In Caravan Magazine, Rahul Bhatia looks back on how Mark Mascarenhas - who was in fatal car accident ten years ago to a day - first broke open the business of cricket.

Over the course of the era that he helped define—and then in the decade after him—the sport grew up from a gawky adolescence to an irresponsible adulthood, and the hesitations of yesterday were cast aside for the noisy satisfactions of a protracted financial bender. Looking back now, the sums involved were minute, but they made headlines at the time: when one of Mascarenhas’s clients became the first cricket millionaire in 1995, it was big enough news to make the cover of the weekly news magazine Outlook. A million dollars is what some cricketers now earn in a month. Mascarenhas was derided for the price he paid to acquire the 1996 World Cup; 16 years later, that amount wouldn’t have bought him two days of Indian cricket coverage. The transformation of the game wasn’t accomplished by one man alone, but Mascarenhas made the first move.

The Economist looks at the life of Basil D'Oliveira, and the enormous support he received from fans after being dropped for the 1968 tour to South Africa. He received so many letters that the post office had to employ separate staff to just to deal with them.

Soon attention was focused on England’s scheduled tour of South Africa in 1968-69. Mr D’Oliveira was desperate to return to his homeland. He was a hero among the country’s blacks and coloureds and wanted to prove that he rightfully belonged on the cricket grounds from which he had been banned. As if to dispel any doubt, in the last game before the squad was announced, he scored a wonderful 158 to help England beat Australia.

And here's how their South African correspondent reported the events in 1968.

Author Peter Oborne, Basil D'Oliveira's biographer, remembers the former England all-rounder on BBC Sport. Listen in here.

D'Oliveira was a fine cricketer in his own right but he will be best remembered as the man who unwittingly began apartheid's demise in 1968, says Jonathan Agnew, writing for the same site.

No other sport played a bigger part in bringing down apartheid than cricket and it all came about because of the ugly scenario in 1968. D'Oliveira's is the example I use when people tell me sport and politics should never mix. Sport can have huge political influence in the right situation.

Scyld Berry, writing in the Daily Telegraph, says no professional cricketer could have had a career so full of emotion and controversy as D’Oliveira.

In non-white South African cricket, on rough pitches usually of matting, D’Oliveira hit 80 centuries before trying for better luck abroad ... The confusions which D’Oliveira had to overcome in his career were illustrated when he returned by ship to Cape Town at the end of his 1960 [England] season: so sporting, if only in the literal sense, were many white South Africans that he was feted on landing, and driven in triumph through the streets, accompanied by bands, to a reception by the Mayor of Cape Town. Yet, at the same time, his heavily pregnant wife Naomi was not allowed to use the whites-only toilet at the docks.

The Independent on Sunday has a comprehensive package on D'Oliveira. Peter Hain, the Labour MP and anti-apartheid campaigner whose efforts helped stop South Africa's tour of England in 1970, writes about how D'Oliveira became the catalyst for the global campaign to defeat apartheid in South Africa.

In the same paper, Stephen Brenkley details how John Arlott helped bring D'Oliveira to England, which Arlott regarded as "the single act he was most proud of in his life." Guy Fraser-Sampson looks into the role then England captain Colin Cowdrey played in the D'Oliveira affair. And Rob Steen points out that the details of the famous selection meeting in 1968 after which D'Oliveira was left out of the South Africa tour are still scarce.

In the Observer Mike Brearley analyses the social significance of the D’Oliveira affair, and also looks at the burdens D’Oliveira had to bear.

He was under pressure from all sides, from militant black groups accusing him of selling out, to friends relying on him to carry the flag of non-white cricket, to those who would prefer him to be out of the picture.

And here's the paper's obituary of D'Oliveira.

On CricketWeb, Martin Chandler looks at the life and times of D'Oliveira.

What could have become of Dolly had he conducted himself differently? What dark threats might he have received in those difficult and stressful days? It is frightening to imagine ... But to my mind that serves only to underline the respect due to a man who, despite the enormous unfamiliar pressures heaped upon him, maintained the same quiet and unruffled dignity throughout his long life.

D'Oliveira's biographer Peter Oborne, writing in the Daily Telegraph, says the cricketer had never imagined that he would become central to the most important sporting controversy of modern times.

