Brian Close

Born: February 24, 1931

Died: September 13, 2015

Dennis Brian Close, who has died of cancer at the age of 84, was one of the biggest, boldest, devil-may-care individuals who ever walked on to a cricket field. His story would probably be rejected as being too improbable by most Hollywood scriptwriters, but the redoubtable Yorkshireman was never much interested in sticking to convention or schmoozing with panjandrums. He wielded a bat with similar disdain for the normal courtesies and was never afraid to air his opinions, however unpopular they might occasionally have been.

The bare bones of his full life reflect his idiosyncratic nature. Close was a gifted footballer, who turned out for Leeds United and Arsenal, at a time when it was still possible to combine different sports, and he played at amateur level for England against Scotland at Piottodrie in 1948. He was equally talented with a golf club in his hand and was a passionate aficionado of horse racing.

Yet it was in cricket where he performed with most distinction, whether in becoming the youngest man to have played a Test for England against New Zealand in July 1949 at just 18 years and 149 days, or as the veteran 45-year-old who entered the annals when he survived a ferocious onslaught from West Indies' fearsome pace ensemble in 1976.

By the end of his career, he had amassed almost 35,000 runs, including 52 centuries, with a highest score of 198, taken 1,168 wickets and snaffled over 800 catches, as well as being an inspirational captain, both for his county and his country. Yet there was no mystery behind the fact he only skippered England seven times, despite winning six of them, and only accrued 22 Test caps during his lengthy spell at the crease. Quite simply, Close didn't go looking for trouble, but it stuck to him like flypaper and his refusal to turn the other cheek sparked several controversies. He was accused of time-wasting during a Yorkshire match - something he always vehemently denied - and he subsequently took teams to South Africa during the apartheid era, as well as being a vocal critic of "bloody foreigners" being signed up by Yorkshire. He also seemed to have trouble understanding why it wasn't safe to try driving his car at the same time as reading "The Racing Post" and was scornful of the introduction of helmets for batsmen as the 1970s progressed.

But there was no question about the many positive aspects of his contribution to the game, which also included a successful period at Somerset, where he relished working with the likes of Ian Botham, Joel Garner and Viv Richards and even a stint as Scotland team manager in the build-up to their introduction to the then Benson & Hedges Cup in 1980. As Close later told me: "There's no reason why your lads can't make an impression if they go into battle with the right attitude. People sometimes tell me cricket is a toffs' game or an English game, but that's absolute tripe. [He didn't actually use the word "tripe"]. I've grown up surrounded by lads from every background you can possibly imagine and, once you are on the field, it is just 11 against 11. So you should always go out and enjoy it, because nothing beats playing."

This infectious approach was never more required than in the summer of 1976 when Close returned to the Test arena in the direst of circumstances for the Blighty brigade, following a nine-year hiatus. He was nearer 50 than 40, and England's line-up had no answer to their Caribbean opponents, led by Clive Lloyd, who had Michael Holding, Andy Roberts and Wayne Daniel peppering anybody who stood in the way with a fearsome barrage of bouncers and short-pitched venom.

This led to one of the most famous sessions in the sport's history when England's openers, Close and John Edrich - a duo with a combined age of 83 - marched to the wicket at Old Trafford with their side needing an impossible 552 for victory. Thereafter, what seemed to last an eternity, they were bombarded with one wicked delivery after another by the West Indian merchants of menace. Close took countless blows on his body and he was wearing neither chest protector, helmet, nor forearm guard, nor anything which might offer a scintilla of sanctuary. But he survived and defied anything which was flung at him until stumps were called. One of his friends, Geoff Cope, said later, upon surveying the myriad bruises which suggested Close had been in a car crash rather than a cricketing contest: "It was the sort of sunset you would not want to see on anybody. But nobody dared to mention it to him. As far as Brian was concerned, it went with the territory."

In the end, Close managed just 20 runs, eked out over three painful hours, but his fortitude was beyond reproach. There were other, happier experiences, as he led his Yorkshire confreres to a string of honours, prior to - mercifully - escaping the committee-room chicanery, which plagued the Leeds-based organisation in the 1970s and 1980s, by moving on to Somerset. And, whatever his foibles and rather curmudgeonly attitude to modern developments, his love of sport was unquenchable wherever he ventured.

As he said, prior to the start of the 1999 World Cup, where Scotland made their debut: "I would tell your boys to go out and believe in themselves 100%. They have a great chance to make a name for themselves and they are meeting the best players in the world. What they shouldn't be is frightened of the challenge."

Brian Close was never frightened of anything at all.

He is survived by his wife, Vivienne, and a son and a daughter.

Neil Drysdale