Embodiment, Identity and Disability Sport: An Ethnography of Elite Visually Impaired Athletes [1 ed.] 0367322706, 9780367322700

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Embodiment, Identity and Disability Sport

This book investigates the complex relationship between embodiment, identity and disability sport, based on ethnographic research with an international-level visually impaired cricket team. Alongside issues of empowerment, classification and valorisation, it conceptualises the sensuous dimension of being in disability sport and challenges the idealised notion of the sporting body. It explores the players’ lived experiences of participating and competing in an elite disabled sport culture and uses an embodied theoretical approach draw­ ing upon sociology, phenomenology and contemporary disability theory to examine aspects of this previously unexamined research “site,” both on and off the pitch. Written in a way that values and accurately represents the partici­ pants’ traditionally marginalised voices, the book analyses the role that elite dis­ ability sport plays in the construction of identity and helps us to better understand the relationships between disability, sport and wider society. Embodiment, Identity and Disability Sport is essential reading for any stu­ dent, researcher, practitioner or policymaker working in disability sport, and a source of useful new perspectives for anybody with an interest in the soci­ ology of sport or disability studies. Ben Powis is Lecturer at the School of Sport, Health and Social Sciences, Solent University, UK. His research interests lie in the sociology of disability sport, the embodied experiences of visually impaired people in sport and phys­ ical activity and investigating the significance of sensuous sporting experiences.

Disability Sport and Physical Activity Cultures Series Editor: P. David Howe Loughborough University, UK

The Disability, Sport and Physical Activity Cultures series provides an outlet for high-quality books concerned with the politics and policy of sport broadly defined. It gives shape to, and showcases, the burgeoning academic field of “Dis­ ability Sport Studies and Adapted Physical Activity.” Books within the series engage critically with the nature of sport and physical activity and the socio­ cultural significance that this has on people with disabilities. A particular aim of the series is to encourage critical reflection on the cultural politics, governance, management and philosophy of disability sport and physical activity cultures. Available in this series: Leveraging Disability Sport Events Impacts, Promises, and Possibilities Laura Misener, Gayle McPherson, David McGillivray and David Legg Embodiment, Identity and Disability Sport An Ethnography of Elite Visually Impaired Athletes Ben Powis

Embodiment, Identity and Disability Sport An Ethnography of Elite Visually Impaired Athletes Ben Powis

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 Ben Powis The right of Ben Powis to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-0-367-32270-0 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-31767-5 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Integra Software Services Pvt. Ltd.

For Kit

Contents

Acknowledgements List of abbreviations 1

An introduction to visually impaired cricket: the opening delivery

viii

ix

1

2

Disability, sport and social theory

13

3

Visually impaired cricket and the senses

46

4

Disability sport and empowerment: from the playground to

the Oval

78

5

Classification and the hierarchy of sight: valorisation of

disabled sporting bodies

110

6

Identity formation through disability sport

141

7

Embodiment, identity and disability sport: the close of play

174

Index

184

Acknowledgements

This book would not have been possible without the assistance and support of many people. David Howe, for inviting me to contribute to this burgeoning book series and your support during the writing process; Dan Burdsey, from undergraduate tutor to critical friend, I value your ongoing mentorship and your input at various points in the creation of this book; my colleagues at Solent University and former colleagues at University of Brighton, particularly those who took the time to give feedback on the manuscript and the original thesis, including Kola Adeosun, Thomas Carter, Tansy Jessop, Katharine Jones, Claire Saunders, Misi Szerovay and Belinda Wheaton. I am also indebted to my family and friends. Ellie, for always being there and loving me unconditionally; Mike and Julie, for your support in all aspects of my life and for bringing me up in a loving family; Amy, Femi and Talitha, for your encouragement during this process; Tim, for our long and joyful friend­ ship; Andy, Emily and Arthur, for your motivational words and gentle nudging when necessary; and Greig, for introducing me to the world of disability cricket. A special thanks goes to the participants who gave up their time to take part in this research and provided me with an insight into this incredible game. I hope I did your stories justice. I am grateful to Taylor & Francis and Sage Publishing for permission to reproduce previously published material from the following publications: Powis, B. (2018). Visual Impairment, Sport and Somatic Work: The Auditory Experi­ ences of Blind and Partially Sighted Cricket Players. The Senses and Society, 13(2): 147–162. DOI: 10.1080/17458927.2018.1468689; Powis, B. (2018). “We are playing for England, we wear the same shirt; just because I have a disability, it doesn’t make me any different”: Empowerment, Eliteness and Visually Impaired Cricket. European Journal of Sport and Society, 15(2): 189–206. DOI: 10.1080/16138171.2018.1459232; and Powis, B. and Macbeth, J.L. (2019). “We know who is a cheat and who is not. But what can you do?”: Athletes’ Perspectives on Classification in Visually Impaired Sport. Inter­ national Review for the Sociology of Sport. Copyright © 2019 Sage Publishing. DOI: 10.1177/1012690218825209.

Abbreviations

BBS BCEW BCODP CDS DPI ECB IBSA IOC IPC ODI PA RNIB UPIAS VI WBCC WHO

British Blind Sport Blind Cricket England and Wales The British Council of Organisations of Disabled People Critical Disability Studies Disabled Peoples’ International England and Wales Cricket Board International Blind Sports Federation International Olympic Committee International Paralympic Committee One Day International Physical Activity Royal National Institute of Blind People Union of the Physically Impaired Against Segregation Visually Impaired World Blind Cricket Council World Health Organization

1

An introduction to visually impaired cricket The opening delivery

Whether it be the provision of high-quality coaching and facilities, the increasing influence of sport science or the use of cutting-edge technology, modern disability sport is obsessed by excellence. There has never been a better time to be an elite disabled athlete. Or so it appears at first glance. Of course, not all athletes have access to the same opportunities; for example, the disparity between athletes from the Global North and the Global South continues to widen. This is most evident in events that require the use of specialist technology, such as wheelchairs or prostheses. However, even for athletes in privileged positions, their participation in elite sport has implications. Notably, the quest for high performance places the disabled body under intense scrutiny; athletes and their impairments are constantly judged by coaches, competitors, classifiers and journalists alike. In team sport, scrutiny is exacerbated by the presence of teammates and the fierce competition for places. But what is the social impact of this culture upon elite disabled athletes? In particular, how does their participation in disability sport fundamentally effect how they view their bodies and the bodies of others? We need to adopt a critical standpoint to comprehend these complex issues. Also, we must move beyond the hyperbole of administrators and governing bodies and listen to the athletes themselves. Using the setting of elite visually impaired (VI) cricket, this book will do just that. While not a Paralympic event, VI cricket is the epitome of an elite disabled sport and provides an original lens to critique these emerging subcultures. And do not worry if you are new to VI cricket, you only need to grasp the basics of the game to understand the athletes’ experiences. Where necessary, I will also provide additional guidance to explain the nuances of VI cricket, including rules and specific terminology.

Cricket. But not as you know it In the build-up to England’s much anticipated 2015 VI cricket series against India, the England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) adopted a new marketing strategy to promote the game of VI cricket. Alongside increased mass media coverage, which began with the hiring of a media officer for the 2014 World Cup in South Africa, a slogan was introduced: Cricket. But not as you know it.

2

An introduction to visually impaired cricket

This eye-catching statement was central to the ECB’s promotional campaign which, through a series of online video and posters, attempted to demystify the VI game for a mainstream audience. On one promotional poster, four male cricket players are pictured wearing official England branded kit and using conventional bats and gloves. Below the images of the players are a list of fixtures for the series featuring games at prestigious mainstream venues such as Arundel Castle and The Oval. However, on closer inspection, it is not what it seems. Two of the players are wearing dark glasses. The bowlers are bowling underarm. The batsmen are not wearing pads. And, in bold lettering, sits the aforementioned Cricket. But not as you know it. This slogan provokes a number of questions: What do I already know about cricket? How is this format different to what I already know? Why should I watch it? The ECB’s slogan also brings to mind the famous question posed by the great Trinidadian writer and thinker C.L.R. James in the preface to Beyond a Boundary (2013): “What do they know of cricket who only cricket know?” When considering the meaning of Cricket. But not as you know it, his ruminations upon cricket and knowing are insightful: what does it mean to know a sport and how is such knowledge formed? In his reflections upon cricket and West Indian culture, James encourages us to go beyond the game itself and engage with the aesthetic, the social and the political to comprehend the significance of sport. Without this understanding of the wider context, one cannot claim to truly know sport. While underarm bowling or wearing blackout shades is integral to VI cricket – as shown on the poster – it is somewhat superfluous in knowing the game. Instead, we need to examine the social conditions of cricket and, more broadly, disability sport to know VI cricket and grasp the significance of this sporting space. To know VI cricket is the underlying purpose of this book. By moving beyond mere novel curiosity, I endeavour to establish VI cricket as an original, enlightening “site” for sociological research. In this ethnographic account, I reflect upon my experiences of coaching, travelling and socialising with the England VI cricket team and demonstrate the importance of this subculture in understanding contemporary disability sport. This interdisciplinary text also attends to broader scholarly debates surrounding the conceptualisation of the body and the significance of sensuous experience. Embodiment and identity – and the entwined relationship of these two phenomena – are central themes of this book: how do the players’ embodied experiences of VI cricket challenge dominant conceptions of blindness, disability and sport, and what is the effect of these experiences upon their construction of identity? Through an original theoretical lens (see Chapter 2), these and many other questions will be answered. Why VI cricket? In 2008, I coached my first VI cricket session. As a recently qualified coach with no previous experience of this format, I was apprehensive to say the least. I watch the warm-up from the side lines and try to get my head around what

An introduction to visually impaired cricket

3

I am seeing. The head coach calls me over and I am introduced to the squad. He then splits the group in half and says, “Group one, come with me for some batting. Group two, go with Ben for some fielding.” Shit. What do I do? I look at my group and see a variety of people: male, female, glasses-wearers, white cane-users, some walking independently, some being guided by their teammates. I suddenly feel flustered. I go into coaching autopilot and begin to set out some cones for a familiar fielding drill. Jogging back, I call out to the players, “Okay guys, can everyone go and stand behind the blue cone.” Silence. I know now that the cone is the bane of the VI athlete – they are small, easily stepped on and even more problematic when referred to by colour – but, in that moment, I do not think. One player responds, “Where is it?” And then another, “We’re blind remember!” Then, in unison, the players start laughing. Despite my embarrassment, I laugh along with them. It is obvious that I am not the first inexperienced coach to make this faux-pas and experience this rite of passage. From that moment onwards, the session goes well; I learn more about communication – both verbal and non-verbal – in the two-hour session than I did during any coaching course. My introduction to VI cricket was fascinating. Here was a sport that I was so used to watching, coaching and playing; yet, it was being played in a remarkably different way. However, I did not pursue this coaching interest any further. I coached one more session before focusing my attention to university exams and my own cricket season. I did not encounter VI sport again until the London 2012 Paralympic Games. I had a day ticket which allowed me to attend a variety of events including Spain versus France, the blind five-a-side football semi-final. I was instantly enthralled; I had never encountered this way of being in sport before. The use of space and the senses was incredible: the players’ use of touch and sound to recognise their position on the pitch; the coach tapping the posts and crossbar, so the players could conceptualise the goal’s dimensions; the stadium announcer asking the crowd for complete silence during play rather than encouraging a loud and boisterous atmosphere. Watching Fred Villeroux, nicknamed the Blind Messi,1 glide his way past defenders with the ball seemingly stuck to his feet even challenged my very understanding of how to be in the world. My Paralympic experience also prompted a re-evaluation of my initial interactions with VI cricket. Although both of these sports are played in an alternative way from their mainstream versions and utilise sensory modes often neglected in sighted sport, VI cricket stood out as significant. In contrast to the structured, controlled space of blind football, the cricket pitch is a vast, open space with few haptic landmarks. Without acoustic rebound boards or the guidance of a coach or sighted goalkeeper – as found in blind football – VI cricket players are required to independently develop high levels of spatial agency. Unlike the majority of VI sports, including football, blind and partially sighted cricket players compete with and against each other and not all players are required to wear blackout shades. It is the “messiness” of the game that appeals to me. It is complex, demanding and, through the players’ performances, provides an alternative conception of the sporting body in which sight is not the prioritised, dominant mode of perception.

4

An introduction to visually impaired cricket

Returning to Cricket. But not as you know it, another area of academic interest is VI cricket’s relationship with the ECB and mainstream cricket. In the context of the widespread professionalisation and mainstreaming of modern disability sport, I examine how the organisation of VI cricket is indicative of the broader relationship between elite sport and disability. Beyond the official kit and shared venues, what are the consequences of forming an ever-closer relationship with a non-disabled governing body? The game is played in a unique, fascinating way; however, the players’ abilities and achievements are now being critiqued through the same “elite” lens as their male and female sighted contemporaries. This shift in competitive ethos – from participation to high-level performance – has changed the very nature of the game and the types of bodies and impairments that are desirable. A note on VI cricket It is claimed that VI cricket, or blind cricket, originated in 1922 in a hostel room on the outskirts of Melbourne, Australia (Blind Cricket Australia, n.d.). Frustrated at not being able to play sighted cricket, two blind hostel residents filled a tin can full of stones and improvised a basic version of the game. Its popularity quickly grew and started to be played during lunch breaks in the workshops where VI people were employed. In the United Kingdom, blind cricket was not played until the late 1940s (Blind Cricket England and Wales (BCEW), n.d.). Like many early disability sports, it was played by injured servicemen returning from the Second World War and was developed as a form of rehabilitation. From these early beginnings, modern VI cricket is now a highly organised and competitive sport that is played by both blind and partially sighted people. There are two formats of VI cricket in the United Kingdom: domestic and international. Domestic cricket is structured into national and regional leagues (organised by BCEW) and a national cup competition (organised by British Blind Sport (BBS)) and has over 450 regular participants. International VI cricket, the focus of this book, is organised by the World Blind Cricket Council (WBCC) with the England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) having financial and organisational responsibility for the England national side. Both formats share many similarities with sighted cricket2 (a bat-and-ball game; two teams of 11 players; same pitch dimensions) alongside a number of adaptions that are appropriate to the participants’ needs. Domestic cricket is played using a size three football and brightly coloured stumps – both of which are wider and taller than those in sighted cricket. In international cricket, the players use a hard, white plastic ball containing ball-bearings which is of similar size and shape to the red ball used in sighted cricket. The ball is bowled underarm by the bowler and the batsmen typically play horizontal shots such as the sweep. There are two versions of the game: Twenty20 (20 overs3 per side) and one-day internationals (40 overs per side). In order to participate, an individual must have an official sight classification which, in international cricket, range from B1 to B34 with players wearing coloured wrist bands

An introduction to visually impaired cricket

5

that correspond to their classification category. To provide an equal balance of sight levels, each team of 11 players must fulfil a specific quota of at least four B1 (totally blind) players on the pitch. The remaining seven places are made up of B2 and B3 (partially sighted) players – with a maximum of four B3s. All B1 players are required to wear blackout shades to nullify light perception (World Blind Cricket Council, n.d.). During the match, when batting, the B1 player must use a runner5 – the B2 players are also given that option – and any runs that a B1 player scores will be doubled. When fielding, at least 40% of the overs must be bowled by the B1 players in the team.

The fieldwork This book is based upon my doctoral research undertaken between 2013 and 2016. During this period, I conducted ten months of ethnographic fieldwork with the England VI Cricket team using two methods: participant observation (phase one) and semi-structured interviews (phase two). My fieldwork was punctuated by the 2014 World Cup in South Africa (November 2014) which was unsurprisingly the main focus of the English squad and coaching staff. This meant that I was restricted in conducting timetabled interviews until the tournament had finished. Although the dual phased nature of my approach was un-planned, the first phase was critical in establishing my credentials within the squad. It also allowed for more in-depth interactions and furthered my knowledge of the key issues in the environment. The national squad was purposively selected due to the range of the participants’ sight classifications (ranging from B1 to B3). It was important to have this representational spread to understand the significance of impairment type in the participants’ experiences of being VI and of playing cricket. As well as representing all sight levels, the sample represents a variety of ages (18–54), ethnicities and geographical locations. The playing members of this squad (16 people) were interviewed and involved, to varying extents, during participant observation. Because I was granted access to the England men’s team, the sample consists of male participants only. When I started my research, a female equivalent team did not exist. VI cricket remains a marginal activity for female participants; however, there has been notable progress with the establishment of a BCEW-affiliated women’s team in 2015 and their first international series which was played against the West Indies in 2018. This study – whether in the design, implementation, analysis or write-up – was underpinned by a key objective: to conduct critical social research that values and accurately represents the voices of the blind and partially sighted participants. While not overtly focusing on social justice, my epistemological standpoint inherently values the participants’ testimonies and positions them as the authoritative knowers within the social space of VI cricket. The “process of interaction” (Sparkes and Smith, 2014) between the participant and the researcher – an integral aspect of qualitative research – has traditionally led to disabled

6

An introduction to visually impaired cricket

participants assuming subservient roles within much disability sport research (Fitzgerald, 2009). Drawing upon my academic experiences as a non-disabled researcher in various disabled research fields, I believe it is important to counter this power dynamic and provide the participants with a platform to express their often-marginalised voices. Yet, providing disabled participants with a voice can also be a problematic practice (Ashby, 2011). It can reinforce an able-bodied /disabled dichotomy and imply that a non-disabled researcher, rather than a disabled researcher, is needed to represent this “separate” social group. I am not a non-disabled “knight in shining armour” heroically representing helpless VI people nor do I think that VI researchers are incapable of conducting research; I am a disability advocate who is passionate about documenting the experiences of VI people who have not previously had the opportunity to share their knowledge. As a sighted, non-disabled male researcher, I was all too aware of the historical hostility towards non-disabled researchers from certain areas of the disabled community (Branfield, 1998) and wanted to address this in my ethnographic approach. A reflexive ethnography can represent the heterogeneity of disability experience and “provide voices within the academy for those who have not had them in the past and to explain the prevailing systems of domination and oppression within contemporary (sporting) cultures” (Silk, 2005: 70). If the researcher is reflexively aware of the issues surrounding authority and empowerment, ethnographic writing can be used to challenge inequality (Davis, 2000). Central to John Davis’s (2000) approach, and the approach adopted in my research, is producing counter hegemonic writing. Acknowledging that disabled participants occupy insider positions (Barnes and Mercer, 1997; Kitchin, 2000), the written account should privilege the participants’ experiences; thus, “the authority of the writer is dispersed, not by letting others actually write the final text, but by letting their variety of voices have equal authority” (Davis, 2000: 197). For further discussion on emancipatory paradigms, positionality and voice in relation to this study, see Powis (2018). Phase one: participant observation I was granted access to the VI squad’s monthly training weekend and, through negotiations with the ECB and the squad’s head coach, was invited to be a support coach during my fieldwork (starting in June 2014). Through this role, I had a unique status within the group which meant I could spend long periods of time socialising with the players. I had adopted the middle ground in which I was not fully affiliated to either the coaching staff or the players. The advantage of having a foot in each camp was the ability to build relationships with all members of this social space and develop my knowledge of VI cricket. There were regular opportunities to hang out (Woodward, 2008) with the players away from other members of authority and outside of the training sessions, such as in the hotel bar or a local restaurant. The most fruitful interactions were the train journeys to and from the monthly training weekends. I would regularly travel with three players who

An introduction to visually impaired cricket

7

were based in Brighton and we would meet up with several other players in London on route to Birmingham or Great Malvern.6 In spite of the early morning starts and various bus replacement services, these occasions provided time to strengthen these relationships. These naturally occurring oral accounts (Hammersley and Atkinson, 2019) were vital in understanding more about the players in the squad prior to semi-structured interviews. Alongside cards games, quoting Alan Partridge7 and general conversation about their lives outside of cricket, I used these journeys to gauge their opinions on various VI cricketspecific issues. Although I was wary of overly relying on the same people for information (Ashworth, 1995), the train journey provided a setting where the players felt comfortable in speaking openly. While my membership within the group was principally as a researcher and then as coach, assimilation was a quick process. Due to my experiences of playing team sport, the masculine team culture was a familiar one. My rapport with the players did increase over the period of participant observation with “banter” and shared humour playing a central role (for further detail, see Powis, 2018). These initial social interactions began to reveal the masculine culture within the team and the role of banter in enforcing this culture, which is fully examined in Chapter 6. Despite not being VI, my status as a young male cricket player with similar interests and cultural references as many of the players was integral to developing such trusting and fruitful relationships. As a coach, I was also afforded the opportunity to observe VI cricket up-close and grasp how it is played. My own sensuous experiences – from my immersion in the auditory structuring of the cricket space to the participation in training drills – served as a sensory benchmark in which I could compare my experiences to those of the players. These initial reflections were recorded in the early stages of participant observation while I remained sensually open (Stoller, 1989). By taking part in coaching and playing VI cricket, I learnt from the inside (Vannini et al., 2013) and this informed the questions that I asked and the methodological strategies that I used during the semi-structured interviews. Phase two: semi-structured interviews Following the World Cup, phase two began in February 2015. As agreed with the head coach, I conducted interviews during the March and April training weekends. I was allocated a one-hour timetabled slot for each player in the weekend schedule and provided with a private room. Due to the hectic scheduling of the training weekends, four interviews were conducted in additional locations with players who were locally positioned to Brighton. These took place at either the player’s home or in my flat in Brighton. All 16 members of the squad took part in individual interviews which ranged from 45 minutes to two hours in length. Despite spending a significant amount of time in the field during the first phase of primary research and developing meaningful relationship with the players, I had garnered only a snapshot of the participants’ narratives. Particular relationships

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An introduction to visually impaired cricket

were stronger than others, but even in those cases, key pieces of information such as sight classification and their impairment had not always been shared. Once in the interview setting, I began all interviews with a simple question: “when did you start playing VI sport?” While appearing to be an innocuous icebreaker, it addressed two important pieces of information: first, whether the player’s impairment is congenital or acquired and, second, whether they attended a mainstream educational institution or specialist education. Developing a clearer understanding of the players’ narrative was vital in asking pertinent questions. I also made changes to my interviewing style (Moore, 2002; Hammer, 2013). Rather than using non-verbal communication, such as head nodding and eye contact, I engaged in active listening. Having worked with VI people prior to the interviews, I have learnt to provide continual noises of agreement – such as uh huh, mmm huh and okay – to demonstrate my engagement in a conversation. During the interviews and in all informal conversations, I used this approach in place of the commonly used head-nod to make the players feel more comfortable. Significantly, active listening is not disruptive; it can be used to encourage interviewees to speak for longer and add depth to their responses without interruption. Through these subtle changes, I engaged with the specific needs of the VI participants and attempted to create an environment that encouraged them to share their stories. To explore the players’ sensuous experiences of VI cricket within an interview setting, which is the focus of Chapter 3, I employed an original soundscape elicitation method (for an in-depth discussion of this method, see Powis, 2019). This immersive approach uses composed auditory tracks of the players’ participation as an interactive object. During the interviews, the players were invited to listen to these tracks using over-ear Bluetooth headphones. Due to the fast-paced, fleeting nature of physical activity (PA), experiences are so thoroughly embodied that it is difficult for the participants to be reflexive and articulate their own perceptual process. By introducing a sensuous point of reference removed from the act of participation, the players were prompted to critically reflect upon their experiences of VI cricket. Although a purely auditory-based method, soundscape elicitation does not restrict participants to only discuss auditory perception; it is a multi-sensory trigger which, when used effectively, can encourage the articulation of rich and wide-ranging accounts.

Overview of the book In the spirit of C.L.R. James, this book endeavours to go beyond boundaries. As established throughout this introductory chapter, VI cricket is of academic interest; yet, the wider application of this book transcends this sporting subculture. It provides an original theoretical lens to understand disabled peoples’ experiences of sport and PA. Alongside the critiques of elite disability sport and the power and influence of non-disabled governing bodies, the text also centralises the social importance of cricket – both sighted and VI – in the formation of identity. For readers outside the field of sport and PA, the

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interdisciplinary nature of this book attends to wider theoretical discussions pertaining to the body, sensuous experience and space. By engaging with contemporary disability theory – beyond the cursory social/medical model debate found in much of the disability sport literature – I also intend to appeal to readers with an interest in disability and embodiment. It is through these wide-ranging and diverse themes that I hope this book can engage both an academic and non-academic audience and extend its reach far beyond the boundary of the VI cricket field. Chapter 2 begins by unpacking some of the key debates within contemporary disability studies and contemplates why we need critical disability sport scholarship. During this discussion, there is a specific focus upon how disability scholars theorise the relationship between disability and impairment. This chapter then establishes this book’s original theoretical framework: an embodied approach to disability sport. This approach, which draws upon sociology, phenomenology and contemporary disability studies, posits an understanding of embodiment which engages with the phenomenological lived body and the social dimension of corporeal experience. Building upon this interpretation of embodiment, the three key theoretical components of this approach – Reviving the Body, Breaking Down Binaries and Agency and Resistance – are outlined and the significance of these components is illustrated. Chapter 3 explores the sensuous experience of playing VI cricket. It poses two questions: first, how do VI athletes conceptualise and negotiate this sporting space and, second, how do their experiences resist the dominant conceptions of blindness, disability and sport? The answers to these questions have significant implications for wider understandings of physical performance and reveal an unexamined dimension of the body/sport relationship. Using the concept of somatic work, this chapter then examines how the players develop strategies to endow this vast, featureless space with social value. Central to these strategies is VI cricket’s auditory structure, which is discussed in two sections: Intercorporeal perception: the role of linguistic sound and Auditory knowledge: the role of non-linguistic sound. The importance of haptic and visual perception is also considered. Chapter 4 examines the extent to which elite disability sport is an empowering practice. While the topic of empowerment and disability sport is well debated, VI cricket provides a new perspective upon this debate. This chapter follows two broad themes: the players’ experiences of recreational sport – both disabled and non-disabled – and the players’ experiences of elite disability sport. The players’ initial experiences of finding VI sport demonstrate the potential “value” of disability sport and PA, both socially and in understanding athletes’ corporeal abilities. In spite of these empowering experiences, this chapter then evaluates the transition from recreational to elite level sport and the disempowering consequences of this shift in competitive ethos. In particular, there is a focus upon the professionalisation of disability sport and how the relationship with mainstream organisations is impeding the empowering potential of elite disability sport.

10 An introduction to visually impaired cricket Chapter 5 focuses upon the classification process and the resulting valorisation of the disabled sporting body. To begin, this chapter explores the role of official sight classification in an elite environment and its impact upon disabled athletes’ identities. Notably, one of the significant consequences of classification is the rumour and gossip relating to intentional misrepresentation. This chapter examines why this social phenomenon exists and considers why certain athletes are the focus of these accusations. The remainder of the chapter then explores the relationship between the blind players (the B1s) and the partially sighted players (the Partials). At the heart of this relationship is a hierarchy of sight, in which the players with the highest levels of sight are most valued. This chapter concludes by considering the underlying effect of this power structure and the tensions it has created between the two social groups. Chapter 6 analyses how VI athletes form their identities through elite disability sport. Initially, this chapter examines the contestation of a disabled identity in this social space and reflects upon the absence of disabled terminology in contemporary disability sport. Following this, the chapter then discusses how the players negotiate their blind/VI identities. This discussion explores both the role of VIspecific language and terminology and the significance of embodied experience, particularly when considering why certain players choose to “pass” as sighted. Finally, the remainder of the chapter explores the construction of a shared athletefirst identity that does not celebrate disability or blindness. This male-dominated sighted world is built upon “banter” and shared humour, which serves to reinforce the disparity in power between the blind and the partially sighted athletes. Chapter 7 brings together the book’s substantive findings and is organised into three distinction sections. First, this chapter reflects upon the salience of an embodied approach to disability sport and uses examples from the book to demonstrate this framework’s contribution to critical disability sport scholarship. Second, this chapter returns to Cricket. But not as you know it and reflects upon its accuracy in representing VI cricket and the athletes at the centre of this ethnographic research. In doing so, this chapter reflects upon the book’s key themes and considers how these themes can help us understand beyond the boundary of VI cricket. Finally, there is a moment of contemplation for the future direction of elite disability sport, explicitly in light of its ever-strengthening relationship with mainstream sport.

Notes 1 In reference to Lionel Messi, Argentinian footballer.

2 There is not enough space in this book to adequately explain the laws of cricket. However,

if you are new to the game, I recommend the MCC’s (Marylebone Cricket Club, n.d.) online guide to the laws on their website. The MCC are the custodians of the laws of cricket and continue to be responsible for the writing and interpretation of these laws. 3 In cricket, an over consists of six legal deliveries bowled from one end of the pitch. This is typically delivered by a single bowler. 4 These visual classes are universal across all visually impaired sport and are based upon two measures: visual acuity and visual field. B1: Visual acuity lower than

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LogMAR 2.6; B2: Visual acuity ranging from LogMAR 1.5 to 2.6 (inclusive) and/or visual field constricted to a diameter of less than 10 degrees; B3: Visual acuity ran­ ging from LogMAR 1.4 to 1.0 (inclusive) and/or visual field constricted to a diameter of less than 40 degrees (IBSA, n.d.). 5 As the name suggests, a runner is somebody who runs between the wickets for a batsman who is unable to run. In VI cricket, this role is usually performed by a B3 classified player. 6 These journeys varied in length. Typically, Brighton to Birmingham on the train takes around three hours and Brighton to Great Malvern takes around four and a half hours. 7 A legendary comedy character played by British comedian Steve Coogan.

References Ashby, C. (2011). Whose “Voice” Is It Anyway? Giving Voice and Qualitative Research Involving Individuals that Type to Communicate. Disability Studies Quarterly, 31(4). DOI: 10.18061/dsq.v31i4.1723. Ashworth, P.D. (1995). The Meaning of “Participation” in Participant Observation. Quali­ tative Health Research, 5(3): 366–387. Barnes, C. and Mercer, G. (1997). Breaking the Mould: An Introduction to Doing Disabil­ ity Research. In C. Barnes and G. Mercer (eds.), Doing Disability Research (pp. 1–14). Leeds: Disability Press. Blind Cricket Australia. (n.d.). History. Available at: www.blindcricket.org.au/history.html. Blind Cricket England and Wales. (n.d.). The Game. Available at: www.bcew.co.uk/the­ game/. Branfield, F. (1998). What Are You Doing Here? “Non-Disabled” People and the Disability Movement: A Response to Robert F. Drake. Disability & Society, 13(1): 143–144. DOI: 10.1080/09687599826966. Davis, J.M. (2000). Disability Studies as Ethnographic Research and Text: Research Strat­ egies and Roles for Promoting Social Change? Disability & Society, 15(2): 191–206. DOI: 10.1080/09687590025621. Fitzgerald, H. (2009). Disability and Youth Sport. London: Routledge. DOI: 10.4324/ 9780203889732. Hammer, G. (2013). “This Is the Anthropologist, and She Is Sighted”: Ethnographic Research with Blind Women. Disability Studies Quarterly, 33(2). DOI: 10.18061/dsq. v33i2.3707. Hammersley, M. and Atkinson, P. (2019). Ethnography: Principles in Practice. London: Routledge. DOI: 10.4324/9781315146027. International Blind Sports Federation. (n.d.). Classification. Available at: www.ibsasport. org/classification/. James, C.L.R. (2013). Beyond a Boundary: 50th Anniversary Edition. Durham: Duke Uni­ versity Press. DOI: 10.1215/9780822376255. Kitchin, R. (2000). The Researched Opinions on Research: Disabled People and Disability Research. Disability & Society, 15(1): 25–47. DOI: 10.1080/09687590025757. Marylebone Cricket Club. (n.d.). All the Laws of Cricket. Available at: www.lords.org/ mcc/laws. Moore, L.W. (2002). Conducting Research with Visually Impaired Older Adults. Qualita­ tive Health Research, 12(4): 559–565. DOI: 10.1177/104973202129120070. Powis, B. (2018). Transformation, Advocacy and Voice in Disability Sport Research. In T. F. Carter, D. Burdsey and M. Doidge (eds.), Transforming Sport: Knowledges, Practices, Structures (pp. 248–259). London: Routledge. DOI: 10.4324/9781315167909-18.

12 An introduction to visually impaired cricket Powis, B. (2019). Soundscape Elicitation and Visually Impaired Cricket: Using Auditory Methodology in Sport and Physical Activity Research. Qualitative Research in Sport, Exercise and Health, 11(1): 35–45. DOI: 10.1080/2159676X.2018.1424648. Silk, M.L. (2005). Sporting Ethnography: Philosophy, Methodology and Reflection. In D. L. Andrews, D.S. Mason and M.L. Silk (eds.), Qualitative Methods in Sports Studies (pp. 65–103). Oxford: Berg. Sparkes, A.C. and Smith, B. (2014). Qualitative Research Methods in Sport, Exercise and Health. London: Routledge. DOI: 10.4324/9780203852187. Stoller, P. (1989). The Taste of Ethnographic Things: The Senses in Anthropology. Philadel­ phia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. DOI: 10.9783/9780812203141.13. Vannini, P., Waskul, D. and Gottschalk, S. (2013). The Senses in Self, Society, and Culture: A Sociology of the Senses. London: Routledge. DOI: 10.4324/9780203805985. Woodward, K. (2008). Hanging Out and Hanging About: Insider/Outsider Research in the Sport of Boxing. Ethnography, 9(4): 536–560. DOI: 10.1177/1466138108096991. World Blind Cricket Council. (n.d.). About WBCC. Available at: http://worldblindcricket. org/about.html.

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Disability, sport and social theory

In many disabled communities, sport is problematic. Despite the temporary exposure and widespread admiration that comes from the Paralympic Games and other mega events, the Disability Rights Movement is understandably distrustful of elite sport (Braye et al., 2013; Bundon and Hurd Clarke, 2015). The medicalised, classification-focused performance culture is clearly at odds with a movement traditionally concerned with the marginalisation and everyday oppression of disabled people. The same parallels can also be drawn between disability sport and physical activity (PA) scholars and disability studies scholars. What is the value of social research into disability sport and PA? Does it challenge oppression? Can it be applied to the everyday lives of disabled people? The answer to these questions is often underpinned by the authors’ choice of theoretical framework. Yet, selecting and applying disability theory can feel like entering a political minefield – especially for sport and PA researchers. In this chapter, I intend to offer some guidance through the key debates within contemporary disability studies and demonstrate that engaging with sociological theory still matters. There is a specific focus upon how disability scholars theorise the relationship between disability and impairment and why this remains such a contentious and politically loaded issue. Building upon these debates, I discuss the significance of embodiment in understanding disabled peoples’ lived experiences and establish this book’s theoretical framework: an embodied approach to disability sport. This framework, which draws upon sociology, phenomenology and contemporary disability theory, has three components: Reviving the Body, Breaking Down Binaries and Agency and Resistance. Due to this book’s subject matter, my approach also engages with social theory relating to blindness and sensory impairment. When outlining each of these components, I consider how this framework can be used to explore the lived experiences of disabled athletes in a variety of sport and PA settings.

Why does theory matter? Over the past two decades, disability has emerged as a central research site for the sociology of sport. This emergence, which has also been evident in a number of academic disciplines including psychology and anthropology, has provided

14 Disability, sport and social theory a platform for disabled people to share their experiences of disability sport and PA. It has also given disabled and non-disabled academics a platform to engage with a range of interdisciplinary social theory and critically theorise notions of disability and impairment. In this context, I define being critical as the practice of challenging dominant modes of understanding and questioning things that we may take-for­ granted. However, there remains a paucity of high-quality empirical research that meets these aspirations. This is particularly apparent from a sociological perspective. Despite the work of critical scholars like Karen DePauw, David Howe and Danielle Peers, much of contemporary disability sport literature is either undertheorised or does not engage with disability theory at all. So, why does this matter? Academics and, more generally, social theorists have often been accused of producing introspective work that is of little relevance to the real world. Ponderous, jargon-filled social theory frequently appears to be written in such a way that it is impenetrable to everyone apart from a select group of scholars. Often this is a conscious decision made by the author to preserve the “sanctity” of academia and exclude those who cannot decode such texts. But theory does not need to be like this. Theory can be cutting-edge and innovative. Theory can illuminate ideas – both old and new – and challenge us to think differently. Theory can be lived rather than abstract and attend to issues which are experienced every day. This is important when theorising disability, which in comparison to other forms of affirmative identity is still in its infancy. For many, social theories are flexible tools which can be used interchangeably. Yet, for others, their worldview and approach to research is wholly underpinned by a singular social theory or what Jean-François Lyotard (1984) would describe as a metanarrative. These grand accounts, which dominated early sociological perspectives such as Marxism and functionalism and still remain in contemporary sociology, attempt to provide a universal explanation for all that happens in society. Social theories exploring identity and identity movements can be particularly dogmatic in their approaches – and the disability studies movement is no different. In fact, I believe that this is one of the main reasons that sport and PA researchers are reluctant to identify with disability theory. As an illustration, I recently presented my research at a qualitative research conference. During the customary time for questions and feedback, an academic forthrightly offered a critique of my theoretical framework. He began by saying, “Theories are like toothbrushes: everybody has one and nobody wants to use anybody else’s.” Without a hint of irony, he then suggested that I use a different theoretical approach – his theoretical approach – and went on to proffer his own conceptualisations of disability and sport. This scene is replicated in academic conferences and lecture theatres across the world: an entitled academic explaining how their choice of social theory offers the definitive answer or framework to understand a particular phenomenon. In disability studies, the proliferation of contemporary social theories has provided new ways of understanding disabled peoples’ experiences of disability. However, according to Colin Barnes (2012: 22), this shift away from the materialist, emancipatory traditions of the British social model has led to “a

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politically benign focus on culture, language and discourse.” In his defence of the disability/impairment distinction – a binary which is discussed in the next section – he also argues that contemporary theories have “little, if any, meaningful or practical value in terms of research, policy and practice” (22). Barnes’s arguments are indicative of the factional nature of the disability movement. British social model theorists – such as Barnes and Mike Oliver – have often positioned their approach in opposition to alternative theoretical frameworks: initially, in opposition to the medical model and medical sociology and, latterly, in opposition to critical disability studies (CDS) emanating from Britain, North America and Australia. This either/or principle has created “highly artificial, hermetic, and moral boundaries” (Schillmeier, 2010: 111) that separates those fighting for good (i.e. the British social model) and those enforcing the bad (i.e. the medical model). As disability studies developed as a viable field of enquiry, alignment with theory was portrayed – and continues to be – as a political and moral choice. For researchers, especially those new to the field, this litmus test (Shakespeare and Watson, 2010: 57) puts us in a compromising position: align with this model or be seen as not representing disabled people. Despite the British social model’s influence in challenging multiple forms of oppression and establishing disability as a political identity, this theoretical approach has stagnated and significantly “has not translated into an adequate body of empirical research” (Shakespeare, 2013: 1). While Barnes accuses contemporary theorists of developing theory that lacks real-world “value,” the same should also be said about the British social model. The separation of disability from impairment, which may serve as a useful political statement, means that this reductionist approach cannot fully account for the lived experiences of disabled people. The same critique can also be applied to CDS – an issue that is considered later in this chapter. In the context of sport and PA, the British social model remains dominant (Bundon and Hurd Clarke, 2015). And I believe that this is often a cursory affiliation rather than an in-depth engagement with the principles of this approach: a tick box exercise which satisfies both author and reader. This also applies to sport policymakers who use the British social model to demonstrate their association with the disabled community and “real world” issues. But what are the consequences of adopting the British social model upon empirical research into disability sport and PA? The primary focus upon social, political and economic inequality results in an absent body (Leder, 1990; Shilling, 2012). If impairment is ignored, I believe we cannot adequately examine issues of classification, valorisation or empowerment – all of which are integral to contemporary disability sport. Coming back to the earlier toothbrush analogy, I do not intend to rubbish all existing disability theory and then offer my own framework as the “answer.” I will offer my own take on which theoretical strands I see as most relevant and useful for my research, but I encourage you to select the theoretical framework that you think will be most effective for your research. Do not feel obliged by tradition or dominant voices but do think about the implications – both socially and empirically – of adopting your selected approach. And, ultimately, remember that the British social model is not the only sociologically engaged way of theorising disability sport and PA.

16 Disability, sport and social theory In the next section, I evaluate how a range of theoretical approaches conceptualises the disabled body and the relationship between disability and impairment. Despite the continuing popularity of theorists Michel Foucault and Pierre Bourdieu in the sociology of disability sport, the selected theories here are overtly disability-focused. As discussed above, a critique of the very notions of disability and impairment should be fundamental to all sport and PA research. For an overview of the use of disability theory in sport and PA, Brett Smith and Andrea Bundon (2018) provide an excellent summary of four dominant approaches: the medical model, the British social model, the social relational model and the human rights model of disability. Although I draw upon three of these dominant theories below, they give in-depth sport and PA-related examples and also discuss the future theoretical directions in this field. Smith and Bundon (2018: 30) argue that “as scholars and practitioners working in disability sport, we need to be equally committed to engaging with the topic of disability as we are to studying sport.” I wholeheartedly agree with Smith and Bundon and hope that this chapter – and the remainder of this book – demonstrates the various ways in which such a commitment can be achieved.

