CMJ

I've written about TMS before. The last occasion was just a couple of weeks ago, in fact.

It's been part of my life for a very, very long time. And, in truth, I've always had a bit of trouble relating to the way in which certain commentators who I haven't liked very much (Johnston back in the old days, Blofeld more recently) have been the popular face of the programme. The slightly self-conscious, often contrived, 'humourous' face. A face I could always take or leave. I always thought others were more deserving of wider recognition

I'm a little young to have really appreciated Arlott, so Christopher Martin-Jenkins was always my favourite commentator. To me there was always something timelessly reassuring and empathetic about his unfeigned humanity, his sincere love for the game and his precise, unfussy diction.

His writing never quite had the verve of his commentary. It tended to be stolid and a little bland, but his book about the 1973-74 England tour of the West Indies, Testing Time, has stood the test of time better than most. Tour books of that type - tours of that type, in fact - have gone out of fashion, but if you want a representative example of the best of the genre (not quite up there with Alan Ross's best work, but pretty damn good) you can do far worse. When he signed a copy for me back in the eighties he described it as his favourite book.

When I was in my teens and CMJ was editor of The Cricketer I sent him something I'd written about Sunil Gavaskar. He replied with a warm, encouraging letter. As the tributes paid today by the likes of Andrew Miller and Lawrence Booth show, this was far from unusual. While his commentary may have brought him wider recognition, it's clear that he regarded himself just as much as a journalist.

Ten or so years later I was on a supporters' tour of South Africa for England's first series there after re-admission. CMJ, together with many other members of the press pack, was at a reception which we attended in Port Elizabeth. My birthday was coming up, and, unknown to me, some of my compatriots were passing round a card. Vic Marks signed it, I think Jonathan Agnew signed it, and CMJ signed it. In fact, I saw him sign it without knowing what it was, and I can still remember the comment he made.

'I don't mind signing things but I'm not so keen when someone asks you for a thousand words by five o'clock.'

Radio Days

Test Match Special is one of those British institutions which is always destined to be not quite what it was.

You get the impression that for many people over the age of fifty (a demographic I haven't quite joined yet), the programme's 'Golden Age' belongs back in the era when John Arlott was still going strong. Johnston, and Gibson, and a younger Frindall and Martin-Jenkins would have been there too. Now all of those are gone - for me it would be a wonderful thing to hear CMJ again but it seems I never will - but, for those of us who care about such things, the programme is still a central part of winter mornings and summer days. With the right sort of technology you can even hear it without interruptions from the shipping forecast or Yesterday in Parliament.

TMS endures.

As Michael Henderson and a few others will tell you, aspects of it may not be what they were, but, as this fluctuating, unpredicted, enjoyable series has unfolded, TMS has sounded as essential as ever. Like Cook or Pujara on one of their many good days it has displayed an innate sense of control and authority.

For me, the most enjoyable and refreshing element of recent weeks has been the experience of listening to Rahul Dravid. This is a man who has been one of the best and most famous cricketers in the world, yet has retained an alluring air of humility and gentle humour, and his reminiscences and judgements are lent weight by their grounding in recent experience. He could perhaps do to play a few more shots, but he'll learn.

A penny for Simon Mann's thoughts when Dravid thanks him (implicitly for giving him the privilege of sharing the airwaves).

I'd retire there and then.

A Chill Wind

There's something supremely enjoyable and evocative about listening to Test Match Special as you walk through your home town in a snowstorm, with the pale light of a freezing December morning slowly making itself felt and the cold stinging your face like a sharp catch stings the hands. Christopher Martin-Jenkins, sheltering from the Perth heat, dutifully said something about welcoming listeners waking up on 'a frosty morning in England', but round my way it was a bit more severe than that.

Things were similar in another part of the WACA. A few hours before, a chill went through an England dressing room which has barely missed a beat since Brisbane, as Mitchell Johnson finally remembered what he was supposed to be good at. Six rapid victims later and match and series had taken on a different hue. A few of us - a bit like it used to be with snow itself in the days when English winter after English winter would go by without a hint of the stuff - had forgotten in three weeks that Australians could actually play cricket.

The characteristically fluent 62 which Johnson made on the first day was vital. An interview with him in the last Wisden Cricketer revealed him to be sensitive about his failures in England in 2009 and the type of player whose confidence needs regular regeneration. While the nets with Troy Cooley will have assisted with the mechanics of his technique, the reminder of his capabilities and the justification of his place which his runs gave him will have helped him to conquer his anxieties and bowl as he did.

England will need a supreme effort tomorrow to haul themselves back into the game, but this is not to say that all the Australians have left their demons behind. While his team suddenly look stronger on the back of a good day, the future for Ponting still looks clouded with an uncertainty which only a series victory and major runs will dispel.

