StanfordsLap: On Broad, walking and catches down the legside

Who was I kidding with all this "too busy for the blog" business? OK, I am probably too busy but Ashes love has compelled me to pull out the laptop and get typing while watching the first morning at Lords.

Let's get straight to it: Stuart Broad is a rotten stinking cheat who refuses to walk; at least that's what my local news outlets tell me. One paper even printed his face on a dart board and named it the "Stuart Dart Broad". Classy stuff Mr Murdoch, if you please. We are already plotting what sort of insults will be hurled his way during the upcoming series in our summer and are encouraging him to improve his slips fielding so that he can stay away from our rapid supporters in the concourse seats. In short, he is a marked man (well, boy-man). But, is what he did so wrong? Probably not, if we are honest

I walked once. Once. In all the cricket I played, I walked once

And no, it wasn't in a World Cup Semi Final. I was playing in a local game against a team with three guys in it that I, to different degrees, grew up with. In fact, there was a fourth guy I went to school with watching the same team from the stand (OK, small grassy bank where everyone had placed their bags).

On the first morning of the game, I opened and was feeling great. It was my favourite ground that we played on that year; a huge oval but with little grass so you got full value for your shots. I had started pretty well and had skipped along to something decent, I seem to remember getting something like 47 or possibly something in the 60s, and I felt that I was on my way to a big one. One of the guys I grew up with was bowling, another was keeping and the other one was at first slip. The bowler threw one up outside off and I lined up another one of my booming (well, I swung hard anyway) cover drives and was pretty sure I got a thin edge through to the keeper. Now, I wasn't completely sure as I definitely hit the ground at the same time. A huge appeal went up and the umpire deliberated for sometime before shaking his head.

And time stood still

I remembered playing cricket with these guys in the street they lived in on a 6 metre pitch with a tennis ball with one side taped up. I clearly (really, really clearly) recalled launching one of them back over their head for six into a neighbours front yard. I remember stealing home brew from the guy keeping, with his younger brother. I remembered helping out the guy bowling by breaking up a fight he was in at school, and was in the process of losing badly

I had history with these guys. They were my friends and we had dragged each other up on the mean streets of West Ryde and Rydalmere. After everything we had been through, I couldn't turn my back on them now, I couldn't betray them. I owed them. On this day, at this time, we were brothers; brothers in cricket. I burned with the spirit of cricket. So I turned and, without a word, walked off.

Sure, my teammates weren't exactly happy with me, and sure I had thrown away a certain triple century (note, triple century was highly unlikely). But I felt good about myself and sat back and quietly, ever so quietly, basked in self congratulatory warmth. Today was a good day and I was a good guy. I spent the next week telling myself what a gentleman I was. That feeling of self wonder lasted all week, right up until the other team batted the following week.

The guy who had taken the catch off me opened the batting and truth be told, wasn't much of a batsman. But, he was their skipper so I guess he got to choose (Hello Andrew, if you are reading). He scratched around for a while before we slipped one down leg side, he got a massive glove to it and a huge deflection and he started to take off for a run. It's about then when he saw what he must have presumed was Ian Healy flying down leg and taking quite simply the best leg side catch ever witnessed (modesty prevents me describing just how fulfilling a catch it was). When I came to ground and stopped rolling around for extra effect, I looked down into my gloves to check that the ball was still there and then let out a huge yelp before starting to jump up and down in pure cricket ecstasy

My celebration was cut a little short when I couldn't help but notice the umpire was unmoved. After a few short, rapid fire checks with said official, it was clear that the decision would not be changed. Not a problem, I thought, my old mate would do for me what I did for him the week before: he would walk, one keeper to another and gentlemanly nods of the head all round. Except he didn't. He stood there and looked grumpy. When I was moved to enquire as to the reason for his lack of walking he simply said:

"Umpire said not out"

Somewhat surprised, I replied

"But Andrew, I walked for you last week, surely you will walk for me. We both know it hit your glove"

I'll never forget Andrew's next words, for they were as potty like as they were firm:

"You c*nts cheated all last week so you can f*ck off"

Hmm, not walking then hey?

I never got to ask how we had cheated during the previous week but I did I sledge him every
second of every ball he faced for the rest of his innings, and quite a few seconds of quite a few balls when he wasn't even facing and a few more when he came out to umpire at square leg and, from memory, a couple as he walked to his car at the end of the day, but it didn't matter by then. The magic spell of walking was broken.

I learnt a valuable lesson that day. Actually, I learnt two. The first was that people are disgraceful things who should never be trusted under any circumstances and should be given exactly no legs up in any fields ever and have no more loyalty than a stray cat, roaming from home to home to see who has the biggest fire and largest stock of un-eaten fish heads.

The second lesson was that walking as a batsman is a fool's game. Not only is there very little chance that one good deed will generate another, but for all the times you are given not out when you are, there are just as many times when you are given out when you are not. The umpire isn't there just to hold the coats and spot ball tampering. They are there to make decisions. Respect their decision at all times and let them do their job. To do otherwise, is a slippery slope indeed.

Which is probably what Stuart Broad thought when he absolutely smashed a square cut to first slip in the first Test. OK, cutting one to slip and standing there is as shameless as a man born with a genetic inability to feel shame taking a shirt with a huge "Shame Stuart, Shame" printed on it off and throwing it in the bin whilst all the time yelling "Out damn shame, out I say", but the point is it is his right. It's the petulant act of a spoilt man-child who has a sense of privilege like almost no other; but it certainly is not cheating. In the same way it wasn't cheating when Haddin stood his ground, even knowing he had edged his eventual dismissal in the final innings at Trent Bridge.

So kids remember: walking might be good for getting home from school but it aint no good for cricket.