The secrets of success against spin bowlers

Dean Jones

NOW that Australia has finished its Test cricket for the summer, the Australian batsmen have to have a good think on how they will play in India next month.

This series is massive to a lot of players and could be a great tour for the Australians if they bat well against the Indian spinners. India is not in good shape and if Australia can get a win early, we might win the series. But a lot of work needs to be done.

India will no doubt prepare turning pitches or ''Bunsen burners'' as we like to call them. The Australian batsmen must start preparing now by practising on substandard practice pitches. These will find your weakness very quickly and will really make you watch the ball.

When you play against fast bowling you need to have physical courage to get behind the ball. The top half of your body is always under pressure, ducking and weaving short-pitched deliveries. 

When you play against quality spinners, you must have mental courage to be successful. And your footwork, or bottom half of your body, must be supple and nimble to move quickly to get to the pitch of the ball.

Playing against great spinners was always fun for me. I was fortunate enough to meet the great Lindsay Hassett, who was widely regarded as the greatest batsman to play spin.

Don Bradman just loved the way Hassett played havoc against great spinners. I asked Lindsay why he was so successful at playing spinners. ''Deano, watch their ball release, watch the rotation of the seam, and try to get down the track and hit the ball on the full. If you can't get to the pitch of the ball, then play them off the back foot. It's easy!''

Neil Harvey played the same way. Harvey was known to run at the spinners once the spinner started his run-up! That's how keen he was to use his feet.

So I thought I would play the same way. I quickly realised that spinners don't like you running at them. They say they do, but in reality they don't. I measured how far I could dance down the pitch. It was 2.8 metres. I even did something a bit naughty without the umpires and opposition knowing. I used to place marks on the side of the pitch to help me see how far I could get down the pitch. It also helped me commit to get to the pitch of the ball. I also learnt that I must always make my first stride to the ball a big one. No half-steps. Mark Waugh was awesome at this. Graham Yallop, Allan Border, Brian Lara and Michael Clarke are no different.

Using your feet to the spinners can be very taxing on your body, so you need to be very fit. I often think batting against spinners is a bit like playing chess. If you are worried about bat-pad fieldsmen catching you out, then you must strike up a plan to remove them. It might be a lofted shot over mid-off, which might get rid of the bat-pad on the offside. And a few sweep shots might get rid of the silly mid-on and he might be placed at backward square or short fine leg.

It is just about playing a few shots early to get the fieldsmen where you want them, and then just pick them off with singles for the rest of the day.

So here is where the mental courage comes in. You must practice the lofted shot. You must have the courage to play it early, so you can get the bat-padders away. I must confess I loved hitting bat-pad fieldsmen in the shins. It always gave me a giggle. Sorry, that was just me.

When spinners have really got you under pressure, you must have a shot or plan that you can use to get off strike. Mine was running at the spinners and running a single to mid-off or mid-on. Border, Matty Hayden and Mark Taylor swept when under pressure. David Boon used to walk across his stumps and work the ball behind square leg. You need to find a shot that you can play blindfolded to get off strike.

Tactically, spinners love bowling maidens. So you must look to hurt them early in their over. Don't allow them to bowl when they want. Control the momentum and tempo of the game and let them bowl to you when you are ready. You are the boss and let them know that.

I always asked my playing partner to back up very close to the stumps. If I did hit a ball straight, I wanted my batting partner to get in his way. In other words, he can only field on his side of the pitch.

Basically, every batsman has to learn what works for him and what doesn't. If you are hitting the ball to the field a lot, just change your guard or play everything off the back foot.

I had some wonderful battles with Shane Warne at practice. We would bet $50 for every dismissal. I wanted to bat against him on the worst practice pitches and it was the best fun. Yes, Warnie won a lot of money off me, but I was ready for anyone who bowled spin to me. A trick I learnt was to not go with the spin if it kicks or spits at you. Just hold your original line with your bat and not follow the ball. You will get caught bat-pad very quickly if you go with the spin.

I also practised a lot by playing everything off the back foot. It is just great fun.

Just for anyone asking who were the best spinners I played against. The best off-spinner I faced was Saqlain Mushtaq. The best left-arm orthodox was Maninder Singh. The best leggie was Warne. Mind you, Abdul Qadir was pretty good in Pakistan, with no DRS and local umpires. 

Bullying Interns the Goldman Sachs way

Back on 12 June 2000, as the dot-com bubble was deflating, young Greg Smith was all puffed up, clutching his "extra-large coffee" and looking up "at the formidable tower that housed Goldman Sach's equities trading headquarters" in New York. "Holy shit," he thought, as he arrived for the first day of his summer internship at the Wall Street bank.

