Which Way You Goin', Harry?

Michael Henderson

‘Talent’, said Laurence Olivier, who knew more about the nature of performance than anybody living or dead, ‘is plentiful. Skill is much rarer’.

Some people may not be bright enough to understand the distinction. But Larry was right. Many actors, like sportsmen and women, are blessed with high talent. Some fulfil it. Others take it for granted, and their gift withers on the vine.

So let’s borrow a song from the Poppy Family (September 1970, pop-pickers) and ask an overwhelming question: which way you goin’, Harry?

Brook of Yorkshire, schooled at Sedbergh, has a rare talent. In his first 16 Tests he has rattled off five centuries, three coming on the tour of Pakistan which brought his international debut. The most recent came two months ago against West Indies at Trent Bridge. An average of 58 is startling for one in the foothills of a Test career.

Yet, as Lawrence Booth set out in the Mail on Sunday, there are concerns. It’s not exactly a canker in the rose, because Brook’s talent is clear for all to see. As Booth wrote, however, that depth of talent is part of the problem. He’s so good that we wish he was better.

In six innings against Sri Lanka he passed 50 once, first up, at Old Trafford, where he got a horrible ball that squatted. Three times he has got into the 30s, and perished, and that’s not a good trot for a player who would expect to translate a decent start into a significant innings.

That remarkable start to his Test career was deceptive, because batsmen cannot make a hundred every time they go to the wicket. And it can’t help that people are beginning to say things like ‘he’ll turn out to be better than Joe Root’. He may. He may not. Probably not, for Root is a magnificent batsman, whose autumn may reveal colours as yet unseen.

Booth’s central points holds. England will not beat Australia next winter if Brook bats as he has done recently. Slogging 30s will not serve his cause. ‘Business hundreds’ will.

Brook, it is not unreasonable to point out, was infected by the madness at Lord’s last summer, when his batting resembled a man attempting to perform the Gay Gordons. Australia won that Test, as they had taken the first, by playing what used to be called ‘proper cricket’. And while Brendon McCullum and Ben Stokes deserve every commendation for transforming the team’s attitude, and general performance, you mock the Gods of cricket at your peril. Michael Vaughan, who effected a transformation of his own two decades ago, said as much after England threw away their advantage at the Oval.

He's good, Brook. The dogs in the street can see that. But will he become a player of remarkable innings, or an authentic ‘high definition’ performer (to borrow another phrase, from Kenneth Tynan)?  Will he be a charmer, or a regular match-winner, like, say, Ricky Ponting?

The nature of batting, or batsmanship, to use a phrase that dignifies the craft, has changed so much since T20, and the Indian Premier League, turned cricketers’ heads. The modern player (Brook is 25) has grown up with two entirely different games, and is obliged to change horses in mid-stream.

If you put greater emphasis on the absurd Hundred than Test cricket, as the game’s governors are intent on doing, batsmen will increasingly carry one form of the game into the other. Look at Dan Lawrence at the Oval, trying to crash, smash and bash the Lankan bowing into Vauxhall. You won’t win many matches like that.

‘At three minutes past eight’, said Ralph Richardson, another knight of the stage, ‘you must dream’. He was trying to define, in a conversation with Tynan, the art of acting, at least as he saw it. Richardson was, shall we say, an unusual mummer. At times he seemed to be in a fog, but he was always the master of his talent. Like Olivier, he was possessed by genius.

The G word should be used rarely. In sport it is best to avoid the word altogether. Yet Brook might do well to heed Richardson, who was talking about the essence of performance; that compound of discipline and fantasy which enables the actor (whatever the stage) to flourish.

Root, for example, has spent much of the year in that dream-state. Brook’s current agitation offers a contrast that puzzles those who want to see him take that decisive final step to fulfilment.

He was born in Keighley, so perhaps he should go back to the West Riding, and reflect on his current frustrations over a pint of one of Timothy Taylor’s excellent ales. Wisdom may elude him, for the time being, but he will almost certainly be better informed.