The body, impairment and disability theory At this juncture, it is important to reinforce that the purpose of this chapter is not to present an overview of all disability theories; there is simply not enough room to do this. Instead, I have selected seven theoretical approaches that overtly engage with the relationship between disability and impairment. Also, I am not necessarily offering an overall critique of these approaches; again, my focus is on how the disabled body is being conceptualised by social theorists and how their work can be applied to the study of disability sport and PA. My debate is informed by the work of three British academics: Carol Thomas, Dan Goodley and Tom Shakespeare. Although they write from differing perspectives, these authors provide comprehensive and sometimes conflicting overviews of disability theory. As this section progresses, I will signpost their key texts and explain the importance of their ideas. To understand the contested nature of the body and impairment amongst disability theorists, we need to begin with the medical model. This approach positions disability as a medical concern and social deviance to be fixed (Davis, 2002; Barnes and Mercer, 2003). Rather than recognising the complexity of disability, the root of all disadvantage lies with an individual’s impairment (Crow, 1996) which, once diagnosed, requires a cure or rehabilitation (Campbell and Oliver, 1996; Marks, 1999). Mike Oliver (1990) conceptualised this as the personal tragedy theory. By focusing squarely on the physical, disabled people are portrayed as victims of circumstance. This notion of victimhood affects everyday interactions, social policies and the dominant attitudes of health professionals and government officials. It also reinforces the contention that all disabled people are helpless and must overcome the individualised issue of impairment. The “overcoming” narrative is a well-established discourse – especially in the mainstream media – which serves to devalue disabled

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people and reduces the complexity of disability experience (Titchkosky, 2007). To overcome disability is also central to disability sport coverage: athletes are routinely portrayed as brave inspirations who succeed despite their impairment. By essentialising impairment as something to be fixed or overcome, the medical model conceptualises disability as a social deviance. This categorisation of “deviant” bodies – including the disabled body – and the management of these bodies underpinned the theoretical approaches of early medical sociology. Through the structural functionalism of Talcott Parsons (1951) and, later, the symbolic interactionism of Erving Goffman (1963), being disabled or having a long-term illness was defined as a spoiled identity that must be institutionally managed to meet “normal” expectations. Despite portraying disabled people as deviant and abnormal and describing impairment as an abomination of the body, Goffman’s analysis of stigma still has considerable influence in medical sociology. In fact, Carol Thomas (2007: 15) argues that “all theorisations of illness and disability in medical sociology deploy the social deviance lens – whether sociological preoccupations lie with social order and structure or with social action and agency.” The work of Parsons and Goffman and the spectre of deviance continue to hang over disability theory; this is especially apparent in the field of exercise and health which is driven by rehabilitation and cure. Medical sociologists also influenced major social policy such as the World Health Organisation’s (WHO) (1980) International Classification of Impairments, Disabilities and Handicaps (ICIDH) schema. This much maligned document (see Barnes and Mercer, 2003; Edwards, 2005) established a conceptual framework for understanding disablement and defined three interrelated concepts in this process: Impairment: any loss or abnormality of psychological, physiological, or anatomical structure or function. Disability: any restriction or lack (resulting from an impairment) of ability to perform an activity in the manner or within the range considered normal for a human being. Handicap: a disadvantage for a given individual, resulting from an impairment or a disability, that limits or prevents the fulfilment of a role that is normal (depending on age, sex, and social and cultural factors) for that individual. (1980: 27–29) The ICIDH schema has several weaknesses: it implies that individuals are disadvantaged because of their disability alone (Bickenbach et al., 1999); it uses normal and abnormal uncritically (Wendell, 2006); and it conflates impairment and disability (Edwards, 2005). In 1999, the revised ICIDH-2 (WHO, 1999) addressed some of these criticisms with significant changes in language by replacing disability and handicap with activities and participation. It also recognised the dynamic relationship between health conditions and contextual factors – both personal and environmental – in understanding disability; however, the damage of the original ICIDH upon definitions of disability was irreversible.

18 Disability, sport and social theory Mike Bury, a key contributor to ICIDH and ICIDH-2, argues that the British social model’s criticism of the WHO schema was ideologically motivated (2000: 1077). Although accused of writing from a medical model perspective, Bury (1996) maintains that the ICIDH was in response to dominant medicalised theory and aimed to provide a socio-medical understanding of disablement. The ICIDH also informed the WHO’s (2001) International Classification of Functioning, Disability and Health (ICF) – a biopsychosocial approach that accounts for the biological, individual and social aspects of disability (see Imrie, 2004; Goodley, 2014a, for in-depth reviews of ICF). The ICF’s dynamic framework (Shakespeare and Watson, 2010) reflects the complexity of disability experiences and demonstrates how disability and health can be theorised through international health policy. To fully grasp the complex relationship between medical sociology and disability studies, I recommend Carol Thomas’s (2007) comprehensive Sociologies of Disability and Illness, in which she argues “disability studies might be enriched by taking up some of the insights on theorising bodies available in medical sociology and sociology more generally” (149). Engaging with healthcare policy and theories of the body should be welcomed, but this must be made with caution. When theorising the disabled body, we need to acknowledge bio-medicine’s historic colonialisation of disabled people (Hughes, 2009) and reflect upon the multifaceted reasons that disability studies have been so reticent to recognise impairment. Later in this section, I explore how contemporary disability theories have attended to impairment and argue that this is a vital step in the advancement of disability theory. In response to the dominant medicalised conception of disability and the social oppression of disabled people, the Union of Physically Impaired against Segregation (UPIAS) was established in the early 1970s. This organisation – founded by Paul Hunt and Vic Finkelstein – fought for radical social change by focusing their attention upon the role of society in creating disability: “In our view, it is society which disables physically impaired people. Disability is something imposed on top of our impairments, by the way we are unnecessarily isolated and excluded from full participation in society” (UPIAS, 1976: 3). The UPIAS’s distinction between disability and impairment was pioneering. It paved the way for multiple disability organisations – including British Council of Organisations of Disabled People (BCODP) and Disabled People’s International (DPI) – and demonstrated how political mobilisation can be achieved. And, theoretically, it mobilised disabled academics to develop a theoretical approach that combatted the medical model and medical sociology: the British social model (also known as the strong social model). This materialist approach, which conceptualises disability as economic oppression (Finkelstein, 1980), gave disabled people a common language to challenge a multitude of disabling barriers in society. The burgeoning disability peoples’ movement intended to emulate preceding intellectual movements, such as feminism and post-colonial studies, that had successfully “asked new questions and generated new insights and evidence on the basis of an overt political affiliation with social movements of liberation” (Shakespeare, 2013: 13).

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According to Oliver (2013: 1024), the British social model helped to strengthen this emerging movement and quickly became a vehicle for developing a collective disabled consciousness. The British social model also enforced a paradigm shift that contested the very notion of being disabled. In 1982, DPI rejected the aforementioned ICIDH definitions and established their own radical definitions of impairment and disability: Impairment: “the functional limitation within the individual caused by physical, mental or sensory impairment” Disability: “the loss or limitation of opportunities to take part in the normal life of the community on an equal level with others due to physical and social barriers.” (DPI, 1982) For those adopting the DPI’s schema, “disability is wholly and exclusively social … disablement is nothing to do with the body” (Oliver, 1996: 41–42). In ICIDH, ICIDH-2 and ICF, there is clear causality between disability and impairment; yet, in the DPI schema, there is none. There are a number of reasons why disability theorists are reticent to engage with impairment: the reduction of an individual to their level of function (Overboe, 1999); the historical status of impairment as the terrain of the oppressor (Hughes, 1999); and how it depoliticises the social model (Oliver, 2013). However, by cutting loose impairment from disability (Hughes, 2002), the British social model is as reductive as the medical model. Although at opposite ends of a theoretical continuum, both models present impairment as essentialised, individualised and as an issue to be conceded to medicine (Williams, 1999). Consequently, by relying on a disability/impairment dichotomy, the British social model is an untenable position (Hughes and Paterson, 1997) which leaves the disabled body without agency or a material grounding. In the context of sport and PA, it is illogical to understand disability sport without an understanding of impairment; we must account for the relationship between disability and impairment. The purpose of creating and adapting sporting activities for disabled people is to accommodate the participants’ various impairments. Without a physical/sensory/intellectual impairment, disability sport is nonsensical. As established earlier, the overly socialised nature of the social model (Terzi, 2004) means that disabled peoples’ lived experience of impairment, both in and outside of sport and PA, cannot be fully represented. For example, without impairment, experiences of pain and discomfort are ignored (Crow, 1996; Hughes and Paterson, 1997; Thomas, 1999; Freund, 2001; French, 2004; Shakespeare, 2013). While pain is not an issue for all disabled people, to deny its existence is deeply alienating. In addition to these corporeal critiques, the British social model has received a raft of criticism relating to the underrepresentation of personal experience, how it ignores the significance of disability and intersectionality and its claims that disability can be removed through social change (see Goodley, 2011; Shakespeare, 2013; Mallett and

20 Disability, sport and social theory Runswick-Cole, 2014). In defence of these criticisms, Oliver (2013) argues that he never intended to present the social model as a theoretical model, but as a tool to improve disabled peoples’ lives. However, as Tom Shakespeare (2013: 45) eloquently identifies, “for a simple tool, the social model is being used to explain a considerable number of things.” And this includes the theorising of sport and PA. If we are unreflexive in our theoretical choices, we are in danger of producing empirical research which is grounded in a conceptual contradiction (Smith and Bundon, 2018: 21). Any research that claims to come from a British social model perspective while simultaneously engaging with the disabled body is flawed. The limitations of the social model – particularly those relating to impairment and the body – are rarely acknowledged in sport and PA research and this is impeding the development of a critical sociological understanding of disability sport. Yet, the theoretical landscape is broad. Beyond the medical and British social model, there is a range of disability theory that engages with impairment and the disabled body in different ways. The social relational model (Thomas, 1999, 2004, 2007, 2010), which is closely related to the British social model, builds upon the relational ideas of disability first set out in the UPIAS’s 1976 definition. Rather than theorising disability and impairment as separate phenomena, Thomas’s feminist materialist perspective argues that although impairment does not cause disability, it is the socio-biological substance upon which disability is built. By marking certain bodies as deviating from the norm, disability is a socially mediated form of exclusion. The social relational model also introduces the concept impairment effects to explain how impairment – whether physical, sensory or intellectual – directly impacts upon individuals’ functioning in society. Impairment is always embodied and biosocial in character – an ontological argument that will be further explored in this book’s theoretical framework later. From this perspective, disability continues to be theorised as a form of oppression. But Thomas’s understanding of oppression is markedly different from the British social model: oppression operates on both the inside and the outside of disabled experience. She conceptualises this experience as the psycho-emotional dimensions of disability and recognises the role of lived experience and intersectionality in theorising how disabled people experience multiple forms of oppression. In relationship with the effects of impairment, this understanding of disablism underpins the social relational model. However, the model’s close relationship to the British social model has come in for criticism. According to Shakespeare (2013), it is fatally flawed due to its definition of disability as a form of oppression; as he argues, what about those disabled people who do not identify as being oppressed? By attempting to tweak the social model, rather than moving away from it, the social relational model is theoretically constrained by its materialist predecessor. The use of impairment effects has also been criticised for “creating unhelpful fine distinctions that do not advance the debate” (Shakespeare and Watson, 2010: 60). Instead, this concept reinforces the disability/impairment dichotomy and muddies the theoretical waters. The model’s non-reductionist materialist ontology of the body (Thomas, 2007) is vitally important, but it has been conceptualised in an obstructively complex way.

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The Nordic relational perspective (Gustavsson, 2004; Tøssebro, 2004), which is distinct from the social relational model, does not distinguish between disability and impairment. This is both a linguistic choice – this distinction does not translate well in Nordic languages – and a conceptual choice. Instead, disability is defined as “a mismatch between the person’s capabilities and the functional demands of the environment” (Tøssebro, 2004: 4). Simply put, disability is the gap between what an individual can do and the social and environmental expectations. It is a multi­ level approach that reinforces the situational nature of disability. When theorising impairment and the body, an understanding of the environment is significant. In the context of disability sports and PA, we need to grasp the multifaceted ways in which the environment and/or the activity is adapted to meet the participants’ capabilities. It is also helpful when considering the different situational demands of segregated and mainstream sport and PA and the intersectional identities of those participating. In fact, Nick Roulstone (2013) argues that the Nordic intersectional focus is far more developed than the dominant North American and European theoretical perspectives. Rather than being a singular theory, the Nordic relational perspective is a collection of ideas that are rooted in empirical evidence and shared theoretical underpinnings. These ideas have emerged from academia and policy organisations and thus do not share the same emancipatory goals as the British social model. Consequently, much of this research paternalistically frames what disabled people want, instead of coming from the disabled community (Roulstone, 2013). And this is evident in the Nordic perspective’s close relationship with support services and healthcare professionals. The world-renowned welfare system and provision for disabled people in the Nordic countries has been historically underpinned by the principles of normalisation (Tøssebro et al., 2012). This problematically phrased notion promotes community participation and basic human rights in empowering disabled people to live a “normal” life (Goodley, 2011; Mallett and RunswickCole, 2014). Although it shares some principles with rights-based approaches such as the human rights model of disability and documents such as the United Nations’ (2006) Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, the use of normal has obvious moral connotations when theorising the disabled body. In taking a depoliticalised perspective of healthcare and social provision, the principle of normalisation is at risk of reproducing the medical model’s perspective of disabled people as social deviants. Notwithstanding this possibility, it should not detract from the usefulness of the Nordic understanding of the impairment/environment relationship and its intersectional perspectives upon disability (Roulstone, 2013). Critical realism (Williams, 1999; Danermark and Gellerstedt, 2004; Shakespeare and Watson, 2010; Shakespeare, 2013) is another interactionist approach that centralises the significance of impairment. This theory, which derives from the work of philosopher Roy Bhaskar, distinctively argues that bodily experiences happen in the “real” (see Williams, 1999, for further clarification). Critical realism does share some similarities with the social relational model and Nordic relational perspective but, instead of just looking at the effects of impairment, it recognises the biological basis of disability: “Rather

22 Disability, sport and social theory than resorting to relativism or extreme constructionism, critical realism attends to the independent existence of bodies which sometimes hurt, regardless of what we may think or say about those bodies” (Shakespeare, 2013: 73). Critical realists argue that their approach is not biologically reductionist: impairment may be ubiquitous, but it is always experienced within a particular context or environment (Shakespeare, 2013). Like the previous two relational approaches, critical realists contend that disability is an interaction that should be conceptualised on multiple, interdisciplinary levels (Danermark and Gellerstedt, 2004). By accounting for the medical, psychological, social and political dimensions of disability (Shakespeare and Watson, 2010), this theoretical lens foregrounds the relationship between an individual’s intrinsic experience of impairment and a range of extrinsic factors. For an in-depth overview of critical realist approaches to disability, Tom Shakespeare’s (2013) Disability Rights and Wrongs Revisited provides a valuable starting point. Alongside his outspoken criticism of a range of disability theory, he establishes his own critical realist approach which, in his words, is a “combination of the best aspects of traditional approaches, strong social model approaches, and social constructionist approaches” (Shakespeare, 2013: 74). His previous alliances with other theoretical perspectives – the social model (Shakespeare and Watson, 1997) and postmodernism (Corker and Shakespeare, 2002) – have evidently informed his understanding of disability and the need for social change. Yet, it is his conception of impairment that distinguishes his approach from those outlined above; impairment is not neutral, but neither is it necessarily all defining and terrible, “disabled people are often inferior to non-disabled people in terms of health, function or ability, but they are not less in terms of moral worth, political equality or human rights” (Shakespeare, 2013: 87). He also argues that without impairment, disability becomes a voluntary status built upon the experience of oppression. As discussed earlier, if disability equates with oppression, then those disabled people who do not identify as being oppressed may feel unrepresented. For many disabled people, adopting a political, anti-oppressive identity is wholly undesirable. However, a critical realist understanding of disability has come in for criticism. Despite their non-reductionist claims, their realist ontological position means that “we often find a return to essentialism within critical realist accounts of impairment” (Feely, 2016: 868). Despite the argument that impairment is always experienced in a particular context or environment, critical realism still leaves us with a pre-discursive understanding of impairment and the disabled body (Goodley, 2014b). Given the historic objectification of impairment, this is a potentially problematic stance to take. At the other end of the theoretical continuum to critical realism, but also adopting the term critical, is critical disability studies (CDS) (Campbell, 2009; Meekosha and Shuttleworth, 2009; Shildrick, 2012; Goodley, 2014a; Goodley et al., 2019). This interdisciplinary perspective initially emerged from the humanities and cultural studies perspectives of North American and Canadian scholars such as Lennard Davis (1995, 2002), Susan Wendell (1997), Rosemary Garland-Thomson (1997) and, later, Rod Michalko (2002) and Tanya Titchkosky (2003, 2007). Disability is understood as a socially constructed phenomenon with intersectionality at its core; it is a space to consider political, theoretical and

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real-world issues (Goodley, 2011). CDS theorists aim to deconstruct the discourses and ideologies that surround disability and offer alternative theoretical frameworks. Dan Goodley’s (2014a) Dis/ability Studies: Theorising Disablism and Ableism provides an engaging and assessible path to understanding a CDS approach. He argues for a dis/ability study that is a “distinct intellectual project,” which is framed by two key concepts: disablism and ableism. It is the relationship between these concepts – which I talk about in more depth later – that constructs our understanding of the dis/ability complex: Ability needs disability to be by its side in order to speak of what it is not … When we start to interrogate ableism and ability, then disability emerges not just as the Other side of the oppressive coin but also as a resistant alternative. (Goodley, 2014a: 153–154) The symbiosis of ability and disability is demonstrated through the use of the slash in dis/ability. It is important to note that ableism has been significantly absent in my discussion of theories that engage with disablism up to this point. Through the work of Fiona Kumari Campbell (2009) and Gregor Wolbring (2012), the post-structurally informed CDS positions ableism as a central component in our understanding of the disabled body. However, in privileging the role of discourse (Feely, 2016), CDS theorists underplay disabled peoples’ embodied experiences of impairment. This is a purposeful response to the growing theoretical engagement with the disability body in contemporary theory and CDS’s anxieties around the reinsertion of impairment (Goodley, 2014a). Without impairment, I believe that a CDS approach is unable to capture the complexity of everyday disabled experience. Goodley (2014a: 168) argues that the use of dis/ability reminds us that the categorisation of impairments are “fundamentally social practices with very real material consequences”; yet, I would argue the opposite. Being disabled is not just a matter of culture or language (Shakespeare, 2013); it has a material underpinning – which is something CDS theorists are seemingly unwilling to accept. Because of this, a range of ethical issues – including curative procedures and prenatal testing – are ignored, “impairment sometimes produces practical, difficult ethical choices and we need more concrete viewpoints than the ideas provided through ableism, which offers very little practical moral guidance” (Vehmas and Watson, 2014: 642). CDS’s deconstruction of disability also undermines the political significance of identifying as disabled and endangers the further development of a collective disability movement (Shildrick, 2012). Simo Vehmas and Nick Watson (2014: 647) argue that “the problems disabled people face require more than ideological change, and ideological change is of little use if it does not result in material change.” And this is the underlying theoretical limitation of CDS. Its criticality is only reserved for discourse and cultural ideology, whereas the embodied realities of being a disabled person are completely absent. Although Goodley and colleagues (2019) do acknowledge these criticisms, they counter

24 Disability, sport and social theory this by explaining how the body, mind and impairment are becoming central concerns for CDS – particularly through the rise in new materialist theory (see Feely, 2016; Flynn, 2017; Monforte, 2018; Monforte et al., 2018). However, such scholarship remains limited amongst CDS theorists. As we have seen, understandings of impairment and the disability body significantly differ across the six theories outlined in this section. And still, despite some of those theorists referring to lived or embodied experience, disability theory predominantly reduces the body to a disembodied object. Instead of theorising disability through an individual’s embodied experiences, theorists often talk about the disabled body and conceptualise it as a “site” of inquiry – as demonstrated in a variety of post-structurally informed work including CDS and in Michel Foucault’s influential writings on bio-politics, bio-power and technologies of dominance. As Bill Hughes and Kevin Paterson (1997: 333) argue, “the body and the sensate – in effect – disappear into language and discourse and lose their organic constitution in the pervasive sovereignty of the symbol. Foucault’s concept of bio-politics robs the body of agency and renders it biologically barren.” As discussed above, their critique should also be levelled at CDS and other theoretical approaches that ignore impairment such as the British social model. So, how can we theorise disabled peoples’ embodied experiences? I believe that the most effective way of doing this is through phenomenologically informed approaches (Leder, 1990; Hughes and Paterson, 1997; Seymour, 1998; Hughes, 1999, 2007; Paterson and Hughes, 1999; Titchkosky, 2003; Sherry, 2016; Siebers, 2017), which provide lived ways of exploring the complexity of disabled experience. I further explore these approaches – including the sociology of impairment (Hughes and Paterson, 1997; Hughes, 1999; Paterson and Hughes, 1999; Sherry, 2016) – in the next section of this chapter. The use of informed acknowledges that these approaches are not purely phenomenological but draw upon aspects of phenomenology within a sociological framework. Without sociology, phenomenology is too focused upon the essence of experience and lacks both a critical understanding of disability and a clear political intent (Goodley, 2011). Therefore, these two perspectives need to be brought together, and this is accomplished through a concept that is integral to this book: embodiment. In the following sections, I establish my understanding of embodiment and explain how an embodied approach, which “lies ambiguously across the nature/culture divide” (Williams and Bendelow, 1998: 3), can successfully capture disabled peoples’ rich experiences of sport and PA.

What is embodiment? Until the corporeal turn of the 1990s (Witz, 2000; Howes, 2006), there was a dearth of academic exploration of the “lived” human body and a reliance on outdated philosophical musings. In 1668, philosopher René Descartes’s statement “Cogito, ergo sum” (“I think therefore I am”) established an understanding of the body that dominated Western philosophy for the subsequent three centuries (Grosz, 1994). Decartes’s biologically reductive viewpoint objectifies the body (Hogen, 2009) and

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reinforces a clear separation between the body and the sentient mind (Burkitt, 1999). The body was also an absent presence (Shilling, 2012) in foundational sociological theory. For example, the body is central to the writings of Karl Marx and Max Weber but remained as a hidden element in their theoretical approaches (Malacrida and Low, 2008). The Cartesian dualism – which separates mind and body – remained relatively unchallenged until the emergence of phenomenology in the early twentieth century and then through feminist theory (Connell, 1987; Butler, 1990, 1993; Haraway, 1991) and the multidisciplinary usage of embodiment (Johnson, 1987; Csordas, 1994; Crossley, 1995, 2006, 2007; Seymour, 1998; Williams and Bendelow, 1998; Lakoff and Johnson, 1999; Turner, 2008). Alongside the corporeal turn, there was also a “sensorial revolution” (Howes, 2006) in which the anthropology of the senses was developed (Howes, 1991; Classen, 1993; Stoller, 1997). This movement engaged with how the senses are both produced and ordered by cultural customs, which may challenge dominant Western understandings of the sensorium. According to this approach, our “natural” way of understanding the world is learnt through habit and experience (Howes and Classen, 1991) and is lived out in specific cultural contexts (Howes, 2011). However, despite this, the lived body remains absent. The exploration of sensuous experience is more than just researching about the sensory body; it should be how it is experienced through a sensing, embodied subject. Through Sarah Pink’s (2009, 2010) interdisciplinary approach to sensory anthropology and the notion of sensuous scholarship (Stoller, 1997; Vannini et al., 2013), an embodied approach that incorporates sensuous experience can now be fully realised. While there is limited space to discuss sensuous research in this chapter, it is further developed in Chapter 3. Embodiment has also gained prominence in the sport and PA field. Due to the entwined materiality of bodies in sport and PA, Kath Woodward (2009: 4) argues that this field offers a “particularly productive site for the exploration of embodiment, body practices and embodied selves.” And she is right. Disability, sport and disability sport are all inextricably connected with notions of the body and physicality. It is untenable to conceptualise these phenomena without acknowledging the corporeal basis. Yet, simultaneously, they are social constructions formed through discourse and social interaction. When capturing disabled athletes’ physical experiences of sport and PA, we need to recognise the socially constructed expectations and value placed upon their sporting bodies. While disability sport and embodiment have been previously discussed (Hargreaves, 2000; Howe, 2008; Peers, 2012; Bush et al., 2013; Purdue, 2013; Standal, 2014; Brighton, 2015; Apelmo, 2016), this book is the first to overtly establish an embodied approach to disability sport. Social researchers in the field of disability sport and PA should engage with the pedagogic possibility of embodiment (Bush et al., 2013) and explore how this theoretical approach can re-frame debates within the field. Because of the varied use of embodiment in social theory, it is necessary to establish my interpretation of this concept.

26 Disability, sport and social theory The lived body Central to my understanding of embodiment is the phenomenological concept of the lived body. This concept builds upon Edmund Husserl’s distinction between the Leib body and the Körper body: “in German, the term Leib is employed when one is referring to living bodies, while the term Körper is used to designate inanimate or dead bodies: the body of a rock, for example, or of a human corpse” (Leder, 1998: 122). However, it is through the existential phenomenology of Maurice Merleau-Ponty that the lived body developed its corporeal basis. Merleau-Ponty (1945: 273) views the body as the vantage point for perception by articulating that “my body is the fabric into which all objects are woven, and it is, at least in relation to the perceived world, the general instrument of my ‘comprehension’.” He rejects the reductive Cartesian dualism and posits an embodied understanding of human existence which he conceptualises the body as the body-subject. If we understand that the body is not a passive phenomenon (Shilling, 1997), but is a “grounds for configuring an alternative way of being that eludes the grasp of power” (Radley, 1995: 9), there is clear potential for agency and resistance. In Arthur Frank’s (1995) conceptualisation of multiple bodies, he describes this type of body as the communicative body, which has the capacity to intentionally challenge how society understands differing forms of embodiment. The lived body allows us to fully document disabled athletes’ heterogeneous experiences of participating in sport and PA and explore how these multiple ways of “being-in-the-world” (Heidegger, 1927: 55) may challenge dominant modes of being, such as non-disabled and sighted. When discussing the concept of the lived body, we also need to engage with sensuous experience (Hughson and Inglis, 2002; Paterson, 2007; Hockey and AllenCollinson, 2009; Allen-Collinson and Hockey, 2015). Merleau-Ponty (1945) states that the senses are key to understanding the world; if our bodies are the window to the world, then the senses are how we perceive it. He conceptualises this as sense experience – “that vital communication with the world which makes it present as a familiar setting of our life. It is to it that the perceived object and the perceiving subject owe their thickness” (1945: 61). Merleau-Ponty’s use of thickness encapsulates the richness and texture of sensuous experience; it provides a depth to the world around us. The quote also recognises that our perception is reversible: we can be both the object and subject of perception (Allen-Collinson, 2011). For example, we touch and can be touched; we hear and can be heard. Yet, when this process is disrupted, our vital communication with the world takes on even greater significance. In the context of visually impaired (VI) sport, the focus of this book, engaging with the senses allows us to investigate how sensory impairments shape participants’ diverse experiences of disability sport, PA and everyday life. The socialness of embodiment While the lived body is integral to my conceptualisation of embodiment, it does not capture the social framing of the body. As discussed earlier, adopting a phenomenological approach when exploring issues of sociological significance is

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untenable. The strength of an embodied approach is that it simultaneously recognises the social and the corporeal aspects of the body. Arthur Frank (1990, 1991), who has written extensively on disability, illness and narrative experience, argues that the traditional concerns of social theory should be understood as categorical projections of embodiment in which the body is “constituted the intersection of an equilateral triangle that points of which are institutions, discourses, and corporeality” (Frank, 1991: 49). Dominant discourses pertaining to disability, physicality and the sporting body are scrutinised throughout this book but, significantly, my focus is upon how these discourses are embodied and enacted by disabled athletes. Sensuous experience is also simultaneously social and corporeal: to “make sense” is grounded in individuals’ previous experiences and wider social conditions. As Pink (2009: 40) explains, “the self emerges from the processes of sensory learning, being shaped through a person’s engagement with the social, sensory and material environment of which she or he is part.” Therefore, the senses are both a reaching out and an understanding of the world (Rodaway, 1994), which Vannini and colleagues (2013) conceptualise as the sensuous self. This notion reflects the significance of sensuous experience and, in doing so, captures the essence of embodiment: The embodied self is both the material basis and reflective outcome of per­ ceived sensations and sense-making practices. In this way, sensations and sense-making body forth a sensuous self: a performative, reflexive, perceptive, intentional, indeterminate, emergent, embodied being-in-the-world. (Vannini et al., 2013: 85) The sensuous self establishes that sensuous experience is not just the material basis of perception: it is also an active, social interaction. When conceptualising embodiment, we need to centralise the role of individual agency in both producing sensory stimuli and constructing sensorialised societies (Chau, 2008). We do not passively perceive the world; instead, we are constantly interacting with sensuous stimuli and actively creating social meaning. Embodiment as a shared process Although embodiment is often portrayed as an individual project, it is located in a social world of interconnected social actors (Turner, 2008). While not overtly discussing the role of society, Merleau-Ponty (1968) examines the shared bond between humans through the concept of intercorporeality: “The experience of being embodied is never a private affair, but is always already mediated by our continual interactions with other human and non-human bodies” (Weiss, 1999: 5). It is the constant interaction with other individuals that shapes both our knowledge of the environment and our understanding of self. When considering the intercorporeality of embodiment, Frank (1995: 35) asks two pertinent questions: “what is my relationship, as a body, to other persons who are also bodies? How does our shared corporeality affect who we are, not only to each

28 Disability, sport and social theory other, but more specifically for each other?” The “for each other” is particularly salient in the context of VI cricket, a team sport in which the blind players are reliant upon their partially sighted teammates for physical and verbal guidance. Attention to the others’ bodies, which is also conceptualised as intersubjectivity (Csordas, 1993), is integral when exploring perception in team sport. As discussed above, through multi-sensory forms of guidance, the continual intercorporeal interactions between individuals are central to VI cricket. Yet, these intercorporeal interactions between the VI cricket players are not necessarily equal but are power ridden and full of social norms (Macpherson, 2009: 1047). Because of the blind players’ reliance upon their partially sighted peers on and off the pitch, the act of giving and receiving guidance can be fraught with tension. When, where and how guidance is offered and received is also underpinned by power. This issue – which is further examined in Chapter 6 – demonstrates the need to acknowledge the shared nature of embodiment.

An embodied approach to disability sport In establishing the key theoretical tenets of embodiment, I have started to explore the thought-provoking relationship between embodiment and disability sport. But where does contemporary disability theory and impairment fit in? In this final section, I bring these strands together through this book’s theoretical framework: an embodied approach to disability sport. As I acknowledge in this book’s introduction, researching disability sport and PA is a passion. I have conducted research with physically disabled, intellectually disabled and VI athletes; yet, there was an underlying frustration: the theory did not reflect the reality of the participants’ experiences. As I argue throughout this chapter, the fundamental reason to call for an alternative approach is the inadequate conceptualisation of the body and impairment within existing approaches. These inadequacies are further exacerbated when attempting to theorise disabled sport and PA. An embodied approach to disability sport attends to this theoretical gap by “reviving” the body and engaging with the disabled athletes’ embodied, socialised experiences of impairment. In doing so, this approach rejects a disability/impairment binary. I also draw upon CDS and the wide-ranging personal accounts of disabled athletes to deconstruct the dominant able-bodied/disabled and sighted/blind binaries. By applying contemporary disability theory alongside sociological and phenomenological conceptions of embodiment, this approach provides an original lens to theorise disability sport and PA. In the remainder of this chapter, I establish the three components of an embodied approach to disability sport: Reviving the Body, Breaking Down Binaries and Agency and Resistance. Reviving the body So far, I have explored how a range of disability theory conceptualises the relationship between impairment and disability and, in doing so, either ignore or incorporate the disabled body in their approaches. I have argued that social

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theories which reproduce the Cartesian mind/body dualism leave the body as “a dysfunctional, anatomical, corporeal mass obdurate in its resistance to signification and phenomenologically dead, without intentionality or agency” (Hughes and Paterson, 1997: 329). Without acknowledging embodied experience, impairment and the disabled body is devoid of historical and social meaning. Reviving the Body, my first component of this embodied approach, attends to this disembodied position by drawing upon some of the theories identified so far, introducing the sociology of impairment (Hughes and Paterson, 1997; Hughes, 1999; Paterson and Hughes, 1999; Sherry, 2016) and arguing for an inclusion of impairment in disability sport and PA theory. Despite Paul Abberley’s (1987, 1996) call for a materialist social theory of impairment, it was feminist academics (Morris, 1991; Crow, 1992, 1996; French, 1993; Wendell, 1997; Thomas, 1999) who first contested the British social model’s conceptualisation of impairment and their disregard for personal experience. While the binary distinction of gender was being challenged, disability was also being “repositioned, revalued and re-explored” (Fawcett, 2000: 38). In an open challenge to the British social model, Liz Crow (1992) argued that disability theory needed to integrate an understanding of impairment. She also discussed how impairment is not necessarily a problematic term but should be understood as a neutral concept that can provide alternative understandings of disability based upon disabled peoples’ experiences. In reclaiming impairment, Crow demonstrates how pride can be attained by celebrating corporeal difference and challenging oppression. Although it may be difficult to view impairment as a neutral concept, it is imperative when theorising the social framing of impairment. In fact, although the British social model is commonly criticised for being over-socialised, it does not go far enough in its attempt to investigate the “social” (Cole, 2007). Rather than being ignored by social theorists or understood as a biological fact, impairment needs to be socially interrogated to grasp how “an aspect of the body – physical or mental – only counts as a bodily impairment under specific social, cultural and political conditions” (Cole, 2007: 175). Phillip Cole is not reducing impairment to a social construct but does recognise that individuals’ experiences of impairment do not happen in a vacuum. A social understanding of impairment is vital when researching disability sport and PA. For instance, undergoing physical testing and classification before, during and after competition is a regular occurrence for disabled athletes. In order to participate, they are constantly subjected to medical and social valorisation and can find their role within the team being dictated by their form of impairment. As explored in Chapter 5, many disabled athletes embody the social expectations placed upon their bodies and, in doing so, reinforce the social and political framing of impairment. Of the theories discussed in this chapter, critical realism provides the strongest argument for the inclusion of impairment. When critiquing materialist approaches to disability, Shakespeare (2013: 28) lists five reasons why it is important for disability studies to acknowledge impairment:

30 Disability, sport and social theory 1) Disability studies should pay attention to the views and perspectives of dis­ abled people, rather than accepting medical claims about the nature and meaning of impairment. Many respondents say that impairment is an important part of their experience. 2) Disability studies should be concerned with medical responses to impair­ ment. Is treatment effective? Are there side effects? Is research funded effectively? Does the NHS (National Health Service) prioritise disabled people’s impairment needs? 3) Disability studies should be concerned with the prevention of impairment. If there is an interest in the quality of life of disabled people, then this includes minimising the impact of impairment and impairment complications. 4) Disabling barriers both cause and exacerbate impairment. For example, poverty and social exclusion make impairment worse and create additional impairments, particularly risk of mental illness. 5) Impairment explains some of the disadvantages that disabled people face. As UPIAS (Union of Physically Impaired against Segregation) pioneers were aware, disabling barriers are an additional burden on top of the disadvantages that physical, sensory or cognitive limitations cause. Understanding and, wher­ ever possible, compensating for, intrinsic limitations should be a priority. Shakespeare makes a number of salient points, particularly relating to the inclusion of individual experience and the inherent relationship between impairment and disability. Yet, I have trouble with the “realness” of impairment within a critical realist approach and, coming back to an earlier quote, how “critical realism attends to the independent existence of bodies which sometimes hurt, regardless of what we may think or say about those bodies” (Shakespeare, 2013: 73). While he does acknowledge that impairment is always experienced in specific contexts and environments, we are still left with an undisputable biological basis. The problem with this approach is when does the “realness” of impairment end and the social framing of impairment begin? Who has deemed that these bodies are impaired? At what point does an illness or injury become an impairment? And this is where an embodied approach is so effective in combining the corporeal and the social. The effects of impairment – whether it is pain, illness or other limitations – are always experienced from an embodied perspective. Rather than talking about having a body, we are our bodies (Papadimitriou, 2008: 219) – a distinction that demonstrates the subtle shift from talking about impairment to talking about embodied or lived experience of impairment. However, as argued earlier, impairment needs to be understood within a specific social context and we must grasp the significance of other intercorporeal influences. A sociology of impairment (Hughes and Paterson, 1997; Hughes, 1999; Paterson and Hughes, 1999; Sherry, 2016), which argues for a move away from the disembodied notion of disability, is integral to understanding the social and corporeal dimensions of impairment. Using a phenomenological framework, Hughes and Paterson explain that impairment is an embodied experience which includes both self-perception (corporeal) and the perception of other non-disabled

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actors (intercorporeal). They also explore how post-structuralism could theoretically underpin a sociology of impairment, but it is their phenomenological discussions which are most enlightening. Their work remains seminal and should be the starting point for any scholar who is interested in an embodied approach to disability theory. In 2016, Mark Sherry successfully developed this approach by bringing in a greater intersectional focus upon impairment and social inequality – something which he argues is missing from Hughes and Paterson’s work: there are multiple forms of power operating on bodies at any time – race, class, gender, sexuality, age, geographic location, and so on – so a phenomenological account must highlight the multiple ways in which the bodies under discussion are socially and culturally situated. (Sherry, 2016: 731) His approach builds upon the phenomenology of experience and foregrounds the cultural and political significance of impairment – which is prescient when exploring the role of impairment in constructing a disabled identity. Although a separate sociology of impairment is unnecessary, Hughes and Paterson and, later, Sherry provide us with an understanding of impairment which attends to the complexity of disability experience and acknowledges the various social, cultural and political forces that influence such lived experiences. While the need to engage with culture and embodiment is identified by several disability theorists (Iwakuma, 2001; Swan, 2002; Loja et al., 2013; Siebers, 2017), my embodied approach is specifically focused on disability sport and PA. As discussed above, an engagement with impairment takes on an even greater significance in sporting contexts where the bodies and, specifically, the athletes’ impairments are under constant scrutiny: Sport is one of the arenas in which the social struggle for control of the physical body occurs, processes of individual identity testing and formation are conducted, and multiple notions of identity are embodied. (Huang and Brittain, 2006: 353) The physical body is the primary lens through which disabled athletes “are looked upon, identified, judged and represented” (Hargreaves, 2000: 185). These social reactions are always framed by dominant understandings of the human body, constructed notions of physical performance and the idealised sporting body (Seymour, 1998; Brittain, 2004; Berger, 2009). To fully understand disabled sporting practice, we must build our analysis upon the concept of embodiment and recognise how “the physical manifestation of culture through embodied action is fundamental to exploring the importance of the body in the context of sport” (Howe, 2008: 103). Sport and PA can significantly alter the expectations placed upon disabled athletes; thus, it is crucial to recognise how social norms and values underpin athletes’ embodied experiences of both sport and, significantly, their impairment.

