I want to explain.
The orthodox grip should always have both hands together on the handle. Any photographs of me batting, whether hitting the ball hard and high or, much more rarely, playing defensively, invariably show how close together both hands are.
Ideally they should not be either at the very top or bottom of the handle, but if that makes you feel more comfortable, then don’t be put off by a coach telling you to move them up or down.
If they stay together, there is a much better chance of them working together under the guiding control of the top hand, rather than letting the bottom hand take over.
Obviously the higher up the handle the hands are, the wider the arc that is created for the bat to swing through, and some batsmen move to the top later in an innings, when they are trying to accelerate.
Even if the hands are at the very bottom of the handle, although some power might be lost, there is a compensatory increase in control because the bat has effectively shortened. This is what golfers do when they sometimes ‘choke down’ on a particular club to tighten up control. Sticking with golf, the driver is the most difficult club in the bag to control, because it is the longest club; so always remember that the nearer the top the hands are, the greater will be the power factor – but at the expense of a little bit of control.
So don’t hold it at the top, just because your particular hero does. I am pretty near the top – not quite all the way – simply because from the time I developed my first and only grip, that is what suited me best, and nobody tried to change me.
Once Ken Hibbert found out I naturally got hold of the bat in a reasonably correct way, he left me alone; so as soon as a batsman finds out by trial and error what suits him best, he must stay with it.
Of course, some good players do have their hands apart, but as with any successful orthodoxy, the batsman concerned succeeds in spite of, and not because of, any particular quirk.
Derek Randall comes to mind. He built a fine career with a grip based on his hands being further apart than any other top player I can remember. It helped his great strength of cutting, because that stroke is entirely governed and controlled by the bottom hand. But he could still drive with the best of them because he had the ability to relax the bottom hand and let the top hand take over when he attacked on the front foot.
Derek is a good example of how slavishly