Bradbury Cricket

Something old is now something new.

In 1990-91, when Paul was new to the cricket bat crafting scene, he was presented with a couple of bats from the touring English side who were in Perth for the Ashes.

The bats from Gooch and Larkins were different to what was commercially available at the time in Australia, the blade was laminated. It did not take long for these bats to be outlawed, like many innovations that the MCC may not approve (or fully understand) and Law 5 of the rules updated to prevent the innovation from gathering any market share. Laminated bats are now legal in all but the more elite level of the game as the MCC change over 70 sections of the laws of cricket. It is up to the governing body in each country to sort out the implementation and detail of where these restrictions apply.

Can of worms has officially been opened.

When Willow Remembers the Storm

Every now and then a bat breaks in a way that stops people mid sentence.

Not a split along the edge, or a crack creeping up from the toe, but a sudden failure straight across the grain. Sometimes so complete the bat looks cut rather than broken. When that happens, explanations arrive quickly. They are usually wrong.

What is less understood is that some bats do not fail because of how they were made, or how they were used, but because of something that happened to a tree years earlier, in a field no one ever sees.

English willow is remarkably forgiving when young. It grows fast, bends readily, and survives conditions that would damage stiffer timber. Strong winds can push a young tree over during a growth period. The tree springs back, straightens, and carries on growing.

But not everything heals perfectly.

Under those loads, internal bonds between fibres can fracture. The tree survives, the grain continues to lay down, but the memory of that moment remains. These stress fractures sometimes appear as faint grey or purplish banding across the grain, visible only on freshly sawn or newly planed faces. Many remain hidden entirely within the bulk of a cleft.

Most never cause a problem.

But occasionally, when bat meets ball just right, or wrong, those old fault lines release. When they do, they do not creep or warn. They let go across the grain, and the bat breaks not because it was poorly made, but because it was carrying a hidden history.

These failures are often followed by confident diagnosis. The handle must have been jammed in too tight. The splice was wrong.

In reality, a handle issue fails very differently. A handle driven too hard will split a bat with the grain, vertically. It does not cause a clean fracture across it. That distinction is obvious to anyone who has made a bat, and invisible to anyone who has not.

There is also a quieter part of this story further upstream.

Growers are often aware which trees have grown in exposed conditions. Merchants, working at scale, will usually identify the more obvious examples when sorting, but not all structural history declares itself then. Inspection prior to purchase is limited, and once a fault is revealed by planing the cleft, it is typically deemed the maker’s problem.

By the time a fracture finally expresses itself, responsibility has already moved downstream.

Most storm affected willow performs perfectly well for a lifetime. But when a bat fails across the grain, it is rarely the result of a single mistake at the bench. More often, it is the end of a much longer story. One that began years earlier, bent hard once, recovered, and kept growing. And sometimes, under the force of a full swing, it finally tells you what it has been holding all along.

Carberry's bat breaking this link:
https://youtu.be/j_2otwGVz-c?si=O21w7dC8dcYI3C7c

The Boxing Day Test has often been a launch pad for the latest bat shapes and bold claims, helped along by long lulls in play and eager commentary.

This time there was little of that. What stood out instead was a quiet absence of noise around players’ kit. In the profiles we have been watching, there is a noticeable retreat from the massive edge. There is a higher middle supporting the exaggerated back lift, and a flatter toe that shifts weight up the blade, suggesting the straight drive is no longer being designed around as it once was.

Traditional Test batting places its trust in timing, strategy and preparation, and that trust inevitably informs the bat maker. Professional players have always reserved different bats for different formats, and often for different conditions. What feels new is how quietly some of the more brutal design statements are being set aside, in favour of shapes that sit closer to a calmer, more classical tradition.

In 2006, the MCC moved quickly to halt what it saw as a step too far. Ricky Ponting and his fellow Kookaburra-sponsored players walked out to contest the Ashes carrying bats reinforced with a carbon fibre backing. The addition was modest, just 1.5mm thick, first introduced in 2004, designed to strengthen the bat without altering the willow face. Within just over a year, it was outlawed.