32 Disability, sport and social theory Breaking down binaries In the modern world, we are continually presented with binary modes of thinking. Despite the post-modern deconstruction of once “fixed” concepts, such as race, gender and sexuality, the breakdown of black/white, male/female, gay/straight binaries has yet to be embraced by mainstream culture. These entrenched binaries – which provide stability and certainty – are often used to oppose the prevailing winds of progress and defend “traditional” values. And, disability is no different. Able-bodiedness and disability are presented as self-evident physical conditions and conceptual opposites (Garland-Thomson, 1997: 6): either you are able-bodied or you are disabled; there are no grey areas. However, as Goodley (2014a: x) encourages, we should interrogate both sides of the ability–disability binary and, significantly, explore the messy stuff in the middle. Breaking Down Binaries, the second component of this embodied approach, engages with the messiness of disability through the concept of ableism (Wolbring, 2008, 2012; Campbell, 2009; Goodley, 2014a) and challenges the able-bodied/disabled and sighted/blind binaries that are present in disability sport and PA. As discussed earlier, ableism is a key component in CDS’s notion of dis/ability. Initially conceptualised as another discriminatory ism (Zola, 1991), the meaning of ableism has now shifted. Rather than just focusing on disablism – in which disabled people are often represented as the marginalised “Other” – we need to shift our gaze towards the ableist construction of society (Campbell, 2009). Gregor Wolbring (2008: 252) defines ableism as a set of beliefs, processes and practices that produce – based on abilities one exhibits or values – a particular understanding of oneself, one’s body and one’s relationship with others of humanity, other species and the envir­ onment, and includes how one is judged by others. He argues that ableism should not be confined to just disability; the coveting of “essential” abilities and types of bodies and disregard of others underpins all racist and sexist ideology. Central to ableism is the normate body (Garland-Thomson, 1997) against which all bodies are measured. If corporeal expectations are not met, these devalued bodies are inscribed through social interaction and discourse as inadequate (Shildrick and Price, 1996; French and Corker, 1999; Titchkosky, 2007). The normate body allows individuals to “represent themselves as definitive human beings” (Garland-Thomson, 1997: 8) and separate themselves from those who do not fit this ideal (Davis, 1995). Fiona Kumari Campbell (2009) argues that disabled people internalise this less-than ableist ideology from the moment they are born. The oversimplified able-bodied/disabled binary has become so ingrained that it happens unconsciously, “binary thinking is merely a habit of mind, and despite the comfort of order and familiarity it offers, it doesn’t apprehend reality, which is, let’s face it, a frightful jumble” (Mairs, 1996: 16). Robert McRuer (2006) also contends that the dominance of

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this binary leads to compulsory able-bodiedness, a system that further positions “able-bodied” people as the norm and disabled people as the “Other.” The normate body is pertinent when critiquing sport and PA and the social expectations placed upon the sporting body. Due to the conflicting stereotypes attached to disability and sport, the disabled sporting body “clearly offers the most challenges to the hegemonic ideal of the athletic body” (Promis et al., 2001: 39). Disabled athletes’ experiences of sport and PA should therefore be used to interrogate the ideal of ability and explore the messy reality of the able-bodied/disabled binary. It is also imperative to interrogate the extent to which athletes internalise ableist expectations and how this may underpin their embodied experiences. As well as breaking down the able-bodied/disabled binary, the sighted/blind binary also needs to be interrogated. In the same way that able-bodiedness is perceived to be the norm (McRuer, 2006), our society is socially, culturally and physically organised for those with sight (Jay, 1994; Jenks, 1995; Stoller, 1997). If having sight is an unchallenged norm, then blindness is reduced to the abnormal opposite and as a state of ignorance (Hull, 1990; Kleege, 1998; Michalko, 1998, 1999; Schillmeier, 2010). The very nature of a binary is that it contains two distinct composites; however, the distinction between these two states is not clear-cut. Being sighted does not mean having perfect 20/20 vision and being blind does not necessarily mean a complete lack of sight. The confusing language and terminology surrounding VI contributes to this inaccurate binary – an issue that is further explored in Chapter 6. In the context of VI sport, challenging the sighted/blind binary is of the upmost importance. There are a multitude of VIs – some of which are unstable, degenerative and situation dependent – thus, it is untenable to conceptualise a singular experience of blindness. Also, this binary does not acknowledge how blind and partially sighted people may use residual vision when participating in sport and PA. In VI cricket – a game in which blind and partially sighted players compete together – the sighted/blind binary is brought to the fore. For example, many partially sighted players reinforce that vision is their dominant mode of sensory perception. Unlike their blind teammates, they are not required to wear blackout shades and are permitted to use as much sight as they possess. Despite being a game designed for blind people, vision continues to dominate. This issue, which is examined in the next chapter, reinforces the inaccuracy of a fixed understanding of sightedness and blindness. Much like the able-bodied/disabled binary, it is vital that we grasp how VI athletes internalise the sighted/blind binary: do they challenge, or do they conform to this ableist mode of thinking? Ableism pervades elite disability sport; consequently, conformity is required and being able or having sight is highly desirable. Yet, what an athlete says about their corporeal abilities does not always reflect the reality of their embodied experiences: it is the appearance of ableism that often takes precedent. When conducting social research, we should aim to break down entrenched binaries; however, we cannot necessarily expect the same from our participants. Disabled athletes’ embodied experiences and ableism are inseparable, and any critical analysis of disability sport and PA needs to reflect this.

34 Disability, sport and social theory Agency and resistance Experience is a term that recurs throughout this chapter. Whether it be lived experience, embodied experience, disabled experience or another prefix, it is integral to my theoretical approach. While drawing upon disabled peoples’ individual experiences may seem like a necessary and somewhat obvious step in capturing the realities of being a disabled person, this has not always been the case. Due to the subjective nature of experience, Finkelstein (1996) argued that a focus upon personal experience would be detrimental to the disability movement. The British social modelists endeavoured to create a shared, common disabled identity; yet, this was problematic as it only represented a small section of disabled people (Humphrey, 2000; French, 2004; Scott-Hill, 2004). In a unified movement, certain disabled people – such as those with sensory or intellectual impairments – are under-represented or ignored (French, 2004). As discussed in the previous two sections, a number of disabled academics responded to this by centralising personal experience and representing those disabled people who were predominantly absent from the disabled movement (Morris, 1991; Zola, 1991; Crow, 1996). Agency and Resistance, the final component of this embodied approach, builds upon the importance of personal experience to explore how agency and resistance can be demonstrated through sport and PA. Despite Finkelstein’s earlier critique, a focus upon subjective experience does not necessarily emphasise the individualised nature of disability nor weaken a collective identity; instead, it illuminates the diversity and complexity of disability. It also reinforces the significance of intersectionality when conceptualising disability and impairment (Goodley, 2014a; Sherry, 2016). Intersectionality is used to describe the multiple, overlapping social categories that constitute an individual’s identity. These inseparable intersections – such as gender, ethnicity and social class – also underpin experiences of social discrimination and oppression. This concept allows us to understand the multiple forms of power being simultaneously exerted upon the disabled body (Sherry, 2016) and reinforces the fallacy of the singular “disabled experience.” While homogenising all disabled people into a collective movement is politically beneficial, it also creates a silent majority who are left without an opportunity to share their experiences. As sport and PA scholars, we are also guilty of homogenising disability sport and prioritising the voices of athletes from “desirable” Paralympic events. We should strive for intersectional analyses that represent the diverse participants and activities within the disability sport and PA field and prioritise the voices of disabled athletes – both elite and recreational – who have been previously neglected. By drawing upon a variety of lived experiences, we can also account for the multifaceted ways in which disabled people resist physical and social barriers and, significantly, demand self-recognition as disabled (Loja et al., 2013). While resistance, a common theme within disability theory (Gabel and Peters, 2004), is typically associated with civil protest, it can also be realised through more subtle embodied means: “Individuals’ own perceptions and agency are productive in conforming to, reiterating and contesting normative standards of

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‘acceptable’ bodies through which they are seen and known” (Zitzelsberger, 2005: 400). Although an often-neglected form of social capital (Loja et al., 2013), the disabled body can be a powerful tool of resistance. Rather than ignoring the body or reducing it to an object of medical concern, this embodied approach acknowledges disabled peoples’ physical agency and its role in challenging social expectations. Major social movements such as the American civil rights movement and the Gandhian revolution used “culturally relevant strategies” (Gabel and Peters, 2004) to communicate their message. Due to its rising popularity and exposure, disability sport is currently the most culturally relevant arena to resist the ablebodied/disabled and sighted/blind binaries. The function of resistance is “for disabled people to push against dominance while also attempting to pull society into disabled people’s way of seeing” (Gabel and Peters, 2004: 594) and sport is clearly an influential platform where agency can be exerted. As well as challenging the very notion of sport and PA, it can also be a way of disrupting the dominant understandings of the bodies that are taking part; “sport invites transformations of the body as well as providing a site where the boundaries of the human body can be interrogated and challenged as well as possibly reinstated” (Woodward, 2009: 153). While such transformative attitudes may not be present amongst the VI cricket players in this book – as is examined later in Chapter 6 – it is important to recognise how disabled sport and PA can both reinforce and resist notions of disability. Nikki Wedgewood (2013: 8) argues that disability sport should be utilised by the disabled movement as site for activism: “the idea being not just to critique disablist discourses from afar but rather to hijack/challenge and/or reframe disablist discourses using the Paralympics as a medium to gain attention.” Wedgewood’s intentions are admirable but, as will become clear throughout this book, reframing dominant discourses is an extremely difficult task. For this to be realised, the value system of sport – including the ideals of ability and athletic performance – needs to be wholly re-conceived and its socially constructed nature needs to be reinforced (DePauw, 1997). If this fundamental shift is achieved, then the lens of disability sport “opens us to alternative constructions, actions, and solutions” (DePauw, 1997: 428). There are multiple ways of being in sport, and it is through disabled athletes’ embodied experiences that we can fully explore how these alternative constructions of sport and PA are lived out.

Conclusion To conclude this chapter, I return to my earlier question: why does theory matter? In an attempt to answer this question, I have put forward a number of reasons why social theory should underpin disability sport and PA research. I have also offered a variety of theoretical frameworks through which this can be achieved. And, as has hopefully become clear, social theory does matter. Disability, sport and physical activity are not atheoretical concepts: their meanings are socially constructed. We should not presume that our definitions

36 Disability, sport and social theory of these concepts are subjective or universal or so indisputable that we don’t need to explain our “workings.” Instead, we should take a step back and consider where our knowledge has come from: What is my position? How have my experiences shaped me? What is the significance of social theory in my thinking? It is this final question that is often the most difficult to answer. As discussed earlier, some academics use a singular theory to define their entire worldview; it is the lens through which they view society. When answering the three questions above, there would be certainty in their responses, “Of course theory is significant in my thinking; it is my thinking.” This standpoint can be intimidating and off-putting for those trying to engage with theory for the first time. Like my discussion of binary thinking earlier, theory can be presented as an either/or affiliation with set guidelines to be adhered to. In disability studies, the selection and application of social theory is fraught with such complications. Within this field, it was expected that critically engaged sociologists should affiliate with the British social model and all other approaches were rendered unrepresentative of the disabled experience. This attitude has somewhat softened and, as evident in the theories outlined in this chapter, there are a range of alternative lenses to conceptualise disability. Although it is still a highly contested terrain, there is now space for interdisciplinary theoretical discussions. In particular, we should engage with disability theory emanating from the Global South. I recognise that the majority of theorists cited in this chapter are from the Global North, but there is also a growing body of disability theory beyond this region (see Grech, 2015; Grech and Soldatic, 2016; Chataika, 2018; Watermayer et al., 2019). However, a similar theoretical shift has yet to occur in the disability sport and PA field. Whether it be apathy, confusion or trepidation, we are still waiting for widespread application of contemporary disability theories to understand the experiences of disabled athletes. And this is particularly evident in empirical research. Even when a theoretical approach is selected, there is often a disconnect between theory and practice. When researching disability sport and PA, what does it mean to adopt a social relational approach or a CDS approach or a British social model approach? What does it entail? Does it support your participants’ experiences? In what ways might it constrain or contradict your findings? Theory should not be an afterthought; it should be the framework of your research. Due to the overuse of metaphor in academic writing, we tend to forget the derivation of our expressions and “framework” is a great example of this. A framework is an essential supporting structure that something can be built upon; in social research, this is exactly what theory should be! For me, the theoretical constraints of existing disability theory – particularly in the context of sport and PA – led me to develop an embodied approach. If there is not a singular theoretical approach that underpins your participants’ experiences, then develop your own. Be creative. Be interdisciplinary. Be critically engaged. And, put your theory into practice. In the remainder of this book, I will be doing just that.

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3

Visually impaired cricket and the senses

The sun breaks through the clouds and warms the back of my neck; summer is clinging on for dear life. In contrast to the crunching leaves beneath my feet and the distant waft of wood smoke from a rural pub, the unseasonal warmth is a perfect accompaniment to the day of cricket to come. It is slowly inducing a sensorial revival from my state of hungover numbness. As I turn the corner, I hear the rattle of the ball and the distant shouts of “Bowl­ er’s end.” The pitch is not yet in sight, but I am struck with how much of the game I can understand through sound alone. VI cricket has a distinctive acoustic rhythm. The layers slowly build: distant bird song is punctuated by the shouts of support from the players dotted around the outfield; the wicket-keeper calls out the bowl­ er’s name while he aligns himself with the sets of stumps at the other end of the pitch; the tentative shout of “Ready?” from the bowler to the batsman; the confirm­ ation that he is poised for the delivery and then complete quiet. The hum of noise building is replaced by an expectant silence, one that reflects the readiness of the players on the field. The singular shout of “Play!” from the bowler is followed the unmistakable sound of the ball-bearings clattering around within the plastic shell of the ball. And then the soundscape explodes into a hive of activity. The resonat­ ing thwack of ball on willow triggers a mass of noise: the shouts of the wicket­ keeper directing the fielders to its location; the call between the batsmen of “Yes, one run!”; the thud of several pairs of feet running across the lush turf pursuing the rattling trail of the ball; the clear exclamation of “Mine!” and the instantaneous fizz of the ball being thrown back to the wicket-keeper.

I want to start this chapter by putting you into the middle of the action. Imagine standing at the top of your mark,1 rotating the ball’s coarse seam between your fingers while considering what delivery to bowl. Imagine taking guard on the crease with your bat in hand and waiting for the hard-plastic ball to hurtle towards you. Imagine standing at short leg, so close to the batsman that you can smell their breath, expectantly poised for a catch. You can trawl the internet and watch a plethora of YouTube clips, but this does not capture the embodiedness of playing visually impaired (VI) cricket. This field-note excerpt was written during my second training weekend with the England VI team. I first met the team two months previously and had spent the weekend coaching and socialising with the

Visually impaired cricket and the senses 47 players. I came away with a head full of ideas and a laptop full of field-notes. When writing up my reflections, one question drew my focus: how do the players conceptualise and negotiate this sporting space? The second training weekend, which took place in the picturesque Malvern Hills, provided me the opportunity to explore this question further. While the majority of the squad had travelled to the location on the Friday evening, I remained in Brighton to attend my cricket club’s end of season dinner. The next morning, feeling worse for wear, I made the fourand-a-half-hour train journey and arrived around midday. As I neared the end of my walk from the train station, the sounds of VI cricket filled the air. I stopped and focused on what I was hearing. By adopting the position of the sensory apprentice (Pink, 2009), I wanted to understand the game through the sensory mode I had assumed most players relied upon: auditory perception. Although I had intended to record multi-sensory observations of this space, visual observations had dominated my first set of field-notes. I needed to shift my attention and learn to know VI cricket in the same way as the blind and partially sighted members of this space. And it was a difficult thing to do. Of course, the above excerpt is my interpretation of the soundscape. It was only the second time I had observed a game of VI cricket, and I drew upon my extensive knowledge of the sighted game to enrich this vignette. Also, my singular focus upon auditory perception was limiting. VI cricket is a multisensory experience, but I only recorded the sensory mode which had emerged as most significant in my short time with the team. Although auditory perception is integral when playing VI cricket, it is reductive to just focus on one sense. And, most importantly, the players’ voices are absent. To truly grasp how disability sport and PA can be used to propagate individual agency, we need to prioritise disabled athletes’ lived experiences. As is explored throughout this chapter, the participants demonstrate innovative approaches to team sport which interrogate and subvert the notion of embodied sporting practice. Rather than being reduced to inferior adapted activities, disability sport and PA exhibits alternative ways of being in sport. Drawing upon the concepts of somatic work (Vannini et al., 2013) and auditory knowledge (Rice, 2010), this chapter addresses two questions. Firstly, I return to the question posed earlier: how do the VI players conceptualise and negotiate this sporting space? Secondly, how do their experiences resist the dominant conceptions of blindness, disability and sport? My response to these questions is organised into four sections. Firstly, I discuss Phillip Vannini and colleagues’ (2013) concept of somatic work in the context of sport and PA and engage with the existing sensuous research in this emerging field. I then explore how the blind and partially sighted players develop sense-making strategies to conceptualise the world around them, which is both in the context of sport and everyday life. In comparison to other popular VI sports, VI cricket is played in a relatively unstructured space that requires the players to perform somatic work in fascinating ways. Building upon these strategies, I examine VI cricket’s auditory structure. This is presented in two sub-sections: Intercorporeal perception: The role of linguistic sound and Auditory knowledge: The role of

48 Visually impaired cricket and the senses non-linguistic sound. To recognise the multi-sensory nature of sport and PA, I then reflect upon the importance of other sensory modes and the players’ use of haptic and visual perception. Finally, I address the earlier questions by considering the marked difference in the players’ sensuous experiences of VI cricket and their “ranking” of particular sensory modes.

Sport, physical activity and somatic work As established in my embodied approach, sensory perception should not be reduced to pure physiology; to make sense of the world is grounded in previous somatic experiences and wider social and cultural conditions. It is an active, reflexive practice that provides the thickness of our experience (Merleau-Ponty, 1945). To see, to hear, to touch are not passive experiences; they are intentional acts. Intentionality is pertinent when examining why different people – such as those with sensory impairments – experience the same environment in radically different ways (Allen-Collinson, 2009). The process of attributing symbolic meaning to sensory experience is conceptualised as somatic work (Waskul and Vannini, 2008; Vannini et al., 2013) – in which “sense and sense-making are necessarily conjoined, codetermined, and mutually emergent in active and reflexive practices” (Vannini et al., 2013: 15). This concept, which draws upon phenomenological, symbolic interactionist, pragmatist and performative approaches, illuminates the role of agency in making sense of the world around us. Both individually and collectively, we actively perform somatic work as a cultural reflex (Rodaway, 1994). It is these mundane, taken-for-granted and often unconscious interactions that structure our experiences. In the context of sport and PA, athletes are continually performing somatic work. Sport-specific skills, which are learnt through practice, reinforcement and habit (Howe, 2011), require that an individual develops a spectrum of sensory intelligence (Hockey and Allen-Collinson, 2007). Sensuous sporting experiences are mediated by ongoing sense-making practices which, for the more proficient participants, are autonomous processes that feel “natural” and require little cognition. In this chapter, we will explore how the VI cricket players reach this level of proficiency. The sport and PA field offers a diverse range of sensuous experiences, but this has yet to be fully realised through empirical research. While the work of Greg Downey (2002), Loïc Wacquant (2006), John Hockey and Jacqui AllenCollinson (2007) and Andrew Sparkes (2009) set the early research agenda, they remained as isolated empirical examples: “relatively few studies can be found that are actually grounded in the carnal, more ‘fleshy’ realities of that moving, sweating, sensuous sporting body, which also holds meanings, purposes and interest” (Hockey and Allen-Collinson, 2007: 127). However, this is changing. The recent proliferation of sensuous scholarship in sport and PA (see: Allen-Collinson and Owton, 2015; lisahunter and emerald, 2016; Sparkes, 2017) demonstrates this field’s growing potential. Yet, disability sport remains conspicuously absent. Only David Howe (2011), in his discussion of

Visually impaired cricket and the senses 49 embodied “difference,” recognises the potential significance of disabled athletes’ sensuous experiences: What is clear is that the manner in which our senses interpret how our bodies react with the social and physical environment might go some way to allowing us to understand the relationship between movement and iden­ tity that will possibly enable us to get to grips with culturally nuanced interpretations of difference. (Howe, 2011: 289) Although he acknowledges the importance of the sensory, Howe has yet to develop this area of inquiry. The most evocative examples of sensuous research in disability sport and PA are both drawn from a VI context: Hannah Macpherson’s research (2009a, 2009b, 2011) with a VI walking group and Gili Hammer’s research (2015, 2017) with VI and sighted tandem cyclists. These studies provide fascinating insights into the sensuous experiences of VI participants and their sense-making practices during these recreational physical activities. The heterogeneity of VI experience is also emphasised: it is the diversity of the participants’ corporeal abilities and experiences that is of significance in both of these studies. However, there are two notable differences that distinguish VI cricket from these aforementioned pursuits. Firstly, the walking and tandem cycling groups both use sighted participants as guides whereas cricket does not. When negotiating the sporting space, being unable to rely on guidance during a game necessitates a greater level of independence and strategy. Secondly, VI cricket is competitive. The high-pressure, elite sporting environment is in stark contrast to the supportive environment of recreational activities. Competing against others adds increased unpredictability to the players’ experiences and, again, requires that they counter this through the creation of innovative sensuous strategies.

Conceptualising the sporting space When considering our orientation in space – whether in sport or not – we often take our own perspective for granted. For example, we may not notice that the design of a town centre, social media platforms or even our reliance on body language are all constructed from a visual perspective. A number of VI authors have articulated this as living in a sighted world. Whether it be spatial orientation (Saerberg, 2010) or communication (Kleege, 1998), the sighted world can induce feelings of isolation, difference and shame (French, 1999). It also further separates blind and sighted people into two distinct cultures with different norms and values (Michalko, 1999). Yes, there are cultural and social differences of being VI and being sighted, but it is essential to recognise that “blindness is a way of being in the world rather than a state of deficit or lack” (Kleege, 2011: 1261). While conceptualising a “blind world” and a “sighted world” is unhelpful – as this only serves to reinforce the sighted/blind binary – there are multiple ways of being-in-the-world.

50 Visually impaired cricket and the senses When exploring the players’ sensuous experiences, it is vitally important to comprehend their foundational understanding of VI cricket: how do they conceptualise this sporting space and, when playing, how do they negotiate it? If one is unable to fully utilise sight in forming an impression of an environment’s dimensions and the objects within it, then other sensory modes must be employed. Due to the variety in sight levels, types of impairment and whether the visual impairment was acquired or congenital, the players’ approaches to conceptualising space are multifarious. For instance, Jatin, B1, despite losing his sight over 30 years ago, feels that his visual memories of the cricket pitch are still beneficial: I’m sure it helps if you’ve seen how the game is played compared to some­ one who’s born blind and never seen cricket before. Until you walk around the pitch, you wouldn’t know. You can say a cricket pitch is twenty-two yards but what is twenty-two yards? If the distance of 22 yards cannot be conceptualised through sight, then how else can we understand it? Can we hear it? Can we smell it? Can we touch it? The ocularcentric norm of using sight during sport, especially in events where hand-eye coordination is required, can lead to other sensory modes being neglected or completely ignored. Jatin relies on his visual memory to provide context to the various multi-sensory stimuli within the space, but this is not possible for those players who are blind from birth. For those players without a visual point of reference – whether recent or from the past – the game is conceptualised in an alternative way. For a VI person, their spatial orientation and awareness may be significantly different from a sighted person. Rather than understanding it as a disability, Lennard Davis (1995) and Michael Schillmeier (2010) conceptualise blindness as a different sensory practice. Similarly, the renowned neurologist Oliver Sacks (2003: 56) argues that blindness is “infinitely more than mere compensation but a unique form of perception, a precious and special mode of being.” If we acknowledge the richness of blind experience, we can disrupt taken-for-granted modes of knowing and demonstrate alternative ways of perceiving the world (Hill, 1985; Allen, 2004; Macpherson, 2011; Hammer, 2015). And this is where we return to the concept of somatic work. Sensory perception is an intentional act, so how do the VI players in this book demonstrate this? During my time with the team – particularly in social situations – I was struck by the players’ somatic work and the range of sensemaking strategies they employed. For example, Mick, B2, explains his approach to supermarket shopping: When walking round the supermarket, I will memorise all the aisles. So, basically, I will know where everything is pretty much. I would take a pretty long trip in there to walk around and look at everything, but then what I’ll do is just go by colour. I won’t be able to read anything, and you

Visually impaired cricket and the senses 51 can’t pick everything up so again, I’ve just got it in my head … logos, so you name a logo and I’ll tell you what it is pretty much. So, I’ll know the logos, I will know the packaging, I’ll know what colours are what and how thick they are and how they move around or whatever. That is the way I developed to do my shopping myself quickly so I can go in for twenty minutes and do my shopping. It is just stuff like that. You go into a pub or a restaurant or whatever, I’ll be shown where the toilet is once and that is it. I won’t ever have to go in there again and ask. I will know where it is and it doesn’t matter if I haven’t been in there for years, I will know where the toilet is. There are little things in my head that I sort of cross off. I want to know where these things are and what these things are and what this is … it is hard-work, but it is about being clever about it. Mick’s description perfectly captures what is meant by somatic work. Whether shopping or locating a toilet, he takes the time to map the space. Through previous experience and repetitive practice, he can then repeat these tasks with relative ease. As Allen-Collinson (2009) acknowledged earlier, the same environment can be experienced in radically different way and Mick’s approach typifies this. While his approach to supermarket shopping is different from a sighted person, it is also different from a totally blind person or a person with a different VI. For example, despite sharing the B2 sporting classification, Mick’s sight is completely different to his teammate Clive. It also significantly alters how they negotiate the world around them. Clive has tunnel vision and he explains how it can be a disadvantage in particular situations: In everyday life, I have to read stuff that is going on around me. Because of working up in London, the rush hour is really busy and tunnel vision is the worst sight you can have because people come from all angles. I am always having to adapt and learn new techniques to get around without walking into people. Whereas Clive’s lack of peripheral vision means that a rush hour train can be difficult to negotiate, he would be more efficient than Mick in a supermarket as he can focus on small details like food packaging. Rohan, B3, encapsulates the players’ different visual abilities in his description of guiding a teammate with tunnel vision through a train station concourse: I lead him through the train station because he has such a small tunnel that he can’t see people walking around. He can’t see if there is a bar in front of him and he might trip over it. He grabs my shoulder and we get to, like, the boards. I can’t read them, but he can read the boards because he has got that tunnel vision, so it is like a massive difference. I think sighted people think it is very easy to try and lump people together; but, in reality, we are all under this generic umbrella and you have your own different … each case is very different.

52 Visually impaired cricket and the senses As Rohan emphasises, each case is very different. Although the above quotes focus on everyday interactions and not sport, we can begin to see the players’ diverse range of visual abilities and limitations. I am not trying to establish the definitive VI experience of sport and PA – as a typical blind experience does not exist (Sacks, 2003) – instead, I will draw upon the players’ voices to understand their varied, multi-sensory ways of playing VI cricket. Previous research into VI perception reveals the role of cognitive mapping in conceptualising space (Allen, 2004; Anvik, 2009; Saerberg, 2010). Built up through repetition and experience, an individual performs somatic work to actively endow a space with value. As evident in the players’ experiences of the supermarket and the train station concourse, this process requires a high level of agency. Siegfried Saerberg (2010) conceptualises this as a “blind style of perception.” Rather than a reliance upon road signs, street names or house numbers, the space is negotiated using an alternative sensually based method of orientation. A similar approach to perception is evident in Chris Allen’s (2004) study of VI children. When analysing his participants’ negotiation of the home environment, he found that they had a “higher level of spatial agency than their sighted peers” (Allen, 2004: 730). It is in these relatively static spaces, such as the home or a town centre, that independence is developed. However, when obstacles – especially mobile obstacles – are introduced into the learnt environment, it is problematic. VI cricket is a unique challenge for this very reason; the multiple moving objects (the ball, teammates, opposition players) at a high pace make it difficult to comprehend what is going on. There is also an absence of physical landmarks. Apart from the set of three stumps at either end of pitch, the only other landmark is the boundary rope surrounding the outfield. Unless a player is in the middle of the pitch or on the boundary’s edge, there is no haptic way of discerning one’s position in the vast outfield. A sensory impairment makes the task of creating a stable cognitive map even more complex. Unlike cricket, other popular VI sports such as fivea-side football and goalball are spatially confined. Terry, B3, explains to me why the goalball court is such a “reassuring” space: I can understand why some people play it (goalball) because there is a lot of certainties. There is a little raised line where you have to stand, and everyone is blindfolded so everyone is the same. There is not a huge amount of space around you, which a lot of VI and blind people find very intimidating – especially when you are not confident with the use of their sight, if they don’t fully realise how much sight they have or unable to util­ ise it or whatever. I can imagine that kind of thing, of the line and knowing where to stand, is quite comforting. But it does reinforce a lot of stereo­ types with a blind person stood there not doing a lot: maybe the odd wobble and chucking to the floor and getting hit. He argues that the certainties of goalball, such as the raised lines and the small but structured pitch, are comforting for the blind and partially sighted

Visually impaired cricket and the senses 53 participants. He also explains that a number of VI people are intimidated by large areas of featureless and open space. Thus, participating in cricket is a daunting experience. Nevertheless, there is one central characteristic of VI cricket that allows all players – especially B1 classified players – to orientate within the sporting space: set fielding positions. Oliver, B1, explains the significance of field positions in providing a structure to his experiences: I know the fielding positions. And that is really important because if you don’t know them, that can be tricky because you are not going to know where the ball is. If someone says, “It is coming to point” and you don’t know where point is, then it is not really going to help you. You need to be able to have that awareness in your head of where people are and what people are doing. That is really important as a B1 playing sport. In this space of uncertainty, fielding positions provide a constant landmark. When adopting a position such as point or cover, a fielder is consequently made aware of their geographical spot on the pitch, their position in relation to the batsman on strike and where their closest teammates should be stood. Rather than being a mass of bodies in a vast space, assigned positions structure the space and aid the creation of a cognitive map through, as Oliver describes, an “awareness in your head of where people are.” Fielding positions also play an important role when batting. Knowing where the opposition fielders are positioned in the field and “hitting the gaps” are central to run scoring in all forms of cricket. Yet, for the blind players who cannot visually access the fielders’ location, other strategies are required. When listening to the batting soundscape composition, Kamran, B1, outlines his approach: One thing I will do is maybe ask for the field once and not again. But the one thing I will keep checking, perhaps, is where the B1s are because I know if I hit it to them, I can rotate the strike most of the time … how I understand space on the field is quite good. Because I watch, listen, play cricket so much that I know where fielders are, I know what space they have. BEN: So, have you built up a map of it? KAMRAN: Yeah. So, if someone says to me “You’ve got a fine leg and a square leg,” I know almost the distance between them. But what I can’t always do is pick the gap. KAMRAN:

By asking for a verbal description of the field settings, Kamran is continually updating his cognitive map. While the act of hitting into gaps and forcing changes in the field will be very familiar to any cricket player, it is the mode of perception that is different. As explained earlier, the sense-making strategies in the field are particular to each player. This is also the case when analysing the

54 Visually impaired cricket and the senses experiences of those players with a higher sight classification. Thomas, B3, utilises his cognitive map in an alternative way: Beforehand, you get a sense of where the field is. For someone like me, who is a partial, I can see the majority of the fielders. So, before I face that ball, I will have that field mapped in my head. For Thomas, his spatial understanding of the field is based upon visual perception. He still has the field mapped in his head, but is able to independently observe any tactical changes or newly emerged gaps and adjust his own approach accordingly. However, many of his blind and partially sighted teammates do not have these visual capabilities. Despite conceptualising the space through a stable cognitive map of the field, the players struggle with the fast-moving environment. Negotiating a VI cricket game requires more than a stable understanding of pitch dimensions or set positions: it is a performative and thoroughly embodied sensuous practice. The remainder of this chapter explores how the players bring their cognitive maps to “life” by attaching social significance to particular sensory acts. For clarity of discussion, the sensory modes are organised into separate sections. And we begin with the sensory mode that dominates VI cricket: auditory perception.

The auditory structure VI cricket has a well-established and purposeful auditory structure. In an attempt to accommodate all VI people – whether they have any light perception or not – the adaptions made to equipment and gameplay are designed for auditory perception. The consequence of these adaptions is that VI cricket has an identifiable aural rhythm. To the untrained ear, the mass of linguistic and non-linguistic auditory stimuli may seem insignificant or even unrelated to the players’ negotiations of the game. Yet, for many of the players, it is integral to their performance. R. Murray Schafer (1985: 94) differentiates between a visual and an auditory understanding of the world: “We are always at the edge of visual space looking into it with the eye. But we are always at the centre of the auditory space listening out with the ear.” We are immersed in a world of sound; it is omnidirectional and central to how we understand space. Existing research into the auditory dimension of sport and PA is broadly divided into two areas of enquiry: linguistic and non-linguistic sound. In the context of Korfball (Gubby, 2016) and Glow Sports (Merchant, 2017), verbal communication between both teammates and competitors is deeply embedded. These meaningful auditory interactions serve a number of functions: expressing tactical instruction, exerting dominance and even locating a partner when swimming in the pitch black. More subtle forms of non-linguistic stimuli have also been explored and take a number of different forms. In the study of embodied performance, both asthmatic (Allen-Collinson and Owton,

Visually impaired cricket and the senses 55 2014) and non-asthmatic (Hockey, 2006) athletes engage with the auditory feedback of their respiratory patterns and, when participating, use this stimulus to evaluate nuanced bodily changes. Non-linguistic stimuli also structure the sporting space (Hockey, 2006; Allen-Collinson and Hockey, 2015). This existing research focuses upon the auditory structure of running routes – from traffic noise to barking dogs – and its significance in the runners’ safe negotiation of the environment. Due to the immersive nature of sound, auditory perception requires an attunement to the multiple aural layers and a comprehension of the significant stimuli. Forming an understanding of a soundscape (Schafer, 1994) – an acoustic environment of a particular space – was first conceptualised by Steven Feld (1996: 97) as acoustemology: “an exploration of sonic sensibilities, specifically of ways in which sound is central to making sense, to knowing, to experiential truth.” Feld documents how sound is central to the Kaluli peoples’ construction of place in the rainforests of Papua New Guinea. While the lush turf of the village cricket ground may be worlds away, the people within these spaces go through a comparable auditory process. By identifying and attaching particular meanings to aural events, the VI cricketers actively perceive the space around them. The remainder of this section examines this complex auditory structure in two parts: first, Intercorporeal perception: the role of linguistic sound and, second, Auditory knowledge: the role of non-linguistic sound. Intercorporeal perception: the role of linguistic sound As established in this book’s theoretical approach, perception is a shared process shaped by interactions with other bodies and objects in space. To fully grasp the sensuous experience of playing VI cricket, the intercorporeal interactions between various bodies must be recognised. Without the auditory stimuli of others – teammates, the opposition, the umpires – the players’ cognitive maps would remain disembodied. For the blind players, it is very well knowing your location in the outfield, but without an auditory stimulus, it is difficult to grasp where your teammates are and what is happening in the match. Jatin explained to me how seemingly incidental acts, such as general conversation between fielders, support his conceptualisation of the space: JATIN:

I listen when they are talking. The main one I concentrate on is who’s on my left and who’s on my right. Because, if I miss the ball or screw up, then I know that if it’s on my left then I’ve got to know who’s on my left. I’ve got to listen to his call. I keep running to chase the ball, but he might shout, “Leave it, it’s mine” and I get out of the way. BEN: So, there is constant chatter and things? And just hearing them talking, does that allow you build up an even deeper map … JATIN: Yeah, a deeper mental picture of where everything is.

56 Visually impaired cricket and the senses By paying attention to the position of the fielders to his left and right, Jatin judges the space he has to cover on the field. If one of his teammates is in a better position to field the ball, this is communicated. When batting, Jatin goes through a similar process to identify the opposition fielders’ positions. Through shouts of encouragement, instruction, or even sledging,2 he continuously monitors if the opposition’s tactics have changed: JATIN:

I don’t really take notice of what they are saying when they are going to sledge you and give you verbals. It is really loud. BEN: But can that be helpful to know where they are? JATIN: It does help you where you are, yeah. I mean if it’s a good fielder or a good B3 partial fielder, if he is shouting and telling his players or whatever, it helps to know where he is. Although sledging is an intimidatory tactic, Jatin is made aware of that fielder’s position and also, if he has prior knowledge of the opposition players, who that person is. For Jatin, the use of seemingly incidental auditory acts – such as conversation and sledging – is an integral sense-making strategy developed through experience. Rather than letting the verbals effect his concentration, he uses it to his own advantage. Dave, B2 and one of the team’s most proficient fielders, also builds upon his previous cricketing experiences and seemingly incidental sounds. If the ball is out of sight range, he judges the type of delivery being bowled – which the umpire verbally communicates by declaring the bowler’s name and length of runup – and thinks about the batsman’s favoured shots: A lot of it I picked up on patterns and routines of the batsman’s shots. That gives me a really good indication from what the pace the sound of the ball is coming down. I know whether that ball will be coming to me if they are going to glide it down, drop the bat and glide it down, or whatever they are going to try. In combination with the umpire’s directions and sound of the ball off the bat, Dave has developed a strategy that allows him to field to a very high standard. Although these sounds may seem disparate to the untrained ear, they are clearly significant for Dave’s orientation when positioned in the deep and the ball is outside of his field of vision. This space’s auditory structure is not just made up of incidental acts though; it is purposeful and meticulously designed. As I described at the beginning of this chapter, there is a particular rhythm that leads up to the delivery of each ball. Brett, B1, explains this process from his perspective: So, you get the bowler – here’s the thing – let’s say it’s a B1, so he then says to the keeper, “Keeper?” And the keeper then says, “Off-stump, offstump, off-stump.” He then says, “Ready batsman?,” he says “Yes” and then he says “Play” then you’ve got the noise of the bat. So, you get four really good points of …

BRETT:

Visually impaired cricket and the senses 57 BEN:

Quite solid points?

Yeah, there has to be this, at least the absolute minimum, is “Ready bats-

man?,” “Yes,” “Play” and hit. There has to be at least four noises, so that’s a good way to know if you’re in the right sort of place. We’ve seen B1s facing the wrong way in the field before and it is criminal. What more do you want? Someone is shouting “Ready, yeah, play”!

BRETT:

Before every delivery, this auditory process is repeated: the bowler asks the batsman if they are “Ready?,” the batman says, “Yes” and, finally, the bowler will declare “Play” just before they release the ball. In combination with the sound of the ball being hit off the bat, Brett describes how these four noises allow him to understand his spatial orientation. Whether they are blind or partially sighted, Brett argues that there is no excuse for any player to be incorrectly orientated to the pitch. Even if the batsman does not have the visual perception to watch the bowler running in and bowling the ball, they are made aware of every stage of the delivery. Much like a sighted cricketer having particular visual trigger movements when batting, the call of “Play” serves an identical function: I will almost be in a squat position. By the time the bowler says “Ready?” and once he has said “Play,” I will be on the ground to play the shot. I will be picking up the line of the ball with my ear, with my left ear, and I try to – I was going to say see – but I will try to pick up where the line might be so I can play the shot according to that. (Kamran) Kamran’s batting process begins with two fixed calls of “Ready?” and “Play,” which allow him to be in position to play a shot. His overall body position is key for shot execution; however, the most important aspect is the positioning of his left ear to perceive the ball. Rather than keeping his eye on the ball – as encouraged in sighted cricket – Kamran keeps his ear on the ball. At the heart of this intercorporeal auditory structure is the wicket-keeper.3 This complex position is performed by a B3 classified player, who has a relatively high level of sight in comparison to his teammates. As well as performing the same duties as any sighted wicket-keeper, this player also acts as the team communicator and provides constant instruction to their teammates. The wicket-keeper utilises their superior visual perception to pass on key pieces of information that are not accessible through alternative sensory modes. For example, once the ball is hit off the bat, the wicket-keeper informs all fielders – where the ball has been hit, who it is going to, which hand is it travelling towards – and then provides a vocal target for the fielder to throw back to. Terry, B3, who is the team wicket-keeper and one of the world’s best, describes to me how his process is mainly based upon his visual perception. However, when the ball is out of his field of vision, both memory and auditory stimuli become important:

58 Visually impaired cricket and the senses When they (the fielder) have picked it up, would you be able to see them pick it up? TERRY: So, the ball will make different sounds. You will hear it rattle around in their hands and you want to give them a very loud, clear call so there is con­ stant source of noise that they are throwing to. But, at the same point, you don’t want it to be too aggressive because that will then create panic and ten­ sion. My thing is as soon as they’ve got it in their hand, I keep calling until they’ve released the ball and that is when I will stop that constant, constant noise. That pretty much works for everyone. BEN:

He describes his role as providing a “constant source of noise” and target for the fielders to throw at. However, it is more nuanced than just being a wall of sound. In a split second, he makes a number of key decisions that impact the game. He quickly evaluates which fielder is going to receive the ball, makes them aware of this and, if possible, tells them “Left hand down” or “Right hand down” to signify which hand it is going to. While shouting instructions, he re-orientates his own perspective to provide accurate directions for the fielders, that is, when facing opposite somebody, your lefthand side is their right-hand side. Even if the ball is out of sight, he uses the distinctive sound of the ball being stopped and his knowledge of the set field to create an auditory target for the fielder to throw the ball towards. This process is repeated every ball. Terry and teammate Thomas were the first to develop this communicative approach to wicket-keeping. Prior to their innovation, wicket-keepers would only deliver the most basic of information to the fielders rather than the running commentary that they now provide. The auditory stimulus provided by the wicket-keeper is a performative act and clearly demonstrates the social dimension of sensory perception. They purposefully structure the cricketing space with a sonic identity that is significant to those individuals who inhabit it. Research into how auditory perception is performed came to prominence through the anthropological work of Lawrence Sullivan (1986), Paul Stoller (1989) and Steven Feld (1990, 1996). These authors analyse particular performances such as chanting, stylised weeping and song within non-Western cultures. Sullivan’s (1986: 15) fieldwork in South America found that “sound identifies and gives shape to societal values and structures.” Though in a completely different context, the wicket-keeper is “giving shape” to this intercorporeal space and is central to their teammates’ sensory perception. Although it is a complex process for the wicket-keeper, the constant calling simplifies the game for the other players on the pitch. Rohan, who usually fields in the deep,4 recognises the importance of the wicket-keeper’s call in allowing him to anticipate the trajectory of the ball: It is surprising and I surprised myself, especially in South Africa, knowing how much I actually used my hearing. Because when I’m on the boundary,

Visually impaired cricket and the senses 59 I maybe don’t pick the balls up sometimes, especially if it is into the sun, until it is about three quarters of the way towards me. But I know it is on my left with Terry shouting “Left, left, left.” I am running to my left and then “Oh there is it” and I can sort of track if I’m keeping up with it or, if I’ve gone too far, I can go back and pick it up. While he was not initially aware of his reliance upon the wicket-keeper’s instructions, Rohan places his trust in Terry’s decision making. Having been told about the importance of the wicket-keeper, I was given the opportunity to experience it first-hand. In my role of support coach, I was asked to take part in a number of different training drills as an additional fielder. Because of my relative ineptitude when fielding, I was initially reticent to get involved; however, my experiences during these drills were vital in truly understanding the players’ embodied experiences: I am sent to field deep on the boundary and collect the balls that go past the infielders. From here, I can now appreciate the difficulty of fielding. In international cricket, wristy shots are commonly played, which in com­ bination with the movement of the ball-bearings, means the ball can spin in problematic ways. As a participant, only now do I recognise the wicket keeper’s important role in communicating the ball’s location and even when it is going to spin. I intently watch the batsman in the distance, waiting for him to play a shot towards me. He crouches low and power­ fully sweeps the ball. From the shape of his body, it must be coming towards me. And it is! The adrenaline kicks in and my senses feel height­ ened as I focus everything on to the ball. My body weight shifts from the balls of my feet to my toes and I run towards the ball while still trying to predict how the ball will behave. I place my trust in Terry’s shout of, “Left hand down. Watch the spin … now” and as he loudly calls this, the ball jerks to my left like being controlled on the end of a string. The ball settles in my hands with the hard-plastic shell and coarse seam held between two fingers and thumb. I return the ball flat and hard towards Terry behind the stumps, which makes a satisfying thud of as it hits the middle of his gloves. Terry’s ability to verbally provide important sensory information is central to the functioning of the team. Even for an experienced sighted cricketer like me, his guidance is integral and demonstrates how his sensuous knowledge of VI cricket is continually being imparted to his teammates. As discussed earlier, the construction of a cognitive map during a game is vital; yet, Terry takes this one step further. As well as knowing where the fielders are, he knows who is in each position, their visual abilities and what form of call they require. His knowledge of how the ball spins and swerves has been built through repetitive experience and, through auditory communication, he shares this information

60 Visually impaired cricket and the senses with his teammates. As is evident, VI cricket is a thoroughly intercorporeal practice and the wicket-keeper is the orchestrator. Whether used to establish if a batsman is ready to face the ball or provide a running commentary, verbal calls animate the game for all players. It is also clear that auditory perception is not an individual act but an intercorporeal experience. The players’ examples articulate the various roles the opposition, the umpire, fellow fielders, the bowler and the batsman play in the aural structuring of this space. By attaching meaning to the multiple bodies on the pitch, the players’ engagement in somatic work is significant and, through experience and interaction, creates a structure within the vast, featureless cricketing space. Auditory knowledge: the role of non-linguistic sound An analysis of the sonic environment of everyday life, including sporting participation, also needs to account for mundane non-linguistic sounds (Vannini et al., 2010). Unlike the vocal commands that purposefully structure the cricketing space, it is the disparate sonic acts that require the greatest level of somatic work. In this section, I draw upon the concept of auditory knowledge (Rice, 2010) to investigate how the players develop and hone their understanding of the auditory structure. In his research with medical students, Tom Rice examines how trainee doctors learn the art of auscultation and how, over time, they learn to identify those important acoustic objects from the initial mass of indecipherable noise. Rather than just identifying the key internal noises of the human body, the students attend to how efficiently the organs are working through aural exploration; their auditory knowledge is cultivated through habit, experience and training. This demonstrates the social dimension of listening by learning to identify and respond to the key sonic acts unique to a specific environment. Much like the medical practitioners in Rice’s study, the VI cricket players articulate an engagement with the sonic acts produced during participation. Their engagement demonstrates their auditory knowledge which is formed through their experiences of playing the game and also through purposeful strategies. In VI cricket, the most significant non-linguistic sound is the ball. It is made of white plastic and contains ball-bearings. When the ball is thrown or hit, it emits a rattling noise. While the wicket-keeper only provides intermittent auditory commentary during the match, the sound of the ball, or absence of it, is a constant stimulus. The ball-bearings are intrinsic when batting where, apart from the “Ready?” and “Play” calls, the only auditory stimulus is the ball’s sound. Dave, who has a degenerative sight condition, explains that he is close to the point where he is wholly reliant on sound when batting: Like from two years ago, I would be able to see it when it was released out their hand but now there is like a blank spot. A big patch where it is just picking up half way down or a quarter way down.

