In a game at Portsmouth, we blooded a new all-rounder whom Bumble strongly recommended. ‘This lad’s got hands like bookets,’ he insisted, so we posted him at slip where he promptly put down his first two chances. ‘Fuck off out of there, Freddie,’ I said finally – for it was, of course, seventeen-year-old Andrew Flintoff. I took seven for 52 so my annoyance didn’t last long, and I could soon see what Bumble saw. Freddie had a sound enough batting technique to open for us in the Sunday League, and the height and strength to be genuinely quick. He was reluctant to bowl at the time, but I talked
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