Cricket's most famous birthday

Today is the centenary of the birth of Sir Donald Bradman, a man whose achievements so towered over every other batsman in the history of the game, including the very best of them, that it has become a commonplace to say that his record will never be exceeded. I'm not so sure about that - assuming that Test cricket continues in anything like its traditional form. But there can be no argument about what a monumental figure Bradman was. I mark his centenary today with a roundup of links. I begin with this passage from an excellent essay by my friend Gideon Haigh:

On one level, Bradman's story concerns not so much sport as success. He performed a particular task more effectively than anyone before or since; more effectively, perhaps, than any other Australian has performed theirs. The task was, to be sure, narrow and highly specialised; yet Bradman sustained a gargantuan superiority over a period of 20 years. One of the most elegant appraisals of his standing is in the memoirs of GH Hardy, the outstanding English mathematician of the first half of the last century. Hardy ranked mathematical brains by reference to cricket; into the "the Bradman class" he admitted only Newton, Archimedes, Gauss. "It is a tiny minority who can do anything really well, and the number of men who can do two things well is negligible," he noted. "If a man has any genuine talent, he should be ready to make almost any sacrifice in order to cultivate it to the full." Hardy was unillusioned about cricket's significance, but also unmoved by it: "Poetry is more valuable than cricket, but Bradman would be a fool if he sacrificed his cricket in order to write second-rate minor poetry." Not to be intrigued by Bradman's attainments, then, is a form of philistinism.

The essay is in The Monthly and behind a subscription wall, unfortunately; but you can also hear a brief interview with Gideon on the subject of the Bradman centenary here, and he has another piece at Cricinfo on Bradman's enduring fame:

Among the most famous Bradman stories of all... [is one about] Nelson Mandela, recently sprung from Robben Island, breaking the ice with former Australian prime minister Malcolm Fraser by asking: "Tell me. Is Donald Bradman still alive?" On his visit to Australia in September 2000, Mandela vouchsafed: "In the 30s and 40s, at least in our country, we regarded Sir Donald... as one of the divinities, so great was he and such an impact he made."

Referring to the views of other batsmen, Philip Derriman considers what Bradman's secret was as a batsman; and Roland Perry, a Bradman biographer, sums up the meaning of his batting superiority: 'Effectively, whenever Bradman played, his team had 12 rather than 11 men, and the extra man was a very top drawer bat.' Here Arthur Morris, who was Bradman's batting partner when the great man was dismissed for 0 in his final Test innings, is commenting on changes in attitude since Bradman played:

When Don got his duck in his last Test, I think I heard someone say, 'Jolly well bowled, Eric.' What would have happened today if he'd got out the greatest batsman? They'd have probably chased him [Eric Hollies] all over the ground and kissed him and hugged him.

Christopher Martin-Jenkins in The Times:

Bill O'Reilly, an opponent and team-mate, said: "As soon as the ball left your hand, you could see him moving into position... aggressively and with tremendous speed. His footwork was the best, his strokesmanship comprehensive. He could play an attacking shot savagely to any part of the field... and it was part of Bradman's tremendous competitive spirit that he felt it his bounden duty to reduce every bowler to incompetency." And so he did, from the late 1920s until his dignified withdrawal from playing in 1949.

Here are a few more Bradman centenary links. And I give the last word to Gideon Haigh. This is from the conclusion to his essay in The Monthly:

With the freedom to review Bradman's life backwards, we regularly overlook that he lived his life forwards, that deeds seemingly inevitable were achievements of flesh, blood and spirit. As a result, his legend has begun to fade, a Pindarian ode recited a shade too often, and too solemnly. While Bradman lived, there remained a sense of wonder that such a small, frail, soft-spoken and self-contained man could cast such a long shadow. Now, as the Australia of which Bradman was part recedes into antiquity, he is at risk of becoming a mere statistical outlier. Succeeding generations have found fresh and deeper meanings in Anzac Day; Donald Bradman awaits rediscovery.

Addendum. See also this splendid appreciation by Allan Massie. (Via.)