Visually impaired cricket and the senses 61 If the ball is outside of his field of vision, Dave uses the sound of the ballbearings to perceive the ball’s speed and direction and selects a shot accordingly. For Thomas, even though he claims to rely upon his sight, the sound of ball-bearings provides a deeper knowledge of the ball’s movement: The rest of it is keeping an eye on where the ball is, but also listening to the ball. In mid-air, it may not look like it has moved much, but the sound of the ball rattling side to side will give you an indication of the ball moving. The rest of it is … you don’t always see the ball off the bat. So, some of the shots that I play will be slingshots, so I don’t always see the ball when I make contact, but the sound of the ball being in an open area is quite distinguished. When bowled at certain pace or if a bowler uses a particular grip, the ball can swing and spin. And Thomas claims that he can judge the extent to which the ball is moving through the sound of the ball-bearings alone. As explained earlier, the seam on the white ball is difficult to see, so the batsman must either watch the ball in the air or, as Thomas describes, listen to the ball. For those blind players who cannot visually perceive the ball, the ball-bearings are essential when judging the type of delivery. Sandy explains how each delivery has a distinctive sound which allows him to gauge its speed: SANDY:

You can hear how fast the ball-bearings are turning in the ball. When like John is throwing it at you or Thomas is throwing it at you. Yeah, it is not actually a rattle. If you have a listen, and you probably hear it now I’ve told you, it is not actually a rattle, but it is a whir when it is a Partial. Whereas if a B1 rolls it at you, you can hear the balls jiggling about because the ball isn’t going as quick. It depends on what is happening. Surface has a little bit to do with it but not too much I don’t think. BEN: How long did it take you to learn that or is it just repetition? SANDY: No. It is something else that you have to learn. I used to go home quite black and blue from these practices. Yeah, I don’t anymore though. The whir of a fast bowler’s delivery is very different to the slower rotation of ball-bearings during a B1 delivery. Sandy’s knowledge is formed through repetition and is the result of many training sessions that left him “black and blue.” It is not something he was naturally predisposed to because of his VI or a mythical sixth sense but is a skill he has worked on. In comparison to sighted cricket, this approach to batting requires an alternative sensory mode; nevertheless, the foundation of both of these physical skills is repetitive practice. When fielding, the auditory interplay between the bat and ball is also significant. Although I have discussed the importance of vocal commands, there are other auditory acts integral to fielding performance. Terry explains how he tailors his instructions to each players’ requirements: some players are wholly

62 Visually impaired cricket and the senses reliant on the wicket-keeper to guide their movements, whereas others prefer to listen to the sound of the ball. Again, listening for the ball is not a passive act. As with the role of the wicket-keeper, this process is more nuanced than that. When listening back to the composed batting soundscape, Mick’s response reveals an in-depth auditory knowledge of the environment: The drive will always be more of a solid … always sounds like a more solid contact. With the sweep … well I knew that was the sweep because you can basically see it in your head. He has swept and his hands have come just slightly over to the right so his bat … bat-face has gone up so the ball sounds more hollow when you hit like that. He has gone aerial and he has cleared the fielder and got the one. But … I forgot what I was going to say then … so yeah, the drive is a much more solid contact. Yet, the sweep you can hear that … also you can hear sometimes, I didn’t hear it on there, but the bat sweeping across the floor before it hits the ball. Par­ ticularly if it is a slower bowler, you sort of know that is coming. The batting soundscape is comprised of a number of different shots and, through the sound of the ball off the bat, Mick judges the type of shot that has been played and, consequently, the area of the outfield it has been hit into. In combination with the cognitive map of the field, he articulates his developed strategy to fielding the ball without a reliance on sight. And, for Mick, this is unexpected. When I ask how he has developed such intricate knowledge, as demonstrated through his description of the soundscape, Mick cannot explain it: MICK:

I don’t know really because I wasn’t quite aware that I was that aware of it (laughs) so … I think I know my hearing is quite good, but I didn’t realise how … well, if I’ve got that right … (laughs). BEN: You have, yeah.

MICK: So, I didn’t realise that I was quite that susceptible to it …

Until prompted to specifically focus on the auditory dimension of a familiar environment, he was unaware of the significant impact of sound during a game. Playing VI cricket is a multi-sensory experience for all players – whether blind or partially sighted. However, until prompted to re-evaluate, many players were unaware that they use a variety of sensory modes. This lack of awareness is especially prevalent amongst partially sighted players who – consciously or unconsciously – value their ability to use sight and distance themselves from other sensory modes. For Xander, B1, it is neither the wicket-keeper nor the ball that he listens for when fielding: it is the sound of the batsman: I’m definitely, definitely listening out for what that batsman is doing. Is he shuffling? Is he moving away from me? Is he trying to advance or what­ ever? Because you need to give yourself as much time as possible to know: is that thing coming my way? To be honest with you, quite often, if you

Visually impaired cricket and the senses 63 are hearing it well and feeling good about what it is you’re doing, you tend to make the right decision without even thinking about it. You know what ball is coming down to your right. Somehow you just instinctively feel that there is where it is going to be. As a B1 classified player who fields close to the batsman, Xander explains how he tries to pre-empt the batsman’s movements by listening for the smallest of auditory acts. Even the shuffle of a spiked boot on the crease is significant for an experienced fielder whose trained ear can perceive what shot a batsman may be shaping to hit. When feeling good, Xander’s active listening becomes an autonomous process in which he instinctively perceives movement in the space. The repetitive experience of playing cricket has led to a point where Xander feels that he “tends to make the right decision without thinking about it.” His sophisticated process of negotiating the sporting space, developed through his previous experiences of playing sport as both partially sighted and blind, becomes a natural practice. When explaining the importance of auditory stimuli in his batting setup, Terry refers to his response to sound as “an internal thing rather than external.” Again, the processing of aural information becomes autonomous and integral to the execution of multiple skills within the game. As I explained earlier, the attachment of significant meaning to both linguistic and non-linguistic aural acts is based upon the repetitive experience of interacting in this space over a number of years, “It must just be experience, mustn’t it … I guess, I’ve put it into the bank when I have lost the ball, and what that sounded like” (Mick). Mick’s “bank of sounds” is the product of somatic work and the subsequent creation of learnt strategies. While the experience of playing VI cricket is integral to forming auditory knowledge, the bank of significant aural stimuli can also be cultivated through alternative means. For a number of blind players, listening to the game’s intricacies while spectating or tuning in to the radio has influenced their auditory perception. Although he could not see the pitch, Jatin explains that his regular attendance at his brother’s sighted cricket games in the 1980s meant he could follow the game through sound alone: From the way they hit the ball, I would roughly know where the ball has gone, square or mid-on or whatever. Not 100% I would be right but most of the time I would be right. Jatin did not play cricket until 2000, but he had been developing his auditory knowledge of the game for two decades. He attached meaning to the multiple aural events in the space which enabled him to understand what was going on from the edge of the boundary. When he started playing, this meant he quickly grasped the game and conceptualised the space in which it is played. Kamran’s auditory knowledge of cricket began with radio commentary. He credits Test Match Special, a BBC Radio Four programme, with helping him

64 Visually impaired cricket and the senses to both learn English and develop his understanding of cricket. I ask whether it had taken a long time to understanding this complex environment and he explains that it had not, “No, no. The only reason is because I listen to so much cricket, especially radio, where everything is so descriptive that I haven’t had to think about it too much.” The descriptive radio commentary contextualises cricket’s disparate aural events by explaining their significance. For example, the loud crack of ball on bat and the subsequent clapping of a crowd are contextualised by the commentator as a “cover drive that has been driven for four.” Through the commentator’s narrative, a listener can begin to attach social meaning to such noises and, eventually, be able to understand what is going on without the aid of commentary. Although the soundscapes slightly differ, the auditory similarities between sighted and VI cricket meant Kamran could increase his own auditory knowledge. As is evident throughout this chapter, to have an “instinctive feel” for a certain mode of sensory perception requires a process of learning. Rather than something endowed upon someone because of their VI, it is formed through experience and habit. Thomas explains how the public’s response when watching VI cricket is one of amazement. Nevertheless, he feels there is a simple explanation for their success: They are just thinking, “Wow! How can they do that?” That is the prac­ tice of focusing your ears, focusing how to react to sound, where it is and pinpointing it perfectly. They are like, “We can’t do that” and actually you can, you put a blindfold on and train your hearing! BEN: It’s just practice? THOMAS: It’s practice, practice, practice and you will become as good as someone else and it is trying to get that responsibility into younger players who see the older players doing what we do and getting them to believe that what they have now is what we had when we first started. THOMAS:

He recognises that it may be daunting for young or inexperienced players to join a team alongside such autonomous performers. Although the experienced players’ performance levels may seem unattainable, Thomas asserts that it can be achieved through “practice, practice, practice.” Much like a dancer being “trained in listening” (Downey, 2002), practice in a cricketing context is learning the soundscape’s features and understanding their significance. Experience is important but so is actively practising the art of listening. Brett, B1, is the greatest proponent of practised listening in the squad. He has been previously scrutinised for his high level of performance and he makes the following point when his abilities are questioned: “They are phrasing the question wrong. Instead of saying ‘How did you do that?’ – he must be able to see – but it should be ‘How did he do that?’ – what can I do then?” Brett develops his own innovative drills that can be used around the home. For example, one drill involves turning his television’s volume to its highest setting while throwing a ball around his living room. Another drill called the Apple Snatch follows similar lines

Visually impaired cricket and the senses 65 in which “you get someone to stand in front of you with two balls and they would just move the balls around and then shake it and you’ve got to grab it or touch it.” Despite not practising any cricket related skills, Brett credits these drills as encouraging him to think how VI cricket sounds. During our interview, he describes another drill for increasing auditory knowledge which, once again, does not involve playing cricket. Although his teammates are reticent to be involved, Brett explains the significance of his drill and the impact that it’s had on his auditory perception: The best drill that I used to do is, and this is one that I did try to get other people to do and they just told me to f*** off, is pointing at the ball. So, you stand there, and you say “Right he is going to bowl it” so track, track, track, track and he hits it so track, track, track, track. You are trying to keep a track of the ball by pointing at it and if the ball starts coming to you, actually you can just put your hand to get it. I did that for so many years that I could just stop it using my finger. Then what you want is your body facing towards the ball. Our heads have evolved to take in informa­ tion from the front so if you hear a big bang behind you, you turn your head because your body is saying “I want maximal information here” and that is what we do. Instead of pointing at it, actually you square your shoul­ ders up and things like that and is often why, when I’m trying to back up in the field, and start running towards the ball then back away is if I run towards the ball, I’ve got everything facing forward and I can get maximal information. Rather than mentally “switching off,” Brett is constantly aurally and physically tracking the ball’s location. By repeating this drill over a number of years, he now tracks the pathway of ball during a match with relative ease. Brett also considers his optimum body position to receive maximal auditory information. He is the most proficient B1 fielder – by far – because of his detailed approach outlined above. His auditory knowledge has not been formed by merely attending a few training sessions, but through the creation of purposeful strategies and a somatic awareness of how best to perceive the environment. Responding to the auditory structure of VI cricket is not a passive act: active and informed listening is required. However, even when a high level of auditory knowledge has been developed, it can be easily disrupted. For blind players who are predominantly reliant upon auditory perception, these disruptions have a monumental impact on performance. Both Kamran and Xander discuss the disorientating impact of high winds. During the World Cup, a combination of wearing blackout shades and windy conditions meant that Xander found that bowling almost impossible: That was the most difficult game I’ve ever played in and when that wind was up so badly, so gusty … you feel like you are in a washing machine.

66 Visually impaired cricket and the senses You feel completely devoid of anything that is happening around you and I could not get the ball straight down the wicket. I must have bowled about twelve, thirteen, fourteen wides in one over and it was just pointless. It was the lowest I have ever felt at playing the game. He felt “completely devoid of anything”: no auditory perception, no light perception, no haptic landmarks. Xander experienced a disembodied detachment from the game and the environment. He struggled to deliver the ball to the batsman and, when he did, described it as a complete fluke. Without the wicket­ keeper’s call or clapping, it felt as if he was bowling into the abyss. As well as a lack of auditory stimuli, random noise is equally disruptive. It is most common during indoor training where there are multiple balls being bowled, people chatting and even music. Rehan, B1, explains how he attempts to concentrate on the ball in this disruptive mass of noise: It is when it is people throwing balls and hitting balls and balls hitting walls, smashing this. It is too random, too random and that really messes with my head. So, yeah, I do use my hearing, but I can’t rely on that. The randomness of the noise “messes” with Rehan’s head. He has an in-depth knowledge of the soundscape, but, when disrupted, his ability to perceive the environment is severely impeded. Much like Xander, it has an impact on his overall perception: “People don’t realise but the thing is when I can’t hear well that also affects my other senses. I can’t work out where I am.” As acknowledged throughout this chapter, the lack of haptic landmarks within this space means the blind players and some partially sighted players must rely on the auditory structure. Yet, when this is disrupted by unexpected noise or an absence of noise, particular players’ mode of playing cricket are completely eliminated.

A multi-sensory experience As I established earlier, there is no definitive blind or partially sighted experience of playing VI cricket. Much of this chapter has focused upon the importance of auditory perception; however, the players also identify a number of other sensory modes integral to participation. Their experiences are multisensory and are not confined to one particular sensory mode. And, while it may seem reductive to analyse each mode separately, it is important to examine how each mode is utilised and, significantly, how the players value each mode. Haptic perception The haptic dimension of both sighted and VI cricket is often taken for granted: from a bowler’s grip on the seam to the feel of a ball hitting the middle of the bat, haptic stimuli are vital in these spaces. Rather than conceptualising haptic as just “touch,” Mark Paterson (2009: 769–771) defines the haptic system as

Visually impaired cricket and the senses 67 consisting of: (1) kinaesthesia – the sense of movement; (2) proprioception – the sense of bodily position and (3) the vestibular system – the sense of balance. In adopting this broader definition, the players’ embodied haptic experiences are more accurately reflected. The haptic experiences of sport and PA have been explored in a number of different contexts. Whether it is scuba diving underwater (Straughan, 2012), a long-distance run (Hockey, 2006; Hockey and Allen-Collinson, 2007), exploring the outdoors (Macpherson, 2011; Allen-Collinson and Leledaki, 2015), becoming a dancer (Potter, 2008) or clinging to a rockface (Lewis, 2000), the haptic system is central to all embodied action. In these examples, it is the individuals’ haptic interaction with both the environment and other people which is significant. In combination with auditory perception, the haptic system underpins the blind players’ spatial orientation. Tim Ingold (2000: 274) calls this “the multimodal feeling-hearing of the blind, which is neither touch, echo nor motion but a blending of all of these.” Rather than viewing the senses as working independently of each other, Ingold reinforces the importance of understanding perception as a multimodal process in which the senses are in constant interaction. Due to a reliance on vision and a regimented understanding of the sensorium, he also argues that blind perception can be hard for sighted individuals to grasp. For example, the blind author John Hull (1990: 164) identifies as a whole-body-seer who is “simply someone in whom the specialist function of sight is now devolved upon the whole body, and no longer specialised in a particular organ.” As a totally blind person, Hull’s experience of perception reveals a different way of being-in-the-world. He also describes the “extraordinary guidance mechanism” of echolocation. Echolocation is a form of perception that responds to sound waves in the creation of a visual image; when noise is made – whether purposefully or not – the sound waves bounce back carrying imprints of a material’s dimensions and texture which then creates images in the brain’s visual cortex. Originally described as “facial vision,” this form of perception is a mixture of feeling and hearing and is a rarely acknowledged aspect of VI perception. When bowling, Kamran discusses how he can gauge the ball’s direction after release using echolocation. As is evident in our conversation below, this is the first time he has articulated this experience: KAMRAN:

The strangest thing that I can’t explain is when I let go of the ball, I listen for … the space between, the width of the wicket. It is really bizarre to explain it; I’ll hear where the ball has landed, and I will gauge in my head if that ball is going anywhere near the stumps. BEN: That is very interesting. KAMRAN: I try to do it in the nets. Say the ball has landed like there, I will almost hear an echo off the ground which will tell me how big the crease is, how big the width of the pitch is, and I think “Oh yeah, that might be straight.” That is literally what happens in my head, but I’ve never actually said it out loud, it is strange.

68 Visually impaired cricket and the senses It is very interesting so … it is difficult to explain isn’t it.

It is very difficult.

BEN: So, you are hearing …

KAMRAN: It is almost like echolocation. I will hear …

BEN: Yeah, so is it the reverberation between the stumps then?

KAMRAN: Maybe, yeah. Maybe it is. Maybe that echo is being created

between … because you know when you click and there is no one in the way then there is more of a sound then if there was a body. Maybe because there is a body in front of me and there are two stumps and an umpire behind me, maybe all those things play a part in me hearing, or not hearing, stuff. In a strange way, the sound is bouncing off all of those things. It is strange! BEN:

KAMRAN:

His blind and partially sighted teammates may have similar experiences; however, they do not articulate this during our interviews. Kamran’s illuminating description reveals an aspect of VI cricket that has not been previously discussed. Despite echolocation not altering the direction of his bowling, it allows a deeper understanding of the environment and a level of physical feedback that cannot be attained unless provided by a teammate. This thoroughly embodied experience challenges the traditional, fixed approach to the senses in sport and PA. Kamran also uses conventional haptic perception in his bowling setup which, again, is in combination with auditory perception. Before he receives aural instructions to adjust his body position, he touches the edge of the off-stump with his foot and takes one step to his left. He then asks for a call from the wicket-keeper. When batting, he also touches the stumps with his hand before each delivery to re-orientate himself. Haptic feedback through the bat is also significant. Through experience, a cricketer learns to feel whether or not the ball has come out of the middle. In VI cricket, this takes on additional importance: You can usually feel when you play the shot how well you have hit that ball, so it is using that sense of “that felt good” as it’s come off the middle. The slingshot has come off perfectly as I wanted it to so it should have gone in the place I wanted it to. (Thomas) Through instantaneous haptic feedback, Thomas judges how far the ball has gone and how many runs he can attempt to take. C.P. Pow (2000) discusses how VI people use the indirect tactile sensation of a white cane as a form of extend touch, and the cricket bat fulfils a similar role. Middling the ball in all forms of cricket is a satisfying feeling, but it serves an integral purpose in this space. To counter the impact of his tunnel vision and hearing impairment, Clive has created a number of haptic strategies. It is relatively easy for somebody with tunnel vision to track the path of a VI cricket ball, but issues arise if the ball

Visually impaired cricket and the senses 69 then leaves their visual field. As Clive cannot rely on the ball’s auditory feed, the haptic dimension of fielding is even more important. In practice, he actively develops his haptic skills by deliberately misfielding the ball, losing sight of it and then feeling for its location: So, I would let the balls hit my feet or hit my legs to try and really … what that feels like to where it goes. If it hits a part of my leg, then I know the ball normally acts like this. If it hits my feet – well the feet are a little bit different because you’ve got the rubber on your shoes sometimes – but if it hits something, it is just trying to remember last time it hit me there, “It was down by my knee.” It is difficult because not every situation is the same. Allowing the ball to hit certain body parts and finding its location is an unorthodox way to practise fielding; however, it is a perfect fit for Clive’s mode of being-in-the-world. He acknowledges every situation is not the same, but the somatic work that he articulates saves him precious seconds in the field. In the world of elite sport, each marginal gain is essential. These rehearsed strategies allow the players to build on their sensory strengths and to minimise mistakes. When batting and bowling, Oliver explains the importance of having a repeatable setup in maintaining a high level of consistency. This is especially important for blind players who rely more readily on “feel” than their partially sighted peers: I’ve got a set routine that I try to stick to because I think it is always better to be consistent in what you do. What way your muscles kind of remember the movement so the movements become instinct rather than something you have to think about, which I think is helpful. It eliminates as many variables as possible. At the end of the day, the simpler you can get your action and the less movement you can get in it the better, especially as a B1. While this form of kinaesthetic perception is difficult to conceptualise, it is a common experience. Through practice and habit, the performer embodies the correct body technique (Mauss, 1979) and, when executed, “feels” right. Whether it is rhythm when running or hitting a golf ball off a tee, an experienced individual is aware of successful skill execution through their own learnt perception. As Oliver describes, B1 classified bowlers attempt to keep their bowling action as simple as possible and rely upon muscle memory to deliver the ball. Although the blind players orientate with the stumps through touch and receive aural instructions from the wicket­ keeper, they are wholly reliant upon pre-existing muscle memory and the “feel” of a delivery. The haptic system is the foundation of all physical performance; yet in the absence of other sensory modes, it takes on a greater significance in VI cricket.

70 Visually impaired cricket and the senses Visual perception Despite the players’ rich and fascinating multi-sensory experiences, many still felt the need to emphasise their visual abilities over other sensory modes. This has significant implications upon the resistive potential of VI cricket. As long as the players claim to rely on visual perception to play the game, the dominant understanding of embodied sporting practice and the sporting body will remain unchallenged. As Chris Jenks (1995: 1) argues, “we have, over time, come to regard sight as providing our immediate access to the external world.” This ocularcentric point of view (Jay, 1994; Jenks, 1995; Stoller, 1997) – in which sight is understood as the most vital sense in living a “full” life – also dominates modern sport and PA. Having vision is synonymous with quality: picking out the perfect pass or finding a gap in the defensive line is beyond mere visual acuity; it reveals an individual’s anticipation and discernment. As a young cricket player, I spent my formative years being drilled in the importance of hand–eye coordination. “Keep your eye on the ball!,” “Watch the ball onto the bat!,” “Focus on bowler’s grip!” would be bellowed by coach after coach during intense practice sessions. When attaining my coaching qualifications, we were instructed to remain completely silent when giving demonstrations so that the students would focus wholly upon how the skill “looks” and not be distracted by aural instructions. In both cases, vision was the key to becoming a high-level performer. Whether it be a reliance on visual images, body language or playing sport, “sight is equated with understanding and knowledge” (Synnott, 1993: 208) and other sensory modes are viewed as inferior. To be without visual perception is to be in a state of deficit, which is a troubling and inaccurate standpoint. In VI cricket, the use of visual perception has significant social implications upon individuals’ identities, and this was reinforced during my interviews. Clive admits he has “pretty good” hand–eye coordination and watches the ball onto the bat all the way from the bowler’s hand. Although his field of vision is small, if his head is in the correct position, Clive has a clear picture of the game in front of him. Rohan, who has a blind spot in the centre of his vision, also claims to rely “nearly entirely” on his visual perception. During his interview, Rohan acknowledges that he does in fact use other sensory modes during a game, but sight still dominates. Mick sums up the overarching attitude towards the use of sight: I think if you have got a little bit of sight, you are always going to try and see. So, I still rely more on my sight than my ears. You got to try and use it the best you can. Having visual perception is an advantage in a variety of different contexts. John, B2, explains how he locates the ball through sight and, significantly, is able to watch the oppositions’ movements:

Visually impaired cricket and the senses 71 Because I’ve come from a cricket background anyway, the one thing that has really helped me is being able to read the movement of other people. I can see how a batsman would shape up to play a shot and I kind of have a good idea, if he’s connected with that ball, where it’s gone. While demonstrating previously gathered experiential knowledge of cricket, John’s visual perception allows him to utilise his knowledge of the game. Through sighted cricket, he has learnt to read the opposition batsman’s movements and can pre-empt the shot being played. As his sight condition does not impede this aspect of his visual perception, he continues to use this process in VI cricket. Marcus, B3, also describes the advantage of using sight when bowling as he can perceive where the batsman is aiming to hit the ball. The advantage of visual perception comes at the expense of the opposition and, more specifically, the totally blind players. Terry explains the disadvantages of being a B1 classified bowler when bowling to a partially sighted batsman: B1 bowlers are in a rubbish position because, as a batsman, I can see what they are doing to a certain extent. I can see where the keeper is lining them up. You can do what you want, you can walk down the pitch … the B1s can’t stop you doing anything. At least if you are a quicker bowler, you have that second where is looks like they are going to wander down and you do something different. You’ve got none of that in your armoury. A B1 has to be supported by their fielders, you cannot … teams target, we do it, everyone targets B1s. In a sport adapted for VI people, it is those players with the highest levels of sight who are at an advantage. This disparity between the blind and partially sighted player is exacerbated by the requirement that all B1 classified players must wear blackout shades. Although it is an attempt to create a level playing field within the B1 category, the removal of the blind players’ remaining residual sight or light perception is highly disruptive. Xander, who has a small degree of light perception, describes the sensuous experience of wearing blackout shades: Being in the dark for the entire game can be very disorientating. It can be hugely disorientating because when I’m walking around usually, I’ve got this sort of openness around my head. This “openness” is artificially eliminated and puts the blind players at a further disadvantage. As Xander indicates, visual perception is not just being able to watch the action unfold, it is also an awareness of light and shadow. Eyeshades are designed to totally eliminate light, but when this is removed, his mode of being-in-the-world is wholly disrupted. Without their teammates’ visual perception, the blind players are often portrayed as weak links. Jatin recognises the impact that visual perception has on cricketing ability:

72 Visually impaired cricket and the senses I always think that the more sight you’ve got, the better you will be, I think. I know it’s the wrong way of thinking, but I’ve noticed that the more sight you’ve got – obviously you need ability, I am not saying that – but the more sight you have, the better you are. When I ask how the senses are valued within the squad, Thomas declares that “sight is the biggest one for most people,” followed by hearing which he describes as a fallback sense. Despite the players’ engaging multi-sensory accounts of playing VI cricket, the majority of these players acknowledge that sight is the most-valued sensory mode. When participating, visual perception is clearly important; however, it is also a statement of their identity. This reinforces the pertinence of an embodied approach to disability sport. While the players’ forms of VI affect how they play cricket, it is role of social discourse and intercorporeal interactions that assign value to these sensuous experiences. Being blind or partially sighted means perceiving the world in a different way to those who are sighted. Yet, it is the dominant discourses that portray this altered state of perception as a “lack.” To rely upon auditory or haptic perception is seen to be fulfilling the negative blind stereotype. As I will discuss in Chapter 6, the group’s dominant identity is built upon a rejection of blindness and VI as positive characteristics. This is continued through the valuing of visual perception. Those players with the highest amounts of sight are most valued; consequently, the majority seek to demonstrate their own visual abilities and downplay other forms of sensory perception.

Conclusion In this chapter, I endeavoured to answer two questions. Firstly, how do the VI players conceptualise and negotiate this sporting space? Secondly, how do their experiences resist the dominant conceptions of blindness, disability and sport? To answer this first question, I have analysed the players’ wide-ranging and multi-sensory experiences of playing VI cricket and identified a number of salient features of this environment. Although VI spatial orientation has been researched previously (see Allen, 2004; Anvik, 2009; Saerberg, 2010), this is the first account of blind and partially sighted peoples’ sporting experiences. And the findings are fascinating. The VI players’ experiences reveal an original way of playing sport that reframes the ocularcentric conceptualisation of the sporting body. Sensory perception is an active process in which the players demonstrate a high level of agency when, firstly, conceptualising the space and, secondly, negotiating the game itself. Through somatic work, the players’ sense-making strategies support their cultivation of embodied knowledge. As established in the auditory perception section, auditory knowledge of the game allows B1 classified players to perceive intricate yet integral aspects of the space, such as distinguishing the type of delivery through the sound of the ball-bearings. The players are not merely compensating for an absence of visual perception: this is an innovative, ground-breaking approach to sport and PA.

Visually impaired cricket and the senses 73 Another significant aspect of this sporting space is how perception is an intercorporeal socialised act. As discussed in Chapter 2, to be embodied is an intercorporeal process and playing VI cricket is a compelling example of this. Although interaction between teammates is central to all team sports, these interactions take on a greater importance in VI cricket. Whether it is an opponent’s sledging, a teammate’s haptic guidance or the wicket-keeper’s commentary, the shared nature of these sensuous interactions serves to structure the environment. In the case of the wicket-keeper, his role is to purposefully provide linguistic (vocal commands) and non-linguistic (clapping) stimuli so all players – whatever their VI – are aware of the game situation and the ball’s location. While many aspects of the auditory structure require the players to attach their own meaning to sensory acts, these deliberate strategies provide vital information to those players who would otherwise be unable to perceive it. Rather than passively perceiving the world, the players are actively creating the world around them. These findings also further our understanding of the VI body. Saerberg (2010) claims that a “blind style of perception” exists; however, as the players’ varied approaches to constructing and negotiating space demonstrate, there is no singular experience of being blind. As a sighted “outsider,” I was able to analyse how each participant plays the game and the strategies they adopt rather than relying on an individual autoethnographic account of blindness. The players’ experiences also accentuate the inaccuracies of the constructed sighted/blind binary. As evident through my own multi-sensory accounts of field, being sighted does not necessarily equate with a reliance on visual perception and, conversely, to be VI does equate with an absence of sight. The presence of sight – both perceptually and socially – is an underlying aspect of this sporting space. To answer my second question, the blind and partially sighted cricket players’ embodied experiences do challenge the dominant conceptions of blindness, disability and sport. If we return to Frank’s (1991) conceptualisation of the communicative body, the VI players’ physical proficiency overtly demonstrates an alternative way of being-in-the-world. The embodied act of playing VI cricket communicates the abilities of blind and partially sighted people to a wider audience. Disability sport and PA can be a platform on which disabled participants can disrupt and re-frame dominant discourses, and VI cricket clearly has the potential to do this. However, it is the players’ interpretations of their sensory experiences that restrict the game’s resistive potential. In this chapter, I have explored the participants’ articulations of their experiences and attended to their treatment of the senses. The players’ sense-making strategies are clearly original and captivating; yet, of equal importance, is how they describe and value these experiences. Their embodied experiences cannot be separated from discourse and social interaction. For example, by ranking non-visual sensory modes as a fallback, those players with no visual perception have a lower “value” within the squad. VI cricket is played in an innovative way, and we should recognise the players’ astonishing feats of physical performance. However, many players do

74 Visually impaired cricket and the senses not want to be seen as challenging dominant notions of the sporting body. As reinforced during the interviews, a number of partially sighted players claim that the team plays in the same way as their sighted contemporaries. This reinforces the “normality” of their sporting experiences and that their VI does not affect their participation. An attitude of wanting to prove their “normality” is inherent within this group and is a theme that underpins this book’s remaining chapters. Although it appears that these players are resisting the dominant ideal of the sporting body, this is in fact the opposite of what the majority of the players are trying to achieve. While the act of VI cricket is resistive, the players’ attitudes are not.

Notes 1 The beginning of a bowler’s run-up.

2 In all forms of cricket, sledging is used to describe verbal intimidation. This tactic is

often used to pressurise the batsman into making a mistake. 3 The wicket-keeper fulfils a similar role to a backstop in baseball. 4 This refers to standing close to the edge of the boundary, far from the batsman.

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76 Visually impaired cricket and the senses Macpherson, H.M. (2011). Guiding Visually Impaired Walking Groups: Intercorporeal Experience and Ethical Sensibilities. In M. Paterson and M. Dodge (eds.), Touching Place: Placing Touch (pp. 131–150). Aldershot: Ashgate. Mauss, M. (1979). Sociology and Psychology: Essays. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Merchant, S. (2017). Glow Sport: Re-Configuring Perception of Space in Sport and Leisure Practice. In A. Sparkes (ed.), Seeking the Senses in Physical Culture: Sensuous Scholar­ ship in Action (pp. 120–135). London: Routledge. DOI: 10.4324/9781315657585-7. Merleau-Ponty, M. (1945). Phenomenology of Perception (2002 Reprint). London: Routledge Classics. DOI: 10.4324/9780203994610. Michalko, R. (1999). The Two-in-One: Walking with Smokie, Walking with Blindness. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Paterson, M. (2009). Haptic Geographies: Ethnography, Haptic Knowledges and Sensuous Dispositions. Progress in Human Geography, 33(6): 766–788. DOI: 10.1177/ 0309132509103155. Pink, S. (2009). Doing Sensory Ethnography. London: Sage. DOI: 10.4135/ 9781446249383. Potter, C. (2008). Sense of Motion, Senses of Self: Becoming a Dancer. Ethnos, 73(4): 444–465. DOI: 10.1080/00141840802563915. Pow, C.P. (2000). “Sense and Sensibility”: Social-spatial Experiences of the Visually Impaired in Singapore. Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography, 21(2): 166–182. DOI: 10.1111/1467-9493.00073. Rice, T. (2010). Learning to Listen: Auscultation and the Transmission of Auditory Knowledge. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 16(Issue supplement s1): S41–S61. DOI: 10.1111/j.1467-9655.2010.01609.x. Rodaway, P. (1994). Sensuous Geographies: Body, Sense and Place. London: Routledge. DOI: 10.4324/9780203082546. Sacks, O. (2003). A Neurologist’s Notebook: The Mind’s Eye. The New Yorker: 48–59. Available at: www.newyorker.com/archive/2003/07/28/030728fa_fact_sacks. Saerberg, S. (2010). “Just Go Straight Ahead” How Blind and Sighted Pedestrians Negotiate Space. Senses and Society, 5(3): 364–381. DOI: 10.2752/174589210x12753842356124. Schafer, R.M. (1985). Acoustic Space. In R. Mugerauer and D. Seamon (eds.), Dwell­ ing, Place, and Environment: Towards a Phenomenology of Person and World (pp. 87–98). Malabar, FL: Krieger. DOI: 10.1007/978-94-010-9251-7_6. Schafer, R.M. (1994). The Soundscape: Our Sonic Environment and the Tuning of the World. Rochester, VT: Destiny Books. Schillmeier, M. (2010). Rethinking Disability: Bodies, Senses, and Things. London: Rou­ tledge. DOI: 10.4324/9780203854846. Sparkes, A.C. (2009). Ethnography and the Senses: Challenges and Possibilities. Qualita­ tive Research in Sport and Exercise, 1(1): 21–35. DOI: 10.1080/19398440802567923. Sparkes, A.C. (ed.) (2017). Seeking the Senses in Physical Culture: Sensuous Scholarship in Action. London: Routledge. DOI: 10.4324/9781315657585. Stoller, P. (1989). The Taste of Ethnographic Things: The Senses in Anthropology. Philadel­ phia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. DOI: 10.9783/9780812203141. Stoller, P. (1997). Sensuous Scholarship. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. DOI: 10.9783/9780812203134. Straughan, E.R. (2012). Touched by Water: The Body in Scuba Diving. Emotion, Space and Society, 5(1): 19–26. DOI: 10.1016/j.emospa.2010.10.003. Sullivan, L.E. (1986). Sound and Senses: Toward a Hermeneutics of Performance. History of Religions, 26(1): 1–33. DOI: 10.1086/463058.

Visually impaired cricket and the senses 77 Synnott, A. (1993). The Body Social: Symbolism, Self, and Society. London: Routledge. Vannini, P., Waskul, D. and Gottschalk, S. (2013). The Senses in Self, Society, and Culture: A Sociology of the Senses. London: Routledge. DOI: 10.4324/9780203805985. Vannini, P., Waskul, D., Gottschalk, S. and Rambo, C. (2010). Sound Acts: Elocution, Somatic Work, and the Performance of Sonic Alignment. Journal of Contemporary Eth­ nography, 39(3): 328–353. DOI: 10.1177/0891241610366259. Wacquant, L. (2006). Body & Soul: Notebooks of an Apprentice Boxer. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Waskul, D. and Vannini, P. (2008). Smell, Odor, and Somatic Work: Sense-Making and Sensory Management. Social Psychology Quarterly, 71(1): 53–71. DOI: 10.1177/ 019027250807100107.

4

Disability sport and empowerment From the playground to the Oval

Elite disability sport and its marquee event, the Paralympic games, are often heralded as a vehicle for empowerment. As well as empowerment for individual athletes, disability sport’s biggest advocates – including the current and former IPC presidents – argue that empowerment can transcend sport and physical activity (PA) and engender broader social and political change (United Nations, 2011; IPC, 2015, 2018). Sir Philip Craven, who was IPC president from 2001 to 2016, went even further when claiming that the Paralympic games are the greatest showcase of inclusion and empowerment on earth (IPC, 2015). But can elite disability sport ever be inclusive and empowering for all? And why should it be? We don’t expect the Olympic Games or the Football World Cup to be inclusive and empowering; in the context of Faster, Higher, Stronger, only the best can succeed. Yet, despite the Paralympic movement’s elite focus and rapid professionalisation, the IPC’s (2019) vision for their global events and all forms of disability sport continues to be underpinned by empowerment. In this quest for empowerment, there is a presumption that disabled athletes and the wider disabled community all live in a state of disempowerment (Howe and Silva, 2015), and require sport to “escape” this plight. As David Howe (2008: 515) argues, the process of being empowered through elite disability sport is contradictory, “few athletes are empowered by a mode of practice, ostensibly established for their benefit, which actively promotes a body culture that necessarily excludes them.” By adopting a body culture in which disabled people are continuously objectified by their impairment and level of function, participation in elite disability sport appears to be anything but empowering. And this is the central concern of this chapter: How has adoption of mainstream sporting values and structures affected the empowering potential of elite disability sport? Also, if individual athletes do experience empowerment through participation, can this be shared with other disabled people? Unless there is commonality of existence and purpose (Purdue and Howe, 2012), empowering a small number of physically capable individuals can lead to further marginalisation of disabled people who cannot or choose not to play sport (Wedgewood, 2013). According to the United Nations (2011), disabled athletes are agents for change, but who and what are they changing?

