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10 Highlights from Cricket's Strangest Matches

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by Andrew Ward

You might not know how to play. But that shouldn't stop you from learning how to deal with cricket's most common problems. Like: what to do when a monkey keeps interrupting play. And who to bet on when you're watching a team of one-armed players take on a team of one-legged players. We've asked sportswriter Andrew Ward, author of Cricket's Strangest Matches, to give us a primer on what we need to know.

Remember that Hollywood chestnut that you should never work with animals or children? Well, cricketers certainly agree about the animal part. Bulls, cows and emus have all threatened cricket pitches in recent years. Here are a few tips:

1. WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU BEES, SUMMON A BEEKEEPER

Cricketers prefer not to share a field with the 6-leggers. While play has been stopped by flying ants, midges and wasps in the past, perhaps the biggest pests of all are the bees. During a match between Oxfordshire and Worcestershire in June 1962, the situation got so bad that players had to hide in the dressing-rooms until a beekeeper was summoned. But that's hardly the worst of it. In 1981, a cricket match in Bangalore was abandoned after thousands of bees--disturbed by children throwing stones--swarmed across the field and took revenge. Six players and an umpire needed hospital treatment!

Bee attacks aren't just relegated to the past, though. Recently, during a test match between Sri Lanka and England in December 2007, swarms of bees flew across the Asgiriya Stadium field in Kandy. An experienced umpire set a good example by lying down on the floor. The players did likewise. Play was suspended for while everyone waited it out facedown on the pitch.

2. PUNCHING THE MONKEY

Occasionally, cricketers have to deal with the business of monkey business.

During a match in Poona, India, in December 1951, play was interrupted several times by a monkey running around the field. While Maharashtra were playing an England team, the monkey kept sneaking into fielding position close to the wicket. As the bowler ran in, the monkey watched with all the concentration of the fielders. Finally, a boy came on with a stick and chased the monkey away. And though he left his courtside seat, the monkey wasn't quite done. He climbed to the pavilion roof and watched the rest of the game from there.

3. FOR THE BIRDS

Cricketers know all about the bees, but they've had to educate themselves about working with birds as well. During a 1930s test match, a sparrow was struck by a fielder's throw. The crowd shouted for the poor bird to be put out of its misery, so a spectator ran on the field with that intention. He stopped down to kill the bird, but the sparrow flew off, sending the crowd into hysterics.

4. AN ARM AND A LEG

Charity cricket matches are often contrived to be strange "“ Married v Single, Left-hand v Right-hand, Bearded Players v Shaven Players, Over-30 v Under-30, Smokers v Non-smokers, and so on.

The most unusual of these matches took place in the 1850s and 1860s, where a team of one-legged players took on a team of one-armed players.

The participants were usually veterans of the Crimean War, hoping to raise money for their own cause. Sideshows and family events enhanced the occasions.

For those of you curious to know who won these matches, the one-legged teams usually dominated these encounters. Fielding with one leg is comparatively easier than batting with one arm. One reporter described a contest in 1862 as something "painfully wonderful and ludicrously horrible."

5, IT'S A MATTER OF CLASS

As for the most established contrived match, that had to be the annual fixture between Gentlemen and Players. The teams were selected from the best amateur players (the Gentlemen) and the best of those who earned their living from playing cricket (The Players). The first Gentlemen"“Players match was in 1806 and the last in 1962. The Gentlemen won 68 of the contests, Players 125, with 80 drawn and one tied. But the Gentlemen did not win any of the last eighteen matches.

6. WALK ON WATER (BUT DO IT CAUTIOUSLY!)

Bramble Bank, a sandbar in the middle of a stretch of water off the south coast of England, is a disaster area for shipping. But what's bad for industry is apparently great for cricket. Twice a year, for about an hour on each occasion, the sandbar surfaces as a temporary two-acre island. Despite the fact that pools of seawater cover the pitch, and players have to wear galoshes instead of their standard cricket boots, sportsmen take full advantage of the challenge: to play a cricket match during the hour when the island is available. Of course, the winning team is usually one of the local sailing clubs; generally the one that can get the most players to the shore.

Similarly, Goodwin Sands is another target for hasty games. Most of the year the sandbar hovers dangerously just below the surface. But unlike Bramble Bank, Goodwin Sands has come dangerously close to causing a cricket catastrophe.

In November 2006 a BBC television team attempted to stage a Goodwin Sands cricket fixture. Unfortunately the escapade showed how easy it was to be caught by the rising tide. The television crew lost an estimated £100,000 worth of equipment and the cricket club lost equipment as lifeboats rescued stranded crew and players.

7. TAKE ADVANTAGE OF (INTER)NATIONAL BOUNDARIES

In 2006, a Dutch team called the Fellowship of Fairly Odd Places CC played a game that took place in two countries. Half the field was in southern Holland and the other half was in Belgium. The international border ran across the wicket.

Cricket matches have also taken place on a frozen Lake Geneva, an Icelandic glacier and a North American ice-hockey rink. Harry Thompson's book about a local cricket team's world tour, Penguins Stopped Play, featured an attempt to play in the Antarctic Circle. That was how the book got its title.

The most common addendum to a cricket score in England is "Rain Stopped Play." Occasionally the game continues in light rain, but cricket becomes a mockery if bowlers can't hold a wet ball or water is dripping off a cricketer's cap. Here are a few tips for dealing with Mother Nature.

8. TRUST THE ATHLETES

On one Saturday in May 1951 the east coast of Yorkshire was so foggy that many cricket games were affected. Captains couldn't see where their fielders were. The people keeping records of the match had to rely on relayed accounts from the players in order to keep the books straight.

9. BEWARE OF THOSE JUNE SNOWSTORMS

Just because your calendar says "summer," it doesn't mean Mother Nature's paying attention. In June 1975, a three-day match in Buxton, Derbyshire, missed an entire day's play because of a snowstorm. It was a game of three thirds. The first day Lancashire got a huge boost scoring 477 for five (declared) in excellent conditions. Then, there was no play on the second day because it was the snowiest summer day on record in England. On the third day, in dreadful batting conditions, Derbyshire scored 42 in their first innings and 87 in their second innings.

10. LET THEM PLAY BALL

Sometimes, the game just has to go on. In the Fenlands of East Anglia, during the 1870s, the frozen fields of winter were sometimes used for cricket. Fielders chased and slid across the ice, and batsmen often tipped over from the overbalance when taking too big a swing at the ball.

It's also become traditional for certain local English cricket teams to play a match on Boxing Day (December 26) whatever the weather. Sometimes a matting wicket is laid on the top of snow or a muddy field. It is a real contrast to the Melbourne Cricket Ground, Australia, where Boxing Day Test matches usually begin in glorious summer sunshine.

If you like this piece, be sure to pick up Andrew Ward's excellent book Cricket's Strangest Matches: Extraordinary but True Stories from 150 Years of Cricket here.

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History
Lady Ali: How Jackie Tonawanda Changed Women's Boxing
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As photographers and newspaper reporters looked on, Jackie Tonawanda allowed herself to be fingerprinted. It was October 7, 1974, and Tonawanda—who was dwarfed by the burly professional wrestlers waiting their turn—was taking the necessary steps to become a licensed professional boxer by the New York State Athletic Commission. The fingerprints would be sent off to Albany make sure she wasn't a felon; a physical would determine her fitness for competition.

Tonawanda didn't anticipate either one becoming a hurdle. Her main concern was that the state of New York had long prohibited women from prizefighting.

The gregarious Tonawanda told the assembled press in the commission's offices that she was the “female Cassius Clay,” referring to boxing icon Muhammad Ali. (Like Ali, she was known for boasting to the media and offering impromptu demonstrations of her hand speed.) Women could already be licensed as pro wrestlers and boxing managers in the state. Why, Tonawanda argued, should female boxers be exempt from officially participating in the sport?

Commissioners brushed off her complaints, fretting about being deemed negligent if women suffered injuries. Rumors circulated in the boxing community that blows to the chest could cause breast cancer. Ed Dooley, the head of the state's athletic commission, thought women fighting in a ring would bring “disrepute” to the venerable sport.

In time, Jackie Tonawanda would be hailed as a boxing pioneer, someone who stood up to the rampant sexism from promoters and the sport's sanctioning bodies. But in 1975, Tonawanda's license application was denied. Dooley refused to back off from his insistence that boxing was strictly a “manly art.” Tonawanda was incredulous. If that was what he believed, she thought, she would show him otherwise.

To prove her point, she would even agree to an extreme demonstration of her worth as a fighter: an unlicensed fight against a man, in full view of spectators at Madison Square Garden.

Although Tonawanda was the first woman to ever lace up her gloves at the famed New York arena, women’s boxing had been a ring attraction for decades. In 1876, two women took wild swings at one another in what may have been the first spectator women's match in the country. (The prize was a silver butter dish.) In 1954, women competed on television for the first time. But with so few participants in the sport, it was difficult for any real momentum to develop. And without endorsement from state athletic commissions, official records and rankings were nearly impossible to come by.

Such was the state of female fighting when Tonawanda decided to compete. Born on Long Island and orphaned by age 8, she started boxing at age 13, eventually migrating to the famed Gleason’s Gym in Brooklyn. As an adult, Tonawanda occupied a unique space in the art: At 175 pounds, she was larger than many of the other women who fought, making matchmaking difficult. She once stated she sparred exclusively with men because women “don't show me anything and they can’t take my power.”

With only scattered women’s bouts available, Tonawanda often fought in unsanctioned matches around the country. She managed to compile a 23-0 record (although this number would sometimes change in interviews, as would her birth year and even her height) before petitioning her home state of New York to sanction her bouts. Commission members like Dooley and former heavyweight champion Floyd Patterson were wary, fearing the seeming fragility of women might give a proverbial black eye to the sport. They turned down both Tonawanda and Marian "Tyger" Trimiar, another female boxer, citing, among other things, concerns over the possible trauma the women might suffer to their breasts.

“I don't think a blow to the breast would cause breast cancer," Irwin Weiner, an associate professor of obstetrics and gynecology at New York University, told The New York Times when the women first applied for licenses in 1974. "On the other hand, it's a rather tender area that can be easily bruised. It might take longer to recover from bruises there.” Dooley remained insistent, saying a fight "could endanger a female's reproductive organs and breasts."

Tonawanda didn’t accept the decision in stride. She sued the state for discrimination, arguing that women had every right to compete. In June of 1975, while the lawsuit was still being contested, she agreed to compete at a martial arts tournament at Madison Square Garden that fell outside the purview of the commission. Her original opponent was to be a Thai fighter in a mixed-rules striking contest, but that fighter ended up being replaced by an unheralded kickboxer named Larry Rodania. In the opening moments of the fight, Rodania hit her with a shot that left her unable to sleep on her left side for weeks. For much of the first round, though, Tonawanda parried his strikes, getting a sense of his timing. In the second, she landed a left that cracked his jaw and sent him to the canvas.

The referee announced that Rodania was out, unable to answer basic questions like “Where are you?” But some observers expressed doubt that the bout was legitimate. Recapping the event, Black Belt magazine questioned Rodania’s judgment in taking the fight at all. From the outside, it appeared to be a lose-lose proposition: Beating a woman in the ring would impress few, and losing to one could be ruinous in the eyes of fans who wouldn't expect a woman to be competitive with a man. It's not clear whether Rodania ever competed again.

For Tonawanda, the spectacle of her squaring off against Rodania made headlines and led to more offers, some outside of the ring. Later that year, she not only received a boxing license from the state of Maine, but also filmed a small role for the Dustin Hoffman film Marathon Man. In 1976, she was invited to spend time at a training camp with Muhammad Ali as he prepared for a bout against Ken Norton. Being around Ali, Tonawanda said, made her so nervous that she could barely eat.

If the bout was intended to elicit a response from the New York commission, however, it didn’t work. Tonawanda continued to compete in bouts outside of the state, and the commission steadfastly refused to acknowledge the rights of female prizefighters until 1978 brought a development they couldn’t ignore.

Three years prior, Tonawanda’s lawsuit had made it to the state Supreme Court, which ruled in Tonawanda’s favor and suggested she sue once again in order to have the law in New York overturned. When Tonawanda failed to follow up on their advice, another boxer, Cathy “Cat” Davis, picked up the baton and initiated a suit. When Davis’s legal action forced the commission to throw out the ban, Davis, Tonawanda, and Tremiar became the first three women to receive licenses in the state.

For the first time, Tonawanda would be able to claim a legitimate, professional fight on her record.

Despite setting a legal precedent, the court’s decision didn't guarantee that the fighters would necessarily be able to compete in New York. With so few female fighters to match up with one another, the women who were granted licenses often sought fights out of the area. The following year, Tonawanda fought Diane “Dynamite” Clark in a six-round bout in Louisville, Kentucky, in what would be her first and only professional contest. She lost in a split decision.

While it was a crucial moment for the fighters, women’s boxing continued to endure the perception that it was a sideshow. From the Rodania fight onward, Tonawanda received offers to fight men, including noted light heavyweight Mike Quarry. Quarry, Tonawanda claimed, backed out when he realized he had nothing to gain by fighting a woman.

By the mid-1980s, Tonawanda's career was winding down. She fought a man a second time, scoring another knockout at the Nassau Coliseum in 1984. It would be one of her last competitions before being injured in a 1986 car accident that ended any consideration of returning to the ring. From that point on, she became something of a mentor in various boxing gyms in the state. At Fort Apache Youth Center in the Bronx, she advised aspiring fighters on technique. Later, she trained future heavyweight contender Israel Garcia, who she met after Garcia discovered that she lived in the apartment building where he worked.

Lalia Ali faces off against Gwendolyn O'Neil of Guyana during the 2007 WBC/WIBA Super Middleweight World Title in Johannesburg, South Africa.
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In the meantime, fighters like Laila Ali, Christy Martin, and other women began gaining notoriety and respect for being capable pugilists. While they undoubtedly faced sexism, none had been forced to insist on their right to compete. That road had been paved by Tonawanda, who demanded equal footing with her male counterparts.

Tonawanda died from colon cancer in 2009. Like many boxers, she had no pension or retirement fund to fall back on, and her remains were initially destined for a mass grave on Hart Island, New York City’s potter’s field. She was saved from that fate thanks to Ring 8, the nonprofit consortium of former prizefighters that she belonged to. The group, which provides financial assistance to veteran boxers, raised enough money for a marked grave for her in the Bronx. It was proof that boxing had ultimately accepted Tonawanda, long considered an outsider, as one of their own.

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Big Questions
Why Do We Sing the National Anthem at Sporting Events?
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In early September 1814, Francis Scott Key, an American lawyer and amateur poet, accompanied American Prisoner Exchange Agent Colonel John Stuart Skinner to negotiate a prisoner release with several officers of the British Navy. During the negotiations, Key and Skinner learned of the British intention to attack the city of Baltimore, as well as the strength and positions of British forces. They were not permitted to leave for the duration of the battle and witnessed the bombardment of Baltimore's Fort McHenry on September 13 and 14. Inspired by the American victory and the sight of the American flag flying high in the morning, Key wrote a poem titled "The Defence of Fort McHenry."

Key set the lyrics to the anthem of the London-based Anacreontic Society, "The Anacreontic Song." (Nine years earlier, Key had used the same tune for “When the Warrior Returns (from the Battle Afar)” to celebrate Stephen Decatur’s return from fighting the Barbary pirates, which included the line “By the light of the Star Spangled flag of our nation.”)

The poem was taken to a printer, who made broadside copies of it. A few days later, the Baltimore Patriot and The Baltimore American printed the poem with the note "Tune: Anacreon in Heaven." Later, Carrs Music Store in Baltimore published the words and music together as "The Star Spangled Banner."

The song gained popularity over the course of the 19th century and was often played at public events like parades and Independence Day celebrations (and, on occasion, sporting events). In 1889, the Secretary of the Navy ordered it the official tune to be played during the raising of the flag. In 1916, President Woodrow Wilson ordered that it be played at all military ceremonies and other appropriate occasions, making it something of an unofficial national anthem.

After America's entrance into World War I, Major League Baseball games often featured patriotic rituals, such as players marching in formation during pregame military drills and bands playing patriotic songs. During the seventh-inning stretch of Game One of the 1918 World Series, the band erupted into "The Star-Spangled Banner." The Cubs and Red Sox players faced the centerfield flag pole and stood at attention. The crowd, already on their feet, began to sing along and applauded at the end of the song.

Given the positive reaction, the band played the song during the next two games, and when the Series moved to Boston, the Red Sox owner brought in a band and had the song played before the start of each remaining contest. After the war (and after the song was made the national anthem in 1931), the song continued to be played at baseball games, but only on special occasions like opening day, national holidays, and World Series games.

During World War II, baseball games again became venues for large-scale displays of patriotism, and technological advances in public address systems allowed songs to be played without a band. "The Star-Spangled Banner" was played before games throughout the course of the war, and by the time the war was over, the pregame singing of the national anthem had become cemented as a baseball ritual, after which it spread to other sports.

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