Back in the 1960s, the majority of the British sporting public had never given so much as a passing thought to the terrible injustice of South African apartheid. But when they saw this quiet, unassuming man banned from playing the sport he loved just because of the colour of his skin, the British people gave their hearts to Basil D’Oliveira because they sensed that something was badly wrong.

Vivian Richards talks to Mid-Day's Clayton Murzello about Joe Frazier, who died on November 8 after a battle with cancer.

The West Indies team members started calling Richards Smokin' Joe after the batting great "stood up for Frazier at most times" during "arguments" while on tour. Richards said: "We (in the West Indies team) used to speak often about our favourite boxers. I always admired Ali. He was the greatest really, but I just loved the attitude of the smaller man, Frazier. He wasn't as physically tall as some of the boxers who were six feet, four or six feet, five. Joe was about five feet, 10 or 11. His tenacity stood out - he moved forward and never took a step back. He was like a raging bull."

Angus Fraser pays tribute to former England fast bowler Graham Dilley, who died at the age of 52 on Wednesday, in the Independent.

But my strongest memories of Graham came on England's 1986-87 tour of Australia. Being able to watch England play in the middle of the night was a new experience back then and it was a great way for an aspiring young cricketer to pass a winter. Along with Botham, it was Chris Broad who grabbed most of the headlines on that Ashes-winning tour, but it was Dilley who helped set it up. It was Dilley who took five quality wickets in Australia's first innings at The Gabba after Botham had struck a punishing 138. Dilley backed that up with four top-order wickets in the second Test in Perth. These were bowling displays that set the tone for the remainder of the series.

A ferocious bowler and inspirational coach whose Headingley heroics will always live in the memory, writes Stephen Brenkley of Dilley in the same newspaper.

Dilley's heroic role in the miracle of Headingley will never be forgotten, says Scyld Berry, who was at the venue in 1981, in the Daily Telegraph.

Lawrence Booth, in the Daily Mail, looks back on Dilley's career. Mike Selvey pays tribute in the Guardian.

On The Old Batsman blog, a tribute to Dilley says he had lived his life in the game but in his diffident way he was out of the spotlight and so, perversely, he remained trapped by his brief moments in it. Ted Corbett, on Englandcricket.net, describes Dilley as the 'nicest fast bowler'.

Ashok Malik pays tribute to Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi in the Deccan Chronicle.

The effervescence was short-lived. Shammi and Tiger were prophets before their age. The 1960s proved a false dawn, and society soon surrendered to the cynical and underperforming statism of the 1970s — free India’s most wasted decade. It took another generation, and the cusp of a new millennium, for the legacy of both Shammi and Tiger to be fully appreciated, and for the rest of us to catch up with them.

Saba Karim, the former India wicketkeeper, also suffered from impaired vision in his right eye and speaks to India Today of how Pataudi helped him cope with it.

David Hopps, in the Guardian, pays tribute to Martin Searby, the former Times and Daily Telegraph sports writer and journalist, who passed away at the age of 72.

Searby – virtually everybody called him Searby – worked on the county cricket circuit when press boxes still bristled with purpose and a sense of self-worth and, after he had filed repeatedly for five evening papers, mostly ad-libbed with uncanny accuracy, and three radio stations, he had worked up quite a thirst.

In late evening when he turned to double scotch – "a gentleman's measure" – and his opinions became more aggressive, it was a courageous colleague who would not make their excuses and leave. Many a victim returned whey-faced to the press box the next morning to add another anecdote to the collection.

Chloe Saltau in the Age remembers Terry Jenner, who has died at 66, as a fierce defender of spin bowlers.

Jenner did a nice line in exasperation, not with the spinners themselves but with those who failed to understand why they couldn't all be like his most famous pupil. He expressed his exasperation regularly, with the selectors who sent spinners through a revolving door to the Test team, with the states that wouldn't pick them, with the captains and coaches who wanted to turn them into robots.

In Adelaide's Advertiser, Jesper Fjeldstad describes visiting Jenner in his final months.

I remember vividly dropping in to have a quick chat and drop off some photos to Terry after our last interview and he looked spent. He didn't make it to the door, asking me to help myself in, and struggled to get up to shake hands.One of my daughters was with me, and that lit his eyes up. She was asked to show her bowling action, and soon enough Terry was on his feet, wanting to help her along and fan her interest. She won't forget it, even though she only just knew about Shane Warne, Jenner's most famous pupil.

Malcolm Conn, writing in the Daily Telegraph, writes that in many ways Jenner was Warne's creator as the greatest leg-spinner ever to play the game, but equally Warne was Jenner's saviour.