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To answer my questions above and grasp how empowerment is lived out in an elite sporting environment, I turn again to the England visually impaired (VI) cricket team. As discussed in Chapter 1, although VI cricket is not a Paralympic event, it is the epitome of a modern disability sport and provides us with an original perspective on the well-critiqued empowerment debate. Because of the game’s rules and unique mix of blind and partially sighted players, it also moves this debate into new and unexpected directions. At this juncture, it is important to note that we should avoid falling into another binary trap and analyse empowerment and disempowerment as an either/or distinction; it is more complicated than that. In the next section, I outline how empowerment is theorised in the context of disability sport and PA and build upon this existing literature to establish this book’s definition of empowerment. The chapter then follows two broad themes: the players’ experiences of recreational cricket – both sighted and VI – and the players’ experiences of international VI cricket. In documenting the journey from recreation to the national team, we can comprehend how experiences of empowerment change through a player’s career. Central to the players’ stories and their experiences of empowerment is whether an individual’s impairment is congenital or acquired. Because of this, I begin by examining the significance of pre-sight loss sporting experiences of those players with acquired impairments and reflect upon the challenging transition from sighted to VI sport. Secondly, I analyse the players’ initial experiences of playing VI cricket. Whether assimilating into a VI sporting culture, understanding their physical capabilities or resisting stereotypes, I discuss the multifaceted ways in which players experience VI cricket as a potentially empowering activity. And finally, my focus turns to the players’ experiences of playing international VI cricket. As the expectations upon performance and quality of opposition increase, the empowerment process is significantly affected. In combination with increased media exposure and mainstream organisational structure, I consider how eliteness has irrevocably changed VI cricket and whether participation in elite disability sport can ever be empowering experience for all.

What is empowerment? In sport and PA, empowerment and the process of being empowered is ubiquitous. It is present in promotional materials, strategy documents, media discourse and a wide range of other settings. And the message is the same: participate in our sport or PA and come away feeling empowered. But what does it mean to be empowered? Can empowerment be experienced in different ways? Is it as simple as participation = empowerment? Although definitions of empowerment vary across academic disciplines, they are underpinned by one key concept: agency. At an individual level, to be empowered is to gain control of personal issues and take action to resist/challenge/dismantle existing power structures and relationships (Rappaport, 1987; Gutierrez, 1990; Zimmerman, 1995). However, empowerment is more than just an individual experience. Both

80 Disability sport and empowerment Lorraine Gutierrez (1990) and Marc Zimmerman (1995) conceptualise empowerment on three levels: individual, interpersonal and institutional (Gutierrez), and individual, organisational and community (Zimmerman). Yes, there are subtle differences in their typologies, but the tiers of individual, group and societal empowerment are present in both and serve as a useful theoretical perspective, which I will draw upon in this chapter. While empowerment is not always experienced on multiple levels, there is potential for an individual to develop a sense of personal power, for this to then affect others and lead to collaborative social change (Gutierrez, 1990). And this is evident in the existing sport and PA literature. There is an abundance of research exploring women’s empowerment in traditionally male-dominated spaces including rugby union, tackle football and martial arts (Chase, 2006; Liimakka, 2011; Velija et al., 2013; Paul, 2015; Samie et al., 2015; Liechty et al., 2016; Sveinson and Hoeber, 2016; Lim and Dixon, 2018). Three of these studies (Liimakka, 2011; Velija et al., 2013; Liechty et al., 2016) conceptualise the athletes’ experiences of challenging gendered stereotypes as embodied empowerment: feelings of strength, belonging and resistance are all experienced through the lived body. As posited in this book’s theoretical framework, a lived perspective is also required when theorising empowerment through disability sport and PA, particularly when athletes challenge dominant notions of identity and physicality. Beyond the individual level, empowerment is also theorised from a group and community perspective. From local sport projects (Partington and Totten, 2012) and football fandom (Totten, 2016) to international sport-for­ development interventions (Lindsey and O’Gorman, 2015; Seal and Sherry, 2018), the process of empowerment is evident in a wide-range of sport and PA contexts. However, such empowerment requires a shift in power – which is difficult to achieve – and even then, practices that appear empowering may still be manipulated by dominant groups (Partington and Totten, 2012). These are important points to consider when I later explore whether elite disability sport empowerment can transcend the individual athlete and empower the wider disabled community. In the field of disability sport and PA, empowerment is a well-examined process (Hutzler, 1990; Blinde and Taub, 1999; Ashton-Shaeffer et al., 2001; Pensgaard and Sørensen, 2002; Sørensen, 2003; Huang and Brittain, 2006; Berger, 2008, 2009; Gaskin et al., 2010; Peers, 2012; Purdue and Howe, 2012; Moran et al., 2014; Howe and Silva, 2015; Swartz et al., 2018; Jeffress and Brown, 2017; McLoughlin et al., 2017; Lins et al., 2019). Despite this plethora of discussion, there is no consensus when defining empowerment. While David Howe and Carla Silva’s (2015: 202) broad definition of empowerment “as a complex, multidimensional process designed to enhance growth of the economic, political, social, educational or spiritual power of individuals and/or communities” is useful, it lacks specificity and does not overtly focus on disability. The authors capture the wide-ranging application of this concept, but a disability sport and PA-specific approach to empowerment is required. For this, I turn to the empowerment through disability sport model (Pensgaard and

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Figure 4.1 Empowerment through disability sport (Sørensen, 2003: 3)

Sørensen, 2002; Sørensen, 2003), which, like the work of Gutierrez (1990), Zimmerman (1995) and Hutzler (1990), theorises at an individual, group and societal level (see Figure 4.1). Anne-Marie Pengaard and Marit Sørensen also cite Gutierrez’s (1990: 149) definition of empowerment – “a process of increasing personal, interpersonal, or political power so that individuals can take action to improve their life situations” – as appropriate for the study of disability sport. I agree with their assertion: Gutierrez captures the complexity of empowerment and positions the individual as an agentic and embodied person. In combination with this book’s theoretical approach, I will use this definition to grasp how empowerment is experienced through a lived body. Whether it be the intercorporeal experience of being in a team or acquiring physical abilities and skills through sport and PA, empowerment is thoroughly embodied. To take action also reinforces the role of agency in the process of empowerment and recognises how athletes can challenge dominant social structures. Pensgaard and Sørensen’s model is a valuable starting point for understanding disability sport and PA empowerment. The mediators accurately capture the potential outcomes of empowerment and recognise the importance of motivational climate – whether there is a focus on high-level performance or not. Nevertheless, it has a number of shortcomings. While the selected moderators do affect the empowering potential of elite disability sport, a number of social identifiers are absent. For example, in the England VI team, the participants’ ethnicity and age also significantly impact upon their experiences of being disabled. Gender is an important category, but it is overly simplistic to only focus on just one social identifier: there needs to be a greater scope of analysis. And the most substantial critique of this model and other

82 Disability sport and empowerment such approaches (Blinde and Taub, 1999; Ashton-Shaeffer et al., 2001; Huang and Brittain, 2006; Moran et al., 2014) is that empowerment through disability sport and PA needs to be more critically scrutinised. There is clear potential for empowerment; however, in the context of elite disability sport, the reality is much more complex.

From sighted to VI sport As I explained in Chapter 1, I began my interviews with a simple question, “When did you start playing VI sport?” Because of the diversity amongst the squad, I used this question to grasp whether the player’s impairment is congenital or acquired and also their educational background. Although I had spent an extended period of time with the players in social and sporting situations, I never felt the need to directly ask a player about their impairment unless they brought it up in conversation. And I felt the same when planning my interview guide. It is important to know about the players’ impairments – as made clear in the previous chapter – but it is a sensitive topic that players may be reticent to discuss, particularly if they have had negative experiences of sharing their stories. In the context of a formalised interview, starting with a direct question relating to impairment may also threaten any previously developed rapport and make the interviewee feel uncomfortable. Instead, the question I posed was intended to put the players at ease and discuss something they would be happy to share. Despite my opening question directly focusing on VI sport, many of the players contextualised their early experiences in relation to sighted sport. For those with degenerative sight conditions or acquired VIs, playing sport pre-sight loss was a central part of their identities. And, through listening to their stories, it became clear that giving up sighted sport had made an equally lasting impression upon their identities. This reoccurring narrative theme is crucial in understanding the players’ pre-existing relationship with sport and PA. The potentially negative consequences of these pre-sight loss experiences will be examined later in the chapter. Terry, B3, who has a congenital VI, describes growing up in a “cricket mad” family and playing sighted sport with his friends throughout his childhood. However, when he reached the age of 12, he found out that he could not keep up with his sighted peers anymore: My sight decreased a bit and I wasn’t big enough or strong enough to keep up with the hard-ball. I wasn’t confident enough. And it was same with football; people were a lot bigger and stronger than me … I couldn’t see the ball in the air, and it became a real confidence issue. Both Bill, also B3, and Mick, B2, had similar experiences at the same age. As games became more competitive and the opposition became more imposing, the mainstream sporting environment quickly became a disempowering and unsafe

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space. Even if the players’ sight levels were stable, puberty meant that their peers’ size and strength were ever increasing, causing team games to be quicker and more physical: the ball was suddenly being hit harder and being bowled faster. As Terry acknowledges, playing sighted sport became a “real confidence issue.” The benefits of participation that he had experienced – both physically and socially – were now non-existent and self-belief in his embodied skills had diminished. Cricket had become a wholly disempowering activity. In spite of their struggles, a minority of players continued to play sighted sport throughout their teenage years, either exclusively or while also playing VI sport. Xander’s degenerative condition meant that he was continually changing the games he played, “I started changing what sports I was playing to fit around what I could see rather than what I was enjoying necessarily as a sport.” Xander, B1, moved from activities that required high levels of hand-eye coordination to other pursuits such as swimming and, in his words, more “contained sports” such as pool and snooker. He still swims and scuba dives regularly and explains to me how, due to a greater understanding of what he may encounter, he experiences a greater sense of control in water. Whereas a space with few physical landmarks – such as VI cricket – is challenging for a VI person to negotiate, the open water feels predictable. During my conversations with the players, it became clear that those who continued to play sighted sport as teenagers wanted to resist VI stereotypes and demonstrate their physical abilities. For Thomas, a B3 who played both sighted and VI cricket simultaneously for five years, it was the school bullies and Physical Education teachers that he wanted to prove wrong. Thomas felt he could gain their respect through playing sighted cricket: I got quite bullied at school for the VI I had, and I know a lot of the kids they said, “You’re blind, you can’t play football, you can’t do this, you can’t play cricket.” But then they realised I could bowl at sixty miles per hour as a fifteen-year-old and they were the batsman! They were a little bit scared; they were the ones who were scared. In this excerpt, Thomas powerfully articulates his struggles within mainstream education. He also demonstrates the significant social value that he placed upon sighted cricket; it was more than playing on a level playing field with his peers, he wanted to prove his physical superiority and found that bowling at high pace was an effective way of doing this. In the last line of his quote, Thomas then attempts to convince me that he had swapped roles with the bullies. Whether his description captures the reality of the situation or not, it does demonstrate the perceived importance of sighted cricket in reinforcing his physical abilities. Despite these positives, a near miss forced Thomas to stop playing the sighted game. Although the school had made adaptations to accommodate Thomas – including using a white ball when he was batting – he continued to struggle seeing the ball when fielding and this culminated in him almost being hit in the head.1 Up until this traumatic

84 Disability sport and empowerment moment, Thomas was aware of the danger but still wanted to participate. It is also interesting to note that he prioritised the sighted game while simultaneously playing a high level of VI cricket. This further reinforces the social value of sighted cricket and how competing with and against his sighted peers seemingly outweighed any potential risks. So far, the players’ experiences of sight loss have all come from those who played sighted sport when diagnosed as VI. However, for Rohan, B3, and John, B2, sighted cricket played an important role in discovering their degenerative sight conditions prior to diagnosis. Rohan had noticed a deterioration in his sight but ignored the warning signs and continued life as ever, which included regular participation in a range of sport and PAs. It wasn’t until his first week at university that he realised the extent to which his eyesight had changed: I was actually going to try and play cricket at university and I went along to one of the taster sessions you get at the start. I went with one of the guys in my halls and I was like, “Just to let you know, I don’t have great sight.” I said sort of jokingly, “If the ball is coming right at my head, push me out of the way or something like that” and that exact thing happened! I was on the back wall and then he pushed me out of the way and the ball, I had no idea it was coming, and it would have smashed me right in the head. Rohan was forced to re-evaluate his participation in the sport that he loved. This was especially difficult in the first weeks of university where interests and hobbies are key identity signifiers. Like the other players in this section, these realisations happened during a formative phase of Rohan’s life. In our interview, he explains how this incident triggered a number of realisations: he could not play cricket anymore; he could not join the university team; and his sight was going to significantly alter his academic and social life. Sport and PA, which were integral to his identity, were suddenly taken away. For the majority of the players in the squad, the time between giving up sighted sport and PA and participating in VI-specific activities was very short. John’s experience was not like this. Despite playing academy cricket2 from a young age, his performance levels were decreasing and, as he describes here, it was something he could not halt, “no matter how hard I was training, I was getting worse just in term of being able to see the ball and pick it up.” Due to his falling sight and involvement in a few minor car crashes, John visited a doctor and was officially diagnosed as VI at the age of 21. From that moment onwards, his life changed dramatically: There are lots of changes at that point of life, like really kind of … just changes that are quite challenging on a day to day basis. I was able to drive and then, all of a sudden, I had my driving license taken away. And I also then got told that I probably can’t play the sports that I love, all within the same sort of day. Yeah, it was pretty tough.

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For John, acquiring a visual impairment in his early twenties alongside the loss of an athletic identity (Sparkes, 1998; Sparkes and Smith, 2002; Perrier et al., 2014) and the loss of independence was clearly traumatic. Because he knew nothing about VI sport, John was restricted to training at the gym for four years following his diagnosis and quickly became isolated from his previous way of being-in-the-world. In comparison to those with congenital impairments or those who are diagnosed in childhood, the impact of diagnosis later in life is arguably more disruptive. In Rohan and John’s stories, while being unable to play sport may appear to be a superficial concern, their lives were meaningfully disrupted at an age where they were beginning to have a settled identity.

A big fish in a small pond: initial experiences of VI cricket Despite the plethora of literature examining the barriers to participation in VI sport and PA (Macbeth and Magee, 2006; Macbeth, 2008, 2009; de Haan et al., 2013; British Blind Sport, 2014; Jaarsma et al., 2014), there is little exploration of VI people’s lived experiences of participation. Only Glenda Jessup and colleagues (2010) directly analyse the benefits of VI-specific leisure activities, which include the development of social relationships, self-efficacy and resilience. Often these benefits and others – such as determination, competitiveness and success (Blinde and Taub, 1999; Berger, 2008, 2009; Lundberg et al., 2011) – are similar to the eulogised benefits of playing nondisabled sport. However, disability sport and PA seemingly offers something distinct: access to an impairment-specific culture. Whether through a domestic cricket club, a local charity or attendance at a specialist school for blind and partially sighted pupils, the opportunity to participate and socialise with other VI people was central to the players’ empowering experiences. Accessing an impairment-specific culture through sport and PA has been previously examined in the context of deaf sports and leisure activities (Atherton et al., 2001; Atherton, 2009). Although socialisation may seem like an obvious outcome of joining a sports club, it is of particular importance in a Deaf community where participants often “view themselves as members of a social, cultural and linguistic minority” (Atherton, 2009: 443). Sports clubs are a way for young people to assimilate Deaf culture and “dip their toes” into the life of the Deaf community (Atherton et al., 2001). For participants without existing ties to Deaf culture, because of their mainstream education or being born to hearing parents, it serves a vital role in their assimilation. VI cricket also provides a space for assimilation. Because only 25% of the English squad had attended a specialist school or college, for the majority, cricket was their first experience of interacting with other blind and partially sighted people. Before playing VI cricket, Clive tells me how his life without sighted sport lacked purpose and describes how he ended up “doing stuff that really isn’t that beneficial to anyone.” His outlook quickly changed when his dad spotted a flyer advertising a local VI sports club. Clive’s subsequent involvement with the cricket team impacted all areas of his life, “I felt a lot

86 Disability sport and empowerment better about myself. I felt more confident. I got myself a full-time job and it gave me that, sort of, there is something else… another sort of pathway.” His use of the language when talking about “another sort of pathway” informs us about the empowering experience of playing VI cricket. He found an accepting environment where he could once again play sport and learn new skills that incorporated his impairment. Sandy, a B1 who lost his sight in his late forties, found the social element of the cricket team particularly important in adapting to life after his diagnosis: It weren’t (sic) only the cricket, it was the surrounding things as well. Socialising with other people in my eyesight category, if you like, people who’ve had it for longer than me, people who were just getting it like me. It was nice to be able to see and talk to other people who are in your situation. John’s pre-sight loss experiences of sighted sport meant that he was comfortable in a team environment and, after being restricted to gym work for the previous four years, he finally had the opportunity to meet like-minded teammates: I think it kind of helped me on a social level in that there were people I could speak to about how it affects me day to day. Even if it is just making a joke about it, it’s just nice to have something in common with somebody. Both John and Sandy felt empowered by the experience of socialising, asking questions and sharing jokes with other VI people. Being blind or partially sighted can be a very isolating, individualised experience; cricket provided the social glue that brought this disparate group of individuals together. The informal, familiar context of team sport allowed these players to openly discuss their VIs and seek advice and guidance from their peers. The participants were also endowed with new shared identities as VI cricket players – this significant change in social status will be examined later in this book. Another important theme in Martin Atherton’s (2009) research is how sport and leisure clubs continue the role played by residential deaf schools in the formation of relationships and a shared identity. Because of the declining numbers of deaf pupils in British specialist schools – 78% of deaf pupils attend mainstream schools with no provision and a further 6% attend mainstream schools with additional provision (Consortium for Research into Deaf Education, 2017) – sport and leisure clubs are now bridging this cultural gap. There is a similar trend in VI education: 64% of VI children in the United Kingdom are taught in mainstream schools or mainstream schools with provision for blind and partially sighted pupils (Royal National Institute of Blind People, n.d.). As discussed above, if VI sports clubs do provide access to a specific culture, it is one based around mainstream sporting values. So, is this

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reflective of the sporting culture found in residential schools or is it distinct? To answer this question, I turn to the educational experiences of those players who attended specialist education.

Education and VI sport During our interview, Mick recounts the decision to attend a specialist VI school and the implications that it had on his life and his sporting opportunities: Well basically because I lived in a – can I swear on here? – I lived in a shithole, basically. I lived in a really bad area and I wasn’t really accepted for my disability and I was bullied a lot. I would get beaten up quite a lot and then I couldn’t really play sport anymore because I couldn’t really keep up. I guess, like you know, your education suffers because of those reasons and don’t really want to be in that environment etc. So, my parents took the pretty tough decision, I imagine, to send me away. It was the best thing that could have happened to me, absolutely definitely, because it opened up this whole world of sport. I was sport mad anyway, so it alleviated that frustration. Before moving schools, he was an obsessive football and cricket fan but was unable to join a team or keep up with his peers. After the move, Mick found he could join the various teams at his new school and, in fact, he had a talent for the sports he loved. Because of the residential nature of the school, he was also playing sport constantly and quickly drew great self-confidence from his new bodily experiences and excelling alongside more experienced students. Kamran, B1, also explains how playing football and cricket took over his school life: Sport was everything. It made me more confident. It meant I was more active; I didn’t put on weight; I was much fitter and I socialised. So much so that we managed to get so many people to stay that even the teachers were staying outside of school hours to play cricket with us. For all England team members who attended a specialist school, a segregated education meant that their sporting lives were completely reversed. The barriers of sighted sport were removed, and school sport provided an accessible outlet for their passions. Due to their success, the players’ performances began to be recognised. Brett, a B1 who played a multitude of sports at school, describes the prestige that the student athletes received: One of the advantages of having a segregated education is that you can be the big fish in a small pond, and we had all sorts of resources available to us for sport … it was great. You were suddenly this world beater! You were best in your school at this, that, and the other and things like that. There is a certain admiration amongst people to physical athletes, isn’t there?

88 Disability sport and empowerment Not surprisingly, the empowering experience of physically excelling and being celebrated fostered a particular attitude in these young men. Mick’s participation in sport increased his social credibility and further boosted his confidence: It was no different from any other school, if you were decent at sport then people seemed to like you. It was no different there, and I … was probably a bit cocky and stuff like that. I probably turned into … not a bully but somebody who was bullied into suddenly, I am a big fish in a little pond which I probably didn’t quite realise at the time as I thought I was a bit better than I was! Much like a mainstream educational environment, being successful at sport has a significant impact upon the players’ social standing. Through success and physical ability, the players also distanced themselves – whether consciously or unconsciously – from the rest of the school population and became “big fish in small ponds.” For Mick, the decision to disassociate from VI people was a conscious one. His initial experiences of living and learning alongside other blind and partially sighted pupils were enlightening: When I first went to boarding school … it sounds ridiculous, but my eyes were opened up to a lot of things – excuse the pun. I’d not interacted with other VI people before and I realised how normal I was when I went there. You’ve got guys who are poking their eyes and rocking around, it’s a security thing or whatever, but the parents haven’t stopped them doing it when they were younger which is just nuts. I don’t know … some of them were just a bit mad, a bit crazy and I was determined that I would never be perceived like that because I am not like that. As Mick describes, rocking and fidgeting are common behaviours in young blind people (Molloy and Rowe, 2011). With little awareness of corporeal social conventions, many children have bodily ticks and do not grasp the perceived “inappropriateness” of acting in this way. Alongside these behaviours, learning disabilities are also prevalent amongst VI people (Emerson and Robinson, 2011). Mick was adamant that he would not to end up like his peers and sport became a way to demonstrating his “normality.”3 During the interviews, other players’ frequent reference to being “normal” or acting “normally” is an underlying factor in their identity construction – which is something that I further discuss in Chapter 6. My theoretical approach stresses the inaccuracies of the able-bodied/disabled and sightedness/blindness binaries; yet, the players have clearly accepted these distinctions as reality. For those players who attended specialist education, being “normal” was not just about playing sport, it was about being able to live independently and function in everyday life. As will become clear, there was a genuine fear of not becoming like those individuals who, in Mick’s words, were mad and crazy.

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When examining the benefits of playing sport at school, I ask Brett if his early experiences positively changed his attitude towards his sight: BRETT:

No, the other way a little bit. You see people with more sight struggling more than you and you kind of think, “What does the future hold?” Because I was a young guy, you know ten/eleven, and you are seeing people in the sixth form who were struggling. So, I was thinking, “I don’t want to turn out like that.” Within the VI community, you kind of group people, you say there are “blindys” and “blindies.” “Blindys” just get on with it. The expectations on us are greater, we have careers and families and jobs and interests and hobbies and things. Then you get “blindies” who are trying to get by, and they are doing all of the sort of … stereotypical “blindie” type things. BEN: So, was it important for you to not fall into that? BRETT: Yeah, when I was younger, really important. Now I’m older, I understand that not everybody gets the same opportunities and everything like that. Whereas Mick immediately felt different from those students who displayed blind mannerisms, Brett, as a blind person, worried that the older students’ struggles would one day be his. Nevertheless, like Mick, he knew that he did not “want to turn out like that.” Brett makes a distinction between types of blind people: “blindies” (blin-dies) and “blindys” (blind-ys). These terms have a subtly different pronunciation which, because there is no previous written record of these terms, is difficult to communicate on the page. Brett is unsure of the spelling, so an attempt has been made to clearly differentiate between these two terms. He explains in a later correspondence that “essentially it is a them and us kind of thing” and that these were popular terms during his schooldays. Blindies are a group of VI people who are perceived to be fulfilling the blind stereotype while blindys move away from that stereotype by having families, jobs and wider interests. As a young man, Brett felt it was of great importance to not become one of the blindies and strove to have a “normal” life by meeting expectations that were placed upon him. However, this notion of blindness is not just based upon the meaning of particular terminology but is rooted in lived experience. Rather than merely being a metaphor or a philosophical prop, the reality of blindness was shocking and something to be feared. Both Mick and Brett, and perhaps the other players who attended specialist education, were taught to not be defined by their impairment. Through the attainment of “normal” social goals and participation in activities such as cricket, they distanced themselves from the blindies who were “just trying to get by.” When examining whether VI cricket is an empowering practice, the players’ reflections on school life challenge the idea that empowerment through disability sport and PA can be shared. Although VI sports clubs are a continuation of the culture established in specialist schools, this is not necessarily a positive. While Atherton et al. (2001) argue that deaf football is a cultural rather than a sporting activity, the same cannot be said for VI cricket.

90 Disability sport and empowerment Due to the multitude of differing impairments and no distinct form of communication, there is no comparable shared blind culture; it is a mainstream sporting culture that unifies the players. Instead of dipping their toes in a culture built upon shared heritage, they have been submerged in a culture built upon achievement and competition.

An embodied reconceptualisation of self Alongside social experiences, participating in VI cricket significantly strengthens many players’ self-belief in their embodied abilities. The experience of improving physical condition and, for the strongest performers, mastery of sporting activities underpins the individual empowering potential of disability sport and PA (Berger, 2008, 2009) and can lead to athletes incorporating impairment as a positive facet of their identities (Huang and Brittain, 2006). Chin-Ju Huang and Ian Brittain (2006: 366) argue that their study’s participants were “proud of being elite disabled athletes and of their achievement in sport through their bodies.” However, the authors undervalue the significance of participation: their experiences of sport and PA instigate a feeling more significant than pride, it creates an awareness of physical capabilities and athletic potential. Integral to the players’ experiences of empowerment was the competitiveness of VI cricket. Xander, B1, describes the thrill of being able to compete again after sight loss and how playing the game fulfils the competitive streak that he had built up through years of both VI and sighted sport: I’ve never not played. I’ve always played in some sort of competitive sport of some kind. So, if that had been taken away from me, I think I’d find that very hard. I am quite competitive in that sort of sense, so I’ve always liked to play in a team or against other teams or by myself against other players, you know. The competitive nature of the game was clear from the moment John attended his first session: I remember my first experience of it, and I went to Lord’s just to have a look at a VI cricket session and I was amazed at how many people were there playing it. The level of it as well and the commitment some people had made me realise that actually it was a bit of a life changing experience in that I knew then that I could play more sport again rather than just going down to the gym. I could actually go and compete at a decent level. As discussed earlier, John was restricted to gym training for over four years after diagnosis and he thought he would be unable to play team sports again. Although he remained physically active, the gym did not provide the competitive edge that he craved. The moment he walked through the doors at

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4

Lord’s cricket ground, John rediscovered an accessible world of competitive cricket. His visual impairment did not affect his ability to lift weights or run on a treadmill, but it stopped him from physically competing with others. The moment he found VI cricket, this central aspect of his identity was reawakened. The process of discovering/rediscovering physical abilities and competitiveness through VI cricket was a common occurrence and, through these early experiences, a number of players even experienced an embodied reconceptualisation of self. This concept draws upon certain aspects of reembodiment (Seymour, 1998), which conceptualises how disabled people rebuild their embodied selves after a crisis or trauma. Wendy Seymour’s focus is on how disabled people who acquire an impairment later in life – predominantly spinal cord injuries – rethink their newly “fragmented” embodied identity and “remake” it in a less restrictive way. While this is a significant idea, the author’s medicalised understanding of disability sport is problematic and does not recognise the empowering potential of sport and PA. She claims disability sport is for people with “damaged bodies” and the resulting sporting achievement “may constrain, rather than liberate, the achiever” (Seymour, 1998: 124). In complete opposition to Seymour’s approach, sport and PA should be recognised as the catalyst for embodied change in which disabled people can experience a reconceptualisation of self. Using terms such as “damaged bodies” – as employed by Seymour above – alongside constant medical intervention can internally affect an individual’s self-worth and reduce any expectations of their now “limited” physicality. But, through playing VI cricket, the players’ embodied experiences of corporeal mastery and success can lead them to re-evaluate their abilities. Such individual empowerment is rooted in agency and resistance of dominant, negative conceptions of disability – as posited in my theoretical framework. This embodied process is not just restricted to individuals who acquire an impairment later in life but also for those who are congenitally VI. Jatin, a B1 who first played cricket in his thirties, began to realise his physical capabilities when participating. I asked him whether cricket is a good way of accepting disability and reaching his potential: I think so. In the long term. The more you spend time in a VI sporting environment like I did. I was very scared, didn’t know what my future was but the more I spent time with VI people, pardon the pun, it opened my eyes! Before entering the sporting environment, Jatin was isolated and, in his own words, in a “little bubble” away from anybody else. Prior to attending an information technology course at an adult education college, he had not interacted with other VI people. Also, he’d no previous opportunities to experience his physical potential until introduced to VI cricket. There was no dramatic moment of realisation for Jatin, but a gradual realisation that he could

92 Disability sport and empowerment compete in the sport that meant so much to him and his family. Seymour’s notion of re-embodiment talks about a remaking of the body; however, in the case of Jatin and others, it was more of a discovery of what was already there. For those who had played sighted sport prior to sight degeneration or loss, the experience of playing VI cricket can instigate an embodied rediscovery of their talent. Terry, B3, discusses the impact that cricket had in understanding his own physicality: BEN:

Did it help you realise your capabilities perhaps? Yeah, definitely. I think it gave me a huge amount of self-confidence, which I am not exactly short of, to be fair, now! I think it definitely created in me that confidence in my own worth and my own abilities.

TERRY:

VI cricket was the catalyst for Terry’s individual empowerment; he gained confidence in his physical abilities and also his own self-worth. His re­ conceptualisation demonstrates the significance of an embodied approach to disability sport. The socially constructed expectations of their “damaged bodies” led to a number of the participants accepting a negative identity as reality. However, through their lived bodies, the players’ corporeal experience challenges their existing expectations of their own capabilities and transforms their perception of self. Central to many players’ empowerment is the closeness between mainstream cricket and VI cricket. In fact, it is the relationship with mainstream sport that legitimises the activity. Whether it is their previous pre-sight loss cricketing experiences (e.g. John, Rohan, and Bill) or the importance that cricket plays in their family lives or community (e.g. Kamran, Jatin, and Terry), a pre-existing passion for red-ball cricket5 is a consistent factor in choosing to play VI cricket over other VI activities. Mick compares cricket with goalball, another popular VI sport, and argues that there is a vast difference between the two sports: I do think it (cricket) is more of an achievement, definitely. Yet again, you are playing a mainstream sport that has been adapted and you have to, to a great degree, have to harness the skills that any person playing that sport would, in a mainstream setting, have to do. You still have to think in exactly the same way in terms of scoring your runs and picking your shots and bowling lines and planning your fielding. You still have to do every­ thing exactly the same, all it is that it has been slightly adapted so that you can play it. Xander also makes the comparison between his embodied experiences of VI cricket and pre-sight loss experience of sighted cricket: I think it is the closest VI sport to the real thing. Having played the real thing and feeling the emotions of playing the real thing … it makes me

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feel like I used to feel when I could see and bowl and bat and field. It really is the closest thing. Although he is bowling and batting in an alternative way to how he did when playing red-ball cricket, the physical and emotional familiarity of cricket is of great importance. The role of cricket in the participants’ lives has been discussed throughout this chapter, yet Xander’s quote reveals something new. For those players with an acquired or degenerative visual impairment and pre­ sight loss experiences of playing cricket, returning to the sport as a VI person can have negative consequences. His description of sighted cricket as “the real thing” positions VI cricket as a second-class version of the game and is undoubtedly a potential drawback of playing an adapted mainstream sport. By viewing VI cricket as inferior to the sighted version, its empowering potential is inhibited. For Xander, it provides a platform for him to “restore” his previously held conception of self. Andrew Sparkes and Brett Smith (2002) conceptualise this notion of restored self in their research with athletes with a spinal cord injury and explain how the participants – who all acquired their impairments while playing Rugby Union – attempted to restore their sporting identities which were disrupted through disability. And a comparable process is happening within this cricket team. As established earlier, Xander found himself going from playing sighted cricket to then playing VI cricket as a B3 and, finally, playing as a B1 classification. Despite his journey through the classifications, he still holds onto an independent, sighted identity. This is evident when we talk about receiving assistance, “I still see myself as a person with sight and I think that is the difference because I don’t necessarily ask for help around the hotel or help getting from point a to point b.” In social situations and during training sessions, Xander distinguishes himself from the other B1 players by refusing guidance from me, his peers and other members of staff. He is not aggressive in his refusals but clearly wants to retain his independence, even if that means getting lost in unfamiliar environments. This sighted perspective also underpins his experiences of VI cricket; however, he struggles to meet his internalised expectations. Rather than understanding the similarities of both formats as positive and empowering – as many of the players articulate – participating in an adapted version of his favourite sport creates unrealistic and unattainable comparisons with his pre-sight loss physical abilities. The practice of sport can magnify the distinction between non-disabled people and disabled people (Howe, 2008), and Ronald Berger (2009: 131) even argues that competitive sport “sets the bar too high for people with disabilities and encourages the able-bodied society to think that social reforms are unnecessary.” By attempting to imitate the values of the “non-disabled world,” disabled athletes are being set up for failure (Seymour, 1998). In my experiences of working with the players over an extended period of time and observing their skills first hand, I do not agree that competitive or elite sport “sets the bar too high” for disabled people. Nevertheless, in adapted sports such

94 Disability sport and empowerment as VI cricket, the players’ embodied experiences will always be negatively mediated by their pre-sight loss abilities. If an individual’s motivation is to “restore” their previous self, their empowering experiences of physical mastery and a realisation of embodied abilities quickly dissipate, and VI cricket becomes a disempowering, self-defeating practice.

Public exposure and media coverage Beyond individual empowerment, a number of players also emphasise how VI cricket can be used to demonstrate their capabilities to a public audience. When discussing the competitive nature of the game, Marcus, B3, reinforces this: BEN:

Was that important to show you were competitive whatever your sight level was? MARCUS: I think so. Just to show the people that just because you can’t see very well, does not mean that you can’t compete as well or better than fully abled or fully sighted people. In his opinion, participation in competitive sport demonstrates that VI people can compete on an equal footing with sighted, non-disabled athletes and even exceed their level of performance. As our conversation continues, he explains the importance of challenging existing stereotypes and educating the public in the realities of being VI: There are those who label you before they’ve met you. It is important to show people that being VI doesn’t mean that you can’t do what you want to do or can’t achieve what you want to. If you say the blind cricket team, people may have that conception of seeing those with no sight playing cricket, but actually if you get to know the rules, get to know how the game is played, you can see the levels of sight that are within that side and how well the game can be played. Throughout this chapter, I have explored how individuals experience empowerment through VI cricket, but can this ever be a shared experience which positively impacts the lives of other disabled people? Marcus argues that it can. Through the embodied act of cricket, players can demonstrate their wideranging abilities and overtly challenge dominant ideals, such as the hegemonic sporting body (Promis et al., 2001). This subversion of “normal” bodies (Berger, 2009) also allows athletes to reject being seen as “Other” and claim their subjectivity (Ashton-Shaeffer et al., 2001; Wickman, 2007). Marcus highlights that this game is not just cricket without sight; it is richer and more diverse than that. Because of the lack of public awareness, VI cricket could be an effective gateway to understand the diversity and capabilities of blind and partially sighted people. In the context of blind football, Donna de Haan and colleagues (2013) make a similar point and argue that spectators are prompted

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to confront their preconceptions relating to humanistic endeavour and physical prowess when watching elite disability sport. However, this is not just restricted to elite sport and PA. In Jessup et al.’s (2010: 426) study with young blind people, the interviewees’ participation in leisure activities allowed them to resist and challenge “prejudice, stigma, and lowered expectations.” The authors argue that the interviewees’ empowering experiences and resistant attitudes extend beyond these activities into all aspects of their lives. Their resistance also collectively extends into public spaces, such as community centres and local parks. And this is something that is also evident in domestic VI cricket. When discussing whether cricket can change public attitudes, Clive identifies the importance of playing in public and describes how their matches draw interest and inquiries from passers-by: Yeah, I mean every time, and I’ve played hundreds of games of cricket now, every time we play … most of domestic cricket is played in parks and stuff like that and people stop and ask, “What are you doing?” We explain it and they can’t quite get their head around it. It definitely changes peoples’ perceptions. I mean the international game is even more, it is quicker, it is harder, it tests your visual disability much more than the domestic game. Yeah, definitely, when people see it then it does change their view, especially if they are not used to seeing VI people out there in their everyday lives. The act of playing in a public space disrupts the normative activities which usually take place in those spaces and, in Clive’s opinion, this leads to a change in attitudes towards VI people and their physical capabilities. There is potential for VI cricket to challenge public understandings of blindness and empower VI people, but the instances of the general public discovering a game of VI cricket in their local park are few and far between. Clearly, these limited interactions are not enough to cause a revolutionary change in public attitudes, and this has been recognised by the England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB). As posited in the introduction to this book, there is a conscious effort to raise the public profile of the game through increasing media coverage and closer ties to mainstream, sighted cricket. And, as will become apparent through the remainder of this chapter, these changes are significantly affecting the empowering potential of VI cricket. For VI cricket to have an impact upon public consciousness and bring about wider empowerment, there needs to be a greater engagement with an audience beyond those who are already well informed about disability sport. As noted above, disability sport spectatorship is an active process that prompts contemplation of athletes’ abilities and wider disability issues such as social identity and equality (de Haan et al., 2013). And VI cricket does provide a unique and engaging spectacle, but it is the lack of exposure that restricts the sport’s public impact. The ECB do recognise this and understand the importance of media coverage in furthering interest and participation in VI cricket. In the

96 Disability sport and empowerment context of viewing disability sport and PA as a platform for public resistance, the greater the coverage, the more widespread the exposure. However, it is important that the coverage moves away from the traditional medicalised and paternal framing of disabled athletes: Terry discusses how the BBC were at a net session at Lord’s on Thurs­ day filming for a news item about the up-coming World Cup, and I ask whether this type of coverage has been commonplace in the past. Both Terry and Mick have been around the squad for a long time and have never seen this level of media coverage in a build up to a major tourna­ ment and have especially noticed a change in the style of coverage. There has been a concerted effort from the ECB to market the team as an elite national squad rather than just a feel-good, pat on the back story. At the practice on Thursday they were introduced to Lauren, an ECB press officer, who is travelling with the squad to the World Cup to document and communicate to the mass media how the team are pro­ gressing in the tournament. Alongside the avoidance of a patronising approach towards disability sport, other issues of representation exist in dominant media coverage of other VI sports. For example, de Haan (2012: 187) documents Paralympic football players’ attitudes towards media coverage and explains how the sport is continually portrayed as a novelty and “just football with your eyes closed.” Blind football was also infamously used by Paddy Power, the betting company, in an advertisement campaign which attracted over 1,300 complaints because of its portrayal of blind people and also animal cruelty (de Haan et al., 2015). VI cricket has yet to be portrayed in such a way, but this is predominantly because of the mainstream media’s lack of knowledge and interest. The change of style indicated by Terry and Mick in the earlier field-note excerpt is indicative of the mainstream media’s approach to disability sport post London 2012 Paralympics. This benchmark event was frequently acknowledged as a definable turning point in social attitudes towards disabled people and disability sport. Some of the players feel that London 2012 was the first time that the public’s attitudes shifted from patronising to respecting the genuine competitive element of disability sport: The Paralympics captured the imagination of a nation … it’s a rhyme, not intended! It was phenomenal and it was so well campaigned and probably, around the world, it got more coverage than any other Paralympics did because of all the T.V and stuff like that. I think people genuinely went to the Paralympics to watch good sport rather than … there was a certain element of intrigue, but I think people went there to watch good sport. That was a real good step in the right direction but whether that makes it lasting, or makes a difference, I doubt it. (Mick)

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Despite the jubilant atmosphere created by both the 2012 Olympics and Paralympics, Mick reflects that the shift in public attitudes was only temporary. When I ask about the potential for cricket, he answers, “Would VI cricket ever make a lasting impression on somebody’s life then no, I don’t think so.” Much like the myth of a post-Olympic and Paralympic legacy, perhaps this seemingly enlightened attitude change only lasts for the duration of the event. For VI cricket, the brief public exposure that the Paralympics receives is something that the ECB could only dream of emulating and further demonstrates the sport’s marginal position. India and Pakistan – the most successful international teams – have a significantly larger demographic of blind and partially sighted cricket players and even broadcast matches on television. Yet, the extent of media exposure in the United Kingdom is local newspaper coverage of hometown players, occasional features on Sky Sports News and match reports on the ECB website. In response to the limited mainstream media coverage, the ECB use their social media platforms – including their official Twitter feed and YouTube channel – to promote the VI national team. In one video, Eoin Morgan, World Cup winning England captain for the male, sighted team, takes part in a VI cricket session while wearing a variety of blackout shades. He also interviews two of the England VI players who explain the key features of the game to a mainstream audience. The video, which has over 400,000 views, attempts to demystify the complexities of VI cricket and challenges preconceptions of VI athletes – if such preconceptions do exist. During major tournaments, including the World Cup that took place during my fieldwork, the ECB use their official Twitter feed to post updates on the VI team’s progress and results. Because of the feed’s 750,000 plus followers, Twitter provides an unprecedented reach to mainstream cricket fans. However, as Terry explains, such exposure isn’t always a positive: So, the problem you might have with blind cricket, it that you see most of us wandering around and they think they are not really blind. There was a thing on Twitter which was one of the ECB photos they took of us when we were going to the airport … someone took a photo of us lot and everyone was giving it the blue steel into the camera. Inevitably, because Twitter is a hive of horrendous people, there were a few people who com­ mented, “How do they know they got on the right bus?” Brilliant, a great comic genius. And someone else saying, “Bless them.” And another person who, because you are marketed as the England blind cricket team, said about me, “Why is he playing? He is clearly not blind, he has got glasses on.” To which another person helpfully wrote “Well he is obvi­ ously the physio or the coach.” This combination of combativeness, misguided empathy and a lack of understanding demonstrates the difficulty in using a mainstream feed to share VI cricket information. Terry’s humorous description of Twitter users also reflects how social media may even serve to further confuse public understanding: 280 characters do not

98 Disability sport and empowerment provide enough space to contextualise these sporadic glimpses of VI cricket. And because the reach of social media is limited to its followers, the lack of mainstream coverage still remains. Media exposure is needed to increase knowledge and popularity of the sport, but this lack of wider knowledge is the reason that media outlets are not interested in covering the game. Without mainstream coverage, the ECB are limited in their attempts to raise VI cricket’s public profile. According to Sandy, this dearth of public attention will continue as long as the game is labelled as a disabled sport: BEN:

Do think it could break into the mainstream? Could be featured on Sky Sports? Could get it big crowds? SANDY: Nah I don’t think so. BEN: No? Why not? SANDY: I think the magic word disability is always at the front of it. And I think people will not sneer at it, but I think because they don’t understand, they will be thinking that it is a lower form of the game. Whereas if they came to have a look, I think they would be more surprised. I don’t think it’s ever going to get a big crowd. For governing bodies and marketing executives who recognise the marketability of disability sport and want to attract a mainstream audience, the challenge is how to commercialise these sports. It is not just attracting committed fans of disability sport but also the armchair sporting enthusiast who would normally watch non-disabled sports only. For the International Paralympic Committee (IPC) and the ECB, the answer seems to be forming close and irreversible ties with mainstream, non-disabled sports. While appearing to be a progressive step in the evolution of disability sport from a rehabilitative tool to a legitimate elite pursuit, the potential consequences of such advances will now be discussed.