Welcome to Australia, Welcome to Sleep Deprivation

The start of Ashes series can be captivating, exciting and emotional. This can lead to a strange type of nostalgic reflectiveness.

As I climbed into bed this morning, three overs in, Strauss already gone and CMJ broadcasting to the world, I found myself thinking about the fact that I'd been doing this sort of thing since before anyone from either side was born. When England pitched up at Brisbane to be sacrificed to Dennis Lillee and Jeff Thomson in November 1974, satellite television hadn't been invented and radios were still sometimes called transistors. I loved it. Still do.

Conclusion: I started bloody young, I'm getting older, and it's a good job I wasn't playing. There are many reasons for this - not least the fact that I'm not a very good cricketer - but also the awareness that too much emotion can affect the way you play.

It's hard to say whether this was a factor in what was, for England, a poor day, but if anyone had become even slightly carried away with the favourable predictions and lavish publicity, today's events will have brought them sharply back to earth.

Australian sides come, and Australian sides go, but they always, always, compete very hard. Today Peter Siddle was the embodiment of this attitude - fast, direct, immune to pressure and frequently successful. No matter what you have going for you (and England are currently very fortunate to have Ian Bell), going to Australia and winning Test matches is never easy.

Judgement is suspended until both sides have batted once, but, with one day gone, Australia hold the aces.

Hard Rain

One of the great things about the British institution that is Test Match Special is that it can often be at its most entertaining when there's nothing happening on the field.

So it was today. England were being taken to the cleaners by South Africa when it rained. Really, really rained. And listeners in the UK were treated to the sound of Jonathan Agnew failing to suppress what sounded suspiciously like a scream of terror as a very loud clap of thunder reverberated around the ground. In the meantime Christopher Martin-Jenkins and Vic Marks compared recollections of great ground-flooding storms of the past, like The Oval '68 or The Gabba '98, while Michael Vaughan complained about the draught as the wind began to whistle through the commentary box.

The Twitter feeds of Agnew and David Lloyd reveal the life of the professional cricket commentator in all its glory - a staple diet of expenses paid cricket-watching, sunshine, travel and fine dining, interspersed with regular 'holidays' and fat-fee (if not fat-free) after-dinner speaking - so it may not have been a bad thing for them to suffer a rare bit of hardship.

High Veldt storms can be fierce and unsettling. As someone said, the thunder was so loud that 'even Daryl Harper would have heard it'.

Critical Mass

This said, while I was away I read an article in The Observer which discussed whether professional 'critics' (mostly in the spheres of the arts and food, for that's where 'critics' dwell) were about to be rendered redundant by bloggers who can write just as well as they can and can post their opinions more quickly.

I don't think the argument really applies to cricket (whoever heard of a cricket 'critic'?), but when over the weekend I heard Jonathan Agnew and Christopher Martin-Jenkins labouring the point on TMS that Hashim Amla's batting was reminiscent of Mohammad Yousuf, I got a bit annoyed.

I said that here a couple of weeks ago, and I bet it wasn't original even then...

Where We're At

A typically sober and well-balanced assessment of the current state of play in England vis-a-vis the IPL from CMJ.

The only conclusion, though, is that nobody really knows where we're at (let alone where on earth we'll be in a year's time).

Radio Days

With two rain-shortened days gone in Galle, England have forfeited any chance they may have had of squaring the series with a lacklustre display of bowling and fielding. I've been too heavily occupied with work and Christmas preparations to see very much of it, but I did get to listen to Test Match Special for a very interesting couple of hours before I left for work this morning.

Readers outside the UK may not appreciate this (although I'm sure there are overseas equivalents), but if you've followed cricket in England over the last fifty years or so, Test Match Special or 'TMS' will have been an important part of your life. You'll have your favourite commentators or summarisers, those you can't stand, and your favourite moments. Sometimes it really hits the mark, other times it misses it like a Steve Harmison wide shooting down the leg side.

This morning was one of the former. During the lunch interval Jonathan Agnew interviewed two former Harrow schoolboys who were playing on the Test ground in Galle when the tsunami struck three years ago; their depth of experience, modesty and articulacy made it a wonderfully informative exchange, and one of the best things I've heard on TMS in a long time. I also enjoyed hearing Christopher Martin-Jenkins (always my favourite commentator) ripping into England's moronic and repetitive habit of throwing the ball at the wicket-keeper from anywhere on the field, with the apparent purpose of trying to intimidate the batsman but with the unwittingly obvious result that their over rate gets even more slow and, as this morning, overthrows can easily result. I first became aware of this during the Tests at Lord's last summer and I've hated it ever since; it's good to hear more people criticising it but if such criticisms find their way into the Team England 'bubble' they're more likely to persist with it than abandon it.

C'est la vie...