Can Anyone Hear Me? by Peter Baxter Page A

it out – has been replaced by a giant screen which frequently, thanks to replays and advertisements, shows no score at all for up to four minutes. That is a nightmare for someone doing a live radio report.
    While I think I preferred the old
al fresco
scaffolding commentary position at the Gabba, I am not sure that it would have been ideal for all today’s demands. My diary from 1982 has several references to being in a stiff breeze. Our Australian engineer rigged up a tarpaulin behind us against the traditional evening thunderstorms and it would billow alarmingly in the prevailing wind from the east.
Saturday 27 November 1982
    The telephone installed for my frequent reports for Radios 2 and 4 was handily placed by the television cameras on the gantry next to our commentary position. But in the teeth ofthe gale, hanging onto notes, stopwatch and phone – which had to be pressed against my ear to hear the hand-over from London – proved to be difficult.
    It was in Brisbane in 1994 that I first became aware of the Barmy Army. Indeed it may well have been their first ever campaign, though the seeds were sown by the supporters who followed the England team during the World Cup in Australia and New Zealand in 1992.
    I remember thinking that some Australians and certainly some Australian stadium stewards, who are not celebrated for their sense of humour and tolerance, might lose patience with the Barmies. But that has not proved the case. Their eccentric charm – usually cheering England on in the face of inevitable defeat – seems to have endeared them to natives of other cricketing countries.
    Generally I have always enjoyed the company of the journalists I have shared so many tours with, but the Gabba did witness the start of one spat that lasted a few weeks. In 1990 Mike Gatting was under suspension, following his ‘rebel’ tour of South Africa. However, he was in Brisbane to see the first Test. After being fairly evenly poised, that game ended in a rush with Australia winning by ten wickets on the third day. So there were days spare for extra practice.
Tuesday 27 November 1990
    Much in evidence was Mike Gatting, limbering up to help in the practice session. But after a bit questions were asked by some of our number of the manager, Peter Lush, about the wisdom of using Gatt while he was banned from international cricket. Gatt himself left, ostensibly for a lunchappointment, though we inevitably reckoned it to be more to do with the fuss.
    The following day, by which time we had moved on to Adelaide, the story – in the absence of any other – was still rumbling on. As we talked it over in the bar in the evening, one tabloid writer rounded on me for refusing to share his pretended moral outrage. He became even more incensed when I suggested that when Mike Gatting had appeared, it had inevitably become a story either way. ‘England reject Gatting’s help’ or ‘England use rebel Gatting’. While his colleague fulminated, quietly and with a chuckle, the man from the
Sun
said to me, ‘You’re quite right.’
    The Gabba now is a soulless bowl. Somehow the Melbourne Cricket Ground gets away with being that because of its awe-inspiring size. My first sight of the world’s largest cricket arena was from my hotel window at the Hilton, a short walk away across Yarra Park. In 1982 that first experience of the MCG was for England’s game with Victoria. The most notable thing about that match was that it was the first time a giant replay screen had been used for cricket. It was evidently a novelty for me.
Saturday 4 December 1982
    For most of the time, the screen was acting as a scoreboard, but from time to time it showed television shots of the play, with replays of fine strokes, near misses and wickets. LBWs were noticeably not shown, to avoid too much pressure on the umpires. Picking up the flight of the ball on the screen was anyway virtually impossible, but