The reasoning was clear. Carbon fibre, it was argued, reduced vibration and therefore made the bat more powerful. This sat awkwardly alongside the enthusiastic acceptance of laminated cane handles, which had replaced solid wood handles decades earlier for precisely the same reason: to reduce vibration and protect the hands. That innovation was welcomed, not resisted.

At Bradbury, we trialled the carbon-backed bats while Paul and Sally were both playing. The findings were straightforward. The bats were able to be made lighter and stronger. Balance improved. Durability increased. What did not change was rebound. The willow face behaved exactly as willow always has. Any increase in performance came not from altered energy return, but from greater hand speed made possible by a lighter, better-balanced bat.

We got curious at Bradbury. Paul took a bat that had already split badly through the toe, a blade that by any conventional measure was finished. A layer of carbon fibre was applied to the back, and the bat was returned not to gentle net sessions, but to the Somerset Premier League, and the Perth Premier League. It was subjected to pure punishment and, improbably, it lasted another two seasons.

With its shortened handle and reduced weight, Paul recalls it as some of the most enjoyable cricket he has played. Freed from concern about consequence, the bat was swung with intent rather than caution. The rebound remained unchanged. What changed was confidence, and the simple pleasure of using a bat that had already given everything it was supposed to give, and then some.

Today, Paul picked it up again to have it photographed for this article. He paused and said, “I feel like playing cricket again.” ... this is 20+ years on.

Not long after carbon fibre was removed from the conversation, bat profiles grew. Edges thickened. Sweet spots expanded. The demands placed on willow increased sharply. The MCC intervened again, this time to limit size rather than material. The issue was no longer vibration or rebound, but scale.

Now, with willow scarcer, more expensive, and breaking more often under modern playing styles, the question has returned quietly. Lamination is no longer being discussed as an advantage, but as stewardship. How to preserve the traditional willow face while extending the working life of an increasingly precious material.

When clear protection is allowed on the face, celebrated in the handle, but forbidden on the back, it may be worth asking whether the game is regulating appearances rather than outcomes.

Every cricket bat begins the same way.

The soft yet resilient willow is pressed, increasing density and rebound, traditionally done with a roller that had significant curvature. For most of cricket’s history, this curvature was of greater importance than edge size, which was simply not part of the conversation.

That began to change in the 1990s.

As professional players paid closer attention to equipment, the bow, profile and edge of a bat became something to admire. In the past, a pronounced bow was desirable, as it signalled a well prepared, played in piece of willow. In some less traditional workshops, it was common practice to plane a bow through the face of a new bat to visually suggest a bat that was good to go, a feature traditionally associated with good pressing and preparation.

At the same time, the game itself was changing. Improved contracts meant fewer players needed work away from cricket. Training became more structured. Time in the gym increased. Physicality became part of the professional identity. Technique analysis became full time occupations. With that came a shift in how bats were viewed.

Edges grew. Profiles swelled. Weight still had to remain manageable, so faces flattened to make room, concaving through the back profile carved out weight and emphasise that edge. Traditional curvature of the face gave way, because a curved face borrows timber from the edge. The result was a bat that looked powerful.

There were consequences.

Larger edges are less pressed and more vulnerable to damage, particularly when paired with cricket balls made from less than ideal materials. Shots that once glanced off a traditional edge now found more surface area. The bat may survive the shot, but not always without cost.

Then came T20 cricket.

Shot requirements shifted rapidly. The middle of the bat became less important than the usable surface area. The edge, once a liability, became an asset. Timing could be imperfect and contact marginal, yet the ball still travelled.

Alongside this shift came adhesive protective facings. Convenient and reassuring, they offered a shortcut past the traditional knocking in process. What was once a noisy, time consuming ritual shared between bat maker and player gradually disappeared. With it went a quieter sense of responsibility. Minor damage that would once have been repaired and managed through the life of a bat began to feel like failure rather than consequence. Ownership became shorter and more transactional.

Modern athletes are bigger, stronger and faster than ever, and that is true across all sports, with training taking on greater intensity than a player would apply in a game. But a cricket bat remains a natural product, responding not only to force, but to preparation, use, maintenance and care and bigger does not necessarily mean stronger.

When increased physicality meets increased bat size, a range of pressures come into play. Confidence, expectation, design, materials and maintenance all share the load. Size has its place, but it is only one part of a much larger equation. And perhaps the most telling changes in bat design are not found in the profile or the edge, but in how we now expect bats to stand up to the punishment of the modern game.