Venkat Ananth, on the Yahoo Cricket website, pays tribute to Trevor Chesterfield, the veteran cricket journalist and former first-class umpire, who died at the age of 75 on Wednesday.

My first encounter with Chesters was in 2007, when I visited Sri Lanka on a research trip for my impending book. It wasn't quite a pre-planned appointment with him, but as I started meeting several legends of Ceylon cricket - the likes of the late Channa Gunasekara, Abdul Lafir and the likes, it became evident that Chesters was going to be an important source in understanding the finer details about the game in that country from a neutral perspective, the unique premise and perspective he brought as a New Zealander, who lived in South Africa for many years, before settling down in Sri Lanka and importantly, as someone whose seen the game from the sort of adjacency, many would dream of.

Former England allrounder Trevor Bailey died in a fire in his home on Thursday at the age of 87. The obituary in BBC describes Bailey as one of England's most outstanding post war allrounders, who later went on to become an invaluable member of the commentary team on the BBC's Test Match Special.

He followed his own line, both on and off the pitch. Most remarkable were his astonishingly contemplative performances at the crease during times of crisis for the national team.

David Foot in the Guardian describes Bailey as dogged but accomplished and hails him as one of English cricket's greatest allrounders.

Behind that phlegmatic exterior, though, lurked a measure of mischief, often based on his willingness to confront the game's laws with as much determination as legally permissible, and reinforced by his obsessive desire to win.

And again in the Guardian, Andy Bull in the SportBlog writes that Bailey's achievements for England and Essex and his off-the-field efforts meant he was so much more than the 'Barnacle' that was his nickname

Lawrence Booth in the Daily Mail writes that Trevor Bailey will always be remembered as a man steeped in cricket; a dry but but gentlemanly reminder of another age.

Known as Barnacle for his refusal to take risks at the crease - his 68 in 458 minutes at Brisbane in 1958 has pride of place in Wisden's table of 'slowest individual batting' - he could be equally cautious in the commentary box. When India's Kapil Dev hit three successive sixes off England spinner Eddie Hemmings at Lord's in 1990, his side were left needing six more runs to avoid the follow-on. With one ball left in the over and the No 11 at the other end, Bailey suggested: 'I'd take the single.' His colleagues chuckled and Kapil hit Hemmings for another six.

In the obituary in the Independent David Firth writes that there never was a batsman more patient, determined and obstinate than Bailey.

And in the same newspaper, David Lloyd writes that while there was a great deal more to Bailey's game than obdurate, they-shall-not-pass batting, the man himself was happy to go along with the image – even to the extent that his autobiography was entitled Wickets, Catches and the Odd Run.

As for the last word on Bailey's life, that should come from the man himself. "What I failed to realise early enough, except in the sporting field, was that nothing which is really worth having can be acquired without hard work," he wrote in his book. "Despite this weakness I can claim that I have been remarkably successful in my pursuit of happiness."

Huw Turbervill in the Daily Telegraph writes that while a defiant England retained the Ashes in Australia this winter, if there was one man who knew all about defiance, it was Bailey.

BBC Radio was the first broadcaster to cover every ball of a Test match when it launched its Test Match Special in 1957. While cricket commentary had been on air before then, it was relayed only in fits and start. Today you’ll find many a spectator at a match in England listening to the show using a portable radio and headphones; commentary radios are even sold at the grounds. In the Guardian, Bob Chaundy pays tribute to Robert Hudson, the man who started it all.

In 1955, while Hudson was commentating for radio on a Yorkshire v Nottinghamshire county match, Fred Trueman was on a hat-trick with only a few minutes of airtime remaining. The incoming batsman, Cyril Poole, took an age to prepare for Trueman's next delivery, which, with only seconds to spare, had him caught at short leg. Hudson had just enough time to yell: "It's a hat-trick, back to the studio."

The experience made him determined to liberate cricket from its piecemeal scheduling that might see coverage move between three different BBC radio networks during a single day's play. Less than half of Jim Laker's record-breaking 19-wicket haul at the 1956 Old Trafford Test against Australia was broadcast. In 1957 Hudson persuaded his superiors, despite howls of protest from the music lobby, to allow Test cricket on to the little listened-to Network Three, the forerunner of Radio 3, and to broadcast every ball bowled.