Mainstreaming, professionalisation and empowerment In this chapter so far, I have explored the players’ complex and diverse journeys to elite VI cricket. In hearing their stories, the significance of VI cricket in their personal narratives and the multifaceted ways in which the players experience empowerment and disempowerment through sport and PA has been made clear. I now turn to the players’ experiences of playing elite VI cricket and investigate the significant differences between domestic cricket and representing the national team. Central to this discussion is how the institutional structures imposed by the ECB affect the empowering potential of the game for the players and, more broadly, all VI people. The moment I walked into my first England training session, I was struck by the elite feel of the environment. Unlike their male and female nondisabled peers, the England VI players are not paid professionals; however, the coaching staff expect a professional attitude in all aspects of the players’

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lives. During training weekends, there are regular fitness tests and urine tests to gauge dehydration levels before and after physical exertion. Personal training schedules are devised, and the squad are even provided with a recipe book that outlines nutritious meals and snacks to consume when at home. Alongside physical health and fitness, the players’ personalities are psychologically profiled, and the data are used to understand the different personality types within the team and how best to utilise their skills. In return for the level of organisation and access to high-quality services, it is expected that the players buy into a professional ethos of training hard, eating well, being competitive and utilising the support staff to improve their performance. The transition from domestic cricket to international cricket challenges the players’ perceptions of self once again. Their newly discovered/rediscovered physical capabilities are placed in a new, competitive context with increased expectations; they are now considered to be elite athletes. In an attempt to compete with the dominant India and Pakistan, the ECB have invested their vast financial resources into VI cricket. Alongside investment into the organisational structure of the sport and design of equipment, the holistic training programme is central to the ECB’s performance strategy. From my conversations in the field, the players and coaches are acutely aware that this financial investment may be dependent upon the continual growth of the sport and, most importantly, international success. During a training weekend, I reflect upon these organisational changes with an ECB employee and our informal conversation raises a number of significant issues: We discuss how a change in the ethos of VI cricket is needed to raise the profile of the game, in both the disabled and non-disabled sporting cul­ tures. He agrees that the new coaching team has been an important step in changing player attitudes and is reflective of a concerted effort, on the part of the ECB, to change the perception of disability cricket. Unlike the ECB’s relationship with disability cricket, some of the national governing bodies of other playing nations do not have official partnerships with the disability teams. He feels that to gain more exposure for the game, both nationally and internationally, is for it to be organised much like any other of England’s elite cricket squads with fitness testing, top end facil­ ities and a professional ethos. He points out that the official kit that the players are wearing on the field is particularly unflattering if the individ­ ual is not in elite physical condition; seeing England players with protrud­ ing stomachs through skin-tight lycra may be barrier in portraying an elite image of the game. To achieve their intention to raise the sport’s profile and reach a non-disabled audience, the ECB now organise VI cricket in a similar way to elite sighted cricket. Since the mid-1980s, there has been a shift towards the mainstreaming

100 Disability sport and empowerment of disability sports (Thomas and Smith, 2009) with organisational responsibility being passed from disability sport organisations to mainstream national governing bodies. In line with other disability sports in the United Kingdom – such as swimming, football and tennis – the ECB signed a memorandum of understanding in 2009 to signify that all disability cricket falls under the strategic development and delivery of the ECB (2009). This agreement has led to heavy investment into their four disability cricket programmes – VI, Deaf, Physical Disability, Learning Disability – over the past decade. Paul Kitchin and David Howe (2014: 73), who chart the mainstreaming of disability cricket, argue that despite the changes in the organisational structure, “the adaptation of the culture and values of the game towards true integration is still unmet.” They suggest that disability cricket remains segregated from the mainstream game and “true integration” is very difficult to achieve. In contrast to Kitchin and Howe’s (2014) findings, a form of integration has evidently taken place amongst the VI players. As the authors acknowledge, their study does not explore the disabled participants’ perspectives upon mainstreaming; thus, it is difficult to conclude whether the players adopt the dominant cultural values or not. In the context of my research, the players have unquestionably assimilated the cultural values of mainstream cricket and readily identify as elite performers. And, as discussed earlier, this assimilation is not just taking place in an elite setting; the players have been exposed to this culture the moment they discovered VI cricket. Integration is occurring, but it’s a form of integration that Kitchin and Howe (2014) did not anticipate. The mainstreaming of VI cricket has followed the precedent set by the IPC in forming an ever-closer relationship with the mainstream sporting governing body. Although my focus is on VI cricket and the relationship with mainstream sighted cricket, the context of the fractious relationship between the IPC and the IOC (International Olympic Committee) is a useful comparison with many similarities. In David Purdue’s (2013) exploration of Paralympic stakeholders’ reflections on this partnership, he identified the consequences of such a close relationship: both economically – one respondent in Purdue’s study termed it “a junkie-dealer relationship” (395) – and also culturally. While I would not describe the ECB’s relationship with VI cricket in such an evocative way, it is following a worryingly similar pattern of reliance. Yet, it is not an economic problem, the money being invested into support staff and facilities is benefitting the players and their development, it is an attitudinal problem. Because of my role as support coach, I was privy to and, to some extent, part of the coaching team’s mainstream approach. During a conversation with the assistant coach on my first weekend with the team, he reinforces their elite ethos: The assistant coach talks about the head coach’s ethos: to create an environ­ ment where anything is possible and to push the boundaries. When he took over as head coach in April 2013, he succeeded a coach who had very set ideas on what blind and partially sighted people could do, which meant that

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the players were rarely pushed out of their comfort zone. Despite having only minimal experience with coaching disability cricket before joining the VI team setup six months ago, the assistant coach feels that their role is to provide a high level of coaching and challenge the players to achieve their potential. Both the head coach and assistant coach are highly qualified coaches with extensive experience and knowledge of sighted cricket but, when appointed, had no previous experience of disability cricket. As the assistant coach acknowledges, their aim from the beginning was to create an environment to push boundaries and to challenge the players. This is to be expected in elite sport but needs to be approached with caution in a VI environment. Because of the players’ wide-ranging impairments, the coaches must adapt their approach according to each player’s needs. While it is achievable in a one-to-one situation, it is more difficult in whole squad training activities where inevitably those players with the highest sight classifications (B2 and B3) perform at a more proficient level. The separation of B1 classified players and the partially sighted players will be further explored in the next chapter. When I ask about the professional expectations placed upon them, the majority of players speak positively about the elite environment and credit the ECB with introducing these changes. Marcus recognises the progression of the team and the impact of the governing body’s investment: I think, obviously, with the ECB and where we are in comparison to a few years ago, it shows a progression of a disability side. We are in the same bracket as the first team. We have seen a lot more funding over the past few years, we have taken on a lot more support staff that we didn’t have before. For Marcus, to be in the “same bracket” as the sighted national team is significant. As evident in the previous chapter, VI cricket is played in an alternative way; however, by wearing the same kit, employing the same coaching staff and using the same facilities, the ECB are developing a team to emulate their sighted contemporaries. On the surface, to be treated like sighted elite cricket players seems incredibly empowering, and this was the general impression during the interview phase. Thomas demonstrates the positive experience of being in this environment: At the end of the day I am still representing my country and that puts me more on a par with somebody like Alastair Cook (former England test cap­ tain). We are playing for England, we wear the same shirt; just because I have a disability, it doesn’t make me any different. Alongside the access to high-quality facilities and equipment, there is a professional mindset and an expectation to succeed. These are important values to have in an international team – sighted or VI – but strict conformity to such values has disempowering consequences for certain members of the

102 Disability sport and empowerment squad. As made apparent in an earlier field-note excerpt, the blind and partially sighted players are expected to attain the highest level of performance possible and fulfil the idealised notion of a sporting body. According to Rohan, B3, this environment allows the players to demonstrate their abilities and be recognised as athletes: I guess that the focus is more on the professionalism, it’s not on being blind and I guess it is proving that “oh,” in the negative sense of the word, “I’m not just a blind guy, I’m not just a VI guy, I am a blind athlete or VI athlete.” By allowing the empowered players to incorporate their disability in an athletic identity, Rohan argues that a professional ethos draws the focus away from the perceived negatives of being VI. By affixing athlete – and the social connotations of physicality that come with that term – to blind or VI makes this form of identity more palatable. Rohan’s emphasis reveals the social capital gained through being an athlete and also the negative stigma of being VI. In adopting a professional attitude that incorporates athlete within his identity, Rohan can re-frame his visual impairment. However, despite the partially sighted players conforming to an “elite image,” many of the blind players do not. The implications of adopting an athlete-first identity (Rembis, 2012) in this social space will be further examined in Chapter 6. As the game develops and becomes more mainstream, it is those players with the least amount of sight who are most likely to be disempowered. When considering the empowering potential of this elite disability sport, we must recognise the significance shift in pressure and expectation compared to the players’ domestic experiences. If they cannot meet these increased expectations, their “limited” physical abilities are reinforced. Consequently, this focus upon success in combination with a medicalised understanding of the athletes marginalises individuals based on their physical ability, thus setting a precedent for inadvertent social marginalisation. Marcus has a different understanding of professionalism. He views their work ethic and high level of skills as a way of dissociating international VI cricket from other blind sports: MARCUS:

There are some sports that don’t have the amount of support or funding as we do and maybe they are labelled. As they are labelled, they like to be seen. They like to be playing blind sports. They like to be seen as that stereotype. BEN: But you think cricket moves away from that? MARCUS: Yeah. But because we are looking to be a professional side, I think we are looking to move away from that. BEN: Is it important to you that it moves away from that? MARCUS: Yeah. We’ll never forget that we are a VI cricket team, there is no way of escaping that. But, obviously, we see it as a cricket team, an England team, that we want to become better and become the best team in the world.

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His language is indicative of the negative impact that a mainstream approach has on players’ attitudes. Through professionalism, he argues that the team can “move away” from the other supposedly stereotypical blind sports and emulate sighted cricket. Marcus feels it is important that international cricket is perceived differently from other VI sports: it is, first and foremost, a cricket team. His claim that “there is no way of escaping” being a VI team illustrates how certain players want to avoid the label of partially sighted or blind and view sporting success as a way of distancing themselves from these labels. For those players who want to celebrate their VI or disabled identities, this attitude is problematic. And, while the issue of identity formation is the central focus of Chapter 6, Marcus’ attitude begins to reveal the contested nature of being VI within the squad.

Conclusion To conclude, I want to reflect again upon the discourses that are used when characterising disability sport and PA as empowering. According to the current and former presidents of the IPC (2015, 2018) and the United Nations (2011), elite disability sport is the greatest showcase for inclusion and empowerment on earth. It uniquely brings people together and empowers them in an environment free from discrimination. And this empowerment transcends individual athletes and inspires them to be agents for social change. This is an impressive list of claims which on an empowering/disempowering continuum would be at the extreme end of empowering. There are no grey areas: this is the greatest showcase of empowerment in the world. But what is the basis of their claims? Is this based on wide range of athletes’ lived experiences? Or is it based on the seemingly inescapable portrayal of disability sport and PA as a social panacea? As I said earlier, if we don’t expect non-disabled elite sport to be inclusive and empowering, why do we place these expectations upon elite disability sport? In this chapter, I have investigated whether these claims of empowerment are accurate and, in doing so, attempted to move beyond a simplistic empowerment/disempowerment binary. At the heart of this chapter were the VI players’ narrative journeys from domestic to elite disability sport. Their diverse stories were presented to ascertain the extent to which participation in VI cricket is an empowering act and whether such empowerment can be shared with disabled people who do not participate in sport and PA. And, in the beginning, it was evident that playing VI cricket had a positive and empowering impact upon all players’ lives. For some, it was discovering VI sport at school after years of struggling to play sighted sport with their peers and, for others, it was experiencing an embodied re-conceptualisation of self. In accordance with Pensgaard and Sørensen’s (2002) model, their empowerment was experienced at the individual level through a lived, active body; self-efficacy and confidence was built through the embodied experiences of VI cricket. By finding like-minded individuals with shared experiences, there was also some evidence of group empowerment; yet, the benefits of this empowerment often remained at the individualised level.

104 Disability sport and empowerment However, many of the players’ empowering experiences took place before they played elite VI cricket. This is not to say that the blind and partially sighted players do not feel empowered by the elite environment, but their empowerment is often at the expense of other less-able players. Elite sport – whether disabled or non-disabled – is a competitive environment that marginalises those who do not make the grade. Although playing an adapted sport organised by a mainstream governing body does legitimise the “seriousness” of the game, which is what many of the players crave, it also enforces a high-performance ethos that very few players can meet. Feeling like a big fish in small pond quickly dissipates and, once again, the players’ impairments and limitations become the focus. This demonstrates the salience of an embodied approach to disability sport: it is the social context and the presence of others that frames the players’ physical abilities and underpins the notion of empowerment. When considering if athletes can be agents of social change, the further that elite disability sport persists with the quest to emulate mainstream sport, the more difficult it becomes to view sport and PA as a way of empowering the wider disabled community. While some of the players interviewed were aware of the real-life issues faced by many disabled people, and had personally experienced these issues, the elite nature of the team has meant that the demographic of the game is one where the most able dominate and these players tend not to engage with disabled activism. The potential for widespread empowerment is clear, yet as long as particular players want to “escape” being VI through elite sport, societal empowerment will not be achieved. Yes, VI cricket does provide a platform to resist dominant notions of blindness, disability and sport. However, as evident in this chapter and the previous chapter, the embodied act of playing the game cannot be separated from the ECB’s institutionally enforced structure; it is the mainstreaming of the international game which inhibits the empowerment of VI cricket. For elite disability sport to be an empowering practice, the seemingly irreversible relationship with mainstream sport needs to be rethought. Howe and Silva (2015: 215) argue that for the Paralympics to be empowering, there must be a realistic understanding of what it means to be disabled so, significantly, “the sporting performances of Paralympic athletes can be appreciated on their own terms rather than compared to the mainstream.” This salient point was also echoed by John. When we discuss whether VI cricket changes dominant attitudes towards blindness and disability, he feels that this form of cricket needs to be understood in a specific context: I can imagine people saying, “We don’t want to go watch a blind cricket game, it’s not going to be any good” but if you kind of apply it, a kind of contextual relativism to it, you have to say that they are playing cricket but they are playing cricket within their boundaries. So, if you see it as that form of the game and not see it as blind people trying to play red-ball

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cricket, I think that is where we start moving things forward and accepting that it is a different game and has different people playing it who are per­ forming to the best of their abilities. As John suggests, acknowledging the “different” context of VI cricket is exactly how the game can both empower the participants and also be a platform to change public attitudes. This perspective allows for an appreciation of the players’ physical abilities displayed during a match but does not devalue VI cricket as a sideshow in comparison to the sighted version. Nevertheless, “contextual relativism” is unattainable if the VI players are wearing the same kit as the sighted teams and playing at the same prestigious venues. These tangible ties to mainstream cricket make it extremely difficult to recognise the two formats as separate entities. Consequently, for a public audience and, more importantly, for the players, VI cricket will always be in the shadow of the sighted game.

Notes 1 In sighted cricket, it is common practice for the batsman to wear a protective helmet. At times, the wicket-keeper and fielders close to the batsman will also wear a helmet. In VI cricket, the batsman does not usually wear a helmet; however, B1 fielders who are close to the batsman will often wear additional protection, including a helmet. On this occasion, Thomas was not wearing any protection. 2 English cricket is organised into county teams (i.e. Hampshire, Sussex, Surrey etc.). Each county has a first XI, a second XI and also a plethora of representative age group teams for both male and female players. “Academy” is a collective term often used to describe the representative age group teams. 3 When using normal or normality in this context, I have used inverted commas. This is a reflection of this book’s theoretical framework and its deconstruction of binaries, including normal/abnormal. 4 A cricket ground in London, England. Also known as the “Home of Cricket.” 5 This term is used by VI cricketers to refer to sighted cricket.

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108 Disability sport and empowerment Molloy, A. and Rowe, F.J. (2011). Manneristic Behaviours of Visually Impaired Children. Strabismus, 19(3): 77–84. DOI: 10.3109/09273972.2011.600417. Moran, T.E., Taliaferro, A.R. and Pate, J.R. (2014). Confronting Physical Activity Pro­ gramming Barriers for People with Disabilities: The Empowerment Model. Quest, 66 (4): 396–408. DOI: 10.1080/00336297.2014.948687. Partington, J. and Totten, M. (2012). Community Sports Projects and Effective Community Empowerment: A Case Study in Rochdale. Managing Leisure, 17(1): 29–46. Paul, J. (2015). Sport and Bodily Empowerment: Female Athletes’ Experiences with Roller Derby, Mixed Martial Arts, and Rugby. Journal of Alternative Perspectives in the Social Sciences, 6(4): 402–438. Peers, D. (2012). Patients, Athletes, Freaks: Paralympism and the Reproduction of Disability. Journal of Sport & Social Issues, 36(3): 295–316. Pensgaard, A.M. and Sørensen, M. (2002). Empowerment through the Sport Context: A Model to Guide Research for Individuals with a Disability. Adapted Physical Activity Quarterly, 19(1): 48–67. DOI: 10.1123/apaq.19.1.48. Perrier, M.J., Smith, B., Strachan, S.M. and Latimer, A.E. (2014). Narratives of Athletic Identity after Acquiring a Permanent Physical Disability. Adapted Physical Activity Quarterly, 31(2): 106–124. DOI: 10.1123/apaq.2012-0076. Promis, D., Erevelles, N. and Matthews, J. (2001). Reconceptualizing Inclusion: The Polit­ ics of University Sports and Recreation Programs for Students with Mobility Impairments. Sociology of Sport Journal, 18(1): 37–50. DOI: 10.1123/ssj.18.1.37. Purdue, D.E.J. (2013). An (In)convenient Truce? Paralympic Stakeholders’ Reflections on the Olympic-Paralympic Relationship. Journal of Sport & Social Issues, 37(4): 384–402. DOI: 10.1177/0193723513491751. Purdue, D.E.J. and Howe, P.D. (2012). Empower, Inspire, Achieve: (Dis)empowerment and the Paralympic Games. Disability & Society, 27(7): 903–916. DOI: 10.1080/ 09687599.2012.695576. Rappaport, J. (1987). Terms of Empowerment/Exemplars of Prevention: Toward a Theory for Community Psychology. American Journal of Community Psychology, 15(2): 121–148. DOI: 10.1007/bf00919275. Rembis, M.A. (2012). Athlete-First: A Note on Passing, Disability, and Sport. In J.A. Brune and D.J. Wilson (eds.), Disability and Passing: Blurring the Lines of Identity (pp. 111– 141). Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Royal National Institute of Blind People. (n.d.). Choosing a School. Available at: www. rnib.org.uk/information-everyday-living-education-and-learning-young-childrens-educa tion/choosing-school (Accessed 09.03.2019). Samie, S.F., Johnson, A.J., Huffman, A.M. and Hillyer, S.J. (2015). Voices of Empower­ ment: Women from the Global South Re/Negotiating Empowerment and the Global Sports Mentoring Programme. Sport in Society, 18(8): 923–937. DOI: 10.1080/ 17430437.2014.997582. Seal, E. and Sherry, E. (2018). Exploring Empowerment and Gender Relations in a Sport for Development Program in Papua New Guinea. Sociology of Sport Journal, 35(3): 247–257. DOI: 10.1123/ssj.2017-0166. Seymour, W. (1998). Remaking the Body: Rehabilitation and Change. London: Routledge. DOI: 10.4324/9780203201596. Sørensen, M. (2003). Integration in Sport and Empowerment of Athletes with a Disability. European Bulletin of Adapted Physical Activity, 2(2). Available at: www.eufapa.eu/index.php/component/docman/cat_view/11-european-journal-of-apa-/

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17-back-issues-of-european-journal-of-adapted-physical-activity-/45-volume-2-2003­ issue-2.html (Accessed 05.03.2019). Sparkes, A.C. (1998). Athletic Identity: An Achilles’ Heel to the Survival of Self. Qualita­ tive Health Research, 8(5): 644–664. DOI: 10.1177/104973239800800506. Sparkes, A.C. and Smith, B. (2002). Sport, Spinal Cord Injury, Embodied Masculinities, and the Dilemmas of Narrative Identity. Men and Masculinities, 4(3): 258–285. DOI: 10.1177/1097184x02004003003. Sveinson, K. and Hoeber, L. (2016). Female Sport Fans’ Experiences of Marginalization and Empowerment. Journal of Sport Management, 30(1): 8–21. DOI: 10.1123/ jsm.2014-0221. Swartz, L., Bantjes, J., Knight, B., Wilmot, G. and Derman, W. (2018). “They Don’t Understand that We Also Exist”: South African Participants in Competitive Disability Sport and the Politics of Identity. Disability and Rehabilitation, 40(1): 35–41. DOI: 10.1080/09638288.2016.1242171. Thomas, N. and Smith, A. (2009). Disability, Sport and Society: An Introduction. London: Routledge. DOI: 10.4324/9780203099360. Totten, M. (2016). Football and Community Empowerment: How FC Sankt Pauli Fans Organize to Influence. Soccer and Society, 17(5): 703–720. DOI: 10.4324/ 9781315112169-5. United Nations. (2011). Panel Discussion on Sports for Inclusive Development: Sports, Disability and Development. Available at: https://www.un.org/development/desa/disabil ities/panel-discussion-on-sports-for-inclusive-development-sports-disability-and-develop ment-key-to-empowerment-of-persons-with-disabilities-and-their-communities-27-june­ 2011-1-15-to-2-30-p-m-confer.html (Accessed 02.03.2019). Velija, P., Mierzwinski, M. and Fortune, L. (2013). “It Made Me Feel Powerful”: Women’s Gendered Embodiment and Physical Empowerment in the Martial Arts. Leisure Studies, 32(5): 524–541. DOI: 10.1080/02614367.2012.696128. Wedgewood, N. (2013). Hahn versus Guttmann: Revisiting ‘Sports and the Political Move­ ment of Disabled Persons’. Disability & Society, 29(1): 129–142. DOI: 10.1080/ 09687599.2013.776488. Wickman, K. (2007). “I Do Not Compete in Disability”: How Wheelchair Athletes Chal­ lenge the Discourse of Able-ism through Action and Resistance. European Journal for Sport and Society, 4(2): 151–167. DOI: 10.1080/16138171.2007.11687801. Zimmerman, M.A. (1995). Psychological Empowerment: Issues and Illustrations. Ameri­ can Journal of Community Psychology, 23(5): 581–599. DOI: 10.1007/bf02506983.

5

Classification and the hierarchy of sight: valorisation of disabled sporting bodies

“Why did you not come when I called you?” said the blind man. “Must you be led like a child? Cannot you hear the path as you walk?” Nuñez laughed. “I can see it,” he said. “There is no such word as see,” said the blind man, after a pause. “Cease this folly and follow the sound of my feet.” Nuñez followed, a little annoyed. “My time will come,” he said. “You’ll learn,” the blind man answered. “There is much to learn in the world.” “Has no one told you, ‘In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King?’” “What is blind?” asked the blind man, carelessly, over his shoulder. H.G Wells (1911: 628) The Country of the Blind

H.G Well’s short story “The Country of the Blind” begins with Nuñez, a sighted mountaineer, attempting to summit an unconquered peak in the Ecuadorian mountains. During the ill-fated assent, he loses his footing and plummets a thousand feet below. Nuñez miraculously survives the fall unscathed and finds himself down a previously unexplored side of the mountain. In the far distance, he spots a narrow, shut-in valley which, as he finds out later, is inhabited by the lost Country of the Blind. The story then follows Nuñez’s trek and subsequent arrival in this new world. Upon entering the Country of the Blind, he remembers the legend that had been passed down from generation to generation and begins to repeat a proverb to himself, “In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King.” This brings him comfort and quickly turns into a refrain that he clings to throughout the story. As evident in the excerpt above, Nuñez uses this idiom to simultaneously assert his power and question the wisdom of his blind companions. The remainder of Well’s tale is a fantastic skewering of Nuñez’s belligerent attitude: he fails in his attempts to be King of the Blind and ends up submitting to their ways. He even agrees to have his eyes removed to cure his idiocy and delusions but, before the procedure can take place, he flees the valley never to return. So, why have I started this chapter with an excerpt from The Country of the Blind? And what does it have to do with visually impaired (VI) cricket? Firstly,

Classification and the hierarchy of sight 111 Nuñez’s naive understanding of sightedness and blindness reflects the dominant social attitudes that we have encountered in this book’s previous chapters. As Nuñez quickly discovers, there are multiple ways of being-in-the-world and of living in a community, but he still persists with his reliance upon sight. Nuñez’s presumptions are clear: his way of being is superior because he has sight and is insistent that the inhabitants follow him. Secondly, the idiom at the centre of this short story “In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King” is also evident in this VI cricket team. During the interview phase of my fieldwork, Clive even repeats this idiom in describing the relationship between the blind (B1) and the partially sighted (B2 and B3) players. His choice of idiom stuck with me: to be King infers a high level of social power and influence over one’s subjects which, in this case, are his blind teammates. While I discuss the context of his quote in more depth later, it is important to make clear the players and coaches’ distinction between two social groups – the B1s and the Partials – from the beginning of this chapter. The formation of these groups is underpinned by two interdependent processes: classification and valorisation. In fact, being classified and the resulting social value assigned to individuals because of their classification are integral to all elite disability sports. While classification is an official, institutionally ratified process, valorisation – or the act of giving or assigning value – is a surreptitious process which is enacted by both players and coaches. In this chapter, I examine how these processes enforce classification as a social identity and, through a hierarchy of sight, impose fixed corporeal expectations upon the players. Firstly, I provide a brief overview of classification in disability sport and contextualise how VI classification continues to lag behind other impairment-specific groups. I then focus upon sight classification within VI cricket and explore how the quota system marginalises players with particular impairments. I analyse how the constant scrutiny upon the players’ classifications manifests itself in rumour and gossip in which teammates accuse each other of cheating the system. In the context of this fractious culture, I then turn to the relationships between the blind players and partially sighted players – both on and off the pitch. In doing so, I explore issues of guidance, reliance and independence to gauge the discrepancies in power between these two social groups. Finally, I discuss the ramifications of a hierarchy of sight – a social order in which those players with the highest levels of sight are most valued – and reflect upon its lasting impact on the team’s culture.

Classification and disability sport Classification and the ever-changing procedures which underpin this process are recurring themes within the disability sport and physical activity (PA) literature (see Sherrill, 1999; Wu and Williams, 1999; Tweedy, 2002; Howe and Jones, 2006; Howe, 2008a; Beckman and Tweedy, 2009; Tweedy and Vanlandewijck, 2011; Tweedy et al., 2014; Vaillo, 2014). Research in this area predominantly focuses upon the Paralympic programme with emphasis upon sports for

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physically disabled athletes (Ravensbergen et al., 2016). Because of this, there is limited attention upon other impairment groups – such as VI athletes – and sport and PAs which are organised outside of the Paralympic programme – such as VI cricket. It also tends to examine the systems and measures of classification and neglects disabled athletes’ lived experiences of being classified. In this chapter, I attend to these limitations and hope to provide a novel perspective into disability sport classification. According to the International Paralympic Committee (IPC) (2015: 6), classification is used “to define who competes in Para-sport and to ensure that the impact of Impairment in each event is minimised.” Equity is the cornerstone of classification: it is an attempt to provide a “level playing field” which determines who can compete and how athletes should be grouped for competition. This notion of fair competition is in line with the dominant ideal for sporting contests (Jones and Howe, 2005) and centralises the importance of meritocracy. If classification works as intended, it is an athlete’s performance rather than an unequal impairment mismatch that should determine a sporting result. While VI cricket is a non-Paralympic event, it adopts the same IBSA (International Blind Sport Association) classification rules and procedures used in Paralympic events, such as judo, goalball and five-a-side football. As full members of the IPC, IBSA are required to develop and implement a classification system which is in accordance with the IPC classification code (IBSA, 2018). The sport classes of B1, B2 and B3, which are based upon the World Health Organization’s (WHO) definitions of low vision and blindness, are uniform across all IBSA-governed VI sports (Ravensbergen et al., 2016; WHO, 2018). And VI cricket is no different: international cricketers are categorised as B1, B2 and B3 and go through the same medical assessment. Consequently, even though VI cricket is outside of its jurisdiction, the IPC still has considerable influence upon the classification process. Because of the IPC’s omnipotent authority over elite disability sport, it is important to chart how their approach to classification has evolved over the past 30 years. Prior to the establishment of the IPC in 1989, disability sport was organised by separate impairment-specific federations known as the International Organisations for Sport for the Disabled (IOSDs). The four organisations – International Wheelchair and Amputee Sports Association (IWAS), International Blind Sport Association (IBSA), International Sports Federation for Persons with an Intellectual Disability (INAS) and Cerebral Palsy International Sport and Recreation Association (CPISRA) – were responsible for all aspects of development from grassroots to the organisation of elite events (Howe and Jones, 2006). From 1960 to 1988, the IOSDs and their predecessors collectively organised the Paralympic games with each federation using their own established systems for classification. While the IOSDs continue to act as independent governing bodies for their respective impairment groups, it is the IPC who have organised all Paralympic games post 1992 and other high-profile events such as the World Championships. Yet, despite this bureaucratic streamlining, a “cumbersome and complex” (Howe and Jones, 2006: 31) classification process still remained.

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In 2007, the IPC published the Classification Code and International Standards document. Its aim was to address the overly complex existing classification systems and provide a universal classification code. A decade on, the IPC’s revised document IPC Athlete Classification Code: Rules, Policies and Procedures for Athlete Classification (2015) was made effective across all sports. Prior to these codes, two systems of classification were used concurrently: disability-specific classification and evidence-based classification (Howe and Jones, 2006; Tweedy and Vanlandewijck, 2011). Disability-specific classification categorises an athlete’s impairment and structures sporting events based upon type and degree of impairment. In this system, competition only happens between those in the same impairment category, for example, ambulant athletes can only compete against each other. This approach to classification dominated the majority of disability sports up until the aforementioned IPC code in 2007. However, this now-outmoded approach still continues to be used by IBSA in all VI sports – including VI cricket – and will be discussed in greater detail later. Significantly, if there is not a requisite number of athletes to compete in a particular class, then events may be combined or cancelled. It is the most severely impaired athletes and female athletes who are most at risk of being marginalised (Howe and Jones, 2006), and it is the male, “least” impaired athletes who thrive. Evidence-based classification, or sport-specific classification, in which athletes are classified according to sport-specific measures of performance rather than the “severity” of their impairment is the system currently favoured by the IPC. This approach, which was first used in swimming, groups athletes with different impairments together and serves to reduce the number of “classes” needed during competition (Howe, 2008a). In order to be allocated a sport class – as outlined in the IPC’s 2011 position stand (see Tweedy and Vanlandewijck, 2011) – an individual must undergo a physical assessment alongside a sport-specific technical assessment during which the athlete executes specific tasks and activities fundamental to their discipline. An additional observational assessment using video or photography may also be used. Due to its evidence-based methodology and focus upon the athletes’ abilities/ limitations in a sporting context, the IPC believe that this is a more effective way of classifying athletes. Despite this, there are still underlying issues with this system. Sean Tweedy and colleagues (2014) discuss the two greatest challenges when implementing an evidence-based system. Firstly, how athletes may choose to exaggerate the severity of their impairment during testing – known as intentional misrepresentation (IM) – to be placed in a sporting class with more severely impaired athletes. Secondly, the potential impact of training upon specific impairment types. In improving their range of movement or strength through training, an athlete should not be penalised by being moved into a class with less severely impaired athletes; a well-trained athlete may find themselves at a disadvantage. In the context of VI sport, evidence-based sport-specific classification has yet to be realised and disability-specific classification remains dominant (Mann and

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Ravensbergen, 2018). Currently, assessment across all VI sports is based solely upon the two main measures of sight – visual acuity and visual field – and lacks any sport-specific measures of performance. As Rianne Ravensbergen and colleagues (2016: 390) acknowledge, this medicalised approach does not meet the IPC’s stated aim to minimise the impact of impairment upon competition. Subsequently, the creation of VI evidenced-based systems is a priority, with a number of research projects in development (see Ravensbergen et al., 2018; Krabben et al., 2019). In 2018, the IPC and IBSA published a joint position stand in which they outline a number of key issues in VI classification – including procedures for vision testing, the role of visual function and the impact of congenital/acquired VIs – and consider three models for sport-specific assessment (Mann and Ravensbergen, 2018). This position stand reinforces the complexities of an evidence-based system and the different challenges that each sport presents in developing a heterogeneous approach to classification. In their closing remarks, the authors also make an interesting and somewhat pointed comment: VI athletes are very accustomed to their present system and some may be resistant to change, particularly those who benefit from the current system. Education is required to ensure that all athletes are aware of the purpose of sport-specific classification and the long-term benefits to all athletes. Even the best evidence-based system of classification will not be successful if it is not accepted by the athletes for whom the new system is designed to help. (Mann and Ravensbergen, 2018: 2022) Alongside the procedural complexities of VI classification, there are also the athletes’ opinions and attitudes to contend with. It appears that David Mann and Rianne Ravensbergen are anticipating a mixed reception for an evidence-based system, particularly from those who benefit from the current system. It is a statement which seems to apportion a degree of blame upon current VI athletes and suggests it is in their best interest to accept a new system. This unhelpful characterisation of athletes is typical of the existing disability sport and classification literature. While the authors do reflect the general mistrust around classification, this is predominantly the fault of a system which is not fit-for-purpose rather than the fault of athletes. Rather than speaking for athletes or providing limited representation through Delphi studies, athletes and their lived experiences need to be at the centre of classification research (Powis and Macbeth, 2019). Apart from my aforementioned work with Jess Macbeth, which I draw upon in this chapter, there is a dearth of social scientific research into disability sport classification. Only David Howe (2008a) and Danielle Peers (2012), who provide first-hand accounts of classification, articulate the medicalised and sometimes dehumanising experience of being classified for elite disability sport. In one autoethnographic vignette, Howe (2008a: 503) describes feeling like an object of medical science and being treated “as a specimen pickled in formaldehyde and placed on a shelf in a biology

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classroom.” While such bodily intrusion is commonplace in all elite level sports, such as drug testing (Dunn et al., 2010) or sex testing (Dworkin and Cooky, 2012), disabled athletes’ abilities are under constant scrutiny. Peers (2012: 181) also articulates her experience of objectification and documents her journey from being spotted as a potential Paralympic athlete through to the combative classification meetings and assessments. Her description of her medical examination is particularly powerful, “The examination functions by rendering a subject’s body and actions hyper-visible to the expert, thereby enabling the subject to be more easily and thoroughly judged, documented, diagnosed, objectified, classified, and as a result, disciplined, treated and normalised.” Due to the reinforcement of the diagnosis, Peers finds herself continually trying to justify her “correct” classification and feels under constant surveillance from all around her. In fact, this reductive process is one of the major reasons why disability rights movements have distanced themselves from elite sport (Howe, 2008b). And, as is evident in the remainder of this chapter, while a sight test may not be as invasive as other forms of assessment, VI athletes still experience the same level of scrutiny and objectification as other elite disabled athletes.

To B (1–3) or not to be, that is the question In preparation for my research, I spent some time developing my understanding of sight classification in VI cricket. Despite getting to grips with acuity, LogMar and field, my procedural knowledge did not prepare me for how integral classification and sport classes are to this social space. From an outsider perspective, classification appears to be a medicalised process necessary for competition; however, once on the “inside,” it became clear that this process has unintended social consequences. Because of the build-up to the 2015 World Cup, discussions of classification were inescapable: support staff reminding players to update their sight certificates; players complaining about the inconvenience of yet another ophthalmologist appointment; coaches reflecting upon the balance of the squad and strategising how best to manage the quota system. Classification also pervades the discourse adopted by the players and coaches. Players are commonly identified by their sports class and, significantly, they also identify with these labels: to be a B1, B2 or B3 is an established social identity. This use of original terminology is commonplace in disability sport and PA: Communities of adaptive, wheelchair, and Paralympic sport have also created terminology to describe their specific identities, embodiments, and capacities, which may or may not correspond to terms used in communities outside of sport or within other sport contexts. (Peers et al., 2014: 276) As Peers et al. recognise, such terminology may be specific to the sporting context. Unlike other popular VI sports – such as football (two versions: blind football and partially sighted football), athletics and goalball – cricket is the only sport in which

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blind and partially sighted athletes compete on the same team, and the terminology reflects this. As explained earlier, rather than using blind or partially sighted, the B1s and the Partials are used to signify two distinct groups. Consequently, the adoption of these social identifiers leads to pervasive and detrimental embodied expectations. Due to the classification quota systems explained in Chapter 1, there is great competition for starting positions and players are required to meet expectations – especially those athletes in the B3 class. Rohan, B3, talks about the pressures of meeting the demands imposed upon a B3: It is frustrating for me, like when we were out in South Africa, I’m a B3 so I field on the boundary. So, I think, because I’m a B3, I should be able to field on the boundary and I should be able to see the ball, I should be able to do this. I found myself sometimes getting really frustrated that I lost the ball. Rohan acknowledges that all players are under pressure to perform, but, due to their relatively high levels of sight, the expectation upon B3 classified players is to do significantly more than their teammates. When scrutinising his own visual acuity, Rohan demonstrates a form of self-surveillance by repeatedly saying, “I should be able ….” He has learnt that the B3s need to be able to field in the deep because no-one else can and is frustrated when he cannot meet the embodied expectations reinforced by team management, coaches and the players themselves. These embodied expectations are also present within the B1 class; however, there is a distinct difference. A number of B1 classified players seek to limit expectations and, in doing so, reinforce the status quo. Jatin, B1, accuses both opposition and teammates of cheating the classification system – as will be further explored later – and qualifies his accusations with a simple argument, “I’m not being bitter, but that is how it is. I know my capacity and I play like a B1. I’m a steady player, but I am not outstanding.” According to Jatin, B1s should play in a certain way and, if these expectations are breached, rather than recognising a teammate’s talent or hard work, there must be some form of foulplay. An elite sporting environment should be the place where physical boundaries are challenged but certain players are not willing to accept such advances in performance. And crucially, despite sport classes being social constructions, the players accept these parameters of performance as a reality: You do think if you’ve got a B3 coming in then straight away they have to do something good, whether that is scoring runs or bowling, because there are no excuses. I suppose there is a perception of if you are B3 then you’ve got to be doing something to a really high standard. If you are B2, to a good standard is alright, and if you are B1 then if you are getting with the ball then brilliant. (Clive) These stereotypes are so engrained that players place unrealistic or limited demands upon their corporeal abilities. In the above quote, Clive’s use of “excuses” is

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revealing. As a B3, the “excuse” of impairment is no longer seen as a legitimate limitation upon performance; whereas, as a B1, any contribution to the game – no matter how basic – is seemingly an achievement. Although Clive later stresses that B1–B3 are sight classifications rather than playing classifications, this is not apparent during my fieldwork: B1–B3 are simultaneously sight classifications, playing classifications and social classifications. As discussed earlier, these binary distinctions between the classes are exacerbated by a “one-size-fits-all” system that does not account for visual diversity within each class or visual demands of different sports (Ravensbergen et al., 2016). While classification discrepancies are evident in partially sighted football (see Macbeth, 2008, 2009; Powis and Macbeth, 2019) and other VI sports, it is VI cricket and its unique mix of blind and partially sighted players which most acutely bring these issues to the fore. But isn’t variation in athletes’ abilities and competition for places to be expected in elite sport? In the previous chapter, I even questioned the presumption that elite disability sport should be an empowering level playing field while not expecting the same of non-disabled sport. Mick, B2, argues that marginalisation comes with the territory of playing international sport and believes that the athletes who are the most dedicated and train the hardest – whatever their classification – are the most successful. As discussed earlier, a professional attitude of training hard, eating well and being competitive is an important factor in selection. And, of course, having a high level of sight does not necessarily equate with being a high-level performer. However, due to the existence of a quota system, Mick describes a meritocracy that does not exist. Clive explains how meeting the player quota leads to the selection of those with the most sight: We’ve got four B1s in the field, so we’ve got seven partials. If one is bowl­ ing and one is keeping, then we’ve got five Partials out there and we need to maximise the area of the field they can cover to be the best team. Their sight needs to be on a level where they can pick it up. Because of some blind players’ limited movement when fielding, he argues that the partially sighted players must be able to use their residual sight and occupy as much space as possible. In the context of his earlier comment about player expectations and Rohan’s frustrations at not being able to see the ball, it is clear that the quota system serves to exacerbate these stereotypes – particularly at the top end. In combination with rising expectations and mainstream organisation, the existing players are aware that failure to fulfil their “roles” could lead to them losing their place in the squad. Unlike their partially sighted teammates, B1 classified players must wear blackout shades during a match. Wearing shades or a blindfold is a common practice in other popular VI sports; however, it is the rule that only the B1 players must wear them that is questionable. Due to B1 players benefitting from double runs, the purpose of this rule is to remove any remaining light perception and create a level playing field within the B1 category. It is important to weed out those players who use the sight classification system to their advantage, but it is

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contradictory to completely eliminate the B1 players’ small amount of light perception while still allowing B2 and B3 classified players’ full use of their remaining sight. When residual vision is removed, the disadvantage that a B1 player faces when competing against a B2 or B3 player is compounded. Xander, B1, whose level of light perception is greater than many of his B1 teammates, argues for the removal of blackout shades: I don’t really agree with the fact that you should have to wear shades to reduce what you can do as a player just because your vision is poor. It just happens to be, you know, before I started playing this game, this was the rule. These are rules and I play by the rules … I think it should be fairer, it should be fairer in terms of what eye conditions or … just find a way to let everybody just use every last bit of vision that they have. Being in the dark for the entire game can be very disorientating. As explored in Chapter 3, Xander describes how wearing blackout shades removes his “openness” to the world and leads to disorientation. Although some B1 classified players can perceive light, it is superfluous in comparison to the varying levels of residual sight amongst the partially sighted players. It is the contradictions that exist within the current classification system which need to be challenged. For example, there are clear discrepancies within the B2 and B3 categories where, due to their impairment type, a player can gain a distinct advantage when placed in the same category as a player with less sight (Powis and Macbeth, 2019). Yet, when faced with the same dilemma in the B1 class, the rules stipulate that all players must wear blackout shades. Because of these double standards, the players at the lower end of the sight spectrum are inhibited while those with the most sight are not. As we will find out in the next section, these confusing and sometimes counter-intuitive regulations – which are underpinned by an unsuitable classification process – have resulted in a team culture riddled with rumour, gossip and accusation.

