The summer of 1976

The West Indies cricket team, back in the UK for another series against England, has endured a spectacular fall from grace since the mid-nineties, having been the dominant force in world cricket for the best part of two decades.

Despite the often dismal standards to which they have slipped, I will always have a soft spot for them. This is mainly because I first got interested in the game by watching their great side of the mid-seventies, featuring magical players like Andy Roberts, Michael Holding, Gordon Greenidge, Clive Lloyd and the incomparable Viv Richards. The swagger with which that man made his way to the crease seemed to put the opposition in its place before he had even started to unleash his outrageous and devastating variety of strokes. To see Richards at the top of his game -a rapid, ruthless and stylish accumulator of runs- was to witness the essence of cool.

The 1976 series between England and the West Indies had infamously been preceded by England captain Tony Greig’s remarks about hoping to make the West Indies ‘grovel’. It was an unfortunate remark to have made at the best of times, but coming from a white South African, those words seemed –at best- to have been catastrophically ill-judged. It would be an understatement to say that Greig’s remarks gave something of an edge to the series. For that alone, one might have been inclined to support the West Indies, but I had another, more personal reason for getting behind the visiting team.

When I was in my early teens, there was a lad who, every summer, used to come up to Glasgow from Manchester to spend a big chunk of his school holidays with Scottish relatives. Let’s call him ‘Mike’. He was a junior member of Lancashire County Cricket Club and an avid England supporter. He was rather less than fond of the West Indians and used a variety of derogatory terms to describe both individual players and the team; his favoured epithet for the West Indies was ‘the bus conductors’. In modern terms, I suppose he’d be described as a bit of a racist. I didn’t mind the fact that he supported his country, but there was something about the way that he couched this support in terms of sheer hatred for the opposition that seemed just too ugly to be comfortable with. Enforced exposure to Mike (who, in everyday aspects of social intercourse, was by no means a pleasant young man) meant that it just seemed kind of natural for me to support whoever was up against England.

The first two matches in the series had been drawn, with England making a pretty good fist of it against the supremely talented opposition. By the time of the third test at Old Trafford in July, Mike had arrived in Glasgow for his annual sojourn. I recall him boasting, on the eve of that match, that Lancashire’s Frank Hayes, playing on his home turf, would ‘sort those fucking bus conductors out’. I didn’t know anything about Frank Hayes, but was not –at that point- inclined to wish him well.

In the first innings, the tourists posted a modest 211, with Gordon Greenidge making a remarkable 134 out of this total. The home side went in late on the first day with high hopes of establishing a first innings lead, but endured a vicious battering from the West Indian pace attack. By the time Frank Hayes arrived at the crease on the second morning, England had four wickets down with only 48 on the board. The home crowd would have hoped that there was perhaps an opportunity for their hero to dig in and help turn the match back in England’s favour, but one ball later, poor Frank was heading back to the pavilion having failed to trouble the scorers. In attempting to fend off a vicious short-pitched delivery from Andy Roberts, he had been unable to do much more than send the ball lobbing in a sad arc of surrender to Clive Lloyd in the gulley. Around half of the crowd sat in stunned silence, while the other half let rip with whistles, hooters and what sounded like a bewildering variety of percussive instruments; those West Indians sure knew how to make a noise. Meanwhile, in Glasgow, at least one wee boy probably shouted something like “get it up ye!” at the TV.

According to Wisden:

In eighty-five minutes England were all out, the last eight wickets, in fact, going in an hour for 25 runs. Holding, who took five for 9 in 7.5 overs was the leader of a fearsome trio. Some balls lifted at frightening speed and Greig and Underwood both had narrow escapes from what could have been serious injury. Woolmer and Hayes received balls which were all but unplayable and even the greatest of batting sides would have been severely taxed.