Today we are shifting the focus from blades and willow to the much quieter, and often overlooked, element of bat design: the handle.

With Paul (Bradbury) having played the game for over fifty years, and made bats for nearly as long, he has witnessed both subtle and significant changes in handle shape. In the old days, when bats were truly hand crafted, most handles carried a gentle oval in the bottom hand, the result of careful shoulder blending. As machinery and industrial processes took over, that blending was reduced. Round handles, top to bottom, became the norm, not because they were better, but because they were easier to produce at scale.

Then, in the 1980s, something shifted. Those trained by the master bat maker John Newbery began to influence professional preferences. His apprentices became the makers of choice for English cricketers, and through Julian, Paul became part of a direct lineage from that great tradition. With it came a return to the oval.

That re-emerging oval brought a greater awareness of the vital connection between bat and batter. An oval encourages top-hand control, softens the bottom-hand grip and allows the forefinger to guide the blade through the ball. Some players embraced it for driving, others for defence. Adam Gilchrist went one step further, famously using a squash ball in his left glove to enhance that feel. Steve Waugh, during the 1997 Ashes, found the oval too sharp for his liking and suffered some bruising, a simple adjustment later resolving the issue.

Then there was the dressing room effect. At Surrey, for example, one player’s success with an oval handle led to an entire team modifying their grips with tape, knives and Elastoplast, chasing that millimetre perfect shape.

Through the 1990s and 2000s, retail influenced design more than tradition. Weight became the primary selling point. Handles were thinned, bindings reduced, and lighter, more whippy constructions became common. The result was bats that felt light on the scales, but often paid the price in structural strength, with shoulder splits becoming all too familiar and warranty claims on the rise.

Grip materials also shifted. One major manufacturer dictated a rubber to latex ratio that wore out quickly but sold in enormous volumes. Thankfully, today there is greater choice and improved quality. The half-grip trend of the 2010s has quietly passed, and there is a renewed appreciation for balance, durability and shape.

As modern batting expands into 360-degree play, the heavy oval may not suit everyone. But, as history shows us, if it works for the next great player, it will work its way back into fashion once more.

If you would like see how a master crafter shapes the shoulders, check this out https://www.facebook.com/share/v/17XDb8zLPt/

Kit Bags, Barriers and What Happens Next

There was a time when a team kit bag sat quietly in the corner of the changeroom. It was never flash, but it meant that anyone who wanted to play could walk out to the wicket without worrying about whether they had every piece of equipment. It was a simple idea that worked. It kept the game open.

Today things look different. Kids often arrive with their own gear and their own bag. There is a sense of individual expression in that, and it reflects how cricket has evolved. None of this is bad. It is simply a shift in how families and schools now approach sport.

What has quietly changed is the pathway into the game. For a long time children followed what their parents played. The first cricket experience often began in the shed, rummaging through whatever was left from seasons gone by. A bat with a bit of life in it. Pads that could be adjusted. Gloves that had already done the hard yards. Hand-me-downs softened the cost and the learning curve.

Now children are the pioneers. They may choose cricket for themselves, rather than inheriting it. This is healthy and exciting, but it does mean there is no shed full of old gear, no hand-me downs, and no quiet guidance about what is essential. Many families are asked to make first owner purchases for a sport their child may try for only a compulsory participation for one term. It can be expensive, wasteful and confusing, especially when schools do not always have the equipment pool needed to support genuine development.

Other sports have found ways to lower these barriers. There are loan systems, hire models, buy back schemes and community equipment libraries that mean families can test the waters without committing to a full kit. Cricket has a few of these programs, and they work well where they exist. They reduce waste, they increase participation and they give young players easier access to quality equipment.

At Bradbury, we see both sides of the story. We see families investing heavily hoping the game will stick, and we also see the growing mountain of barely used gear that still has seasons left in it. It raises a simple question. Should, or can cricket move closer towards a more communal model, for greater participation? Something like a hire kit. A buy back program. A small equipment pool operated through a school or club. Something practical that makes the pathway kinder on families without lowering the quality of the experience.

