Remembering Crocks
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I had a lot of time for Lindsay Crocker, who passed away this week aged 64.
He was described by somebody on the radio as a “good cricket man”, and while those designations can be a bit trite, in Crocker’s case it is apt. He was more than that, of course. He was a bloody good lawn bowler and a keen fisherman. He was a raconteur a doting grandfather and, according to those who had the pleasure of being hosted by him, a nifty chef.
He was all those things and more, but still he’d be thrilled to be known as a “cricket man”. He loved the sport: loved playing it, loved talking about it and, although I’m sure it gave him ulcers from time to time, loved running it.