The moving story of a legendary fast bowler
S. RAM MAHESH
GLENN MCGRATH — Line and Strength: Glenn McGrath with Daniel Lane; Pub. by Yellow Jersey Press, London. Distributed by Rupa & Co., 7/16, Ansari Road, Daryaganj, New Delhi-110002. £ 14.99.
Glenn McGrath has been called the most unremarkable of remarkable bowlers. To the inexpert eye he appeared to do nothing extraordinary. Yet he retired as the most prosperous fast-bowler of all time, having been a critical component of Australia’s dominance in both Test and One-Day International cricket. The book under review wrestles with this paradox without ever pinning it. The result is not disagreeable; there is, after all, only so much study can disclose. The jo
y of trying to understand a champion is not unlike that which arises when cataloguing a cherished collection of scarabs — the process often holds greater fascination than the result, which, almost always, remains unattained.
Comprehensive
Line and Strength, in the care of a writer of richer talent than Daniel Lane, will have been a masterpiece, for McGrath’s is a moving story. Lane endeavours to compensate with industry, speaking, it seems, to nearly everyone who has shaped the Australian’s life. What emerges is a comprehensive work. But it lacks that indefinable something perceived in the finest works. Fortunately for Lane, the strength of McGrath’s story animates the tedious prose. McGrath’s understanding of his craft shines through.
His pen portraits of his comrades — ‘The Fast Bowling Cartel’, as they are known within the Australian team — are much like his bowling: thoughtfully weighted; deceptively layered; uncommonly precise. But it’s when Lane gets his interviewees speak on McGrath that the man — distanced and de-humanised by television — turns approachable.
“He single-mindedly pursued a dream that many thought was beyond his reach,” writes Dennis Lillee in the Foreword, and as Lane describes McGrath’s early life, it is clear why the dream of playing Test cricket appeared so distant. He worked the land as a boy in the New South Wales outback, harvesting wheat, rearing chicken, sticking pigs, while his father, a road-train driver, transported livestock to an abattoir. For release, the young McGrath bowled at a 44-gallon drum behind the machinery shed, inflicting “belly wounds” on it. Despite the hours of practice, McGrath did not have the accuracy he has come to be revered for. His captain in bush cricket rarely used his services as a bowler; he preferred to deploy him on the boundary. “It seemed as if everyone thought I was wasting my time playing cricket,” says McGrath. “There were times when it would’ve been easy just to give up; I mean, I didn’t even get a bowl! But I didn’t want to quit.”
Convinced
A heart-to-heart talk with Brian Gainsford, something of a veteran cricketer, convinced McGrath to believe in his dream. He trained even harder, bothered and impressed Doug Walters in a local game, left home to live alone in a caravan and play for Sutherland in Sydney, and won a scholarship to the prestigious Australian Institute of Sports Cricket Academy in Adelaide. During this time, McGrath understood his body and his bowling. In one of the most enlightening passages of the book, McGrath says, “It actually worked to my favour that no one thought to coach me. Bowling in the early days was about fun. Through that approach, my body found the most natural way to bowl.”
McGrath wasn’t just a late developer; he was someone who lifted his game as the level of play improved. The book deals extensively with his stellar career and has a hilarious chapter on his batting. The levity is much needed, for the story of Jane McGrath’s battle with cancer, and her husband’s unswerving support, is deeply poignant. McGrath’s courage and honesty in talking about the traumatic period, particularly the time after Jane’s death, is uplifting. This, more than anything else in the book, reveals his measure.
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