Dismissed for 71 in that first innings, England went on to lose the match by the small matter of 425 runs. I had no gripe against Frank Hayes or English cricket, but young Mike’s ugly mean-spiritedness made me take great pleasure from the way that Clive Lloyd’s team dismantled England over the course of that summer. The 3-0 series defeat seemed comprehensive at the time, but worse, far worse, was to come; over the next fifteen years, that all-conquering West Indies side would go on to wipe the floor with all available opposition and would twice hand out 5-0 series thrashings to an utterly hapless England.

When I was growing up, there was no great level of interest in cricket among young Glaswegians. It was (and, for some, still is) seen as a boring English game played by, and for, effete posh boys from private schools. I count myself lucky to have first sampled the game at a time when a magnificently talented side was somewhere near the beginning of an upward curve that would see them dominate world cricket for many years. The dazzling ability of those West Indians sowed the seeds of a love that has endured to this day. 

Power in the balance

The so-called ‘renewal of vows’ between the Prime Minister and his Deputy focused attention on the coalition, particularly on the likelihood of it holding fast until the next general election. The two leaders are under intense pressure from within their own ranks to assert clearer identities within the partnership. Both suffered poor results in last week’s local council elections. The Tories might have a case for saying that these results are just a fairly typical example of mid-term blues, but the Liberal Democrats are starting to look even more nervous about their electoral prospects in 2015. Clegg has stated that the two parties are still working together to protect the UK from the ‘financial storm’, but the opinion of many is that he is leading his party to electoral oblivion.

I'm not inclined to say much in favour of Nick Clegg. He would appear to be a fairly typical member of the professional political class that, for the time being, we are lumbered with. It is, however, worth pointing out that getting into bed with the Conservatives was the only sensible option open to him in May 2010. Propping up a beaten Brown government would have been an insult to democracy and he would never have been forgiven for that. Some say that he could have chosen to sit it out and let Cameron form a minority government. That, however, would have been an act of cowardice that would almost certainly have rebounded on his party in the autumn /winter election that would surely have followed. Political parties live for the moment that they gain power and Clegg would have been a fool to reject the opportunity to have a meaningful role in government. When you consider that they could only muster 23% of the popular vote in May 2010, it is clear that the Liberal Democrats are currently in possession of an entirely disproportionate amount of power.

Some members of his party might like to complain, but the fact is that Clegg –through a combination of luck and design- has made that 23% go rather a long way. With neither of the major parties looking like a good bet to secure an overall majority in 2015, the notion that one or other of the minor parties will be a semi-permanent power broker is one that we might have to get used to.

Multicultural versus 'Multiculturalism'

One of the features common to much of the reporting of the trial of the Norwegian mass-murderer Anders Breivik is that folk seem all too willing to accept that his hatred of 'multiculturalism' is the key motivating factor for his actions. Then, having taken Breivik’s line at face value, some commentators are unable to resist the temptation to place all of those with views that are not necessarily entirely supportive of 'multiculturalism' on a continuum that has, at one end, angry letters to the Telegraph and, at the other, the slaughter of innocent civilians. This is nonsense, just as it is nonsense to place law-abiding Muslims on a continuum with people who blow up buses or hi-jack planes.

This trial has provided no revelations about a sophisticated international network of far-right bloggers and bombers, but is proving to be a chilling illustration of Hannah Arendt’s phrase about the ‘banality of evil’. Accordingly, some of the analyses of Breivik's motives would make just as much sense had he cited the Flying Spaghetti Monster as his biggest influence. The truth is that there is no 'because' worth analysing for any man who can murder 77 people in cold blood. If you need a ‘because’, then he killed those people 'because' he's a deeply disturbed individual, but he didn't become a deeply disturbed individual 'because' he read some right-wing blogs. If there had been no multiculturalism to rail against, Breivik would have found another reason to do it. Until we perfect humankind (and I understand that that is due to happen sometime around the 12th of Never), people like him are going to do things like that every now and then.

