When the Red Rose Blooms Again

Who dares say the County Championship is a useless anachronism? Rumours of its irrelevance have been much exagerrated for years and we were reminded of this again today as Lancashire took their first outright title since 1934, defeating my beloved Somerset by eight wickets and with just five overs to spare.

It still, even in the evening glow of victory, seems improbable that a county with Lancashire’s cricketing resources and tradition could have gone so many decades without a championship but whenever Lancs were good someone else was just a little bit better and, of course, sometimes – or so they’ll tell you in Manchester – the rain would make it harder for the Red Rose county to prevail.

So despite impish Fairbrother, princely Wasim, chuckling Murali and imperious Lloyd (Clive, not Bumble) there was always something a little lugubrious about Lancashire cricket. As I said last year, it was always bowling into the wind, beating the bat and wondering when Dame Fortune might finally care to reward its efforts. This was the county of Flat Jack Simmons and Hangdog Atherton and Watkinson. Even Brian Statham, greatest of all Lancastrian quicks, is remembered as Fred Truman’s steady but definitely junior partner – a telling reflection of the relationship between the Red Rose and their greatest, more successful, rivals from across the Pennines.

This is scarcely a vintage or star-laden Lancashire team – no batsman averaged much more than 40 and only seven centuries were made all season – but they made just enough runs when it mattered most. Their first innings at Taunton this week in which every batsman reached double figures but none passed 70 typified the collective endeavour of their season. Six players played in every match. Above all, however, this was a year for two of Lancashire’s senior pros: between them Glen Chapple (pictured above) and Gary Keedy have taken almost 1500 wickets for the county and no-one with an ounce of romance can fail to be pleased that their honest, lifelong perspiration has been rewarded at long last.

This was another terrific year for the championship and, despite the attractions of the abbreviated format, the reaction of Lancastrians everywhere is another indication that the first-class title remains the greatest prize in the domestic game. You can’t build history overnight and it’s the accumulated weight of that history and the memories of great players from the past like Washbrook and Paynter and MacLaren and so many others that makes the championship special. One wonders how much healthier it might be if a fraction of the attention given to selling the one-day game were spent on promoting championship cricket. (A revival of the festival weeks might also be a useful idea.)

Lancashire enjoyed their measure of good luck this year – about sodding time too, their members might tell you – not least when Marcus Trescothick’s season-ending injury ended Somerset’s title hopes and made Lancashire’s task this week much easier (though still far from easy) than it would have been had Banger been in the home line-up. You cannot win 10 matches from 16 on luck alone, however, and only a churl or a Brummie (the latter not necessarily being a subset of the former) could really deny Lancashire their moment in the September sun.

But when Peter Trego and Murali Kartik were busy adding nearly a hundred for Somerset’s eighth wicket this afternoon that sound you heard was a thousand or more Lancashire hearts slumping, accompanied by the weary thought that here we go again. That and Why, lord, why? There’s a certain frustration, tinged with melancholy, about Lancashire cricket that’s very English and for a spell today you wondered if they might again fail within sight of glory. But, assisted by Neil McKenzie’s stubborness at the Rose Bowl, they didn’t and this time the red roses are blooming all across Manchester and Liverpool and Bolton and Preston and Lancaster. It’s been a long time coming.

Elsewhere it was another happy season for Somerset even if, as is the case every year, the long wait for a maiden title continues. For Yorkshire, and therefore for my father who has followed the White Rose for 60 years, the indignity of relegation was bad enough without it being compounded by Lancashire’s overdue success. For Middlesex and Surrey there’s the prospect of first division cricket next year, though one wonders if Mark Ramprakash will be still be present for one last season. Meanwhile, David Masters’ 93 wickets for Essex is some heroic achievement in its own right.

Above all, however, the season finale was a reminder that there’s life in the old girl yet. It would be grand if SKY, so good for English cricket in so many ways, showed a few more county matches next season. The reaction to Lancashire’s success – on Twitter and Facebook and elsewhere – suggests there might be more of a demand for better coverage of the county game than you might think.

Equally, since county cricket was blamed when England were poor it would be pleasing to think it might receive some credit now that England are strong. The test players may not play many championship games but most of them were moulded by county cricket and, to take but one example, Stuart Broad credited a week with Notts (against Somerset, alas) for his improved form in the second half of the season.

That’s another argument, mind you. Today was a day for Lancashire and, better still, for the championship itself. Despite everything it remains something special and these past few weeks, gripping as they have been as four teams chased the title, reminded us why. And if in recent years Sussex ad Lancashire can win the blasted thing then perhaps next year Somerset can too…