Rumour, gossip and accusation As discussed earlier, classification is an inescapable topic of conversation during the monthly training weekends. In this competitive environment, players obsess about the classification of opponents and teammates alike. Yet, it is through my private conversations over dinner and on the train that reveal the extent to which rumour and gossip dominates with certain players being subject to, and also responsible for, peer surveillance and accusations. On one occasion, while travelling back from a weekend in Birmingham, two players talk about a shot played by their B1 teammate off the team’s quickest bowler. I interject and comment upon how impressed I am by the B1 player and one of the players retorts, “Yeah, he is the best B3 we’ve got.” This throwaway comment masks the underlying hostility regarding classification. During my time with the team, there are a number of remarks and jokes following a similar theme: certain players can see more than their classification indicates. Central to these

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accusations are the embodied expectations attached to each sight class. If a player exceeds these expectations, during a game or in training, they are subject to intense scrutiny. While rumour and gossip are often used interchangeably, there are subtle differences between these concepts: Rumors are unverified and potentially useful information statements in cir­ culation that arise in ambiguous, threatening and potentially threatening contexts and help people make sense and manage threat. Gossip is evalu­ ative social chat about individuals that arises in the context of forming, changing or maintaining social networks, and functions to inform, bond, exclude, enhance status and convey norms. (DiFonzo and Bordia, 2007: 27–28) Unlike the “sense-making” purpose of rumour – particularly when individuals feel insecure – gossip is primarily used to further social status while simultaneously isolating others (McAndrew et al., 2007). This is an important distinction to make. For those players who genuinely believe that there are “cheats” in the team, rumour is a collective attempt to verify their suspicions; whereas, there are ulterior motives for gossip. Within a sports team, individual and group interests overlap and, depending on the context, the use of gossip is both self-serving and group serving (Kniffin and Wilson, 2005). Whether it is the fear of losing their place in the squad or other motivations, I am curious to find out the players’ perspectives on the existence of rumour and gossip and whether accusations of IM are genuine and, if not, why do they persist? During the interview phase of my fieldwork, I sit down with the players and directly address these issues – and their wide-ranging responses are illuminating. Brett, B1, is the only player in the squad to be openly accused of IM. During a major international series, he made mainstream headlines both home and abroad when the opposition players and fans claimed that he could see more than his classification suggested. Brett scored prolifically – including a double century,1 which for a B1 is almost unheard of – and, consequently, his performances were heavily scrutinised. He was defended by the England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB), the World Blind Cricket Council (WBCC) and the ophthalmologist who certified his sight classification. When I ask whether such scrutiny is difficult to handle, he has mixed feelings: I don’t know, it depends how I wake up in the morning. Some days I don’t really care and other days I’m a bit pissed off about it. At the end of the day, whoever is on the field is subject to the same rules and you can’t be looking over your shoulder. Because the majority of scrutiny takes the form of rumour and gossip, Brett’s public experience of having his classification publicly challenged is uncommon.

120 Classification and the hierarchy of sight I discuss the subject with Sandy, also B1, and he is clearly aware of the existing rumour and gossip surrounding his own classification: SANDY:

Why would anybody pretend that they couldn’t see to play blind cricket? I don’t know how you feel about it, Ben, but I’ve had as many eye tests as anybody could imagine and want to have or not want to have. They all come back … the last one that came back was worse than the previous one. BEN: Do you get that within this team environment or is it just when …

SANDY: It is everywhere.

BEN: And I guess that doesn’t help.

SANDY: No … I don’t want to go too far into that.

Sandy’s abrupt curtailing of this part of the interview suggests his reticence in discussing this topic. He makes the point that he has been tested numerous times and is taken aback by the fact that someone would want to lie about their sight. Sandy, who uses a guide dog in everyday life, is understandably upset that some of his peers feel that his sight is better than he claims; being branded as a cheat by his teammates questions his integrity and trustworthiness. This behaviour is not confined to VI cricket, though. In the context of wheelchair basketball, Peers (2012: 184) found herself continually trying to justify her “correct” classification and was under constant surveillance from all around her, “Both my classification and diagnosis are debated by my teammates, coaches, adversaries and even fans. Everyone is an expert on disability and classification, it seems.” She perfectly captures the oppressive nature of her experience and Brett and Sandy’s experiences: scrutiny is inescapable, and everyone is watching. Although John, B2, does not directly experience any scrutiny from his teammates, he is frustrated that it exists at all: It f**** me off, Ben, to be honest. I hear it all the time. They are always having a moan either about players in different teams or players within our team or you hear it from different teams about our own players. It just seems to be a real culture in this sport that they like to have a moan and I don’t know where that has come from. I feel sorry for those people they are having a moan about … I find it just bizarre, just crazy and especially when it is your own team! They know they’ve been through the same pro­ cess, we all had to give in sight classification forms, we all had an ophthal­ mologist doing it, I don’t know why it is an issue. I honestly don’t! Crazy! Evidently, rumour and gossip play a crucial role within this team. Two interesting points emerge from John’s response. Firstly, accusations of IM are endemic in domestic and international VI cricket. John argues that it has always been an issue, but he does not know the root of such behaviour. Secondly, the accusers’ behaviour is counter-intuitive. Unless there is a genuine case of IM, to accuse a fellow teammate of cheating the system is wholly disruptive and

Classification and the hierarchy of sight 121 marginalising. Yet, there have been no official complaints or reported cases of IM within the England team. Thomas and Marcus, both B3, argue that cheating in international VI cricket has been around for decades and claim that players have historically taken advantage of the testing procedure, but neither makes reference to an individual actually being banned for cheating. Gossip commonly targets those individuals of a higher social status or a potential rival (McAndrew et al., 2007); however, within this team, the roles are reversed. As evident above, players with the highest sight levels accuse their B1 teammates of cheating with no clear individual gain. But it does serve an important function: to preserve the set social and bodily structure. The group’s norms and values, which position the players with most sight at the top, are undermined if the blind players can play as well, if not better, than their partially sighted teammates. It is in the interest of those with social power to retain that position. Gossip is used to defend and reaffirm the group’s norms (Kniffin and Wilson, 2005) and, in the context of VI cricket, reinforce the marginality of the blind players. When a player accuses a teammate within the same sport class of IM, the distinction between rumour and gossip is even more pertinent. For example, Jatin uses rumour as a genuine means of complaint and passionately argues that there are cheats amongst the national team’s B1 classified players. He disputes the fairness of the classification system in which all players undergo the same examination: But with quite stringent classifications from independent doctors and …

Nah, it’s rubbish.

BEN: Okay. What do you mean by that?

JATIN: There are people who go to the opticians and I can say what I see, can’t I?

If I see something, then I don’t have to say I can see that. If I want to get a certificate to my needs, I can control what I see and not see when I’m going to the opticians. BEN: So, could this be likened to other types of cheating in sighted sport like drug taking or things like that? JATIN: It is, it is. Well, yeah. BEN: Just working the system. JATIN: Yeah. Cheats will be in every … blind or disability or sighted, black or white or Asian, cheats are cheats. BEN: But you say the coaches don’t recognise this or don’t see it? JATIN: I would be very surprised if they don’t see it. BEN:

JATIN:

As well as suggesting the coaching staff are aware of this issue, Jatin questions the whole process of sight classification. He argues that by intentionally misrepresenting sight during a medical examination, a player can receive a lower classification. Later in the interview, he categorically claims, “We know who is a cheat and who is not. But what can you do?” While a player could give false information when identifying letters on the chart during a Snellen test, classification testing is more advanced than one singular

122 Classification and the hierarchy of sight visual acuity test with visual field also being tested. Despite the implications of IM – including not being able to drive – Jatin remains adamant that certain players are cheating the system. Coming back to his earlier claim that he knows his capacity as a B1, these rumours are built upon his unwillingness to accept that players can break the stereotypical mould of B1, B2 and B3: a cheating teammate is the only “logical” explanation. In this elite environment, Jatin’s defensiveness is understandable. Thomas, who claims to sympathise with the B1 players, explains how the B1s are particularly targeted: “It has been really difficult to keep them (B1 players) on board because it feels like we are using them as a scapegoat to try and eliminate other nations’ B1s.” Because of the double run advantage for B1 batsmen, high-quality B1 players have a significant impact upon results. This advantage is also the main reason why this sports class is so intensely scrutinised. And, while the stipulation that all blind players have to wear blackout shades should mean that any accusations of IM are irrelevant, they continue to persist. In response to the accusations levied at B1 cricketers, Xander, B1, argues that the real problem are those players who are classified in the B3 class and, in his words, “could drive a car but actually come to play.” Brett also echoes this sentiment and admits that he is unsure about some of his partially sighted teammates’ classifications: But I mean look I’ve got … if I was being absolutely honest, I’ve some question marks about some of our own players but the managers tell the coaches who they can pick and then the coaches pick from that. While these may be genuine accusations, it is an opportunity for the B1 classified players to turn the tables and accuse higher sighted players of IM. It is noteworthy that the three players (Jatin, Brett and Xander) who openly claim that there are cheats within the squad are all registered as blind. Despite being unable to watch the players they are scrutinising, they are adamant in their accusations. Although observation is a multi-sensory process, without visual perception, it is extremely difficult to gauge if a teammate can see more than they claim. And so, once again, there is little basis to these accusations. Unless a player openly admits to cheating the classification system, accusations can only be based on speculation. Rather than preserving the group dynamic through rumour and gossip, they are challenging it and, by doing so, disrupting the partially sighted players’ high status. When attempting to contextualise this behaviour, Terry, B3, argues that accusations of cheating are commonplace in all elite sports – whether disabled or non-disabled: TERRY:

There are plenty of people out there who consider me a cheat. I don’t know … again it is not reserved to just us. So, the deaf team constantly have issues with guys’ classifications. And (Oscar) Pistorius didn’t like the length of another guy’s blades. That is no different from …

Classification and the hierarchy of sight 123 Is that about being “too able” in inverted commas? No, that is just sport. Every hundred metre runner will tell you that the other hundred metre runner is juicing, every weightlifter, every bodybuilder will tell you that everyone else is juicing … BEN: So, it just a different form of that? TERRY: It is just competitive. If you are in a competitive environment, then people accuse others of cheating. BEN:

TERRY:

According to Terry, rumour and gossip are to be expected in such a competitive environment. In response to my suggestion that accusations exist because players exceed physical expectations, he refutes it by claiming “that is just sport.” By likening VI cricket to other elite sports and reinforcing its competitive element, Terry is legitimising the “seriousness” of the game. He also demonstrates how VI cricket’s adoption of mainstream sporting values – as established in the previous chapter – has led to improved performance, but to such an extent that particular players are accused of cheating the system. In a non-sport-specific classification system, there are no means to change an athletes’ classification if their sporting performance has improved. Consequently, those athletes who excel and appear to be “too able” for their sport class – through no fault of their own – will continue to be subject to public and private scrutiny. So, what is the underlying purpose of rumour and gossip? Clive feels there is a simple reason for this behaviour: Unfortunately, blind cricket is riddled with jealous people and there are people who will, anyone who does anything good, “Oh he can see.” Well how about he is just a really good cricketer and he understands what he is doing. However, it is more than mere jealousy: accusations of IM are meaningful social interactions. Whether it is the pressure of competing for a place in the squad, the embarrassment of being outperformed by a teammate with less sight or the frustration being having to play with and against players who have “too much sight,” rumour and gossip are used to maintain the status quo – both corporeally and socially. As discussed earlier, the embodied expectations of each sport class stipulate what an individual should and should not be able to do. If these expectations are not met, the player may lose their place in team; whereas, if these expectations are exceeded, the player may be accused of IM. Although rumour is sometimes used to legitimately address the ambiguities in the classification process, it is the players’ pervasive use of gossip which dominates. For the Partials, their use of gossip strengthens their dominance within their sports class and the social structure as a whole. For the B1s, their use of gossip reinforces the fixed boundaries within their sports class and also gives them the opportunity to punch up and target the partially sighted players – often to no avail. Whether it is individually motivated or for the “benefit” of the group, rumour and gossip play a significant role in this sporting space.

124 Classification and the hierarchy of sight

The B1s and the Partials When recounting H.G Well’s The Country of the Blind at the beginning of this chapter, I argued that the idiom at the centre of the story “In the Country of the Blind the One-Eyed Man is King” is also present in VI cricket. In doing so, I introduced the B1s and the Partials as the two social groups within this team. Although I had talked extensively about being classified as B1 and the differences between blind and partially sighted players, this was the first time in this book that I had introduced these groups. The clear distinction between the B1s and the Partials – which is another example of a binary mode of thought – is evidently at odds with the players’ sensory diversity (Chapter 3) and contrasting routes into VI cricket (Chapter 4). Indeed, the way in which the B2 and B3 classified players are subsumed into one partially sighted group demonstrates the crudeness of this separation. When together in social situations, the discrepancies both within and between the B2 and B3 classes are superfluous; being a Partial is all that matters. As this chapter has progressed, the existence and need for these social groups have become clearer. The combination of counter-initiative rules and regulations, high demands upon players’ abilities and the unique mix of blind and partially sighted participants has led to a divided squad. And, notably, this is underpinned by an inaccurate and marginalising classification system that defines what bodies should and should not be able to do. In this section, I reflect upon the construction of the B1s and the Partials and analyse how the members of these social groups view each other – both on and off the pitch. On the pitch During the first phase of my research, the existence of two social groups was not immediately obvious. It was not until I became more involved with the coaching sessions that I observed the disparity between the blind and partially sighted players: The idea of difference is reinforced when the group is split into Partials and B1s. The head coach has set up four nets on one side of the hall for the partially sighted players with specific playing aims for each net (pres­ sure bowling, batting with a bowling machine etc.). He asks me to monitor the nets and only step in if the players begin to lose focus on their task. His aim is to let the players run the session themselves; the head coach trusts the Partial players and allows them to be independent in their game development. After I am given my instructions, the assistant coach com­ mandeers me to work with the B1s in the other half of the indoor school. So, I go over to the B1s who are gathered by the chairs chatting and tell Jatin, Kamran and Will that I will be working with them – which is met by a cheeky Kamran comment and smile. I guide all three players together in

Classification and the hierarchy of sight 125 a conga line over to where we will be running the drills as the assistant coach brings over some additional equipment. While the Partials are dis­ playing their independence, the B1s are being given one to one support. The coaching staff must see this as the best way for the B1s to practice their individual skills; however, it continues the theme of separation. At the time, I felt this separate practice was necessary; but on reflection, the B1s could definitely have been included in the Partials’ drills. One of the motives for dividing the players is the head coach’s intense and fast paced ses­ sions in which the B1 players may not be able to keep up. Prior to the VI team, the coaching team had little to no disability cricket experience. Their ethos of treating the VI team like any other cricket team is admirable but is sometimes at the cost of the B1 players. At points during the morning, it feels like the assist­ ant coach’s role is to babysit the B1s while the Partials do the “proper” cricket. Until I took a moment to step back and reflect upon my role as support coach and interrogate the player separation, it seemed like the “natural” thing to do. Like the rest of the coaching staff, I had internalised that these two groups are inherently different and should be treated accordingly. These established “differences” relate to the players’ physical abilities and also to their independence and the required level of support. Nevertheless, while separate practice can be interpreted as a way of reinforcing the blind players’ limited abilities, it is not an issue of contention amongst the players. Brett explains that the B1s’ role is distinct from the Partials: The way we play the game is different and we should be coached differ­ ently. As I’ve said to the head coach, I think there should be a pot of money available for B1 players because we train very differently. Brett rightly recognises that the B1s play and train in different ways to their partially sighted teammates. Because of their reliance on auditory stimuli when batting, bowling and fielding, the B1s often struggle in noisy environments; thus, specialist training in a controlled environment can be advantageous. A different approach is also required when coaching B1-specific skills: Our role within the game is very different to what a Partial would do. Fielding positions, all those can be filled by Partials, but we field in very specific places so sometimes I think it (separate training) is necessary. (Oliver) Oliver, B1, then goes on to explain how he is required to field close to the batsman and describes how he quickly drops to the ground when the ball is hit and spreads his body to act as a barrier. This goalkeeping-style of fielding, which is also unceremoniously nicknamed sandbagging, relies heavily upon the wicket-keeper’s directions and puts the B1s directly in the firing line – with some resorting to wearing a helmet on the field. This fielding technique is in

126 Classification and the hierarchy of sight stark contrast to the partially sighted players, who field in a similar way to sighted cricket players. As identified in the field-note excerpt, the Partials’ coaching session reflects the close relationship with sighted cricket: both the drills and the style of delivery would not be out of place in any non-disabled cricket club. Thomas, B3, claims that this mainstream approach allows partially sighted players to develop quicker than their blind peers: Because a Partial can see, it is easier to demonstrate what you want being done. When batting or bowling, you can see improvement because they can work on it and they can see themselves what they need to do. Whereas with the B1, it is not just being able to demonstrate, it is being able to describe in detail what you are demonstrating or what you want. I think some people struggle with that element of things, so the B1 development is staggered and very slow. The dominance of visual directions and feedback in mainstream cricket coaching means the B1s are unable to access key information while the Partials continue to improve – further increasing the gulf between these two groups. Developing an alternative, multi-sensory coaching style is no easy task – especially for a coaching team that had worked exclusively in sighted cricket prior to joining this team – and, by the end of my fieldwork, the coaches had started to develop a wider range of drills for all players. But, all too often, they retreated to their “comfort zone” of mainstream, sighted cricket. Terry acknowledges that there is a long way to go before specialist, effective B1 coaching will be implemented: There is so much that the B1s still need in terms of going forward. If there was an area that needed professionalising, it is what is delivered for the B1s in terms of how their training is delivered to them. The only … a way of knowing that they know they are getting bespoke training is by having separate training weekends, which would be appalling because they have to be a part of the team. He admits that separate training weekends would be “appalling” for team unity but sees the potential benefits for the B1s’ development. His sentiment reflects the necessary balance between integrating players of all sight classifications while acknowledging the players’ diverse approaches to VI cricket. In the fieldnote excerpt that started this section, I clearly underestimated the differing roles of the blind and partially sighted players – especially when fielding – and misunderstood how segregated training can be positive for all players. However, it is when these divergent approaches prioritise the Partials that segregated training becomes problematic. Despite my praise for integrated coaching drills, it was during these drills that the unequal power dynamic between the B1s and the Partials became most apparent. At each training weekend, the warm-up and cool down are always integrated; yet these activities reveal a significant feature of the relationship between the two groups:

Classification and the hierarchy of sight 127 The warm-up is a quick series of dynamic stretches. A Partial player takes responsibility for guiding a B1, which always seems to be done with little fuss, and the help given does not appear to be an act of duty but one of genuine support. During the static stretches, the team gather in a circle sur­ rounding the physio who gives directions. The Partials are very hands on with their support by moving the body parts of the B1s into the correct stretching position if the verbal descriptions are interpreted incorrectly. At certain points within the warm up, and during the training weekend as a whole, it feels to me that there is a discrepancy in the power dynamic. Not in a malicious way that targets the B1s, but an underlying attitude of B1s being a burden upon the partially sighted players. This is only evident in sighs or the rolling of eyes when a B1 needs to be re-positioned in a stretching exercise or can’t find their batting gloves. However, the continual repetition of these acts at training weekends, domestic games or even in another country ingrains a hierarchical order within the team where the Par­ tials have authority over the B1s. While supporting a teammate during a warm-up may not seem like a hardship, it is the continual repetition of these acts which reinforces the discrepancies in power between the B1s and the Partials. And, although the majority of the Partials offer assistance to their blind teammates without any fuss, it is the fact that such support must be offered by a peer of equal standing which is an issue. This relationship between guide and guidee has previously been examined in the context of a VI walking group (Macpherson, 2009, 2011) and sighted/blind tandem cycling group (Hammer, 2015). In both settings, there were disparities of power in these intercorporeal relationships – but not to the same extent as present in VI cricket. For example, in the VI walking group, sighted volunteer guides attend the walks with the intention of providing guidance. In VI cricket, the interaction is between teammates with ostensibly the same role: to play cricket. Guiding a teammate to a particular position on the pitch creates a level of reliance that – consciously or unconsciously – impacts upon the team’s social dynamics. During tandem cycling, the sighted cyclist is seated in the front seat and is responsible for the direction of travel. Both cyclists fulfil clearly defined roles with the VI cyclist being situationally dependent upon their sighted co-rider. Gili Hammer (2015: 517) argues that this social dependency is unifying and that the “cyclists learn from their differences as members of a shared community, fostering communal relations of intimacy and trust, while initiating critical self-reflexive knowledge and an awareness of a spectrum of bodily experiences and social identities.” In VI cricket, the process of guiding does illuminate the “differences” between the B1s and the Partials. However, this is not a positive, transformative experience; it serves to elevate the partially sighted players’ social value. To draw upon another idiom, the experience of the blind leading the blind irrevocably changes how B1s and Partials view each other. When reflecting upon guiding his teammates, Clive argues that it is a necessary part of this environment:

128 Classification and the hierarchy of sight You know they (B1s) are relying on you and, like in any team sport, you’d like to think everybody has got your back. But you literally do have to have their back. If you haven’t got their back, they are going to either get hurt or left alone or they are going to disrupt things; it’s not their fault, but they need that support. You’ve just got to provide it. Some level of reliance upon a teammate is permissible, but Clive’s characterisation of his blind teammates is telling. Although they have jobs, families and responsibilities outside of cricket, he portrays the B1s as needing protection from harm. This patronising attitude, which reduces the blind players to burdens who need to be cared for, is also apparent in the way that some Partials guide their teammates. At the end of every over, all fielders swap positions and the ball is delivered from the opposite end of the pitch. This requires the B1s to be vocally or physically guided to their new position. Thomas explains his approach when directing teammates in the field: We try to eliminate having to mother B1s on the field because the pressure of matches can get to everybody and Partials are focusing on their own game. It can be a lot more difficult to continually look after the B1s, so we try and work it that B1s know exactly where they are going, here there and everywhere. Partials just get out the way and don’t collide with B1s. There are occasions where we just say, “Right, so and so is at third man, there is a B1 at short third man” and at the end of the over, you literally just pick them up on your way. None of this waiting around for them, it is literally pick them by the arm, you drag them, you pull them, you stand there and carry on with the delivery. For some Partials, their B1 teammates are proverbial chess pieces to be picked up and repositioned according to their tactics. Thomas’ troubling description of this process reinforces the Partials’ authority and reductively objectifies the B1s. Much like the medicalised understanding disability which reduces the disabled body to an object (Hughes, 2000; Edwards and Imrie, 2003), the blind players are stripped of their agency and thoroughly disembodied. However, to some extent, Thomas’ comments are understandable. Dealing with the individual pressures of performing at an elite level while simultaneously being required to guide your teammates around the pitch is an unhelpful distraction. As we will find out in the next section, it is this tension between being a professional and a caregiver which is at the heart of the B1 and the Partials’ relationship. Off the pitch The division between the B1s and the Partials also continues away from the action. During the training weekends, the B1s often had their lunch break scheduled at a different time from their teammates and, on one occasion, even had a timetabled slot entitled “B1 quiet time.” As Terry argued earlier, while

Classification and the hierarchy of sight 129 separation may strengthen the bond within each of the social groups, it does not improve team unity. The coaches claim that the quiet time is an opportunity for reflection – which is an important aspect of performance – but an equivalent session was not scheduled for the Partials. Because of the auditory intensity of indoor training, a period of quiet can be beneficial for the B1s; however, is it the idea that only one set of players need this which serves to infantilise the “most” blind members of the squad. As discussed earlier, the B1s rely on the Partials to guide them to the crease when batting or to a particular position on the pitch when fielding. This relationship is also repeated during the squad’s social activities. For all players, one of the demands of international touring is staying in unfamiliar hotels; it takes time to adjust to their new environment and grow accustomed to its layout. This is particularly difficult for the B1s. As made clear in Chapter 3, the blind players have proficient spatial awareness of familiar environments – such as their homes or a local supermarket – but the negotiation of a new place is a challenge and requires peer guidance. Both during the interviews and informally, the Partials share their frustrations with having to provide this assistance. Clive explains to me how they are expected to fulfil contradictory roles when on tour: You will class yourself as an international cricketer – if you want – and you are taking yourself seriously and then you’ve got to help your team­ mate out to go to the buffet and get his food or get him into his fielding position. You have to be very selfless, as such, so it can be an annoyance especially if the pressure is on you and stuff like that. But at the same time, the flip side, it builds a team bond that when the times are tough then you can get through that. When in a highly pressured situation, guiding a teammate is a significant imposition. For the Partials, it is the juxtaposition between striving for a high level of performance while simultaneously providing assistance which is the biggest frustration. In fact, the mainstream ethos which the coaches crave cannot be fully accomplished as long as this dual role exists. For Thomas, the obligation to support the B1s is not the issue; it is when their assistance is taken for granted. When discussing his past experiences, he explains how this attitude manifests itself during training weekends and international tours: In previous years, we have had players who literally want Partials to … what’s the word … serve them every step. So, we always meet up in the bar at hotels so it is like they want to be mothered to the bar, they want their drink to be held for them when they are walking back from the bar, they then want their dinner handed to them as they sit down but actually you are thinking, “This is stuff that you can do. You can hold your own plate, we can put the food on your plate, but you can hold your own plate and you can walk with us.”

130 Classification and the hierarchy of sight Although his frustrations are valid, they also reveal a lack of empathy and understanding for his blind teammates. A B1 may be able to carry their own drink or food, but it is a challenge to balance these objects with a cane or guide dog lead in the other hand. Mick, B2, who shares Thomas’ grievances about the B1s occasional over-reliance, also acknowledges the frustrations when this responsibility is not shared out equally between the Partials: MICK:

I think people only get pissed off if they’re always the one taking the B1. And it’s not because they don’t want to but sometimes you want to be able to walk down to dinner on your own and get someone else to do it this time. I think we share that round pretty well and the only other time you get pissed off is when the B1 is not really helping themselves … you know, to a point. BEN: What? Being over reliant? MICK: Yeah. I think sometimes it can happen but not very often. But I think some­ times it has happened and a B1 is too reliant and you are just like, “Well, you’ve got to do a little bit for yourself too mate” but as I say it is really rare … really rare. Mick identifies two key issues. First, going on tour or attending a training weekend can be a claustrophobic experience. The players are training, eating and socialising with the same people for a number of days or weeks, and it is understandable if an individual wants some alone time. However, if others are not willing to support a blind teammate, the act of providing support can become a burden rather than something freely offered. Second, if the B1s are overly reliant upon the offered assistance, the burden increases. Mick goes onto explain that all individuals have differing experiences of being VI and this impacts upon their expectations of support. I ask why certain players are too reliant and he gives me a number of reasons – fear, being “wrapped up in cotton wool,” laziness – and argues that B1s may be so used to receiving care from family or a partner that they will rely on others rather than making a concerted effort to be independent. And it is this characterisation of the B1s as vulnerable and needing constant support and the Partials as caregivers that reinforces the groups’ unequal social order. Many of the B1s also share similar frustrations. While Brett acknowledges that receiving assistance is unavoidable, he resents the fact that he also has to seek out help: So, within the squad then, I’m annoyed at myself that I then have to inter­ rupt someone else and say, “Can you get this for me?” and so on. For some people, it is a really necessary part. I follow this up by asking whether such reliance positions the B1s as burdens and he responds, “Yeah, definitely” and goes on to explain how the neediest B1s are resented by the Partials. Xander is also wary of the Partials’ resentment. He feels it is important to justify his place in the team:

Classification and the hierarchy of sight 131 I think you do need to prove your worth. I think I know because I am in a unique position of having been able to see before. And I think if some­ body asked me back then would I prefer to … I used to really get annoyed with the B1 players and I used to think to myself, “For God sake, can’t you just do that! Why just didn’t you do that?” But only now do I have the true understanding of how difficult it really is. Because of his degenerative condition, Xander’s experience of being classified as both partially sighted and blind has given him a greater insight into the strains that are placed upon the Partials. In an attempt to avoid being a burden, he adopts an extreme attitude to receiving assistance: I think I would rather fall over something or cause an upset. I would rather deal with the embarrassment of something strange happening rather than me having to constantly ask for assistance with something. As established in Chapter 4, Xander is vehemently against asking for help and wants to remain independent, even if this results in injury or wider social embarrassment. Due to his experiences as a Partial, he is actively avoiding becoming the B1 stereotype that was once the focus of his own frustrations. However, his aggressive stance towards independence can also create additional problems: being too proud to accept assistance can lead to the breakdown of relationships and negatively impacts how a team function. Terry understands why certain players want to remain independent, even though this is not always possible: We are all so fiercely independent and the more you let people do things for you then the more you surrender your independence. I can totally understand why the B1s don’t want people doing things for them. But, again, it is being reasonable and when you are doing a warmup, everyone needs to do it together and actually you need to grab hold of someone, so you are in a line. Earlier, I described the warm-up as an activity that requires the Partials’ assistance; certain drills require running in unison from one set of cones to another and, as Terry explains, the B1s have to be guided so they do not veer into their teammates and cause injury. No matter how “fiercely” independence is fought for, VI cricket will always be a sport that demands peer guidance. And this in itself is not an issue. The issue stems from how the players interpret the act of offering and receiving assistance. If being assisted is a surrendering of independence, those who seek support will be seen as subordinate and those providing support will have authority. When I ask whether the Partials are more highly valued in the squad, Sandy acknowledges a feeling of inferiority during social situations with his teammates:

132 Classification and the hierarchy of sight Maybe … at times. I think it is more off the pitch than on. I am not saying it is a bad attitude, but I think sometimes we are not a burden, that’s not the right word, so I will say forgotten. Sometimes, socially forgotten because the guys all spend more time together than with us. They get up and walk about in a group and sometimes we are left to fend for ourselves. But I’m not trying to pull anybody down, that is not done intentionally because if we do say, “What about us then?,” one of them comes and gets you. It is not an intentional thing. Although Sandy claims that this behaviour is unintentional, these instances still demonstrate how easy it is to isolate the B1s. Cliques in team sport are not a new phenomenon (Martin et al., 2015), yet VI cricket offers something distinct: a clique based on an individuals’ impairment. If the requisite level of sight is not met, then an individual may find themselves excluded. While other characteristics are important to the squads’ subgroups, such as age or domestic team, players’ sight is the most significant identifier. These cliques are most obvious through subtle forms of social interaction in and around the hotel after training. For example, going out for dinner in an unfamiliar place – which is a regular occurrence when touring – requires a Partial to lead the group. Even meeting in a hotel lobby can be difficult unless a B1 is guided and a Partial is there to meet them. As Dave, B2, explains, this communication isn’t always forthcoming: You are going to get people going out for meals with just say a few of you from certain clubs and other people go elsewhere. But maybe where the issue might lie is because the B1 players here might not be aware of what’s going on … they are aware but, for instance, from people’s body language and if someone walks past, you are not going to know what they are doing, are you? It is kind of like knowing the environment. As Sandy recognised earlier, it is easy for the B1s to be socially forgotten. If they are not made aware of the group’s plans – in person or via phone – they may be isolated and confined to their immediate surroundings. Significantly, the decision to communicate or provide guidance is left in the hands of the Partials, thereby granting them with even more power and responsibility. It is not compulsory for them to offer assistance to their teammates and, during my time with the team, it is evident that a small minority of Partials often withhold support. And even when they do help, it only serves to exacerbate the unequal social dynamic: THOMAS:

I started training when I was 13 and then playing with 25/30 year-old men and some of these being B1s who were wholly reliant on me guiding them where to go, telling them where stuff is, telling them what food they’ve got on the table, telling them what food there is. That is saying something because when I go out with my family, I have to get my dad to tell me what is on the table.

Classification and the hierarchy of sight 133 BEN:

So, the roles are reversed? The roles are completely reversed. So, my Dad has got full sight whereas I’ve got the limited sight, but then someone with no sight is relying on the limited sight person to explain.

THOMAS:

From the moment he entered this space, and perhaps for the first time in his life, Thomas was given significant responsibilities. As a thirteen-year-old, he was supporting the senior members of the team on and off the pitch. From being the partially sighted person in a group of sighted people, he was now one of the most sighted members of a VI group and was duly expected to assist those with less sight. Thomas’ shifting position demonstrates the importance of social context when considering the VI players’ experiences. He still relies upon his dad to read the menu when they eat together in a restaurant, yet he adopts this task when dining with his blind peers. Central to my embodied theoretical approach is the socialised aspect of impairment, and these interactions perfectly demonstrate why this approach is pertinent. Thomas’ level of sight does not change; it is the expectations placed upon him that change. Underlying these interactions is the “value” and embodied expectations placed upon the players’ bodies that have been present throughout this chapter. Thomas ranks his limited sight in comparison to his Dad’s full sight and his B1 teammates’ no sight. His responsibilities change depending on the situation and the presence of other people. Once again, the inaccurate sighted/blind binary fails to capture the complexity and fluidity of being VI. Even though many B1s lead independent lives away from cricket, in this elite environment they are rendered as dependents.

The hierarchy of sight Whether in the complex classification process, the inescapable embodied expectations or the fractious B1 and Partial relationship, there is a value system that underlies VI cricket: the hierarchy of sight. The longer I spent with the team and the more I spoke to the players, the clearer it became that the players with the highest levels of sight have the most value and considerably more power in this space. And this valorisation is not just confined to the field of play; it pervades social relationships both on and off the pitch. During the interviews, I was surprised by the players’ candidness when talking about the hierarchy of sight. When I ask Clive if the players with most sight have a higher value within the squad, his response begins with a wellknown idiom: Well erm, yeah … what’s the saying, “In a blind man’s world the one-eyed man is king” or whatever. So, yeah if you’ve got someone that falls into a higher category, the chances are that they are going to be able to have more of an impact on the game: they might be able to take catches, get run outs, hit

134 Classification and the hierarchy of sight the ball sweetly, bowl a ball fast and accurately. They might get more attention than someone who is totally blind, but I don’t think it is a deliberate thing. Despite replacing the country of the blind with a blind man’s world, the sentiment remains the same: the partially sighted player is king. This idiom has been present throughout this chapter – both directly and indirectly – but it is somewhat disconcerting to hear it quoted by a Partial. It is also said in such a matter of fact way: more sight equates with higher performance and, consequently, a higher social value. This valorisation of particular bodies and impairments is not just limited to VI cricket and is present throughout disability sports (Howe, 2011, 2013). For example, Howe (2013: 140) argues that the public success stories of the 2012 Paralympic games were those athletes who most resembled a normal sporting body or were “cute” or had been cyborgified. This hierarchal ordering of bodies is also evident amongst elite athletes (Mastro et al., 1996; Hardin, 2007; Berger, 2008, 2009) in which – once again – those athletes who are most “normal” are most valued. While previous studies on disabled sporting hierarchies are useful, the hierarchy of sight is impairmentspecific and thus offers something distinct. It is interesting to know disabled athletes’ opinions on athletes with different impairments but, because the majority of disability sports are impairment-specific, the valorisation of certain impairments over others has limited repercussions upon a team environment. In VI cricket, the hierarchy is an interesting paradox: it is a sport purposefully adapted for VI people, yet it is those who are the “least” VI who are most valued. Much like the decline in severely disabled athletes competing in the Paralympics (Howe, 2008a), an elite approach to disability sport has irrevocably changed the desirability of particular bodies. Due to the ECB’s mainstream ethos, the players who can most closely emulate sighted cricketers have a higher social value. And the B1s are acutely aware of this. When I ask Kamran about the value of the Partials, his response is unequivocal: BEN:

So those with sight are more valued then?

Yep, yeah … I feel like …

BEN: By everyone? By the coaches? In terms of this elite focus on performance?

KAMRAN: Yes, definitely.

KAMRAN:

I pose the same question to Rehan, a fellow B1: I think that, definitely. I know sometimes I don’t feel as valued even though people say, “No, no you’re important, you’re important, you’re important.” In my opinion, the only reason I am important is because if you don’t have B1s then their team is shit because they can’t put out a team. Right? Rehan makes an important point. In the starting line-up, there must be four B1s and, during a match, the B1s must bowl at least 40% of the overs and

Classification and the hierarchy of sight 135 there must be one B1 batsman in every cycle of three in the batting order (1–3, 4–6, 7–9) (BCEW, n.d.). Because of these regulations, the B1s significantly impact the result of a game. As Rehan rightly recognises, there would be no VI cricket without the B1s; yet, it often seems like their selection is out of necessity rather than merit. This also links to the earlier discussion relating to the separation of the B1s and the Partials. During the interviews, many of the partially sighted players allude to their preference for separate versions of the game. Xander is all too aware of this prevailing attitude: I think if you ask some guys to be truthful and be completely honest, would they (the Partials) prefer to play in a game where there were no B1s? I think they would. I think they would prefer to be involved in a game which was partially sighted people only. Without the B1 players, VI cricket would be even closer to emulating sighted cricket. For the highest classified players – especially those with recent experiences of sighted cricket – the presence of blind players reinforces that this is a sport for disabled people and invalidates the elite organisation of international VI cricket. As a B1, the realisation that your teammates would prefer to play without you is a chastening experience. When discussing the potential of separating the B1s and the Partials, John provides an alternative perspective: If you are looking at it as a team and you are looking at it as the overall per­ formance of a team, you could say the team performance would be better if there weren’t any B1s in there. But, if you are looking at it in that context of a blind sport, you could say that actually the best player on the team is a B1 because of their limitations and what they do within those limitations. Like John’s call for contextual relativism in the previous chapter, the underlying flaw in his argument is that “the context of blind sport” is absent. In this elite setting, it is the players who can perform to highest level who are most valued rather than those who admirably achieve despite their “limitations.” John admits that if the focus is fully on performance – which it invariably is – then the team would be improved if all players were partially sighted. This belief increases the hierarchy of sight and reinforces the blind players’ inferiority. This hierarchy of sight is not present in all VI sports. Unlike VI cricket, VI football has two formats for blind and partially sighted people. At international level, B1 classified players play five-a-side (five players per side) and B2 and B3 classified players play together in a seven-a-side (seven players per side) with different rules and regulations. When reflecting upon player power in VI cricket, Clive describes the significantly different experience for B1s when playing five-a-side football: I know people that play totally blind football at international level, and what they are doing … they are quite empowered because they are all

136 Classification and the hierarchy of sight blind and they’re in charge of their group. Of course, if you’ve got seven partials on the field and four B1s (in cricket), they are outnumbered, and they need that extra support. I guess there probably are situations and prob­ ably are times where you might almost … where they might almost become a side-show. It shouldn’t do and it is shown that the best teams in the world, the B1s make a massive contribution. Without their contribu­ tions, they wouldn’t win games, so I don’t think, as a team, we ignore it, we try and work to find out what works best for us. There is definitely, I would say hand on heart, there probably is a little bit of … maybe, I don’t know if it is the right word, second class maybe. Maybe because they can’t always grasp everything that is going on around them and, some­ times they will miss out on things. Because of the absence of partially sighted players, Clive argues that blind footballers are more empowered and have considerably more influence than their cricket playing contemporaries. In VI cricket, the use of blackout shades is contentious; however, in five-a-side football, all outfield players are required to wear a blindfold thus providing a “level playing field.” If additional verbal or physical guidance is required, it is provided by the sighted goalkeeper or coaching staff. This is in contrast with the B1 cricketers’ reliance on their partially sighted teammates for guidance, which sometimes results in the blind players being dragged to their fielding position. While it is important to reiterate that this is a rare occurrence and some B1s are independent on the pitch, it is starkly different to the experiences of blind football players. As Clive admits, the B1s are viewed as second-class members of the team. In explaining the extent of the team divide, Xander makes an important point, “if you look very carefully, generally, there seems to be some sort of thing where it is a sighted person putting blind people together.” Through separate lunch breaks and “quiet time,” the B1s are being placed into the same social group – whether they want to or not. If they are being guided to lunch or dinner – unless they ask to be sat in a specific seat – they sit where they are put, which is usually with the other blind players. Players can be socially forgotten by merely sitting them down at a separate table and removing them from the rest of the group. Although this is not necessarily malicious – as many players have argued – it is something that the sighted management and coaching staff think is the “natural” thing to do, which leads to the legitimisation of these two social groups. As long as the game continues to be played with both blind and partially sighted players, the hierarchy of sight will persist. Due to the dominant, ocularcentric understanding of elite sport and PA – both disabled and nondisabled – those with the most sight will always have the highest value.