To react in a sober way to an aberration of nature like Breivik, we need to develop and maintain robust political dialogues that have no areas deemed off limits by the political and chattering classes. We have to be confident enough to make the distinction between, on the one hand, the desire to live in a multicultural society and, on the other, belief in the tenets of 'multiculturalism'. These are two entirely separate concepts. I want to live in a multicultural society and I think the UK does pretty well when it comes to integrating minority groups. Our country is all the richer for the various contributions made by folk who have arrived here from overseas.
I don't, however, believe in multiculturalism, which I take to be the belief that all cultures have equal rights and equal status. All cultures and sub-cultures are not equal at all times in all places. If I moved to Madrid or Nairobi or Islamabad or Riga, I'd expect to adapt my beliefs and practices to the cultural mores and laws of the host country.

When the Archbishop of Canterbury -in his infamous 'sharia law' speech in February 2008- asked how it might be possible for civil law to accommodate some of the legal procedures by which Muslim communities in Britain have traditionally regulated relationships and financial affairs, he was (directly or indirectly) advocating multiculturalism. I'd suggest that the logical destination for that philosophy would be the establishment of a society (or rather a series of mini-societies) wherein one set of laws might apply to one group of people, with other sets of laws applying to the rest.

And that would make about as much sense as belief in the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

It's written in the stars, apparently.

Over the last few days, the blogosphere has been rife with speculation that the EU’s Astrology Tsar, Marianne Huguenot-Bosch, is about to make an announcement that will shake the astrological world to its very foundations. She is set to reveal that, from 2014, all EU nationals over the age of 27 will be granted the right to switch from their current star signs.

I can’t be alone in imagining that millions of people will look to take advantage once this long-overdue legislation kicks in. I take only a passing interest in astrology and can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve cancelled holidays because of inauspicious readings from my various astrological advisors, but I will admit that I am not at all happy with my current star sign. I’m not allowed to name it (for legal reasons), but I will say that one of the things that disappoints me about this particular sign is the dismal quality of famous people that it has on its books. Unlike those lucky enough to be with one of the more fashionable star signs, my astrological destiny is shared with a rum selection of c-list celebrities, retired footballers, minor soap stars and a couple of disgraced politicians. So embarrassed am I by this sorry collection that, whenever the topic comes up in conversation with friends, I become sullen and withdrawn and invariably seek solace in cruising the ‘photo gallery’ section on Sofia Vergara’s website.

Another reason for my dissatisfaction is that I feel that I am judged by some people because a few of my personal traits and habits are interpreted as being somehow ‘typical’ of this star sign. I’m talking about everyday things like the inability to wash my hands during a full moon, an irrational fear of certain kinds of cheese, or the refusal to order any of the odd numbers on a Chinese take-away menu. ‘That’s so typical of your sign’ people will say. ‘You guys do crazy stuff like that all the time’. For one who believes in promoting diversity and tolerance, it is particularly painful to have been consigned to what is, in effect, an astrological ghetto.

I’ve made several attempts already to change my sign. I tried to get into Capricorn last summer, but there was an enormous waiting list. I heard through the grapevine that Libra was pretty good, but decided not to proceed with my application after a private reading with Madame La Mesma indicated that Mercury’s retrograde movement had upset the rhythm of certain archetypal energies and there was a risk that the balance of polarities between the macrocosmic and the microcosmic universe had shifted in a way that was somehow inauspicious. Then, just before the Winter Equinox, I applied for Aquarius, but they wrote back stating that I would have to wait until the moon was in the seventh house and Jupiter aligned with Mars. I may not have understood their technical mumbo-jumbo, but I know a ‘Dear John’ letter when I see it.

Conspiracy theorists are claiming that this new EU legislation might somehow be linked with Pluto's recent downgrading from 'planetary' status. Cynics say that it presents an ideal opportunity to launch a bunch of new (and potentially lucrative) star signs. Personally, I’d love to see more options on the horoscopes page; I think it could be the most significant development in astrology since Russell Grant took up his residency on the ‘Richard and Judy’ show in 1992. We could be living in interesting times.