In the Guardian, Paul Weaver pays his tribute to Arthur McIntyre, Arthur McIntyre, England's oldest surviving Test cricketer, who died aged 91.

But for all his renowned toughness, McIntyre had a human side that helped the players warm to him. "I remember playing against Essex and, in my 90s, approaching my maiden championship century," Stewart recalls. "Arthur walked down the wicket and told me not to be nervous, to keep playing normally and the hundred would come. The next thing I knew, he was calling yes-no-yes-no and I was diving full length to make my ground. He nearly ran me out twice. He was more nervous for me than I was for myself."

Rajan Bala, the veteran cricket writer, died in Bangalore after suffering a cardiac arrest. Bala, 63, covered cricket for more than four decades, working in several of India's leading newspapers.

Anil Nair offers his tribute in Bangalore Mirror

Mourning for Rajan is like mourning for red tiles, or trunk calls, or The Illustrated Weekly in its heyday. He was almost an institution, and represented a belief in objectivity that our culture seems to have abandoned long ago ... On the whole, Rajan’s was a life well-lived. Even in the last few months, when he was not fully well, he would discard do-gooder advice to nurture a Bacardi or a vermouth cassis before lunch. It was as much for old time’s sake as for daring fate. As James McMurtry sang, “I don’t want another drink. I only want that last one again.” Rajan would have agreed.

In Mid-day, Clayton Murzello remembers the days well spent with Bala.

Often, he would break into song and Harry Belafonte's Jamaica Farewell was a favourite. He has gone to his very own Island in the Sun ... His wisecracks could distract the most focussed of journalists. His laugh was a hiss you couldn't help taking notice of. He indulged in leg-pulling too. In 1994 at Nagpur, he fooled a perennially nervous writer by organising for a fake fax to be sent to him signed by his editor, who insisted on a Brian Lara interview by the end of the day. Not that Rajan didn't have jokes played on him. On the 1982-83 tour of Pakistan, Sandeep Patil "stole" his typewriter and kept it in his care for a few days.

In the Times of India, Satish Viswanathan remembers how cricketers used to turn to Bala for advice on the game. He recounts a story that involves Sachin Tendulkar.

he is not a man who would have liked his death to be mourned. Life was one big celebration for him, more so the life around cricket. He wasn't just a cricket journalist, not a mere cricket writer either. Rather he was one many a cricketer turned to for advice on technique ... Such was his popularity that in the 80s, the paper he was working for then — he’s worked for many a publication, regional and national and been the sports editor in most — used to put up hoardings proclaiming that Rajan Bala was on tour and could be read only in their paper.

Also, read Suresh Menon's tribute in Cricinfo.

On my first day at work, fresh out of university, I asked hesitantly, "Is it all right to smoke in here?" and was welcomed with the memorable words: "So long as you don't f**k on my table, you can do what you want." Rajan was friend, guide, philosopher and mentor to a bunch of talented youngsters who went on to make a name for themselves.

From Lala Amarnath to Douglas Jardine to his favourite CK Nayudu, Raj Singh Dungarpur was a treasure trove of stories. And a cricket romantic without a peer. Boria Majumdar remembers him in Open magazine.

	Bill Brown was not only an Invincible but also Australia's last remaining link to pre-war Test cricket © Getty Images

Robert Craddock writes in the Courier-Mail that he visited Bill Brown the day before he died, as severe pain coursed through his body.

He could barely talk but though breathing heavily I heard him mouth a word which sounded like "whisky". When I asked whether he wanted a drink he nodded, so I dashed to the local bottle shop and got a bottle of Johnnie Walker and two glasses, putting a nip in each.

Then I noticed his eyes were closed and his breathing more subdued. Accepting we had spoken our last words I quietly said: "it's OK old mate, you don't have to drink anything" and I swear I felt my heart slide through the soles of my shoes as I patted his hand.

Then, guess what? His eyes opened and he said: "what do (you) think I am . . . a man or a bloody mouse . . . where's my whisky". His eyebrows arched and his mouth curled up at the corner as it always did when he delivered a cute line. It was one last little treat from the man the cricket world loved.

Mike Coward in the Australian writes that Brown was more than just an Invincible.

Apart from his distinguished playing record, this generous, self-effacing man had further claims to fame. He was the last survivor of the first televised cricket match at Lord's in June, 1938 when he carried his bat for a masterful 206 and identical, controversial run out decisions in successive months against India at Sydney in 1947 led to an immediate addition to the lexicon of the game.