More than a decade later, on 14 March 2012, not long after a different financial bubble had burst, the remark may well have risen in a hush over the Goldman dealing room as wide-eyed traders poured over an opinion piece in The New York Times. Title? "Why I'm Leaving Goldman Sachs". Author? Greg Smith. "Today is my last day at Goldman Sachs," Mr Smith proclaimed. Over 12 years, he said, he had understood what made the bank tick. "And I can honestly say that the environment is now as toxic and destructive as I have ever seen it."

Now, Mr Smith, who had risen to become a Goldman executive director and head of the firm's US equity derivatives business in Europe, the Middle East and Africa before quitting, is preparing tell us the full story. According to reports, his biting commentary on Goldman won him a book deal and a cool $1.5m (£930,000) advance, with the product of his labours, imaginatively titled Why I Left Goldman Sachs, set to hit the shelves on 22 October. The night before, he is reported to be planning to break his self-imposed hiatus from the public square with a US television interview. Ahead of the launch, Goldman yesterday said it had conducted a detailed review of Mr Smith's claims and found no evidence to support them.

But as we near the release date, it seems the firm's President Gary Cohn, who along with chief executive Lloyd Blankfein merited special mention in Mr Smith's op-ed for losing "hold of the firm's culture on their watch", is likely to be among those waiting in line for a copy of the tome. "I probably will read it," he said during an interview on Bloomberg television earlier this month. If Mr Cohn wants an early look, the first chapter was released on the Apple iBookstore this week. Titled "I Don't Know, But I'll Find Out", it offers a glimpse of Mr Smith's first days in the belly of the "great vampire squid", as the bank was memorably dubbed by Rolling Stone.

Back then Mr Smith was a dedicated convert to the Goldman cause. That summer's day, the 21-year-old had no premonition of what – in his view – Goldman would become, and how he would go on to feel. Young Mr Smith, then on a scholarship at Stanford, was, to his mind, justifiably proud. "The selection process for any type of job at Goldman Sachs is extremely rigorous. On average, only one in 45 people... who apply for a summer internship, or a full-time job, get an offer," he says. To get ahead, he'd prepped hard for the interview. "I'd read The Culture of Success, a history of the firm by Lisa Endlich, a former Goldman VP," he reveals. Who doesn't, right?

With a toe in the door, Mr Smith was issued with a folding stool and a "big orange ID badge" on a "bright orange lanyard" – status markers to remind an intern that he or she was mere "plebe, a newbie, a punk-kid". "It was innately demeaning," he says, recounting how interns had to carry around the stools "at all times because there were no extra chairs at the trading desks".

The internship itself was demanding. "You came to work at 5:45 or 6:00 or 6:30 in the morning," Mr Smith recalls. Goldman interns were put through two "Open Meetings" a week, where "a partner would stand at the front of the room with a list of names and call on people at will with questions on the firm's storied culture, its history, on the stock market".

"Depending on the personal style of the people in charge, the meetings could be brutal. They were always intense," Mr Smith says, recalling how, on one occasion, an intern was rebuked by a VP for not knowing enough about Goldman's stance on Microsoft shares. "What is our price target? What are the catalysts coming up? How has the stock been trading? Come on," said VP barks, according to the account. The hapless intern "starts to tear up and runs out of the room".

Smith also recalls the treatment handed out to an intern after a managing director ordered a cheddar cheese sandwich and was presented with a cheddar cheese salad. The boss "opened the container, looked at the salad, looked up at the kid, closed the container and threw it in the trash". "It was a bit harsh, but it was also a teaching moment," Mr Smith writes.

The anecdotes chime with the caricature of Wall Street as a laddish jungle where ritual hazing is just part of doing business. But at this early stage there is none of the greed that Mr Smith spoke of in his op-ed – he claimed, for instance, that people in the firm "callously talk about ripping their clients off". Instead, the gruelling intern routine is presented as a way of training new initiates to be "truthful, resourceful, collaborative".

Tantalisingly, though, Chapter 5 is titled "Welcome to the Casino".

Only a maximum wage can end the great corporate pay robbery

Corporate wealth is being siphoned off by a kleptocratic class that has neither earned nor generated it

• 
• • George Monbiot
  • guardian.co.uk, Monday 23 January 2012 18.58 GMT
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The business secretary, Vince Cable. Photograph: Martin Argles for the Guardian

 

The successful bank robber no longer covers his face and leaps over the counter with a sawn-off shotgun. He arrives in a chauffeur-driven car, glides into the lift then saunters into an office at the top of the building. No one stops him. No one, even when the scale of the heist is revealed, issues a warrant for his arrest. The modern robber obtains prior approval from the institution he is fleecing.
The income of corporate executives, which the business secretary Vince Cable has just failed to address, is a form of institutionalised theft, arranged by a kleptocratic class for the benefit of its members. The wealth that was once spread more evenly among the staff of a company, or distributed as lower prices or higher taxes, is now siphoned off by people who have neither earned nor generated it.

