The Mighty Brian Jacques

A mouse is small and can go unnoticed: but there is no limit to what a brave heart and a fearless spirit can achieve.

It’s easy to get carried away when someone well known dies, to over glamourise them. They are, after all, human beings like the rest of us. But sometimes a person dies who has brought so much joy and delight to you, from afar, that it is hard not to be upset. And so, when I read about the death of author Brian Jacques, of a heart attack aged 71, I just sat there, lost for words. So, having had a think, here are some of my words on the works of the man who was a master wordsmith.

There are a select few writers to whom I would attribute my love of reading. Enid Blyton, Franklyn W.Dixon, Terrance Dicks and Willard Price form four of the top five. The fifth was Brian Jacques. Jacques created a world within our own world, one involving not the human race but all the animals in the woods and forests around us. At a very base level they are about the battle of good against evil. The mice, badgers, voles: the heroes. The weasels and foxes: the villains. Sounds simple, but they were written with such love and care that these small animals were as easy to love and cheer for as the Famous Five, the Hardy Boys and Hal and Roger. Martin the Warrior and Matthias are fantastically brave animals, going into battle where they must surely lose. It is David versus Goliath, and sacrifices will be made. The villains have such fantastic names too; Feragho the Assassin, Slagar the Fox. Such tremendous evil is conjured up in those names. There is no middle ground in this world, it is entirely about good versus evil, and as a child they are the most thrilling stories to read.

His novels nourished my love of stories, and his novels are ones that should be read by all children. His works have lasted for twenty five years, and will continue to do so. And if you think that stories of mice, badgers and foxes are absurd and unreal, read Redwall, the first in the series, and then tell me that Basil Stag Hare isn’t one of the greatest literary creations of all time. In fact, I might just go and get it off the shelf now myself.

What is the best sport?

Claims for the greatest sport. 1. Tennis

The graceful arc of the service motion...

Tennis, a bit like cricket, serves well those who like a statistic or two. Who doesn’t like making lists of the two, three and four time Tour de France winners? (Louison Bobet? Well, maybe only me.) But tennis has a lot more. Aces, winners, unforced errors, number of points, where they served - a never ending supply of numbers are thrown at you at the end of a set. But statistics can lie. Looking at information from a set, it is possible to be led entirely down the wrong road. 'It is a capital mistake to theorize without data' says Sherlock Holmes to Doctor Watson. But in tennis you could theorize with the data, and be completely wrong. This is the beauty of the game. The scoring system is such that momentum can shift imperceptibly over the course of just three points. From being in total control, you can find yourself under pressure. In a big game every point is crucial. One error at at an important moment can snowball into a four game losing streak. Confidence, and momentum, are key. One point at a time.

...the elegance of the single handed backhand...

Tennis can be a beautiful sport to watch. When two players of equal stature are playing out 40 shot rallies it is breathtaking to see. Who will crack first and dump an attempted drop shot into the bottom of the net? Or will a backhand down the line of such ferocity that the opponent is left standing appear out of nowhere? (In the case of Novak Djokovic at the recent Australian Open, frequently). Even when it’s not dramatic with flair coming out of its ears, a good scrap (such as Andy Murray against David Ferrer in the Australian Open semi-final) it is compelling.

...the delicacy of the volley...

Power, the argument went, is ruining tennis. The carbon fibre rackets create too much power and the skill of the game is taken away. Bring back the wooden racket! Power can win you rallies, undoubtedly, but sometimes it isn’t enough. If the player opposite you is doing a decent impression of a wall, then you need guile and cunning to defeat them; in this ability to come to the net is crucial. And then the ability to place a volley deep or just over the net - it’s not as easy as it looks (I know, I’ve tried). In my era Edberg, Stich, Becker, Sampras, Rafter, and yes even Henman - all great exponents of serve and volley. Watch now and the top players in the game all have the ability to come to the net and put away points. I wish I could. There is nothing quite like slapping away a volley after a great first serve. Short, sharp and delightful to watch.

...the scuttle of the ball boys and ball girls...

Well, you don’t get this down the local tennis club. Though they are a damn site more effective than ball boys in football and, sometimes, rugby. Whether they have ball boys in hockey I don’t know.

...the smell of a fresh ball...

“New balls, please.” Every seven games the set of balls are replaced and new ones come into play. Professionals who can bring out a new, freshly strung racket every time the balls change. Gives them that extra power. I play with four year old balls that barely bounce. But it doesn’t matter.

...strawberries and cream...

Well, not so much the strawberries and cream as the general experience of going to watch tennis live. To see players performing at a top level in front of you (on outside courts at majors, often as close as 10 feet) is to see craftsmen at work. To walk around Wimbledon is to walk around a dream. On the TV, yes, all well and good, but to be there and experience the atmosphere, to stand by the statue of the great Fred Perry. When visiting Melbourne I went on a tour of the Australian Open venue, though you could walk around the grounds happily. Inside the Rod Laver Arena, it is easy to imagine the roar of the crowd, the grunt of the players, all happening where you are standing. Having been there makes watching it on the television a far more enjoyable experience - shut your eyes and you are there.

...the random nature of the top of the net...

Everyone can pick up a racket and play. Well, in theory, not so much in this country. No free, municipal courts you see. But that’s another piece entirely. Anyone can play, and it doesn’t matter how good you are, there will always be someone of a similar level. It’s no fun having rings run round you on a football pitch, or in inspecting the bruises after getting hit 6 times in a row by a fast bowler who takes out the possibility of getting runs by bowling balls that you can’t actually see before they hit you. And there is the joy of either teaching someone something or being taught something yourself.

Above all, it is the players themselves that make this the greatest game. The current world leaders - Federer, Nadal, Roddick at al - will at a moments notice organise fundraising events to raise money for natural disasters such as the Haiti earthquake and the Queensland flooding. They are sporting, any frustration is for the most part turned against themselves, not the officials, and always appreciate the watching public. They’ll even give considered, un-cliched answers (usually not in their mother tongue) while being interviewed live on court after three hours of high concentration and action. You don’t get that in football.