Whispering Death

It makes me wonder how something so intrinsically boring can become so popular. I am not immune, for I jack up on this shit daily and love it, never never shall I quit. On the surface, sport is generally a dull affair; a mere game that takes immense patience to sit through. But what makes sport so good (and anything really) is the stories behind it. The stories and the context.

I am a lover of possibly the most "boring" sport ever to cross the mind of us peopleoids. A cross between chess and Waterloo style warfare, played by gentlemen (except the Australians minus Gilchrist and Hussey, natch) of all colours, creeds, religions and the best thing the Empire ever did. I shan't wax lyrical about the pro's of one of the most hated forms of sportisms, but I'll stick to stories and contexts. For stories and contexts will always win over prejudice.

The mighty West Indian cricket side of the 1970's and 1980's were without doubt, full stop, peerlessly the coolest mother fuckers to ever walk onto a sporting field. Even with bright pink uniforms during Kerry Packer's World Series couldn't diminish the sense of them being "Best Dressed Chickens In Town". A crown that is in no danger of being lost.



It would probably be foolish to entertain the idea that before each morning session Clive Lloyd would roll a spliff the size of Joel Garner to be enjoyed during the team's breakfast meetings. It must have happened at least once no?? Perhaps that's why Ian Botham's career curtailed near the end, although he himself is a well regarded walker, not of the solitary breed, but the Mencap variety. But that's just a collie digression.

So, the main course. Michael Holding was given the nickname "Whispering Death" by umpires, due to their inability of hearing his approach to deliver his lethal bowling. In fact many umpires had no idea where he was until he had already run past the crease.



In the days before helmets, chest protection etc, the West Indian bowlers would literally try to kill their opponents with endless spells of short balls that could be as vicious as an Irish girl after a few drinks.

So here is the story and the context. Brian Close was recalled to the England side at the ripe old age of 45. You would think that any decent man would go easy on an old boy, but no, not Michael Holding. Close was always regarded as a double hard bastard and he proves this during one of the most venomous overs in cricket history. Not only did Close not have a helmet; he didn't even have any hair for protection.

In Holding's defence though he did have some reasoning. The 1976 series between England and the Windies got off to a bad start due to the great English (ie South African) skipper Tony Grieg stating that his team would make the reggae boys "grovel". They didn't and England were thrashed 3-0.

So here tis, the graceful gallop of Holding shaving the eyebrows off Brian Close.



Oh and for all the cricket haters out there, here is your reward: the mighty I-Roy with "Tribute To Michael Holding". Cos everyone loves a bit of reggae don't they.



Jah bless.