For many, the resounding success of 20-over cricket came as a surprise. In its
first year, a few seasoned county professionals saw an opportunity for a midsummer
battery-recharge, and sat it out. Come 2004, everyone wanted a piece
of the high-speed, high-energy action. Those once content to sit back were
now clamouring to get picked. After years of playing in echoing, nine-tenths
empty grounds, here was a chance to swagger in front of thousands, possibly
even tens of thousands. The overriding difference between the first two years
of the Twenty20 was that, second time round, everyone took it seriously.
Even Surrey, the undisputed masters of that first tournament, had not given
the Twenty20 much priority. “Like many, we took it as a bit of a joke to begin
with,” admits Adam Hollioake, who led his side to victory in the inaugural
final. A year on, it was a different matter.
At Cardiff, Glamorgan held nets where players were encouraged to
improvise. If the shot worked, and if the batsman felt confident, he was given
carte blanche to use it for real. Michael Powell developed an audacious paddle
over the wicket-keeper’s head which, when successful, brought an almost
certain boundary. But despite predictions that the classical cover-drive would
become as endangered as the corncrake, many runs came courtesy of the
coaching manual. The rule seemed to be: do what you’re comfortable with.
So Ian Thomas, Powell’s team-mate, included a couple of reverse sweeps in
his record unbeaten 116 at Taunton, but otherwise batted in conventional
manner. Similarly, Hollioake and Kent’s Andrew Symonds, two of the most
productive of Twenty20 run-scorers, avoided shots such as the ramp or the
paddle. Robert Croft, the Glamorgan captain, put it pithily: “This year there
was less slapping.”
A batsman may have the option to limit his repertoire, but not a bowler.
“Once you’ve come to terms with the embarrassment of being hit out of the
ground,” said Hollioake self-deprecatingly, “ordinary bowlers like me have to
mix it up and be as unpredictable as possible.” Variation of pace has become
de rigueur for all, but some are now heading into unlikely territory. In 2004,
Somerset’s Keith Dutch, by trade an off-spinner, experimented with a deliberate
low, slow full toss that was never going to spin in any direction. David Byas,
Yorkshire’s thoughtful coach, believed that bowlers had to be streetwise to
survive. “The crux is the ability to adapt and to think on your feet. You need
to play smart cricket. Jeremy Snape is a good example: there’s someone who
brings craft to the game.”
In Byas’s eyes, however, “craft” is best exemplified by fielding. Twice in
2004, Yorkshire passed 200 and lost. Rather than blame the bowlers, though,
he pointed to fielding as where improvement was most needed: “We have to
work on our craft. We can raise our fielding by 20%. That would make the
difference for us.” Yet there are signs that the fielder actually played a lesser
role in Twenty20 in 2004. As Hollioake says, “A lot of sides think fielding is
it, but a six is a massive thing and cuts out the fielders all together. We targeted
them; it was a cavalier tactic, but it worked for us.”
For many, the resounding success of 20-over cricket came as a surprise. In its
first year, a few seasoned county professionals saw an opportunity for a midsummer
battery-recharge, and sat it out. Come 2004, everyone wanted a piece
of the high-speed, high-energy action. Those once content to sit back were
now clamouring to get picked. After years of playing in echoing, nine-tenths
empty grounds, here was a chance to swagger in front of thousands, possibly
even tens of thousands. The overriding difference between the first two years
of the Twenty20 was that, second time round, everyone took it seriously.
Even Surrey, the undisputed masters of that first tournament, had not given
the Twenty20 much priority. “Like many, we took it as a bit of a joke to begin
with,” admits Adam Hollioake, who led his side to victory in the inaugural
final. A year on, it was a different matter.
At Cardiff, Glamorgan held nets where players were encouraged to
improvise. If the shot worked, and if the batsman felt confident, he was given
carte blanche to use it for real. Michael Powell developed an audacious paddle
over the wicket-keeper’s head which, when successful, brought an almost
certain boundary. But despite predictions that the classical cover-drive would
become as endangered as the corncrake, many runs came courtesy of the
coaching manual. The rule seemed to be: do what you’re comfortable with.
So Ian Thomas, Powell’s team-mate, included a couple of reverse sweeps in
his record unbeaten 116 at Taunton, but otherwise batted in conventional
manner. Similarly, Hollioake and Kent’s Andrew Symonds, two of the most
productive of Twenty20 run-scorers, avoided shots such as the ramp or the
paddle. Robert Croft, the Glamorgan captain, put it pithily: “This year there
was less slapping.”
A batsman may have the option to limit his repertoire, but not a bowler.
“Once you’ve come to terms with the embarrassment of being hit out of the
ground,” said Hollioake self-deprecatingly, “ordinary bowlers like me have to
mix it up and be as unpredictable as possible.” Variation of pace has become
de rigueur for all, but some are now heading into unlikely territory. In 2004,
Somerset’s Keith Dutch, by trade an off-spinner, experimented with a deliberate
low, slow full toss that was never going to spin in any direction. David Byas,
Yorkshire’s thoughtful coach, believed that bowlers had to be streetwise to
survive. “The crux is the ability to adapt and to think on your feet. You need
to play smart cricket. Jeremy Snape is a good example: there’s someone who
brings craft to the game.”
In Byas’s eyes, however, “craft” is best exemplified by fielding. Twice in
2004, Yorkshire passed 200 and lost. Rather than blame the bowlers, though,
he pointed to fielding as where improvement was most needed: “We have to
work on our craft. We can raise our fielding by 20%. That would make the
difference for us.” Yet there are signs that the fielder actually played a lesser
role in Twenty20 in 2004. As Hollioake says, “A lot of sides think fielding is
it, but a six is a massive thing and cuts out the fielders all together. We targeted
them; it was a cavalier tactic, but it worked for us.”
Winners 2003 Surrey beat Warwickshire by nine wickets 2004 Leicestershire beat Surrey by seven wickets 2005 Somerset beat Lancashire by seven wickets
