THE last time the Australians were in Durham, in 1993, 3,000 hero-worshippers turned up hoping to see Ian Botham take his last first-class wicket. He didn't get one and finished up keeping wicket as David Boon, no sentimentalist, completed a pugnacious century. Four years on, the squat Tasmanian Devil is encumbered with the task of making England's newest county competitive. Boon's fabulous career record (21 Test centuries), tenacious spirit and placid personality command huge respect, and the Durham players immediately warmed to his pragmatic approach, hanging on his every word in dressing-room and bar. He takes the lead, but still manages to be one of the boys as well, happy to accept the mickey-taking on the field. ``Look, there goes Boony's moustache,'' John Morris said as a squirrel dashed across the square at Oxford.
Boon's moustache is so profuse and his mouth moves so imperceptibly when he talks, it's hard to be sure if it's actually him speaking, and I suggested he could have become a fine ventriloquist. ``Yep, I was a great bat-pad - the batsmen never realised it was me saying those things,'' he said chuckling. His voice is a barely audible mumble, and the dressing-room hubbub is quelled to an instant hush when he speaks - a statement in itself.
The main ingredient he wants to implant at Durham is self-belief, a commodity he exudes. To such an extent, he claims the bowler really shouldn't be able to get him out. ``I once got an unplayable ball from Ambrose that exploded on a wet wicket in Trinidad, and before I could do anything, it was in third slip's hands. Otherwise, all my dismissals have been avoidable - either bad footwork or judgment or loss of concentration.''
Durham went to considerable trouble to make Tuesday's one-day match against the Australians a success, opening a new bar and bistro on the ground, designing an ``Outback Special'' menu with a starter of crocodile and ostrich canapˇs and laying on a ``triple fly'' challenge during the lunch interval. This would have featured Botham hitting three skiers for Kevin Keegan to catch, with a sum donated to charity if he was successful. With Botham's power and Keegan's natural inclination to trap a high ball, the money was probably safe.
It never took place anyway, as a saturated ground caused the match to be abandoned before the scheduled start. The dumbstruck expressions when the announcement was made at 10.15 am were quite moving. Such is the passion for cricket in the North-East, many had been anticipating this game for months, arranging to bring aunties and grandads and godsons for a memorable day out. When they heard the news, their chins dropped to the floor.
WHAT should give them heart is the emergence in the Boon Army of a true home-bred star-in-the-making. Paul Collingwood, a bright spark from the hillside village of Shotley Bridge, could have ended up in his family's caravan-making business, but was always desperate to be a cricketer. He was so keen, he volunteered to push the covers on and off at Durham before making a stunning debut last year. Now opening the batting with panache, his lightning reflexes have also won him the first-slip position, rare in the company of so many old lags. For different reasons, he idolises Steve Waugh and Phil Bainbridge. Collingwood, 21 today, should go far.
MIKE CONNELL (Letters, May 19) is right to pull me up for rating the world's No 1 batsman, Steve Waugh, as ``not particularly entertaining''. Should Waugh have to ``perform cartwheels in the gully and whistle Waltzing Matilda as he makes his way back to the pavilion after scoring another century?'' Mr Connell writes.
Though 'Tugga' has made defence into an art form and confesses to great satisfaction at simply repelling an awkward ball, he does have a wide range of rasping strokes. He pointed this out to me himself, when, wearing a rather hurt expression, he said: ``My game has changed a bit, but I think I still have got a few shots in the locker. I do try to entertain.'' I confess to an oversight.