The Day The Men In Clogs Sent English Cricket Charging At Windmills

Sydney Morning Herald

Thursday November 23, 1989

PETER ROEBUCK

By all accounts, Carl Rackemann was only moderately gruntled to read that, like a porcelain teapot, he was good at his job but rather prone to breakages

This bonehead Peter Roebuck, he reckoned, might know something about English cricket but knew as much about their Australian cousins as he did about cane toads.

Now it is my turn to feel deeply hurt.

Brushing tears aside I must report that never, never before has anyone accused me of knowing anything about English cricket.

As friends have kindly, if a trifle persistently, pointed out it was I who led England's first and disastrous sortie to Amsterdam in which, setting out as pioneers, we returned as red-faced as strawberries in season.

It is time to tell the tale of this ill-fated trip, charging at windmills as someone called it.

Now, fair's fair, clear from your mind all images of Dutchmen walking out to bat in clogs.

Apart from denying a bloke a fair go, such a picture betrays a vagueness about Europe which is best kept hidden. For years our Dutch friends have played the game seriously and well.

Decades ago a far-sighted eccentric bought some marshland near Amsterdam and, being a sound fellow, he converted it into cricket pitches.

The game took root and now The Netherlands has two indoor schools and a strong national league in which Test players, past and present, including Rohan Kanhai, Jack Richards and Rod McCurdy, have served as professionals.

Growing stronger, The Netherlands trounced the MCC last year, Cees Reeskins scoring 117 not out, and in 1990 they will host the mini-World Club in which they expect to beat Zimbabwe.

The Tulip Tests had been arranged for August and, of course, a vast media party, scenting a story, accompanied the team.

I was appointed captain.

Apparently every other candidate was engaged elsewhere so a certain Mr Clayton summoned yours truly.

After a dawn flight, play began in Wuthering Heights weather at 2 pm.

Within minutes rain was pouring down. You see, it works even in benighted Europe.

An hour's play was lost and enquiries elicited the information that no overs were to be deducted from the 40.

Condemned to bat in the gloom we concluded that Mr Rafferty had written the rules.

It was when Mr Nobby Clarke , who'd scored 150 for his island against England in 1973-74, smote Greg Thomas over his head and into a conveniently located dyke, that we began to think it might be an interesting afternoon.

An old codger fished out a muddy black pudding, swearing it was related to the red object which had recently descended in that region, whereupon it emerged that it is not done in The Netherlands to change a ball.

Thanks to Mr Clarke's combination of trenchant blocks and lofty blows, and to staunch support from Lubbers and crew, The Netherlands made 177.

Like all pitches in The Netherlands, this one was artificial. Upon asking a local if he preferred real or artificial grass he said he couldn't tell as he'd never smoked the latter.

Relying on dud info we had pitched the ball up, little knowing that in The Netherlands a halfvolley is a brand of milk, not a delivery.

And so it proved as the Dutch fast bowler banged the ball down with passion and accuracy. After 30 overs we were 1-115 and apparently in command.

Nothing is offered for guessing who was out.

Yet the cricket had been tightly contested and The Netherlands were playing out of their skins.

Then, like a blanket dropped on your head, night fell.

Suddenly we were scratching around and they were hot, catching and stopping everything. Batsmen were not watching the ball so much as looking for it while the fieldsmen seemed to have laser eyes.

Wickets fell and runs ran dry as The Netherlands, inspired by a partisan crowd, hustled and bustled. Nothing could save England, no-one could find a soaring six or an edged boundary and we lost by five runs.

Of course we copped a bagging in the media who said it was a day of shame. Maybe they were right. Certainly my team was devastated. Yet it fought back to win by 90 runs the next day. More likely it was a freak in which The Netherlands, playing extremely well and riding their luck, beat a team which did not disgrace itself.

Frankly, this was as happy a time as any in my cricketing career for their hospitality and our spirits were superb.

Into each life a little rain must fall. And, anyhow, nothing is new. The Netherlands had beaten a Test country once before, in 1964. Their victims?Bobby Simpson's Australians |