Over the past 10 years, chief executives' pay has risen nine times faster than that of the median earner. Some bosses (British Gas, Xstrata and Barclays for example) are now being paid over 1,000 times the national median wage. The share of national income captured by the top 0.1% rose from 1.3% in 1979 to 6.5% by 2007.

These rewards bear no relationship to risk. The bosses of big companies, though they call themselves risk-takers, are 13 times less likely to be sacked than the lowest paid workers. Even if they lose their jobs and never work again, they will have invested so much and secured such generous pensions and severance packages that they'll live in luxury for the rest of their lives. The risks are carried by other people.

The problem of executive pay is characterised by Cable and many others as a gap between reward and performance. But it runs deeper than that, for three reasons. As the writer Dan Pink has shown, it's not just that there is currently no visible link between performance and pay; but high pay actually reduces performance. Material rewards incentivise simple mechanistic jobs: working on an assembly line, for example. But they lead to the poorer execution of tasks which require problem-solving and cognitive skills. As studies for the US Federal Reserve and other such bolsheviks show, cash incentives narrow people's focus and restrict the range of their thinking. By contrast, intrinsic motivators — such as a sense of autonomy, of enhancing your skills and pursuing a higher purpose — tend to improve performance.

Even the 0.1% concede that money is not what drives them. Bernie Ecclestone says: "I doubt if any successful business person works for money … money is a by-product of success. It's not the main aim." Jeroen van der Veer, formerly the chief executive of Shell, recalls, "if I had been paid 50% more, I would not have done it better. If I had been paid 50% less, then I would not have done it worse". High pay is both counterproductive and unnecessary.

The second reason is that, as the psychologist Daniel Kahneman has shown, performance in the financial sector is random, and the belief of traders and fund managers that they are using skill to beat the market is a cognitive illusion. A link between pay and results is a reward for blind luck.
Most importantly, the wider consequences of grotesque inequality bear no relationship to entitlement. Obscene rewards for success are as socially corrosive as obscene rewards for failure. They reduce social mobility, enhance plutocratic power and allow the elite to inflict astonishing levels of damage on the environment. They create resentment and reduce the motivation of other workers, who see the greedy bosses as the personification of the company.

Cable has announced four main policies: more transparency, a requirement that companies should "report" on boardroom diversity, a mechanism for clawing back pay settlements not justified by the company's performance, and granting shareholders binding powers to block excessive rewards. They are likely to be almost useless – or worse. Pay transparency, while of general interest, can create the perverse result that executives discover how much their rivals are getting, and use the information to demand more. The clawback mechanism will be inserted into the corporate governance code. This is voluntary, and its existing provisions are widely ignored.

Shareholder power is likely to be illusory. As Prem Sikka has shown, the proportion of stock owned by individuals fell from 47% in 1969 to 10% in 2008, while the percentage in foreign hands has risen from 7% to 42%. Why should oil sheikhs care about social justice in the UK? And most traders hold shares too briefly to take an interest in the inner workings of a company. As Rob Taylor, formerly the chief executive of Kleinwort Benson, points out, if shareholders don't like the way a company is run, they don't hang around to change it; they sell up and move on.

Labour's policies seem designed to sound tough but change little. Like Cable, its spokesman Chuka Umunna talks of transparency and simplicity (which are both worthy aims) but not of holding down pay. Labour has based its policy on the findings of the High Pay Commission, which have been widely hailed as revolutionary. I've read the commission's final report, and can find no justification for this description. Its recommendations are, to be frank, pathetic. With the possible exception of employee representation on pay committees, the 12 measures it proposes are likely to make only a marginal difference. Nowhere does it suggest anything resembling the obvious means of capping executive pay: namely, er, capping executive pay.

So what should be done? The UK government imposes a minimum wage, and even the neoliberal coalition appears to accept that this is a necessary intervention in the market. So why should it not impose a maximum wage?

I'm not talking about ratios or relative earnings. Various bodies have proposed that there should be a fixed ratio of the top earnings within a company to either the median or lowest salaries. But as a report on this issue by the New Economics Foundation shows, the first measurement quickly becomes complex and opaque, the second creates an incentive to contract out the lowest paid work. I'm talking about an absolute maximum, applied nationwide.

Let's say £500,000 a year, a figure that includes bonuses, share options, pensions and benefits. It will rise with inflation, but no faster than that. If you want to make more, you can invest in a risky venture of your own or someone else's. If you want to make more money as a salaried worker – in other words while other people carry the risks – you can go abroad, and good riddance to you. Another country, incautious enough to set no cap, can deal with the consequences of your destructive greed.
The feeble measures proposed by the government will do nothing to prevent the great pay robbery. If Vince Cable intended to limit executive pay, he would limit it. But he knows who his masters are, and the policies he has announced are intended to create only a semblance of action.