Cricket Umpire Quotes

... a country where we seldom understand that we must be prepared to fight for issues bigger than an umpire's decision at the Melbourne Cricket Ground.

The only good thing about that decision, Gatt, is that I'll get tea before you.

In cricket- be fit, be alert and be Sachin.

Century was an occasional thing in cricket, Sachin made it frequent.

Sachin has infinite capacity for taking pains and still making runs.

Sachin is a genius in the world of cricket leaving behind all those who are only talented and intelligent.

Sachin plays not only to be remembered but also to be repeated.

The Top Spin would raise a glass to Rudi Koertzen, the popular veteran South African umpire who will stand in his 107th and final Test when Pakistan meet Australia at Headingley in July [2010]. But we're slightly worried about being misunderstood. A few years back, in a light-hearted series of profiles of the elite umpires for a newspaper supplement, we suggested Rudi was a 'sociable' character who enjoyed spending a no-more-than-inordinate amount of time at the '19th hole'. Cue a concerned phonecall from the ICC, who wanted to register Rudi's displeasure at the implication. Whoops. Presumably it will be orange juices all round when he finally hangs up the white coat.

Umpires suffer from a tremendously low level of self-esteem, too, by virtue of the fact that they are umpires. As such, you should look to engage in light-hearted horseplay with them at all times. Negging him about the amount of sunscreen he’s wearing — which is always inversely proportional to his decision-making ability — is a good place to start. Like all of us, all they really want is to be loved. So your missus still doesn’t understand why you spend your whole weekend playing cricket? Imagine how an umpire’s girlfriend must feel. Seriously, imagine being an umpire’s girlfriend. He’d rather officiate a shit game of cricket than spend a gorgeous Saturday afternoon with you.

As he gathers speed, I have a brief second to regret that someone else hasn’t borne the brunt of his impatience. He’s six foot four standing still. I know this because I’ve looked up into his eyes at social functions, and I’m six foot. In his delivery stride, leaping off that left foot and airborne as he passes the umpire, he’s at least seven foot two. And as that right arm whips over his ear, the clutched ball streaking like sunlight through a thrown glass of claret, I swear that giant hand is topping out at, I don’t know, eleven, twelve feet in the air. The problem with such a high release is not so much the angle it comes down from, but the resultant angle at which it rears up off the turf. Pg122

They emerged from the tropical vegetation, greeted by a general cheer. Stephen advanced, carrying his hurly: he was feeling particularly well and fit; he had his land-legs again, and no longer stumped along, but walked with an elastic step. Jack came to meet him, and said in a low voice, 'Just keep your end up, Stephen, until your eye is in; and watch out for the Admiral's twisters,' and then as they neared the Admiral, 'Sir, allow me to name my particular friend Dr. Maturin, surgeon of the Leopard. 'How d'ye do, Doctor?' said the Admiral. 'I must beg your pardon, sir, for my late appearance: I was called away on -- ' 'No ceremony, Doctor, I beg,' said the Admiral, smiling: the Leopard's hundred pounds were practically in his pocket, and this man of theirs did not look very dangerous. 'Shall we begin?' 'By all means,' said Stephen. 'You go down to the other end,' murmured Jack, a chill coming over him in spite of the torrid sun. 'Should you like to be given a middle, sir?' called the umpire, when Stephen had walked down the pitch. 'Thank you, sir,' said Stephen, hitching at his waistband and gazing round the field, 'I already have one.' A rapacious grin ran round the Cumberlands: they moved much closer in, crouching, their huge crab-like hands spread wide. The Admiral held the ball to his nose for a long moment, fixing his adversary, and then delivered a lob that hummed as it flew. Stephen watched its course, danced out to take it as it touched the ground, checked its bounce, dribbled the ball towards the astonished cover-point and running still he scooped it into the hollow of his hurly, raced on with twinkling steps to mid-off, there checked his run amidst the stark silent amazement, flicked the ball into his hand, tossed it high, and with a screech drove it straight at Jack's wicket, shattering the near stump and sending its upper half in a long, graceful trajectory that reached the ground just as the first of La Fleche's guns, saluting the flag, echoed across the field.

