SLOWHANDS

Eric Clapton is 80. Scarcely believable, not so much the passing of the years, but the fact that he has managed to survive to such a venerable age, given his well-publicised battles with alcohol and drug addiction, tragedy and personal trauma. Eric Clapton (‘Old Slowhands’)

When I was at university in the late-60s, two graffiti littered the walls and doors of the less salubrious areas of the Junior Common Room. Kilroy was here. Who Kilroy was and why he had been ‘here’, I never did discover. The other was: Clapton is God. By contrast, I knew very well who Clapton was…but a god? This being Southampton, I thought that honorific belonged exclusively to Micky Channon. I also knew that Eric Clapton rejoiced in the sobriquet Slowhands,on account of his intricate guitar playing. Many knowledgeable observers believe he is among the top dozen virtuoso guitarists in rock history. Why ‘slowhands’ then, when his fingers move at such an extraordinary speed across the fretboard, a feat of astonishing digital dexterity? It is because, like all great artists and performers, he makes the execution of his craft look effortless, unhurried, languid even, as if he has just picked up his guitar and is enjoying an impromptu jamming session with friends in the pub. It shows no hint of the hours and hours of practice that go on behind the scenes. Many guitarists practise until their fingers are raw but never attain the level of relaxed excellence of Slowhands.

As we are on the subject of anniversaries, it is 40 years since Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean won gold in the ice dancing competition at the Sarajevo Winter Olympics Gamesin 1984. I was no ice dancing aficionado but like many, I guess, of the 24 million people in the UK who tuned in to watch their Bolero routine, I was struck by their charisma which seemed to transcend the confines of their sport. Their performance was a triumph. You just knew something special was in the offing by the crowds of fellow athletes lining the perimeter of the ice rink. The roar that greeted the dancers as the large screen flashed up the maximum marks of 6.0 across the board was thunderous, and the bouquets rained onto the ice. It had not only been a technical tour de force but also aperformance that looked so effortless and fluent. They glided serenely across the ice and even the most complicated moves, lifts, spins, steps and turns seemed to be performed almost in slow motion, supremely athletic and physical, yet at the same time balletic in action.

Torvill and Dean performing their Bolero routine at the 1984 Sarajevo Winter Olympics

I had been similarly struck by watching John Curry win figure skating gold at the Innsbruck Winter Olympics in 1976. There is of course an exacting technical side to the established routine, but Curry brought an aesthetic and artistic element to his skating that was entirely revolutionary at the time. We all became familiar with the technical terms such as ‘triple toe loop’, ‘triple salchow’ and ‘triple loop jump’, identified by the commentator, accompanied by whoops of triumph, as Curry brought off these complicated manoeuvres as easily as if he were shelling peas. The difference between Curry and the other competitors was that all these jumps, loops and pirouettes seemed to be performed in slow motion. It was as if he was jumping higher and further and spent longer in the air than anybody else, seemingly defying gravity in the process, but landing gracefully and without mishap. He too made it all look so easy and those of us who have struggled to remain upright on ice, let alone perform such stylish and elegant gymnastics, will know that it is anything but.

John Curry brought an artistic and balletic element to his figure skating

Another Olympian I wish to name check is Kelly Holmes. For the first time in her career at a major competition, Kelly Holmes arrived at the Athens Olympic Games in 2004 injury-free. She was entered for the 1500 metres, where she was regarded as a strong contender, but was only entered for the 800 metres as a last-minute decision. As it happened, she won the 800 metres final with a late burst coming off the final bend to pip her rivals at the post, becoming the first British woman to win gold at this distance since Ann Packer in 1964. But it was the 1500 metres final that caught my eye. For three laps, it looked for all the world as if Holmes was jogging along at the back, though the pace was anything but ‘jogging’. Through the final lap, she stirred and started moving effortlessly through the field. By the time she came round the final bend to take the lead, she was floating. Of course, she wasn’t but her running was so easy and rhythmical that she hardly seemed to be breaking sweat. Some runners – even the best – make it look as if they are busting a gut (perhaps they are) but Holmes’s sprint to the finishing line was sheer poetry in motion. Once more, the very difficult – she broke a long-standing British record at the event – was made to look very easy.

