A History of The Cricket Statistician—Part II

Richard Streeton on the ACS's flagship journal

In an effort to lengthen my own trains of thought about the journal, I sent a questionnaire to some twenty ACS committee and other senior members for their opinions, and talked to several other people on the telephone. To ensure frankness, I promised them anonymity, believing it best that I took any flak drawn by their replies. As things turned out, the answers were generally favourable, often constructive, and in fact contained nothing to which anyone could take exception. They were mostly in accord with my own views.

Everyone, my investigation disclosed, looked forward to the Journal’s arrival. Some would like it to appear every month; others wanted a larger journal appearing only every six months. The committee have investigated these suggestions in the past, and have always found them to be impractical as things stand.

The majority of journal readers, apparently, turn to the book reviews first. There is an almost universal dislike of long lists of figures and tabulations—but obviously there have to be some—and in particular lists that are soon rendered obsolete, or compiled by simply reaching for somebody else’s record book. (Bill Frindall, once he got started on this tack, would be stuck on it for hours!)

In contrast to this ephemeral data, there was a distinct preference for in-depth written pieces, both on historical topics and on individual personalities. The latter should be extended to include gifted performers and administrative stalwarts below first-class level—right down through the leagues to ordinary local clubs, in fact—whom posterity would otherwise never learn about. Informative guidance, such as the whereabouts of scorebooks, or the contents of specific libraries, have always been welcomed. Several thought that there was too much emphasis on Test cricket. Both readers’ letters and the editorials were enjoyed. Inevitably the generation gap raised its head in the subject of the one-day game’s coverage. Clearly it behoves us crinklies to remember that limited-overs cricket has always existed to anyone born from the mid-1960s onwards. For them it is a fundamental part of the game.

Above all else, of course, it is pleasing that everybody feels the journal is good value. It is appreciated that a quarterly publication can never be strictly topical; it must never deteriorate to ‘fanzine’ level.

The leaning towards an increase in the number of articles with a historical bent was clearly discernable, and one that I felt represented a fairly new trend. Nobody should be too surprised. Surely it only confirms the evolution of an organisation that has largely fulfilled its originally stated aims.

The journal naturally reflects what is happening in its parent association. In the early days arguments raged—literally on occasion!—at meetings and in the journal’s pages as countless and detailed lists of amendments and corrections were uncovered for Wisden or Reese’s and Luckin’s early volumes on cricket in New Zealand and South Africa. Now first-class status for every match in each country has been clarified, and books detailing corrected match scores and players’ details have been published. Much of this basic work has been completed, and the increasingly wide scope of other ACS publications caters for many subjects which might otherwise have been featured in the journal.

There has always been, of course, a full quota of distinguished historical articles in the journal—notably by Peter Wynne-Thomas. If the emphasis in the years ahead is to be for even more in similar vein, few members would cavil. This is not to say that the better sort of statistics, lasting and worthwhile, should no longer appear. Nobody revels in them more than I do, but they must be relevant and informative. Let us not forget that the best statisticians, from Ashley-Cooper onwards, have always been entertaining to read. Flair remains as necessary for statisticians as for historians and writers. It has always been a rare gift. 

Unlike their counterparts at other such publications, the editors have seldom ordered specific articles for publication. They have used whatever they have received, and frankly it is amazing that members have submitted such a wide variety of articles—even if, inevitably, some have been of a higher standard than others. It demonstrates cricket’s knack for inspiring interest over a widely differing range of subjects.

Any survey of The Cricket Statistician over so many different issues can only be a matter of the writer’s personal memories and subject preferences. For instance—and no slight is intended here—you will not find mention from me of the complicated and lengthy, near mathematical treatises, which have occasionally appeared. These have their devotees, and the erudition of the authors has to be admired, but my eyes glaze over. I simply do not understand them. Give me instead a few pages’ diligent and pure cricket research, tinged strongly with a historical brush, from Peter Wynne-Thomas or Philip Thorn; the stunning variety of facts and knowledge, which cascades in a ceaseless flow, from Philip Bailey; statistical chat and snippets from the likes of Gordon Tratalos or Ernest Gross; compilations from Mike Spurrier, mostly related to cricketers and their wartime experiences; and the multifarious lists from Kit Bartlett on everything under the sun. Throw in Robert Brooke and his spicy book reviews and you have a splendid pot-pourri to savour.

Then there are the occasional tiny but pure golden nuggets one comes across in casual browsing—“filler pars,” as they are known in the trade—filling what would otherwise be an awkward gap in a page. Many years have elapsed since Issue No. 21 in March 1978, but I have never forgotten being informed about “Most Runs off One Ball.” The bets I have won on this subject since! It appears that in a Western Australia country match in January 1894, the first ball was “skied” into the branches of a tall tree and stuck there. A “lost ball” claim was disallowed because the ball could still be seen. A search for an axe proved fruitless, and the ball after numerous misses was eventually shot down by a rifle. By then the batsmen had crossed for 286 runs. Their side declared straightaway and went on to win. Wonderful stuff! [Too wonderful, alas, to be true.—Ed.]

This article is adapted from the version which first appeared in the hundredth edition of The Cricket Statistician, published in Winter 1997. To join the Association of Cricket Statisticians and Historians, and subscribe to the journal, please visit our website: