When the sun doesn't shine

The tragic death of Graham Thorpe is a further reminder of the fragility of life in professional sport

Cricket giveth. And cricket taketh away. That is my sober reflection on the tragic day we hear that Graham Thorpe has passed away aged 55. It is another example of the fragile existence of people who played cricket for a living. It is the greatest sport to be involved in – truly. Inclusive – totally. Enriching – undoubtedly. Infuriating – indisputably. Cosy – in the sense that once you are part of the cricketing fabric it is like joining a vast and welcoming family. But it is also trauma inducing. If for some reason you lose your way or are excluded for whatever reason it can be very distressing. It is after all the one sport where life and death are literally one ball apart. That stark reality hangs over you like the sword of Damocles.

The joy you can derive from the very nature of cricket – from avoiding that ‘death’ in the quest to help your team/family to victory (or even a draw) is considerable. Almost indescribable. I experienced it yesterday, at my old club Ealing, ‘helping’ my son Billy achieve an exciting victory with a painful one not out in a last wicket partnership of 28. The fact that I am still trying to play aged 64 – and I wasn’t even the oldest on the field, that was 71 year old Mark Cooper – tells you something about cricket. Once caught up in it, it takes hold of you, its tentacles wound round and penetrating deep. It’s very hard to extricate yourself.

At professional level those feelings are even more intense. The thrill of being paid to do something you love and are totally immersed in is special. An exceptional privilege. The bonds you form are unbreakable.  The experiences memorable. Life enhancing. But when you become surplus to requirements – for whatever reason -  it is like divorce. A painful separation. You feel suddenly unwanted and useless. I once described it as feeling like an old washing machine thrown on the tip.

Of course players find different ways of dealing with that. Some stay in the game in a coaching or commentary role or embark on new careers. Some disintegrate into a slough of despond. They feel rejected and diminished. They can be inconsolable. Even though  Graham Thorpe found a very rewarding position as England batting coach, he seemed as fragile, confidence-wise, as he was when he was a player. He often hated touring – partly because of his off-field antics - and suffered from homesickness. He had the capacity for dark thoughts. When he was England batting coach he confided in me a few times, but all I could do was reassure him that life post playing (and post-divorce, which I had also experienced) had plenty of upside.

He was a bit anti-establishment (that’s why his teammates and players loved him so much) and occasionally took a wrong turn. I worried about him post England’s last disastrous tour of Australia and the story of him arousing the interception of the police by smoking a cigar at 5am in a Tasmanian hotel lobby. As with his divorce (and touring habits) the tabloids got involved, and he was eventually sacked by the England management.  Not long afterwards it was announced he was ‘seriously ill’ in hospital. An illness from which he has sadly now passed away.  

We have all drawn our own conclusions from this tragic tale. But whatever is the post-mortem it is another example of cricket giving someone huge pleasure, but also driving them to despair. All we can do is remind players experiencing negative thoughts that, as Trevor Bayliss was fond of saying after a defeat – “the sun will be shining in the morning.” For some a shining sun is not enough.   RIP Chalky