It is a concept that is being done in some areas, but we suspect there may be interest to do more of it, and Bradbury would be interested to help if possible. Not as a return to the past, but as a contemporary solution that reflects how children now enter the game.

If you are a parent, player, coach or teacher we would like to hear from you. Would a hire or buy back system be useful? Would you donate unused gear? Would your club or school support a shared equipment pool?

The comments are open. Let’s see what the appetite really is.

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Ashes Test in Perth, Willow, and the Things Bat Makers Notice

The Test at Perth Stadium has been so absorbing that even the Bradbury workshop fell quiet for long stretches, which is unusual in itself. But put a room of player-bat makers together and, sooner or later, the match becomes a study in timber and technique.

The talk begins like everyone else’s. Fielding positions. Plans. Patience. Then someone notes, almost in passing, “That is about the fourth bat from European willow in the English top order. Do you think they know, or care?” And suddenly the entire conversation shifts into the world only bat makers inhabit.

By the lunch break the room has drifted into the politics around lamination, debate over protecting the English willow growers from the emerging willow markets, and who has the loudest voice in the room. The discussion over if deceptive labelling, not just the brand labels over other makers bats, but also whether facings using photographs of perfect grains should be legal.

Players sponsorship deals, relative to that of golfers and NBA players, dominate the speculative chat. Considering marketing spend, how it works into business models and ultimately how much things have changed. Meanwhile, the alternative willows continue to perform, and in many hands, overperform.

Which brings us back to the cricket. One of us leaves the room for a dash to the Perth Stadium, to soak up the atmosphere of something very special. Travis Head has just taken on the game, and the bat makers in the room stopped talking about bats entirely, which is something very few players can achieve, and normally it's Stokes.

When someone is middling everything with that kind of freedom and resolve, the bat almost disappears from the story (unless you are the brand or the maker). At this point it seems he could walk out with a wet mop, a garden stake, or something from the bargain bin at a garage sale and still leave England out of answers. This is special. Sure, his equipment is top shelf, the credit to an elite player capable of doing what Travis Head achieved, it is at this time you see that the balance of the game is not able to be determined by a superior piece of wood with big edges and pretty grains....

Can't wait for the GABBA.

Sponsorship, Influence and the Ashes in Perth

The Ashes begins in Perth this week and while everyone is talking selections and conditions, there is a quieter conversation worth having. It is about influence, and about the assumptions sponsorship asks us to make.

A player lifts a bat on television and the message is simple. If they use it, you should too. Yet the bat they hold is a custom build that never reaches a retail store. Some do not even see their bat until it arrives in their kit. So the choice presented to the public is not the one the player actually made.

It raises a fair question. Who truly influences the purchase of cricket bats.

Marketing departments focus on top-order batters, even though bowlers often define a series. Senior players are ignored because their careers are shorter. Commentators, who have sponsorship deals long after they stop playing, frequently name-check brands on air. Their influence is significant, particularly around Christmas, yet rarely acknowledged.

At club level the picture becomes even more interesting. Sponsored players often hand their unwanted cast-offs to grade teammates. This is generous, but it also means fewer sales for the very companies trying to influence buying habits.

Then there is the junior space. Some talented under-tens ask for sponsorship simply because they believe early success makes it automatic. This is not their fault. It reflects the messages they are absorbing, not how the system truly works.

Above all sits the under nineteen pathway. Cricket Australia presents this program as a direct line to the top, and for marketing departments it acts as a guarantee. If a player is selected, they are seen as a safe commercial investment. If they are not, they are often overlooked. The exceptions are rare. Managers then negotiate deals based on projected reach and numbers rather than performance, and young players become commercial assets before they fully form as cricketers.

Of course, some players genuinely sell bats. Root, Tendulkar, Stokes, Kohli and Smith influence choices because their cricket speaks for itself. Their impact is earned, not constructed.

Meanwhile small companies take real risks. Some support young players for years with no certainty of return, only to lose them when a larger contract arrives.

As the Ashes begins, it is worth asking who actually shapes your decisions. The player with a custom bat you cannot buy. The commentator with a quiet endorsement. The pathway star backed by a national narrative. Or simply the bat that feels right in your hands.

The answer matters, because the bat you choose should belong to your game, not someone else’s contract.