Copied from social media; long but worth it for the last bit
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MARK NICHOLAS for “The Cricket Monthly”
Batting for Glamorgan, Viv played the greatest innings I ever saw first-hand and I make no apology for telling a story told many times before. Glamorgan weren’t special at the time, so we set them a target well within reach on a very flat pitch at the small Northlands Road ground – 364 on the final day. They were about 140 for 5 at tea but Viv was still there, and for some reason, he was blocking. He was in a filthy mood, exaggerated by the fact that the Glamorgan captain, Alan Butcher, had come out on the dressing-room balcony waving his arms around as if to say, get the hell on with it. I think Viv had decided the others were pretty useless, and in protest was going to block out the draw. We were realistic about Viv – might get him out, might not – but no way could the last five Glamorgan batsmen survive a whole session.
Then, first ball after tea, Viv followed through on a forward-defensive to Tim Tremlett and hit it into Northlands Road. We all looked at each other and thought, ‘Oh my days, here we go!’ And we were right, there we went. They needed more than 200 in the session and he just murdered us. It was fantastic to watch – up to a point.
Fast forward. With one over of the match left, Viv was 150 not out. To win, 14 were needed and Malcolm Marshall – “the greatest fast bowler in the world” – was bowling to the man. It’s that parallel universe again.
The Welsh were seven down now and Colin Metson was in. So I said to Malcolm, “With all of us on the fence, Viv gets a single and you have five balls at Metson and the rest, who can’t bat. We might even win.” So Macko ran in and bowled a length ball on off stump, which Viv blistered through cover for four. Our two quickest fielders – Paul Terry and Robin Smith – were on the fence at point and extra cover: neither moved, they just looked at each other as if to say “Ye gods!”
I’m thinking more pragmatically: that should have been a single. “Macko,” I screamed from long-off, “give Viv an effing single!” Next ball, Macko bowled a quick bouncer and Viv, first rocking forward and then stepping back, hit it over the block of flats that ran alongside the perimeter of the ground on the longest side at square leg. We never saw the ball again, ever.
So now I’ve got the hump and moved in from the boundary at long-off to say “Give him a f**king single, bowl him a yorker and you’ve got three balls at Metson!” So the very great Malcolm Marshall ran in and bowled a good full ball – if not quite a yorker – which Viv dug out and drilled wide of mid-on. For 13 cricketers, two umpires and a couple of thousand spectators the earth stood still: all eyes were on a cricket ball that was scorching a pathway to the boundary. As it crossed the line, each of us snapped back to different realities – 11 men defeated, two men elated, and a crowd in wonder. Viv had cleaned up the game with three balls to spare and finished unbeaten with 164. He had his gloves off and was running towards me, offering his hand. “That was one helluva declaration, skipper, let’s go drink some beers.” And it was one hell of an innings Viv.
“As if he’d have taken the single anyway,” said Macko in the bar at 10 o’clock that night.
