The pulsating nerve of Irish cricket

THERE'S a ten-minute break between innings. Ireland has declared, leaving Denmark 224 to win. While the handful of spectators (about 20) tune into the radio commentary of the big match across the water- England v. New Zealand, the groundsman and his team of assistants embark on one of those curious rituals which are so much part of the game of cricket. By Selwyn Parker

Like most, this one has its rules. It's the preparation of the pitch between innings. Two lads work the handroller, two others re-chalk the graph of lines around the crease, two others watch ... critically.

In any case you can't take liberties with this turf. They've been playing on the Leinster Cricket Club ground since 1860, which probably makes it one of the oldest pitches anywhere.

Once the groundsman's team has finished, a group of officials stroll onto the grass and inspect their handiwork. The Irish eleven emerge from the pavilion, loosening up, and the Danish opening batsmen appear soon after. In a far corner of the ground an elderly man, clutching a copy of Wisden, the cricket-lover's bible, settles down in a camping chair alongside his wife to watch the rest of the game. Out on the pitch the facing batsman takes strike. Ireland's medium-pace bowler pounds down the wicket and delivers his first thunderbolt. (It isn't.) The Dane easily straight -bars the ball back.

A few minutes later, everybody goes off to lunch - bowler, fielders, batsmen, and the elderly man with his Wisden, no doubt intending to riffle through its pages to see if any records have been broken. (None have.)

Cricket is a game of easy cadences, slowwmotion rhythms that unwind slowly throughout this three-day match. Fortunes ebb and flow. To appreciate it, you have to understand it. Rather like a protracted drama, any cricket match has definite elements of theatre in which pracctically everybody plays a part, including the groundsman.

As it happened, the Ireland v. Denmark match wasn't very dramatic because the home side won fairly comfortably. One of the problems was that Denmark, although gallant losers, were really only bit-players.

Unlike Ireland, which has (say the Irish Cricket Union) one of the oldest associaations in the world, Denmark is relatively new to the game.

For the Danish side, which confronted Ireland after a brief and largely successful tour of English league teams, it was the climax of the trip. Although Irish cricket is largely without honour in its own country, it's placed, according to independent

judges, among the best of the so-called "second-string" international sides.

In a conversation with Derek Scott, secretary (honorary) of the Irish Cricket Union, I made the dreadful error of sugggesting that Ireland was a backwater of international cricket, especially compared with England. After a shocked moment Scott pointed out tartly that this was not so. "We play cricket in Ireland," he said, "and we're good at it."

Irish cricket players appear to be members of a tightly-knit family who may, in Dublin, play each other's teams ten times in a season. The standard is unnquestionably high, especially in view of the relatively small numbers playing it. Competition is extremely keen. And the game is growing.

Including school-players, about 15,000 cricketers don ritual whites each summer. And, said Scott, there's a useful reservoir of talent waiting in the wings. Teams are active in Cork, the Midlands and other areas, even in that stronghold of more traditionally "Irish" sports, Donegal. "There is," said Kevin O'Riordan, manager of the Irish representative side, "a fantastic resurgence." Indeed, cricket even has that hallmark of approval, the government grant.

Contrary to popular prejudice, Irish cricketers don't aspire wistfully to the game as played in the fount of it all: England. No Irish player has ever, accordding to records, played on contract for an English county side, although one or two have rejected trial offers. (The relatively low pay of English county cricketer, about £4,000 in a season, may have something to do with this.)

"We are Saturday afternoon amateurs," said 49-year-old David Pigott. A Dublin solicitor who represented Ireland for nine straight years and still wields a forceful bat tQr the Phoenix club, Pigott seems to be perfectly happy about that situation. (There have, however, been a handful of professionals over the years, of which more later.) Pigott said that cricket, Irish-style, simply can't compete with a team of touring professionals, "We're a oneeinnings team. It may be the first or the second, but there's a physical and mental demand (in a three-day match) which you just don't get used to here."

Irish cricket has difficulty spreading its gospel because, like any subtle sport, its popularity depends on a large core of informed enthusiasts who know enough about the game not to find the slow motion of a Fiveday Test match b~ing. Ireland at present lacks that clued-up coterie. This contrasts sharply with Australia where even the beer-drinking mobs on The Hill, while hurling empty cans at boundary fieldsmen, can exchange knowledgeable insults about each team's relative merits.

At the Ireland v. Denmark match,the players outnumbered the spectators. This was in spite of the fact that it was the match's third day, a Saturday, and a fine one at that.

It's conceivable that the match was one of the most anonymous internati.onal sporting events ever to have taken place in Ireland.

An obvious handicap to the understandding of cricket lore is its incredibly technical language. Who can penetrate without a few year's practice the meaning of expresssions like "yorker," "googly," "wrong 'un," "square hook," "late cut," "flipper," "dropped in slips," "silly middon," and his equally demented partner, "silly mid-off?"

But the health of a sport anywhere is measured by the numbers playing it, rather than watching it. The signs are enncouraging enough for cricket, after a bit of a struggle, to have attracted sponsors like Rothmans, Esso, Guinness (the Guinness Cup is a much-prized trophy), and Loughrey Sales. It was the last who threw in their financial musde to support the Ireland v. Denmark match, donating a washing machine to Ireland's man of the match, and some crystal to his Danish counterpart. Sponsors' support is vital. "Cricket in Ireland could not have surrvived in its present form without sponsors," said O'Riordan.

Irish cricket manages on a shoestring budget. Derek Scott, who has to help balance the books, said things "have never been so good," largely because of sponsors support, the good "gate" from a West Indies exhibition match in 1976 and the government's £2,500 grant. (Note, however that Denmark's tiny band of cricketers receives a state grant of about £7,500, according to their team manager.)

"The West Indies took us out of the red," said Scott, who keeps a tight tab on where the money goes. The staging of an international like the Ireland v. Denmark match costs £800. A cricket ball costs £12 and six of them may be used up in a match. Normally, Scott acknowledged, it's a battle with bankruptcy.

In these necessarily penny-pinching circumstances it's hardly surprising that 99.9 per cent of the top cricketers in Ireland are amateurs. Indeed, said O'Riordan, the privilege of playing for Ireland probably costs the players money.

"They are paid fares and hotel, and it's the nature of the game that they are fed lunch and tea. After that they're on their own."

One of the very few professionals here is an Australian, Julian Wiener. There's no question that Wiener is welcome here. He plays for Carlisle, a once ailing Jewish club which has found a new lease of life through Wiener's presence. In the past, most of the professionals have been teaching pros, which Wiener is too. But he's also very much a playing professional and it's this which has stirred a few ripples of disquiet among the entrenched amateurs.

It's not that Wiener has not, according to practically everybody, done a lot for the game in the short time he's been here. Rather, the disquiet centres on whether Wiener's performance for Carlisle may pave the way for other pros. One seconddteam player said, "He's a really nice bloke and I think the attitude is: 'OK. One's fine, especially if he teaches as well. But if a team were to pack itself with ten professsionals, then that would be different'."

In any case, Wiener is having a great time in Ireland. Wearing a Hawaiian shirt and slacks, he sits on the hard wooden benches watching the international and contemplating his imminent return for the Australian summer. Already opening bat for Victoria's Sheffield Shield (State) side, he's quietly working towards Australian selection.

In laconic Aussie vowels he offers his opinion of the quality of the Irish club. "A very useful side," he says. "There wouldn't be many teams that would go through them."