For a man renowned for his fastidiousness on and off the ground it was surprising he repeatedly left the non-striker's crease before the bowler, Vinoo Mankad, delivered the ball. On both occasions in the Australian XI match and the second Test Mankad issued a warning to Brown before removing the bails. Today, this rare form of dismissal is known as Mankading.

Bill Johnston, the left-arm fast and finger-spin bowler who was Australia's equal leading Test wicket-taker on the 1948 Invincibles tour, died on Friday aged 85. In The Australian, Mike Coward describes Johnston's path to the big time.

Although passionate about the game as a schoolboy at Ondit and Colac High Schools, his early cricket was played on the family dairy farm and for the Beeac town team - especially during country week - and he did not see a Sheffield Shield match before he made his debut against Queensland at the Melbourne Cricket Ground in December 1945. And he had seen just one Test match before being chosen for the inaugural series with India in 1947-48 when he took 16 wickets at 11.37 to assure himself of a trip to England in 1948. Ace slow bowler Bill "Tiger" O'Reilly once quipped: "As a bowler he has one failing - he hasn't a temper."

Dick Motz, the first New Zealand's bowler to reach 100 Test wickets, has died in Christchurch.

Geoff Longley offers his in tribute in The Press while Lynn McConnell writes on Sportal about the fast bowler who loved hitting sixes.

The Waikato Times, which rates Motz as the fifth best seamer that New Zealand ever produced, hails him as:

"He could be a shock and a stock bowler. Extremely courageous and durable, with a fine fast bowler's hatred of batsmen."

In the Hindustan Times, Pradeep Magazine pays tribute to Bob Woolmer. He shares his memories of the man, the first time they met, and the subtle intricacies he noticed in a man dedicated to the game.

	Bob Woolmer played, coached and commentated on the game all of his life © Getty Images

Tributes from the cricketing world have poured in for Bob Woolmer, the deceased Pakistan coach and ex-England Test player.

Neil Manthrop, a close friend of Woolmer, has a lot of memories of the man outside cricket - whether it was planning a surprise for his wife on their silver anniversary or playing a round of golf. He writes on Supercricket website:

There they stood, wine glasses in hand, having enjoyed a meal of which few could remember better. Seconds passed before, slowly but surely, a silver sports car was driven amongst us. It had an enormous, silk bow tied around it and a card which read: "Happy Anniversary - love you always, Bob."

The whisper had alerted everyone to the surprise, everyone that is, but the recipient. The whisper had told us that the lady had dreamed, all her life, of driving an open-topped sports car with the wind blowing in her hair and the scent of the Cape filling her senses.

From England batsman to international innovator, he was always admired, writes David Hopps in the Guardian.

He was among the pioneers of video analysis as a coaching aid, now an accepted part of the game. He recognised the extent with which information technology would revolutionise the game. He always preferred to guide rather than dictate and a gentle, caring and always humane approach to life was regularly evident.

Writing in The Times, Ivo Tennant recalls the times spent with a close friend; a student in love with the game, too generous with his time, and whose door was open to everyone.

I shall miss his flow of e-mails, his kindness, his coaching tips to my son and, above all, his zest for life. There was no such thing as a difficult moment with him: the relationship between the star coach and the “ghost” of his columns and his autobiography was an even one — even though he had given so freely of his time that sometimes he could not recall that he had made a particular observation. It did not matter because these were usually spot-on. No one cared more about the game, or understood it and those who peopled it, better than Bob.

Clyde Walcott will be buried in his native Barbados today. Read Ali Bacher's tribute to the man who "probably did more for West Indies and world cricket than anyone else".

For West Indies, he was a great player, team manager, convener of selectors and president of the West Indies Cricket Board (WICB). For world cricket, he became chairman of the International Cricket Council, the highest office in the game. In every capacity, he was driven by one thing only - his great passion for cricket.

Player, coach, captain, selector, manager, administrator and unwavering defender of the game's great values, Sir Clyde Walcott was a cricketing giant in every way, writes Tony Cozier in Barbados-based The Daily Nation.

In 44 Tests for the West Indies, he became one of the finest batsmen the game has known, forever linked with a triumvirate of Barbadian batsmen, born within a year and a mile of each other and everlastingly known as the 3Ws through the coincidence of the first letter of their surnames.

