Bob Willis
Bob Willis, †4 December 2019
Younger cricket viewers will know him as an Eeyore-like presence in the commentary box, with excessively conservative hair. (The air of taciturn pessimism, in the context of English cricket, was often no more than a sign of clear-eyed judgement.)
In his playing days, the hair was rather more flamboyant, the manner just as downcast. They never matched.
Bob Willis was absurd, a grumpy old man with silly hair who happened to be a fast bowler of rare pace, bounce and sustained aggression. Then again, fast bowlers tend to be absurd, especially English ones. Fred Trueman, professional caricature Yorkshireman; Frank Tyson, an English literature graduate who recited poetry at batsmen; John Snow, a poet himself; Darren Gough, flamboyant, twinkle-eyed, overweight, latterly a dancer; home-sick Steve Harmison; Mark Wood, with his imaginary horse. Bowling fast is itself absurd, a biomechanically perverse activity. All of the preceding suffered injuries, not least Willis. This partly explains the demeanour.
Willis' captaincy is easily overlooked. His introspective, dour persona was less approachable to the public than his successors, the languidly charming David Gower and the bulldog-spirited Mike Gatting. Both enjoyed longer captaincy reigns than Willis, even if the selectors could never choose between them. To them fell the glory of England's last Ashes victories for two decades – to Gower in 1985, to Gatting in 1986/87 – but their captaincy records were otherwise distinctly chequered. Unlike both, Willis finished with a win/loss record in credit: won 7, lost 5, drew 6.
In his defining moment, at Headingley in 1981, he was obliged to cede much of the limelight to Ian Botham, whose personality was rather better matched than Willis' to the mood of the summer. Willis' post-match interview at Headingley was, likewise, entirely out-of-step. Nonetheless, he was right, as he often was. It's got much worse since.
(interview at 31:30)
Younger cricket viewers will know him as an Eeyore-like presence in the commentary box, with excessively conservative hair. (The air of taciturn pessimism, in the context of English cricket, was often no more than a sign of clear-eyed judgement.)
In his playing days, the hair was rather more flamboyant, the manner just as downcast. They never matched.
Bob Willis was absurd, a grumpy old man with silly hair who happened to be a fast bowler of rare pace, bounce and sustained aggression. Then again, fast bowlers tend to be absurd, especially English ones. Fred Trueman, professional caricature Yorkshireman; Frank Tyson, an English literature graduate who recited poetry at batsmen; John Snow, a poet himself; Darren Gough, flamboyant, twinkle-eyed, overweight, latterly a dancer; home-sick Steve Harmison; Mark Wood, with his imaginary horse. Bowling fast is itself absurd, a biomechanically perverse activity. All of the preceding suffered injuries, not least Willis. This partly explains the demeanour.
Willis' captaincy is easily overlooked. His introspective, dour persona was less approachable to the public than his successors, the languidly charming David Gower and the bulldog-spirited Mike Gatting. Both enjoyed longer captaincy reigns than Willis, even if the selectors could never choose between them. To them fell the glory of England's last Ashes victories for two decades – to Gower in 1985, to Gatting in 1986/87 – but their captaincy records were otherwise distinctly chequered. Unlike both, Willis finished with a win/loss record in credit: won 7, lost 5, drew 6.
In his defining moment, at Headingley in 1981, he was obliged to cede much of the limelight to Ian Botham, whose personality was rather better matched than Willis' to the mood of the summer. Willis' post-match interview at Headingley was, likewise, entirely out-of-step. Nonetheless, he was right, as he often was. It's got much worse since.
(interview at 31:30)
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