Date-stamped : 18 Jun96 - 02:16 17 June 1996 Bird ready to climb down from his lofty perch By Christopher Martin-Jenkins THE white cap, the booming voice, the little accidents, the anxious peer beneath hunched shoulders, the nervous shoot- ing of hands and wrists from the sleeves of his white coat; the anx- iety, but also the fun he conveys far beyond the 22 yards he con- trols, over the boundary, into the crowd, even into the televi- sion rooms of a million homes: how we will all miss Dickie Bird when the first Lord`s Test of 1996, his 66th as a Test umpire, has passed into history a week today. The only time I played in a match with him, he fell ill with sunstroke before I got to the wicket. The game was in Dubai, in the searing heat of the Persian Gulf and I was greatly disap- pointed, especially as I made a few runs. Vainly, I had wanted to impress upon this deepest of cricketing devotees that I could play the game a bit. I actually craved a couple of mut- tered asides in that deep, growling Yorkshire voice: "Good shot, mate" or "you timed that one, Chris". All in the imagination, alas, but it is always like that when an amateur finds himself performing in the presence of a great pro- fessional; and there has been no better pro in his chosen field than Harold Dennis Bird. With Frank Chester and, in a shorter career, Syd Buller, he contests the right to be called the best umpire who ever lifted a finger, though in this toughest of all the jobs on the cricket field comparisons are perhaps particularly odious. What he has achieved, above all, is an increased respect and affection for his profession. Umpires, like wicket- keepers, are supposed to be unobtrusive. Dickie has managed to be in the cen- tre of the picture to everyone`s greater pleasure, yet never at the expense of doing his job. With a magical balance he has contrived on one hand to be a character, a comic and an enter- tainer, and on the other an absolutely impartial and dedicated arbiter, as near to flawless in his decision-making as it is possible for a human to be. The more his job has been trespassed upon by machines in the last few years, the more one has questioned the wisdom of taking away one jot of the umpires` control of the game. In theory the use of the video replay to prove either way whether a batsman has been stumped or run out has saved the umpire from getting such decisions embarrassingly wrong. In practice, for various reasons, it has sometimes humiliated umpires further. All the best Test players of his era agree that he was the best: warm-hearted, fun to play with and, 99 times out of a hundred, dead right I suspect that the first serious thoughts of retirement from `big-match` cricket occurred to Dickie last season when in one match he failed to call for a replay when he should have done and then in another a few weeks later found himself ridiculed by the crowd for summoning the third umpire, just in case, when everybody could see that a batsman had been out by miles. Although he fretted and muttered and wondered why bad weather always seemed to follow him on big occasions, Dickie could take punishment from the crowd when it came to decisions about bad light or rain; but not about one of his precious decisions. He is, after all, a perfectionist and when that damned, pervasive slow-motion camera showed that he had reprieved Dermot Reeve in the NatWest final when he should surely have lifted the finger to declare him as plumb leg before as anyone ever has been, he wisely decided to quit while he was ahead. Miles ahead, indeed. All the best Test players of his era agree that he was the best: warm-hearted, fun to play with and, 99 times out of a hundred, dead right. The other great paradox about him, of course, is that he has always been a bag of nerves, both on and off the field, yet when it comes to making a decision in the heat of the fiercest battle an icy coolness comes upon him and he is able to see, with impeccable clarity, which way he should answer an ap- peal. You only have to discuss cricket or cricketers with Dickie to appreciate how indecisive he can be. "Who do you think should open for England with Mike Atherton this season?" you might ask him over a beer at the end of an early season county match. "Alec Stewart, Chris, no question. Class batsman. There`s no substitute for class, Chris." But don`t you think we need a left-hander, Dicky? Nick Knight perhaps?" "Good player, Chris. Nick Knight. Good player. He`s got heart. There`s no substitute for heart. Left- hander, too. Left- hand/right-hand combinations. They`re always the best. Mucks up the bowler`s line. He`ll be good, Chris, Knight. Mark my words." "How do you rate Jason Gallian?" "Good technique, Chris. Best technique in the country. Big in- nings man. That`s what we need. Once he`s in he doesn`t give it away, Gallian. Alec gets himself out too often. He`s a number three is Stewart. A number three." Come Thursday, if his finger has healed, Nick Knight will know he is in good hands when Javagal Srinath raps him on the pads apparently in line with the stumps from the Pavilion End at Lord`s and leaps in appeal with arms upraised and brown eyes flashing. In an instant the line and height of the ball, the degree of the slope and the exact point at which the pad was struck will be weighed quickly and correctly. "Not out," Dicky will say, as likely as not, and as the disappointed bowler comes past him he will hear, "Missing off stump, mate. Going down slope. Well bowled, though." Because it is Dicky, the bowler will accept the verdict with a smile. Source :: Electronic Telegraph (http.//www.telegraph.co.uk) Contributed by Shash (shs2@*.cwru.edu)