Read Sir Everton Weekes's tribute in The Nation, as told to Philip Spooner.

"It's not easy to accept what is inevitable, although we expect it sometimes, when it happens it still chokes you up inside."

Also read Walcott's obituary by BC Pires in The Guardian.

Writing in The Indian Express, S Santhanam relives some special moments with former Test opener and gentleman cricketer Vijay Mehra, who died of a heart attack yesterday.

Mehra always took keen interest in the domestic matches and would often ring this writer to get the scores of different teams and players. Those phones will no longer ring, I have lost a close guide and admirer.

Also read K Datta's obituary in the Times of India.

Geoff McClure remembers an interesting anecdote about Wasim Raja, who died recently, during his first meeting at Perth almost 25 years ago:

I challenged him to a wager involving the rest of the match. At odds of 2-1, Raja would win $100 if he took at least one wicket when Australia's second innings resumed next day and then score a half-century when Pakistan batted. But, on my insistence, part of the deal was that he also had to celebrate each achievement by standing in the middle of the pitch with his both arms facing towards the heavens.

Read here to find out more.

	England's players line up for a minute's silence in honour of Fred Trueman © Getty Images

Yesterday’s sad news of Fred Trueman’s death has understandably produced many tributes across this morning’s papers.

Scyld Berry calls him the greatest of the greatest, in a touching homage in The Sunday Telegraph:

Michael Holding had a beautiful bowling action, Harold Larwood too, but nobody has matched Trueman for a classical side-on action. It was magnificent theatre, and being no fool but full of street wisdom, coming as he did from a mining community, the man himself knew it.

[…]

When Trueman reached the crease, his left arm was pointing towards the batsman as a veiled threat. When he lifted his left side into the air, his right arm was simultaneously cocked back, fully armed and ready to strike. The end-result was normally an outswinger to the right-handed batsman, if he had not been entranced by the spectacle which had unfolded before him.

	'[his] classical side-on action was lent an additional romantic quality by his athleticism and mane of swirling dark hair' © The Cricketer International

Vic Marks, who shared a commentary box with Trueman for Test Match Special, offers similar sentiments and hints at the humour which made Trueman such an engaging character:

Trueman was notorious for spending much of the time in the opposition's dressing room, rather than his own, before the start of play. Puffing his pipe, he would announce to Yorkshire's opponents who would make up his five-wicket haul later in the day, pointing out in some detail how he was going to get them.
Ray Illingworth, who also started his career with Fred, said: 'There was always a smile on his face. There was no malice when he was telling them that he was going to find out whether they could hook or not.'

Stephen Brenkley writes in the Independent about the romance of his action:

He was assisted by a classical side-on action which was lent an additional romantic quality by his athleticism and mane of swirling dark hair. For the better part of 20 years and more he was an essential part of the national round, pipe man of the year among other things and a perennial card.

It was a fight till the very end for Budhi Kunderan, the former India wicketkeeper who succumbed to cancer yesterday. Clayton Murzello pays a tribute, with touching quotes from family and Kunderan's friends.Read the full piece in Mid-Day.

"In the age of the Internet, Budhi Kunderan did not give it any space. He used his hands to write letters to his dear ones."

	© Cricinfo

It was one legendary toss of a coin which spelt out Eric Bedser's destiny. For Eric and Alec Beder, twins almost joined in-the-hip, their lives couldn't have been more different. David McKie, in his moving obituary of Eric in The Guardian portrays a special sibling relationship without a trace of envy.

"Romantic egalitarians, a tribe to which I belonged in those days (and still do) grieved on Eric's behalf, even if Eric himself never displayed the mildest sign of resentment; and grieved even more for the knowledge that Eric's diminished role seemed to have turned on the toss of a coin."

And there is also an article we have found from The Cricketer in July 1943 about the emerging talents that they were at the time and their early days.

"Umpires, too, have had their problems. Once, when Alec was run out in a match, Eric followed in, but the umpire refused to allow him to bat “again” until Alec was recalled from the pavilion for purposes of comparison."

Neil Manthorp in Supercricket pays a warm tribute to Peter Robinson, the cricket writer who passed away due to cancer.

He was sharper than any of us, often wittier and certainly more argumentative. Forget crosswords or Sudoku for mental exercise, on long tours to India or England we would stay in shape by disagreeing with Robbo on a subject we knew he felt strongly about. I never saw anyone win - but it was fun trying.