Time-travel sex tourism is not quite as straightforward as you'd think

A friend of mine claims to have invented a rudimentary time machine that will allow him to travel back and forth over relatively short distances in time. He says that he is planning a little jaunt to the tail end of the 20th century (mainly for shopping purposes), but has been losing sleep over a rather tricky ethical question. He reckons that if he successfully engineers this trip back in time, he will be tempted to look up his missus as she was in the early days of their marriage and, as the saying goes, ‘get it on’ with her. His wife took up professional wrestling a few years ago, and has bulked up to an extent that he is not entirely comfortable with, but is afraid to comment on for fear of hurting her feelings, or indeed, suffering physical reprisals. That is at least part of the appeal in hooking up with her as she was in 1998.

He believes that he could probably talk his ‘1998’ missus into doing it because: a) she was always game for a laugh before she took up the wrestling, and
b) she would have been gullible enough to have bought the line that the ‘1998’ her having sex with the ‘2012’ him could not be construed as actual adultery as he is /was still the person that she is /was married to, albeit one with unusually variable temporal co-ordinates.

If this plan works, his dilemma can be summarised as follows: When his 1998 missus succumbs to the charms of the  2012 version of him, will she be being unfaithful and will he have grounds for divorce when he returns from his late-nineties sex /shopping trip? Could any act they commit in 1998 be legally and /or morally construed as adulterous behaviour? His view is that he won’t be betraying his 2012 wife by having sex with her in 1998, because she’ll have been aware of, and complicit in, that very act and will have remembered it as just another roll in the hay with her husband (again, notwithstanding those rather unusual circumstances). In addition, she couldn’t really have betrayed her 2012 self in 1998 by agreeing to become the mistress of her 2012 husband, because, in 1998, the 2012 ‘her’ didn’t yet exist.

The real difficulty, however, occurs when my friend considers the fact that this 1998 liaison will have been hidden from the ‘him’ of the last fourteen years. The time-travel sex in 1998 will be a new experience for the 2012 him but -when he returns to the present- it will have been an old experience for the 2012 version of his wife. After 1998, it will always have been an old experience for her, meaning that his 2012 missus has been hiding this (possibly) adulterous act from him all these years. Unless his wife is exceptionally dim, she must know that, at some point, he is going to find out what went on, because –once he returns from the time trip- he’ll have remembered making it happen and he’ll know that she allowed it to happen. And that, clearly, would make a cuckolded fool of the 1998 him (and all the other ‘hims’ from then, right up to the point at which he goes back in time).

Obviously, he has no recollection of this event because it hasn’t yet happened to him, but if he succeeds in making it happen, the ‘pre-time travel’ 2012 version of him will have been kept in the dark all of these years, which will make the ‘post-time travel’ version of him feel angry and a bit stupid for having suspected nothing all this time. Not only will his wife have been lying to him, but –technically speaking- he’ll have betrayed himself by persuading her to have committed adultery with an older man.

Of course, there is always the possibility that his time machine won’t actually work and he won’t be faced with this dilemma at all. If the grouting he did for me last year is anything to go by, I suspect the odds are probably against a successful expedition.

Thoughtcrime

The decision to prosecute and jail the 21-year old Swansea University student Liam Stacey is depressingly sinister. Stacey admitted posting ‘racially offensive’ comments about the footballer Fabrice Muamba and has been jailed for 56 days.

The notion that this young man stirred up racial hatred is, at best, fanciful. His tweets are clearly the work of a catastrophically drunk idiot, looking to shock a few people. I’ve seen so-called ‘comedians’ on TV try the same kind of thing. The folk who chose to spread his remarks (some of them presumably through a sense of outrage) certainly did a great job of exposing Stacey to a wider audience than he could ever have expected. I’m sure he thought (if thought was ever part of the process) that his idiotic remarks would be read mainly by his (presumably) idiotic friends and the handful of people he was goading.