Kelly Holmes made winning gold in the 1500 metres at the 2004 Olympic Games look almost easy.

I have watched Roger Federer live, at Wimbledon, and it is true what they all say – he was the most graceful, all-court tennis player of his era. He had all the strokes, including that gorgeous, rolled, single-handed backhand, so rarely seen these days of double-fisters, as well as a consummate tennis brain and an iron will to win. All these attributes are possessed by champions but what set Federer apart in my mind was his athleticism and speed around the court. Yet he never seemed to be rushed, he had that split-second longer than most players to size up his opponent and deliver the killer stroke. We talk about the best players of any sport who seem to have ‘time on the ball’. Federer had more ‘time’ than anybody else; he glided around the court, arriving at the right place at the right moment, chasing down balls hit at 120mph. Perhaps this is an unkind comparison because Andy Murray was a great competitor, but every point looked like a supreme physical struggle for him. Federer hardly drew breath in even the longest of rallies.

Roger Federer plays that gorgeous, rolled, single-handed backhand. 

Let me turn my attention to my own game, cricket. Barry Richards, according to friend and foe alike, was the greatest batsman of his era, indeed standing shoulder to shoulder with any ‘great’ from any era. He might have to cede pride of first place to the incomparable Don Bradman, but even the Don regarded him as the best he had ever seen. I was privileged to

watch quite a few of Barry’s finest innings, but it is not an innings per se that I am about to describe. It was early-season nets at Hampshire. Our new fast bowler, soon to burst onto the scene as the quickest of all, had not been exerting himself. Andy Roberts had lobbed down a few looseners off a couple of paces; for the most part, he was ‘lurking’. When Barry took his place in the net, the West Indian suddenly became animated, grabbed hold of a ball and measured out his full run. Hello, we all thought, the game’s afoot.

Even Don Bradman thought Barry Richards was the best he had ever seen.

Some unkind soul had deposited my medium-pace delivery into the long grass at the far end of the ground. I trudged off to retrieve the ball. On my way back to the action, I took a detour to stand behind the net, a yard or two behind Barry at the crease. I watched, praying that the net would hold, while Roberts hurtled in, bowling at full pace as the motionless Richards prepared to do battle. Normally, nets are raucous affairs but suddenly everybody had gone quiet. This was a confrontation between the best batsman in the world and the fastest bowler in the world. Neither could afford to take a backward step. Bragging rights were at stake.

There followed the most intensive, the most riveting, the most fiercely contested passage of play that I have ever witnessed…. and this was a practice! I watched, transfixed, as Barry played the short-pitched thunderbolts. Some he left alone. Others he pushed away on the off-side. If the ball reared up at him, he swayed aside, and I would give a little start as the ball thudded into the back net inches from my face. People do not really know what it is like to face a delivery of 90 plus mph. It is reckoned that the batsman 22 yards away has one-fifth of a second to react. One fifth of a second? Barry seemed to have an extra second to spare. At no time was he rushed. At no time did he flinch. He looked calm and composed and was in no way discomfited. He did not put Roberts to the sword, but he did not get out either and a cursory adding up of his scoring shots would have indicated he was about 25 not out. It was a masterclass in how to play fast bowling, and he had made it all look so effortless.

After a quarter of an hour, he walked out of the net and he and Roberts retired to the dressing room for a cup of tea. Honours about even, I said, when I returned to my net bowling duties (nobody had missed my absence, by the way). We all remarked on the ‘time’ that Barry had in playing his shots, or indeed, in not playing a shot. That is what separates us mere mortals from the great exponents of their art…time.

“Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall.” (Romeo and Juliet)