Stay strong, Rod

 "Is Rod Marsh an epileptic?" The call came at around 11.30 am in Sydney.

It was previous Queensland and Australian ODI player and presently Bulls Masters manager Jimmy Maher. The response was an earnest no.

The following call was unsettling. "Rodney has really had an assault in the vehicle," said Maher. "His heart quit pulsating for a considerable length of time before the medical clinic kicked it off once more."

74 year-old Marsh is the best Australian guardian I've seen and he has been a decent mate since we played together in the 1970-71 Test side.

He covered more domain remaining back than any guardian, and keeping in mind that this was an incredible resource, it could likewise be a wellspring of dissatisfaction. Whenever Tony Greig edged Gary Gilmour's awayswinger in the World Cup semi-last at Headingley in 1975, it was made a beeline for my right.

It never contacted me.

"Listen you fat knave, gets on my right are mine," I told him during the festival. That is one explanation our fellowship persevered: we both came to our meaningful conclusions obviously.

I was once asked who was the better guardian, Marsh or Ian Healy. It was a simple response: "View their hands."

Swamp's hands, in spite of long stretches of gathering the brutally quick Jeff Thomson and the incredibly fast Dennis Lillee, are clean. On the off chance that you take a gander at that Headingley get and, the plunging leg-side one where he got Clive Lloyd, you'll comprehend about the domain he covered remaining back.

I granted Marsh the questionable moniker of Iron Gloves during his Test debut at the Gabba. I'd recently find out about the poor-handling Pittsburgh Pirates first baseman Dick Stuart, who was nicknamed Iron Glove. It appeared to be a proper name to bless Marsh with - he dropped a couple in his first game. Years after the fact, when Marsh asserted the world record for most excusals by a manager the concise Doug Walters informed him: "Mucky, assuming you'd taken them all in your first Test, you would've guaranteed that record four games back."

It was after Marsh's first Test that previous Australian opener and prestigious columnist Jack Fingleton moved toward me at Sydney air terminal. "What's this inlet Marsh like?" he inquired.

I answered, "He's a decent guy. He can bat, and don't stress over the principal Test, he can keep," I replied. "For what reason do you inquire?"

"Well," answered the critical Fingleton, "he just tossed his suit transporter in the gear rack on top of my deer-stalker. I told him, 'Swamp, my cap's under there,' Fingleton proceeded, "and he answered, 'It can work on the cap.'"