There is no doubt that he said some stupid and horrible things, but that shouldn’t be enough to merit a jail sentence. We shouldn’t be comfortable with the idea of imprisoning someone for being an offensive idiot. Now that that door has been forced open, it's not too difficult to imagine the various dismal roads it will be possible for us to go down.

A message for those with O.F.D.S.

Rangers edged the latest Old Firm skirmish, but congratulations will be due to Celtic when they eventually clinch the Scottish League Championship. The best team always wins the league and –on a personal level- I’ll be pleased for Neil Lennon after all the disgraceful rubbish that he had to endure last season. It’s a pity that he had to impugn the referee after last week’s loss to Kilmarnock and, inevitably, he has had a go at today’s match officials. The ability to accept defeat with dignity and grace is perhaps something he will acquire with a bit more experience.

No club outside of the Old Firm has won the league since Aberdeen’s triumph in 1985, so it is little wonder that the battle for the Scottish Championship has been compared to two bald men fighting over a comb. But with Rangers likely to be forced to downscale their financial operations, the ‘race’ for the title in the next few years is probably going to look more like one bald man forever finding the same comb in the pocket of an increasingly threadbare suit. If you thought Scottish football was boring before, it might be about to get a whole lot worse.

As a neutral football fan, I’m delighted whenever one of the so-called provincial teams can triumph over the two-headed dog of the Old Firm, but even the use that kind of phrase has, for some folk, become rather contentious. I’ve been ticked off a couple of times recently by Celtic supporters when I have used the term the ‘Old Firm’ to describe the Celtic-Rangers duopoly. This Old Firm Denial Syndrome (O.F.D.S.) is quite a new phenomenon, albeit one that is obviously an aspect of the perennial one-upmanship that goes on between these two clubs. I suspect that some Celtic supporters enjoy nursing a grievance almost as much as they enjoy winning trophies, so when you conflate Celtic and Rangers by, for example, using the phrase ‘The Ugly Sisters’ in the context of any discussion on sectarianism, you are likely to cause something that they would attempt to pass off as 'offence'. Some of these supporters believe that should Rangers go under, Celtic will survive and indeed thrive in their own right. ‘There is no such thing as the Old Firm’ they say. ‘Don’t lump us in with that lot’.

Thank goodness, Peter Lawell, their chief executive, has put an end to this nonsense. His recent comments about the voting issues in Scottish football make it clear that he recognises, and is comfortable with, the symbiotic relationship between Scottish football’s big two.
Lawell is seeking to preserve the ridiculous 11-1 voting structure that was foolishly agreed by the member clubs in the Scottish Premier League. The gerrymandered voting structure means that to pass a qualified resolution among the SPL members, the Old Firm have to be split. You’d think a simple 7–5 or an 8-4 majority would be enough to carry the vote; but no, not even a 10-2 majority is good enough. Could there be any clearer illustration that Celtic and Rangers work towards a common interest and that that interest is not, as they claim, the good of Scottish football? They have hitched up their skirts and fluttered their eyelashes at the English Premier League (or the mythical North Atlantic League) too many times for anyone to believe that nonsense. The Old Firm’s ‘common interest’ is in exerting and extending their dominance of Scottish football.

"The Icelandic and Welsh leagues are competitive, but it is the presence of the Old Firm which makes Scottish football different" says Lawell. He is upset because “not being invited to the recent meetings of the other 10 clubs is disappointing and disrespectful, given what Celtic and Rangers bring to the game”.

It is clear that the other clubs in the SPL are attempting to take advantage of the financial strife at Rangers to try and bring about some kind of change. Most clubs are run on the basis of self-interest, so I’m not naïve enough to imagine that all of their intentions are strictly honourable. I do, however, wish them luck, because they have an important principle on their side. How could anyone reasonably object to a 10-2 majority carrying a vote among any organisation with twelve members?

Peter Lawell is absolutely correct to point out that the Old Firm are the key players in Scottish football, but his statement merely serves to remind us of the brutal reality. For their own good, those fans with O.F.D.S. need to be told: The Old Firm are, indeed, two cheeks on the same arse.