Nesta Quin was born on a starry night four decades ago on the shores of the Parramatta River just a stones throw from the Sydney Harbour Bridge. He was educated at Fort Street and Sydney University where he occasionally attended classes when not playing cricket. He has never married, has accidentally sired four beautiful children and is perennially haunted by the memory of repercussions suffered after sledging an aging Jeff Thomson in South Brisbane one sunny afternoon. Although, chronically ergophobic Nesta is currently writing a book about kookaburras, aromatherapy and jelly beans. If you’d like to contact Nesta click here.
The Trumpet’s earliest cricket memory was of his father’s delight watching a black and white television as David Hughes smashed John Mortimore all around Old Trafford in the dark to win this Gilllette Cup match. A few years later, the Trumpet was at Aigburth, Liverpool watching the likes of Big Clive, Barry Richards and Gordon Greenidge playing county cricket. Soon came visits to Old Trafford for Lanky matches and Tests, including the Saturday of this one, when Botham smeared 118 in no time. The Trumpet essayed a few right-arm outswingers for Hightown and Putney, but only his catching was really up to much and that went with the 20/20 eyesight as age overtook him. He watches as much cricket as he can at The Oval, Lord’s or on television and remains endlessly fascinated by the Greatest of Games. He is delighted and honoured to write at 99.94 and he occasionally blogs as Mouth of the Mersey. His favourite current player is Swanny, for all his self-publicity, but he knows that SK Warne is the best player he has ever seen and probably will ever see. You can find the Trumpet on Twitter at garynaylor999, occasionally on the Sofa at Testmatchsofa.com and in the stalls at westend.broadwayworld.com. What doesn’t fit in on those sites, gets posted here. And feel free to tweet me @garynaylor999.
Rajesh Kannan’s first memory is India’s win at the World Championship of Cricket in 1985, and things have gone downhill ever since. Living in sunny Singapore, he’s spared the jingoism of a national cricket press, but wishes he could just retire and travel to watch cricket full-time. In the meantime, he’s content to catch the game on the tube, and continues his fruitless search for a stroke to match Mark Waugh’s flick off the hips.