The Shorter Wisden 2013 Read Online Free PDF Page B

readers in the future.
    It seemed to me that the Almanack served manifold purposes. It was a book of record as well as records, it was literary and, most importantly, it had become an institution. Within the game, and
indeed beyond the world of cricket,
Wisden
was trusted. Its continuity, its independence and the balance of its writing had won it the rare cachet of integrity. Posited between
cricket’s political and economic byplay and its passionate grassroots support,
Wisden Cricketers’ Almanack
had established itself in the public consciousness as a voice of
reason and the champion of everything, real and mythical, that cricket is meant to represent.
    Maintaining this integrity and promoting the Almanack were what being editor of
Wisden
meant to me. There was nothing egotistical about it, that’s for sure. But it was an
immensely enjoyable time, thanks to the support, company and friendship of everyone involved in cricket, particularly the writers worldwide, but no less the administrators who, I see looking back,
all too often bore the brunt of my Notes.
    Matthew Engel (1993–2000, 2004–07)
    Fallible memory suggests I took the call on the Bakelite phone we had received as a retro wedding present. It always crackled. But I was convinced I heard Graeme Wright ask if I
wanted to be editor of
Wisden
, an idea that had never previously crossed my mind. I said yes instantly. Well, you would, wouldn’t you? I never regretted it, even when wrestling with
the Minor Counties before an icy December dawn, or enduring a particularly ghastly board meeting.
    The book was on the up: John Woodcock had beefed up its cricketing and literary heft; Graeme had transformed its internal systems. But I sensed there was a fascinating challenge: making sure the
book kept pace with the changing game, while remaining true to itself.
    That much I hope we achieved in my first term. I made a comeback because I perceived a second challenge: adjusting to the fact that, in my three-yearabsence, the internet
had gone from novelty to necessity. This task was thwarted by decisions taken well over my head, and remains ongoing.
    The title “editor of
Wisden
” opened doors far beyond cricket. Within the game, the job ensured my opinions were always heard and sometimes listened to; now and again they
even made a difference. It gave me a seat in the Test match press box, but the freedom to slope off. More than anything, I loved wandering round the county grounds, watching, enjoying the crack,
and scrawling the odd note, that just might – the next April – blossom into a Note.
    Mostly, the task was internal, but I loved that too: good writers wanted to be in
Wisden
, and it was a joy reeling them in. There was pleasure to be had even on a micro-level. I have
spent years being absurdly proud that I changed
Wisden
house style for numbers so that, more elegantly, we used “ten” in text instead of “10”. I have just been told
by
Wisden’s
deputy editor, Harriet Monkhouse, that I didn’t actually do that. Having Harriet to correct my false memories was a special delight. I had a terrific team, and we
laughed a lot.
    Tim de Lisle (2003)
    Editing
Wisden
meant a lot, despite, or because of, doing it only once. It meant driving a classic car, and feeling even greater respect for the engineers. (To the
long-suffering permanent staff, it was probably more like an episode of
Yes, Minister
.) It meant receiving an email from a contributor saying, “Hope you’ve enjoyed your year of
being George Lazenby.” It meant being infamous for 15 minutes, when we announced that
Wisden
would have its first cover photograph. To Ian Wooldridge of the
Daily Mail
, this
was “scarcely less heretical than slapping a picture of Judas Iscariot on future editions of the Holy Bible”.
    It meant standing on the shoulders of giants. John Woodcock had brought wisdom to the Almanack, Graeme Wright had widened its horizons, and Matthew Engel had added wit and