Officially, Sunday?s man of the match in Benoni was Tatenda Taibu, the miniature Zimbabwean wicketkeeper who?s been through the worst of his cricket?s ugly political treadmill.

Fitting, then, that his hundred should come up against South Africa, the country best poised to have helped the game north of the border, but which displayed an apathy in keeping with South Africa?s general political approach to dealing with Zimbabwe; a small victory for a man doing his best to help patch together a shadow of side beyond the Limpopo.

But if Taibu showed up the frailties of South Africa?s bowling unit, short on match practice and susceptible to the counter-attack, then it was another of the old hands you provided the most entertainment on Sunday.

Watching Raymond Price in action is one of modern cricket?s great sights, a curious blend of excitement, facial contortions, Seles-like groans and good, honest left-arm orthodox spin bowling; watch him take off when he snares a wicket, and you see a pure jubilation few others across the professional sporting spectrum come close to touching.

For most, watching Price offers the twin pleasures of a solid, hardworking craftsman holding up the Zimbabwean attack ? what he lacks in the variation of a Vettori or flight of a Panesar, he makes up for with guile, control and an uncanny ability to second-guess the batsman ? and an entertainer not concerned with letting his emotions run free on the field. But for me, watching Raymond ? nephew of golf great Nick Price ? is an act of nostalgia, for the Zimbabwean all-rounder (as he insists on being called) was my schoolboy skipper, opening partner, and the hardest working cricketer I?ve ever met.

We used to call him Linford Bland: Linford, ?cos you could time him doing the hundred metres with a sun dial, and Bland, because his fielding was somewhere between Phil Tufnell and Devon Malcolm.

But in the space of a year, he turned into someone completely different ? not quite the secret lovechild of Usain Bolt and Jonty Rhodes, perhaps, but an athletic cricketer with safe hands and a markedly improved technique.

It came from hours of fielding, along with endless sessions in the nets working on his game, to the extent that by his final year in high school, managed two centuries and countless fifties opening the batting, amassed an obscene number of wickets, and only missed out on selection for the Zimbabwe Schools team by virtue of hailing from an unfashionable school, a fate that also befell seamer Mpumulelo Mbangwa, better known to most South Africans now as dreadlocked Pommie the overexcited commentator.

But where the limited scope of opportunity in Zimbabwean cricket diverted promising talent into alternative endeavours post-school, Price was always determined, in a simple, matter of fact way (there?s never been a hint of arrogance to the man), that he was going to play for Zimbabwe, and a combination of perseverance, industry, and an ability to bowl miserly spells to the finest of batsmen, eventually saw him into the national side, and from there to the career as a cricketing gypsy that became the only option for so many Zimbabwean players as the game fell apart in their homeland.

Price ended up at Worcestershire, always a favourite Zimbabwean destination given Graeme Hick?s presence at New Road, but eventually forsook a career in England to return home, and make good on that still passionate aim: to play for Zimbabwe. And when you saw his reaction to having Graeme Smith caught on the midwicket boundary, or the awkward, shuffling dance he brought out in celebration, then you saw a sight at odds with the sanitised world of commercial sport: somebody playing the game for the love of it, and no more. Which, when you could be comfortably off in England, earning pounds and not having to deal with the vagaries of day to day life in Harare, is exactly what Raymond Price is doing.

Heath Streak is back in the side, albeit as coach rather than much needed seamer, and Davey Houghton, still a hero to any Zimbabwean cricket fan, is on board as director of coaching; slowly, and with tentative steps, the game in Zimbabwe is trying to stumble to its feet. There are pockets of talent, Price and Taibu the key figures there, but an awful lot remains for Zimbabwe to get anywhere to the days when Streak, the brothers Flower and Strang, Murray Goodwin, Henry Olonga, Neil Johnson and the Whittal cousins had made their country genuinely competitive against any of the big sides.

Replacing those names is a mammoth task, but if some of the current team can learn from games against South Africa, if players like Sean Ervine and Travis Friend can be lured home, and if the ICC makes honest efforts to support cricket in Zimbabwe, then there is a shred of hope. Set against that, however, is the continued uncertainty in a country still an awfully long way from stability, and the knowledge that slipping back into the recent darkness (in as much as Zimbabwe has emerged from it) is always a dangerously close possibility.

Not that Price will let any such negativity invade his perspective: the man is clinically optimistic, and always has been, his furious hand gestures and homemade brand of English (he habitually makes words up, and then looks at you in complete amazement when you profess difficulty in understanding him) all part of an eternally energetic, positive person. And that, you suspect, is just as important to this young Zimbabwean team as his nagging slow bowling and tactical nous; no superstar, perhaps, but right now, Raymond Price is clearly Zimbabwe?s most valuable cricketer.

  • There?s a great Gary Lawson cartoon (tautology, I suppose), showing parents dreaming of a classifieds section offering well paid jobs for Playstation and Gameboy experts, as they watch their spotty offspring hammer away furiously at Grand Theft Auto or Tomb Raider; finally, such dreams may have been realised (and I?m not making this up). From tomorrow, South Africa?s own Mark Dennison will be in the Chinese city of Chengdu (Sichuanese for ?lightly sauteed Jack Russell in a sesame sauce?), representing the country in ? wait for it ? the Guitar Hero title at the World Cyber Games.

    That?s right: Mark (who has provincial and national colours for Guitar Hero) will be duelling it out in a corner of southwest China with the rest of the planet?s air guitar aristocracy, hoping to be crowned the world?s finest. He?s the first player to represent South Africa at Guitar Hero, opening up a whole new scope of representational aspiration; it can?t be long before Butana Komphela gets wind of this and demands involvement. Until then, best of luck to Mark Dennison in China this week ? and best of luck to me, as I pursue my Western province colours in Super Mario Brothers. My mum will be terribly proud.

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