This would make the sport safer too, as well as more aesthetically pleasing, by reducing the risk of a ferocious straight drive felling the bowler in his follow-through, not to mention the non-striker or the umpire.

We finished our warm up and went into the sheds, with just five minutes left before the start of play. I knew that I was obliged to say a few words to the team, but what would they be? I was not a natural orator. I lacked the physical presence and polish of a Barack Obama. Was there any point, though? Looking around, I saw a bunch of disorganised adults frantically trying to get their shit together in time for the session. ‘Got any sunscreen, Damo?’ Can you spot me some zinc, Trav?’ ‘Has anybody got a hat?’ I could have recited Lincoln’s Gettysburg address in full — ‘four score and seven years ago …’ — and these blokes wouldn’t have batted an eyelid. As such, I fell back on the versatile, tried and true maxim that all grade captains are well familiar with. ‘Let’s just fucking work hard and get these cunts out!’ I screamed at the top of my voice, just as the old umpire poked his head into the room.

Sadly, this game would prove to be the high point of the whole trip and our morale seemed to dip with each day of cricket we played. One of the main reasons for the tension and irritation was the umpiring. It set the already unstable camp on edge because we felt it was in favour of the home side. Hang on, I’ve been too kind there. We were sure it was in favour of the home side.

In that playground we played cricket during winter afternoons—the neighbourhood boys, irrespective of which school they went to. Someone would own the bat, someone would contribute the ball, and someone else would bring the stumps. Pads and gloves were a luxury and largely unnecessary. The umpiring would be done by someone who had done with batting for the day, even though his decisions would often be overruled by the ‘third umpire’—one of the neighbourhood ‘uncles’ closely following the game standing at the gate of his house.

Although sledging was not considered gentlemanly at the time and seemed, temporarily perhaps, to die out after WG’s retirement from first class cricket in 1908, there had always been an undercurrent of hostility between the English and Australian players. Lord Harris’s 1878-79 tour to Australia set the trend for many of the ill-tempered Ashes clashes to follow, although the urn itself was not at stake. The home side hammered the English in the first Test in Melbourne, with the tourists’ captain so disappointed in his own performance that he hurled his bat across the pavilion. The bad feelings rolled over to the Sydney Test, and when Australian umpire George Coulthard adjudged local hero Billy Murdoch run out, two thousand spectators invaded the pitch and began attacking the English players. Lord Harris was beaten with a whip, Albert Hornby had his shirt ripped off and six English players were forced to defend themselves with stumps. In retaliation, many English clubs refused to play the touring Australians when they visited the following year.

In recalling events when he assumed Pakistan’s captaincy, Imran Khan revealed his shock when umpires appointed for the test called on him and asked him for special instructions, if any!18 Recalling his 1982-83 tour of Pakistan, the Indian cricketer Ravi Shastri said: Imran and Sarfraz would make the ball swing, and then there were those two umpires Khizer Hayat and Shakoor Rana. It was like playing a four-pronged pace attack.19

The Commander tucked the timepiece back into the fob pocket, and with the air of a conjurer brought out a full moon, as bright as a new coin, and tossed it up in the air. Heads, Humphrey called, and laughed, because he knew this trick, but just couldn’t at the moment remember how it went. “That’s it! Time’s up! Time’s up!” the empire cried then, fussily drawing stumps. The moon sat above the cricket ground, where it struck twelve more times than was strictly necessary, it was the umpire’s opinion, and Humphrey opened his eyes to the sound of the grandfather clock on the bottom landing chiming the half-hour.

I would like to be an umpire when Sachin is batting, so to get the best possible view of his shots.

Football said,"Why I am not a cricket ball to get a shot from Sachin".

Batting is like another language for Sachin, he always answers his critics by this language.

Sachin's straight drive is like fired bullet from most efficient gun.

Sachin's pedal sweep confirmed that physical conditions and age cannot stop you from hitting boundaries.

Sachin is passionate for cricket and fame is passionate for Sachin.

Thanks to technology, the future generation will be able to see Sachin's recorded innings and will accept that our generation was most lucky.