Conclusion To conclude this chapter, I once again return to the short story The Country of the Blind. Despite his initial righteousness, Nuñez learns that there are

Classification and the hierarchy of sight 137 alternative modes of being-in-the-world where sight is not the dominant sense. By interacting with the blind inhabitants, he quickly realises that his ocular approach to navigation, interaction and communication is redundant; he must draw upon the experiences of those around him and develop a new way of being. It is a country designed by the blind for the blind: the blind man is definitely King. Regrettably, this is not the case in VI cricket. Clive was correct: in the country of VI cricket, the partially sighted man is king. Despite being a sport designed for the blind, it is the B1s who are most “alien” in this mainstream sporting environment. However, this hierarchy of sight is not conceived by combative, power-crazed partially sighted players: it is the result of two social processes – classification and valorisation. In this chapter, I first discussed the role of sight classification within VI cricket and examined the social consequences of this institutional process. In comparison to other impairment groups, VI classification remains outdated, unreliable and not fit for purpose – which has a significant bearing on the team’s hierarchy. This process dictates the parameters of sporting performance and endows each player with a new label of B1, B2 or B3. In combination with the competitive ethos encouraged by the ECB and the coaching staff, the resulting sport classes are embodied by the players as social identifiers and the fixed corporeal and social expectations are seemingly accepted as the “norm.” While being based on two simple measures – visual acuity and visual field – and not being sport-specific, these identifiers hold significant influence; to such an extent that when disrupted through the performance of an opposition player or teammate, the dominant reaction is to accuse the individual of cheating. Rumour, gossip and accusation are inescapable in VI cricket and play an integral role in internalising and maintaining the players’ dominant notions of physicality. It also reinforces a medicalised notion of impairment and emphasises the limitations of the B1s and low B2s. Due to the quota system and unique rules and regulations, VI cricket is distinct from all other sighted and VI team sports. The game’s format necessitates that the blind players – the B1s – rely on their partially sighted teammates – the Partials – in a variety of situations on and off the pitch. The tension between these two social groups is exacerbated through intercorporeal interactions, such as guidance during a match or communicating social plans, that provide the Partials with a sense of power and render certain B1s as helpless. This power-ridden and often unequal relationship is central to the hierarchy of sight. It is further compounded by the expectation of being an international athlete while simultaneously guiding their teammates to the toilet or helping them at the buffet. For the Partials, this contradictory position is clearly difficult to negotiate and has a significant impact on reinforcing a separation between the blind and partially sighted players. Their role reversal, particularly in Thomas’ example, demonstrates the fluid and socialised aspect of impairment; their level of sight didn’t change, the situation did. Conversely, the blind players who lead independent lives outside of cricket are characterised as dependent and even disruptive presences. These interactions, which are far more complex than a fixed

138 Classification and the hierarchy of sight sighted/blind binary, reinforce how the “value” of the players’ bodies is altered through VI cricket. As I will argue in the following and final empirical chapter, by valorising the bodies which are most able and “normal,” VI cricket irreversibly affects how blind and partially sighted people form their identities.

Note 1 In all forms of cricket, a century refers to 100 runs.

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6

Identity formation through disability sport

Coming up the stairs into the main concourse of London Marylebone station, I notice a small gathering of men wearing England cricket branded kit. One has a bat slung over his shoulder and there is a collection of cricket bags on the floor next to the players. Anyone with cricket equipment usually draws my eye as I attempt to catch a glimpse of a club badge or the brand of bat being used, but this is different: they are my research participants … I am struck by the normality of the scene in front of me. The excited, expectant gaggle of a sports team travelling to a Saturday fixture is one which is being repeated up and down the country. There are also few visual clues to suggest that they are visually impaired. Only one player has a white cane, which may lead the casual observer to assume that there is a single blind person sur­ rounded by six sighted guides. The “able” first impression of the group produces a fleeting moment of worry: “What if they are not blind enough?”; “There’s no study here”; “I going to have to rethink the whole investigation.”

To begin this final empirical chapter, I have selected the opening paragraph from my first field-note entry. While it may seem counter-intuitive to go back to my first moments in the field at this late stage in the book, this excerpt captures a significant moment. After months of phone calls, emails and negotiations, I was finally going to meet my participants. During the journey, I mentally rehearse my introductions and think about how best to explain why I am encroaching on their training weekends. And, up until this moment at London Marylebone, everything was going to plan. Walking into the concourse and seeing the players for first time was not a moment of relief; it was one of fear and trepidation. My plan was to introduce myself once we had arrived at the training weekend; however, I had not anticipated that they would be at the station, let alone getting on the same train as me. After this initial shock, my thoughts quickly turned to my study. I was not concerned about the organisation or procedures, though; I was concerned that my participants were too able. My split-second assumption – like many assumptions – was based upon my preconceptions of what it is to be visually impaired (VI) and how this should be embodied. Despite my experiences of coaching VI cricket, interacting with VI people and knowledge of disability sport and physical activity (PA), I was still relying upon inaccurate stereotypes.

142 Identity formation through disability sport My reaction also raises a key question about the fluidity and construction of identity: Who has the power to decide who somebody is and dictate how they should define themselves? Being VI, disabled or an athlete – or all three simultaneously – are highly contested identities which have been present throughout this book. When discussing sensuous experience, empowerment, classification and valorisation, the players often explored the notion of identity – whether overtly or not – and were keen to explain why they accept or reject certain labels. In this chapter, I intend to bring these strands together to understand the significance of VI cricket and, more broadly, disability sport and PA in the construction of the players’ identities. Over the course of my discussion, as with the other empirical chapters, I will engage with the three components of my embodied approach – Reviving the Body, Breaking Down Binaries and Agency and Resistance – to theorise why identity formation is such a pervasive and inhibiting feature of this space. In this chapter, I start by exploring the concepts of identity and identification from a sociological perspective and discuss the complexities of conceptualising a disabled identity in sport and PA. Building upon this, I then examine how the VI athletes in this book contest their disabled identities. I reflect upon the absence of the “D-word” within this social space and discuss why it is such a loaded form of identity. I move on to explore the players’ negotiation of a blind identity. I analyse the role of language and VI terminology upon identity formation and the extent to which stereotypical notions of blindness are significant in such an elite setting. Alongside the role of discourse, I also discuss the embodied experience of being VI and why, due to social attitudes, certain players choose to pass as sighted. Finally, I examine the extent to which a collective identity exists within the squad and contemplate the influence of shared humour and banter in reinforcing the dominance of particular identity types.

What is identity? Identity is central to our social world. As Richard Jenkins (2008: 14) simply puts it, “(identity) is how we know who’s who and what’s what.” While often used to describe how individuals are categorised and given social roles, identity has multiple meanings, “my sense of myself, others’ perceptions of me, my reactions to others’ perceptions, the social categories that attach themselves to me and to which I attach myself – all may be referred to as ‘identity’” (Lawler, 2014: 7). Any exploration of identity formation, particularly when exploring somebody else’s identity, is far more complicated than simple categorisation or labelling; it is an active process that is collectively negotiated, involving a multitude of participants with a multitude of perspectives. For example, being a VI cricket player is a role shared by the participants of this book but their interpretation of what this form of identity signifies are wildly divergent. The same can also be said for the players’ understandings of a disabled and a blind identity. It is also important to explore the disparity between how somebody

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identifies themselves and how others identify them: What are the reasons for these differences of opinion and what strategies can individuals use to claim or reclaim particular forms of identity? As this chapter progresses, it will become clear why there is such contestation in the identity-making process. Both Stuart Hall (2000) – in preference to the term identity – and Jenkins (2008) – alongside identity – use identification to reinforce that it is something that we are continually doing. This notion of “doing” identity is important. In her book Identity: Sociological Perspectives, Steph Lawler (2014) highlights the Westernised distinction between being and doing identity; the former is an authentic expression of who we are, and the latter is a performative concealing of who we really are. She also reinforces the significance of authenticity in contemporary identity debates and whether we are presenting our “true” selves – if this notion even exists. From my relativist standpoint, as made clear when I discussed the theoretical framework of this book (see Chapter 2), I reject this notion of an innate identity and the distinction between being and doing; instead, my use of being in this chapter recognises the performative process of identity. Despite coming from contrasting theoretical perspectives, Erving Goffman (1956) and Judith Butler (1990, 1993, 1996) both engage with performance in their conception of identity. In Goffman’s dramaturgical approach, he uses theatrical metaphor to theorise how our identities are akin to parts in a dramatic performance with established characteristics and attributes that we are required to exhibit. He distinguishes between the front and back region – or backstage – to emphasise the different audiences and settings in which we perform our multiple, sometimes overlapping versions of self. Central to his approach is impression management and the various defensive measures we use to maintain our identity performances. Although Goffman is criticised – most notably by Butler – for inferring that individuals use identities as masks to conceal their authentic self, Lawler (2014: 121) argues differently, “he (Goffman) is arguing that roles, or performances, far from masking the ‘true person’ (as is commonly assumed), are what makes us persons.” As Lawler explains, the person is not behind the mask; is it the mask. From a post-structuralist feminist perspective, Butler (1990, 1993, 1996) rejects Goffman’s dramaturgical approach and uses performativity to theorise how identity – specifically a gendered identity – is not a singular act but a continual process, “for it is always a reiteration of a norm or set of norms, and to the extent that is acquires an act-like status in the present, it conceals or dissimulates the conventions of which it is a repetition” (Butler, 1993: 12). Rather than a role being performed by a subject, performativity is the process of constituting subjecthood through the repetition of social norms and conventions (Bricknell, 2003). Again, like Lawler’s argument above, Butler posits that performativity is more than just putting on a “mask” or electing to play a role. While there are significant differences between Goffman and Butler’s use of performance and performativity – see Bricknell (2003) and

144 Identity formation through disability sport Lawler (2014) for an in-depth comparison – there is common ground between these theorists. Both account for the reflexive aspects of being a particular identity or social role, they reject the idea of an innate identity that is present prior to discourse and interaction and they reinforce the importance of the audience in this process. In the context of this book, this notion of identity performance is particularly valuable when exploring how the VI players perform multiple identities in the same social space. In disability sport and PA, any exploration of identity is further complicated by the need for an individual to be officially registered as disabled – even if they do not choose to identify as disabled outside of a sporting space. There is an obligation to adopt what former Paralympic athlete Danielle Peers (2012) calls the disabled origin story – the telling and retelling of a personal narrative that reproduces the dominant discourses around disability and sport. Using a Foucauldian approach, Peers reflects on being constantly being asked for “her story” by journalists, medical professionals and fellow athletes and having to compose a narrative to explain her “condition,” “We narrate our tragic disability origins, our athletic successes despite them, our heroic striving towards hyper-ability, our inspirational hope for full normalcy and our categorical difference from those who have not overcome” (Peers, 2012: 186). She also argues athletes can choose to challenge the (re)production of disability by “inverting, perverting, recreating, reimagining, resisting and recovering (from) stories of disability, and of disability sport” (186). Making a decision to either accept or reject a certain label – such as blind or disabled – demonstrates the fluidity of identity and also the potential agency that can be exerted in this process. As Peers demonstrates through her disabled origin story, power and influence of others in the identification process is significant. Whether identifying as part of a collective group or being labelled by others, the presentation of self is not just an individual pursuit. While recognising the potentially enabling nature of identification, Chris Weedon (2004: 154) contends that it can be a power-ridden process, “individuals and groups tend to fix the identity of others, often working within long-established binary modes of thinking that help sustain inequalities, exclusions and oppression.” Although identities are fluid, as discussed above, there is also a significant element of fixity in this process (Lawler, 2014). It is vital to explore how binary modes of thinking that surround particular forms of identity are developed and maintained. These discourses, which are rooted in historical and cultural power struggles, demarcate some individuals as undesirable and different from the norm. Yet, beneath the layers of discourse and social interaction, being an identity is thoroughly embodied (Burkitt, 1999; Shilling, 2005). As established in my theoretical approach, this is not to say individuals are born with an innate identity; instead, embodiment distinguishes that we are bodies who construct and experience our identities from a lived perspective. As Ian Burkitt (1999: 146) argues, “The body image and self-image we develop is based on the sense

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of being embodied and the way in which this experience is mediated by culture.” It is untenable to investigate both disabled identity and sporting identity – two forms of identities that are clearly associated with notions of physicality – without acknowledging the players’ embodied experiences of sport and PA and its ongoing role in the formation of their identities.

The D word: disability and identity As I neared the end of my participant observation phase, I felt fully embedded in the team environment. I had built successful relationships with the players and staff; I was privy to the in-jokes and banter (which I will discuss later); and I knew my role during the training sessions. Despite all of this, I was still unsure about what terminology I should or should not use, especially when talking to the players. When writing up my field notes on the train home, I reflected upon the importance of language and came to the realisation that one word is noticeably absent in this elite environment: disability. The following field-note excerpt captures my initial thoughts on this subject: When using disability or disabled in the company of the players, I feel more self-aware than I ever have before. Because of the negative connota­ tions that are often attached to these terms, I feel embarrassed to repeat them in their presence. During his keynote address at a recent disability sport conference, Sir Philip Craven – the IPC president – provocatively referred to disability as the “d word” and claimed that he spends his profes­ sional life trying to avoid the term. If the most powerful person in disability sport has such a negative understanding of disability, it is understandable that the VI players see it in a similar way. Craven’s rejection of disability reinforces the undesirability of this identity, particularly in the context of sport and PA. Because of the cultural connotations, he even argues that disability should be completely removed from the lexicon (Rose, 2011). My initial reflection on Craven’s troubling stance still remains. By removing disability, athletes are deterred from positively identifying as disabled, which further alienates disabled people who cannot or choose not to participate in sport and PA. And, to an extent, the erasure of the disability in disability sport is already taking place as the terms Parasport, Para-athlete and Adapted Sport and PA grow in popularity. In the context of changing social attitudes and the emergence of disability as a positive identity (Swain and French, 2000; Davis, 2002), this is a significant backwards step. So, while disabled athletes have the agency to resist dominant notions of disability and blindness, many choose to exert their agency by rejecting a disabled identity rather than challenging it. In comparison to his teammates, Oliver, B1, seems most attuned to what John Swain and Sally French (2000) would conceptualise as an affirmative understanding of disability. This approach is a non-tragic conception of disability

146 Identity formation through disability sport which collectively celebrates the positive experiences and identities of disabled people. While recognising that disabled stereotypes still exist, Oliver argues that society is becoming more accepting of individuals who are identified as disabled: I think there are stereotypes; I don’t know how accurate they are. Some of them probably are and then some of them are just ridiculous like the whole idea that all blind people must wear dark glasses. That is just not realistic – not in today’s society anyway – and I think more and more, society as a whole is becoming a lot less judgmental and a lot more willing to be open minded towards disability. Also, I think disabled people are finding more confidence to be able to share their experiences about being disabled so I think that is helping get rid of those stereotypes. In spite of being the youngest member of the squad, he talks maturely about being disabled and shares his positive experiences with others. During our interview, we also discuss the growing role of the Paralympic games in changing public awareness of disabled people. When I ask whether he had been born at a good time, he concurs, “Yeah I would agree. Even if I had been born ten years earlier, things would have been a lot different.” Oliver’s openness when talking about his disabled identity reflects his experiences of growing up in a society where disability and disability sport has gained mainstream attention. He also, perhaps naively, believes that the stigma surrounding disability has decreased. However, in the context of rising hate crimes against disabled people in the United Kingdom (Giordano, 2018; Walker, 2019) and ineffective, often cruel assessments for financial support (Ryan, 2019), Oliver’s positive outlook is not one which is shared by his teammates. An important aspect of a positive disabled identity is challenging stereotypes through personal experience. As discussed in Chapter 4, the players’ embodied performances demonstrate an alternative way of participating in elite sport that challenges Faster, Higher, Stronger ableist stereotypes of the sporting body. By accepting the notion of “difference in itself” (Overboe, 1999), it is possible to understand difference as a positive characteristic. This is the idea that people are different: different bodily functions, different skin colour or different language but does not imply that there is an ideal norm for any of these attributes. Difference is an important lens “for destabilising ableism because it legitimates not sameness but human variation” (Loja et al., 2013: 191). Although Fiona Kumari Campbell (2009) argues that it is impossible to have the concept of difference without ableism, being different from another person does not have to equate with being “Other” (Silva and Howe, 2012). However, while conceptualising disability as “difference in itself” (Overboe, 1999) is admirable, difference is not necessarily the most desirable of qualities – and this is clearly evident amongst the players. When exploring the players’ identity formation, there are two factors that are significant: firstly, whether an impairment is acquired or congenital and, secondly, the social context of their identification (Galvin, 2005). Sandy, B1 and

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the oldest squad member, acquired his visual impairment in his forties. From living an independent life and working full-time, he was suddenly unemployed and dependent on constant support. Because of his struggles to adjust to life post sight loss, Sandy is still reticent to identify as disabled: SANDY:

I think it is just a time thing of getting more used to it. Even now, if you are sitting round talking to people and they say, “that blind guy,” you don’t actually understand they are talking about you. I don’t class myself as dis­ abled really. I can get to the same place as you get, perhaps I can’t get the same enjoyment. If we are going to go somewhere, if I want to know any­ thing, I would just ask you. BEN: So, would you avoid that label of being disabled then? Would you not iden­ tify with that? SANDY: I don’t like it but I am. Despite wanting to distance himself from a disabled identity, he begrudgingly accepts that he is disabled and recognises that it has taken some time for him to come to this realisation. His initial attempts to justify why he should not be classed as disabled relate to the notion of not being different. He argues that he could get to the same places as a non-disabled person and is not restricted in his movements, which is something he associates with disability. Sandy’s point of view challenges the rhetoric of “difference in itself”: being different is something to avoid rather than something to be celebrated. As Hall (2000: 17) argues, “Identities are constructed through, not outside, difference … identities can function as points of identification and attachment only because of their capacity to exclude, to leave out, to render ‘outside.’” Because of the dominance of the able-bodied/disabled binary – which is clearly evident in Sandy’s quote – being disabled renders certain individuals outside of the “norm.” And this is of particular significance within a group scenario in which multiple identities are contested. Through peer pressure and institutional expectations, certain identities are portrayed as less “desirable.” Sport and PA is a potential site for positive identity negotiation; however, the traditionally conservative structures that exist in both disabled and non-disabled sport dictate how somebody should or should not identify. Central to the rejection of a disabled identity is the experience of stigma (Goffman, 1963; Taub et al., 1999; Arbour et al., 2007; Barg et al., 2010). According to Goffman (1963), stigma occurs when a bodily attribute – such as skin colour or an impairment – disrupts normative expectations. He calls these “abominations of the body” and demarcates any individual with one or more of these attributes as having a spoiled identity that must be managed to meet social expectations. Despite negatively representing disabled people as deviant and abnormal – as discussed in Chapter 2 – Goffman’s work is still relevant to the examination of disabled identity. He makes the analytical distinction between the discredited body – an evident impairment which is obviously presented – and the discreditable body – where such impairment is not

148 Identity formation through disability sport immediately obvious. In VI cricket, this is a critical distinction. Because a number of players have impairments that are not immediately obvious, they have a greater freedom to bypass stigma by passing as sighted – which is a phenomenon I will examine later in this chapter. Sport and PA are frequently portrayed as effective strategies for “stigma management” (see Taub et al., 1999; Page et al., 2001) and as tools for “normalisation” (Lundberg et al, 2011) – and VI cricket is no different. Throughout this book, the players have asserted their “normality” though playing cricket and by adopting the values of mainstream elite sport. For example, Marcus, B3, defines himself as “normal” and, in doing so, rejects a disabled identity: BEN:

You mentioned a little bit about the term disability and you’ve just men­ tioned the term blind. Are those two terms that you try and avoid? Or you don’t necessarily identify with? MARCUS: As I said, I wouldn’t use … I wouldn’t label myself as disabled because I think it is a word that … again, it is a misconception. As I say, I have been brought up to be normal and live a very normal life, so I haven’t been brought up as disabled, so I’ll continue to be like that. BEN: Do you almost have to change, not change your identity, but if you are out­ side of sport, you wouldn’t see yourself or your VI as being like the “be all and end all” of your identity? But when it comes to playing in a disability cricket squad, you have to accept or identify as that. MARCUS: Yes, to some extent. But I think within that team, we play as a normal team and we don’t use our sight as an excuse because everyone within that team has a visual impairment. You can’t use your sight con­ dition over anybody else. So again, you may be labelled as a disability cricket team but obviously when you play cricket in that environment, you play sport like any other team would. Marcus’ identification as a “normal” person who lives a very “normal” life and competes in a “normal” team is in complete opposition to a disabled identity. Once again, it is the “abnormality” of disability that has made Marcus wary of a label that he feels undermines the players’ hard work and high levels of performance. And, this rejection of disabled identity is not uncommon. Many disabled people do not want to be identified as disabled (Watson, 2002) and choose to actively distance themselves from this label. For those who acquire a disability later in life, this experience has been previously theorised as biological disruption (Bury, 1982) and a loss of self (Charmaz, 1983), thus a rejection of a disabled identity could be interpreted as an attempt to retain a previous way of being-in-the-world. Mike Oliver and Colin Barnes (2012: 111) even argue that many disabled people “deny, disregard or minimise the reality of their impairment” because of their identification with the non-disabled world. But if an individual has only experienced impairment from a medical perspective and struggle to see the

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positive aspects of being disabled – like many of the players – then the rejection of this label is to be expected. As Terry, B3, frankly puts it, “I just think you are dealing with a group of blokes who don’t really consider themselves disabled.” The stereotypes that are attached to disability – such as fragility, helplessness and restriction – do not resonate with their day-to-day lives. As a scholar and disability advocate, I have engaged with approaches to disability theory that advance a positive identity (Overboe, 1999; Swain and Cameron, 1999; Swain and French, 2000; Galvin, 2005) and had hoped that the players would also adopt a positive attitude towards disability. But this is not the case. For those players who reject a disabled identity, this is not necessarily a purposeful act to distance themselves from other disabled people; they simply do not recognise that a positive, affirmative disabled identity is a viable possibility. When I ask Rohan, B3, about his disabled identity, his response typifies this standpoint: BEN:

So, coming into disability sport, as it is labelled, is that quite difficult to come in and be labelled as being disabled? ROHAN: Yeah. Well I don’t think of myself as disabled which is weird because I’ve got a disabled railcard! BEN: Getting the perks for it! ROHAN: Yeah so, I guess I don’t think of myself really as disabled and I don’t really think of any of the guys in the squad as disabled. Despite this prevailing attitude towards disability, participation in a disability sport necessitates that the players must temporarily adopt an unwanted form of identity. Because the national VI cricket team is part of the England and Wales Cricket Board’s (ECB) disability cricket programme, they are unequivocally defined as disabled cricket players. In fact, it is one of the few situations where they are identified as disabled – whether they want to or not – which further explains their reticence in adopting this term. During our interview, Terry talks in great detail about his identity and the support that he receives from the Jewish community and his extended Irish family. He strongly identifies with these two communities and celebrates these identities. However, there is no such identification with being disabled: BEN:

Something like Jewish or Irish, you would have that as yours to cherish or something in your identity, but disability is not the same? TERRY: No, I don’t think … I don’t know why some people reject it or why I personally rejected it, more than any other feeling that it was suggested to you. I always feel that idea of disability defining you is an idea that has never come from me. It is an idea that has not been imposed by people but by society impos­ ing on me. Therefore, you reject it because it is a thing I am not happy with. This is the crux of the matter. In the context of VI cricket, disabled identity is ascribed. Whether it be in the jargon of an ECB press release that homogenises

150 Identity formation through disability sport the diverse range of players into one identity or in an optometrists’ examination room, being disabled is something that is decided by somebody else. It is not the same as having a valued cultural heritage that passes down traditions and knowledge; it is an identity that, for most players, is inescapably loaded with negative connotations regarding their physicality and “normality.” Being disabled is regarded as an individual and isolating experience; there is no specific disabled community to draw comfort and support from or shared history of which to be proud of. The group’s self-identification is not built around disability but through playing cricket and a form of cricket that values those closest to “normal.” If players continue to adopt negative stereotypes of disability, alongside the governing body’s competitive expectations which values those with the most ability, a positive disabled identity cannot exist in this social space.

Visually impaired? Partially sighted? Blind?: sight loss and identity As established above, one of the contributory factors in the players’ rejection of a disabled identity is that it is institutionally enforced. When representing their country, they are labelled as disabled cricket players. For some players, this label threatens the legitimacy of elite VI cricket. As does the closeness to the other ECB national teams (Physical disability (PD), Learning disability (LD), Deaf) who all play the same format as mainstream, non-disabled cricket. According to Thomas, B3, VI cricket should not be viewed in the same way: We embrace that we are different to the others. I would say we don’t really see ourselves as part of the disability cricket because, as I said before, the PDs, the LDs, the Deaf, they can all play the same sort of game. It is all overarm bowling, it is all batting exactly the same, they wear whites etc etc. But we play a completely different game both domestically and inter­ nationally. I see ourselves as different, so we decide to build our own cul­ ture around the game that we play and, in a way, we see that as a way of being able to embrace our difference. If the players do not see themselves as part of disability cricket, how do they define themselves? And how do they incorporate their impairment in their identities? While the rejection of a disabled identity through sport and PA is a well-explored phenomenon (Hardin, 2007; Wickman, 2007), there is very little known about identity formation in VI sport. In this section, I interrogate what Thomas means by “difference” and examine how this is manifest in a VI/ partially sighted/blind identity. Over the course of my discussion, I will explore two key themes: firstly, the role of VI-specific language and terminology and, secondly, the embodied reality of identifying/being identified as VI. Much like my dilemma of using disability or not, I also initially struggled to identify the correct language and terminology when talking about VI. It is a complex and somewhat fractious process, particularly because the language of

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disability is constantly evolving (Linton, 1998; Corker, 1999; Peers et al., 2014). In a VI context, this is further compounded by institutions that use terminology interchangeably. For example, the RNIB (Royal National Institute of Blind People), a leading charity for blind and partially sighted people in the United Kingdom, use blind to represent people with sight loss, and this is same for both BBS (British Blind Sport) and BCEW (Blind Cricket England and Wales). Yet, the ECB uses visually impaired to represent the same group of individuals. When I ask the players about the use of terminology, they are equally confused by what to say: BEN:

It is difficult with language because lots of people use different terms: blind, visually impaired, using the word disability or not. It is a bit of minefield to be honest. It is difficult to know what to use sometimes. CLIVE: I’m not bothered. You can pretty much call me what you want! I’m not bothered by stuff like that, but yeah, when I meet VI people, blind people, visually impaired, whatever they want to be called, you do, even as a blind/ partially sighted person myself, you are like what wording should I use? How should I approach their sight condition? Do I ask them about their sight condi­ tion? Should I say impairment? You start thinking about all of these things. Even as a player, Clive, B2, is often confused when attempting to use the correct terminology. So, for an outsider, it is even more of a struggle. Whereas VI is a term that encompasses all forms of sight loss, the terms blind and partially sighted have particular medical definitions1 that relate to an individual’s range of sight. The potential confusion lies in the interchangeable usage of these terms and the lack of consistency across different institutional bodies. With the domestic and the international game being labelled differently, there is no clear consensus. Despite not appearing to be a significant issue, a number of players have strongly held views on the subject: MICK:

I don’t like using blind, personally.

Why not?

MICK: I’m not bothered but personally I wouldn’t because I am not! I’m registered

blind but when you say to someone, “I am blind” then why … how can you go and do that then? You know, using the bike machine and using the pro­ grams unless you’ve learnt and memorised that? It is just what you said, it is too broad a term. We are visually impaired. Rehan is blind but he might be able to see a bit of light and … the ECB definitely prefer it. Some of the play­ ers do prefer it, so I know that Terry will always say the England blind cricket team and he will always say that. Yet, if I tell somebody, I’ll say it is the England visually impaired cricket team as I think that is more understandable. BEN:

While beginning his answer with “I’m not bothered” – just like Clive’s quote above – Mick, B2, is clearly concerned about the use of the word blind. He argues

152 Identity formation through disability sport it should only be used when referring to someone who meets the medical definition of blind rather than an all-encompassing term; instead, in his opinion, VI captures the variety of sight levels and conditions within the squad. However, the players and organisers commonly refer to the game as blind cricket. In a similar way to disability cricket, blind cricket is more relatable to the general public. Blindness has clear cultural connotations; thus, to market the game as blind cricket creates a level of intrigue and raises public interest. Rohan, B3, supports Mick’s viewpoint and recognises the potentially negative connotations of being labelled as a blind sport: Yeah, I don’t tend to say, “blind cricket,” I tend to say “visually impaired cricket” because I definitely don’t consider myself to be blind. It might be a little bit offensive to blind people if someone thinks of me as blind and especially if I think of myself as blind because I am not in the same boat as them … I guess I call it visually impaired cricket just because … some­ times it is easier to say blind cricket because people understand the same thing. Yeah, so I guess sometimes blind can have some bad connotations even when you are talking about blind cricket and people think you are just going along with people rolling the ball and stuff like that. In a similar way to disability, Rohan describes how prefixing cricket with blind reduces its legitimacy and creates unhelpful preconceptions. He does not consider himself to be blind and argues that it may offend a blind person if he is identified in this way. To complicate this semantic discussion further, Rohan then explains the difference being VI and being blind. In doing so, he conflates VI with partially sighted, which reinforces the confusion around terminology: Obviously being visually impaired and being blind is almost two different things, like often visually impaired and blind people are lumped together because “Oh you’ve got sight problems, so you know what it is like” but it’s not. I am much more similar to you, in terms of the way I do things, as I am to a blind person. By emphasising his similarities with me (a sighted male), Rohan reiterates the hierarchy of sight and the distinct separation between the B1s and the Partials. It also demonstrates the constructed nature of the sighted/blind binary and the social value placed upon specific impairments. Rohan attempts to conceptualise his own sight but, because of set binary parameters, he finds it difficult to articulate. His inaccurate definition of VI and blind as “almost two different things” also raises a significant point concerning the team’s multiple identities. If the other Partials share Rohan’s opinion, blindness is reduced to an unwanted identity and further marginalises those players with the least amount of sight. Xander, B1, is frustrated by the adoption of alternative terminology and his teammates’ rejection of blindness:

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I like people to use the word blind; I don’t like any of the other bollocks associated with it. I don’t like to be called disabled but I’m also happy if that’s what people pick as a word. I just wish they would pick a word and stick to a word. I don’t feel any negative connotations to words like being blind. I am … it might be difficult if, for example, you can see, and some­ body calls you blind. That’s different but even so, I like the word blind. It is very … you are, you cannot see. I just like it when people say “I have trouble seeing” or “I can’t see very well” or whatever. Just be honest and none of this like “Oh I’m visually impaired” or “I’m handi-able.” What they do with this bollocks is they choose a word which is really annoying and really frustrating. The whole P.C. aspect of it all, I wish people would just forget about that and just sort of be normal Xander likes the definitiveness of blind and claims to not feel any negativity associated with the term. While he recognises the rise in alternative terminology to avoid stigmatised terms – which he attributes to political correctness – he just wants his teammates to be more honest about their sight. But, because of the negative connotations surrounding blind and blindness, this is unlikely to happen. Like disability, these terms are unavoidably entwined with historical and social meaning. David Bolt (2013) analysed the thirteen dictionary entries for blind and found that only one entry pertains to the medical condition while the others vary from ignorance to concealment – the use of blind as a given negative is built into our language (Hull, 1990; Kleege, 1998; Michalko, 1998, 1999; Bolt, 2013). In an ocularcentric society (Jay, 1994), whereby vision dominates our understanding of the world, blindness equates with inability and lack of function. For the Partials – especially those who claim to have more in common with sighted people – they do not want to be associated with this term. However, this is inescapable when participating in a sport and representing a team that is classified for the blind. While the negative connotations attached to particular terminology impacts upon group identity, the team’s mass rejection of blindness is not just rooted in discourse alone. Alongside the impact of language and terminology upon identity formation, the embodied experience of being VI or interacting with other VI people affects how the players identify. For example, Mick explains how accepting a blind identity can be detrimental to an individuals’ level of independence and self-awareness: Some of those guys can see a decent amount and it is those guys who are not using their sight correctly and almost, like, give up … “I’m blind so somebody else needs to do that for me.” I’m, like, no they don’t, they really don’t but it’s … some people have got the fight in them and some haven’t. But they would rather label themselves, “No I’m blind so I am here. This is where I am.” Whereas I don’t agree with that.

154 Identity formation through disability sport In Mick’s opinion, certain teammates’ identification as blind is the figurative waving of a white flag. Whether it is due to their upbringing, self-confidence or a range of other factors, he argues that they can see a decent amount but choose to use their blindness as a defence mechanism. Many VI people – especially those who acquire their impairment later in life – internalise a stereotypical understanding of blindness. Once diagnosed, even if their level of sight surpasses their own expectations, their preconceptions of being blind or partially sighted become an embodied reality. As discussed in Chapter 4, the players who attended a specialist school used sport and PA to distance themselves from peers who exhibited overly dependent and inappropriate social behaviours. However, as made evident in Mick’s quote above, this rejection of stereotypical blindness continues to take place in VI cricket. For Rehan, B1, who lost his sight at the age of 16, domestic cricket was the first time he had encountered VI people. The reality of blindness came as a shock: I went there thinking I would meet people that I could look up to and this will be really amazing. And I went there, and it was the opposite. I thought, “Holy crap, I am really, really lucky that I have what I already have” because I’d lost my sight a few months ago and I get frustrated that I can’t do, I don’t know, cook a meal or like read a book so easily. I went there and met people who had visual impairments or had sight that were too scared to walk out of the house by themselves or some who had no sight and would struggle to make a cup of tea or something. I was like, “Woah, maybe I am lucky that, even though I lost my sight, I don’t have any other impairments, so I am literally just dealing with sight and not dealing with so many other mental issues.” Rehan expected to find like-minded individuals who shared his interests, but his experience was very different. The frustrations of not being able to read a book or prepare a meal paled in comparison to those who found it difficult to leave the house. He also identifies how VI people “usually have another impairment as well. Whether that is a mental impairment or another physical impairment … sometimes, a visual impairment restricts you in life, in education whatever.” While he came to domestic cricket with relatively high expectations, his opinion quickly changed: I came here and I was like, “Shit. I am at the top of the pecking order” like maybe not in a cricketing sense but in a more life sense. In terms of my aspirations would be similar to yours, not similar to someone else who is VI whose aspirations would just be to live life. I want to be big. I want to get a good job. I want to go places, you know. In that sense, yeah, I was quite disappointed, very disappointed. Just shocked really, I was like, “Wow, I am so lucky. So, so, so lucky.”

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Despite not attending a specialist school, Rehan inadvertently repeats Brett’s distinction between the blindies and the blindys (see Chapter 4) and places himself “at the top of the pecking order.” Even though he is totally blind, Rehan feels that his social skills and intellect distinguish him from the majority of his teammates – whether they are partially sighted or not. Like Rohan earlier, he also highlights his similarities with me, a sighted person, rather than a VI person; he has aspirations far beyond just surviving everyday life. Yet, Rehan’s interpretation of the “pecking order” is inaccurate. As established throughout this book, the team’s hierarchy is not based upon intellect or aspirations: it is based upon an individuals’ level of sight.

Passing and the fluidity of identity The combination of the negative, stereotypical connotation of blindness and their lived experiences of interacting with “less able” VI people leads a number of the players to manage their physical and social behaviours. As noted in Chapter 5, there are fixed expectations attached to each sport class (B1, B2, and B3) that dictate what an individual should or should not be able to do in VI cricket. These inaccurate stereotypes also transcend the cricket field into social situations. For example, Xander is conscious of shunning the B1 stereotype. While this can be achieved by meeting normative expectations of being employed, having a family and wider interests, he also attempts to replicate sighted behaviours and avoid slipping into blind mode: Sometimes I catch myself doing slightly … like I am slipping into a blind mode which really annoys me. Earlier down in the hall, I was standing against the net but facing this way rather than facing the batter. And I was just standing there at the net; I thought to myself, “You look blind. You look blind. You look like someone who is completely unaware of what is happening.” It is something to sort of force yourself to turn around and look at the game. When you are talking to somebody, try to address them. It has always been difficult for me because my eye condition, my eyes have always tried to turn to see the person, so I’ve always looked above or down or whatever. But at least I can address someone rather than saying, “Hey John” talking to you like this or whatever which people generally tend to do. They have body behaviour of no awareness of what it is that they are doing. That kind of thing really annoys me, especially when I catch myself doing something really stupid like standing there like the world is just passing you by rather than trying to be involved and engaging. According to his description, blind mode is abandoning an active engagement in the world – which Xander attempts to stop himself from doing. Due to Xander’s degenerative condition, he is conscious of retaining his sighted

156 Identity formation through disability sport approach to body language and social norms. By embodying the actions of a sighted person, through attempted eye contact or facing towards the batsman, his intention is to avoid being seen as a stereotypical blind person. Although eye contact does not improve his ability to communicate, these seemingly insignificant corporeal norms are integral to his display of “normality.” Like Xander, other players also discuss their attempts to pass (Goffman, 1963) during the process of identity formation. In a disability context, passing “refers to the way people conceal social markers of impairment to avoid stigma and pass as ‘normal’” (Brune and Wilson, 2012: 1). In fact, participating in disability sport and PA is cited as an effective way of passing as non-disabled (Wickman, 2007; Berger, 2008; Rembis, 2012), particularly for athletes whose impairments are not immediately apparent. As I briefly touched upon earlier, Goffman’s conceptualisation of stigma differentiates between the discredited and the discreditable body and this distinction relies upon the visibility of impairment. Depending on the social situation, the Partials may be able to conceal their visual impairments and pass as sighted. Again, this is often dependent upon the expectations affixed to an impairment. If we return to my field-note excerpt at the beginning of this chapter, I struggled to disregard my stereotypical understanding of blindness and was struck by the lack of “clues” relating to the Partials’ visual impairments, such as white canes, guide dogs or dark glasses. Although the players I observed were not intentionally passing, others do admit to using various strategies to pass as sighted and bypass the potential stigma of being VI: I would always act as if I could see everything, so I’ll try and look at people properly, I know I’m off a little bit every now and then, but I try to look at people dead straight. If I was in a pub or something and I know there is a T.V. on the top, because I can hear it then I will look at it and I’ll be like I can see it, I’ll be pretending to watch it. I will have all the mannerisms I can of someone who can see properly. Boarding school helped me be determined to do that because I didn’t want to be labelled to be associated with that group. (Mick) By passing as sighted in the pub or during a conversation, Mick is, once again, making the conscious decision to distance himself from the blind people he encountered at boarding school. He also describes how, during his teenage years, he would position the cricket balls in his kitbag in such a way that they would not rattle and alert passers-by that he was a VI cricketer. Similarly, Terry does not always disclose his visual impairment. He coaches young people in pupil referral units and chooses not to discuss his sight until he develops a trusting relationship. He explains his decision: People don’t always need to know that I’m blind in the same way that people don’t immediately go up and introduce themselves by saying,

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“Hi, I am so and so and I’ve got really itchy feet” and I wouldn’t go up to someone and say, “Hi, my name is Terry, I am Jewish with mixed Irish Polish background as well.” People don’t need to know it and people don’t have a right to know those things. As Terry admits, he is under no obligation to discuss being VI and thinks that, in certain contexts, it is beneficial not to mention it. However, to compare his sight to itchy feet underplays the significance of being VI. Perhaps his defensiveness reveals previous negative experiences of being open about his sight; it certainly demonstrates the existence of social prejudices and discrimination that VI people experience in a variety of situations. For the Partials, the ease of “passing” as sighted outweighs the potentially problematic and awkward process of “coming out” as VI. One of the key reasons in passing as sighted/non-disabled is the public’s behaviour towards VI people. In Chapter 3, I discussed the potential of VI cricket in challenging public understanding of blindness; however, this is a long way from materialising. Kamran, B1, describes the condescending, de-humanising attitudes he regularly experiences when interacting with members of the public: It’s talking to someone blind a bit louder than your average person because they are blind. The other is then directing your comments at Ben rather than Kamran because Ben can see. It is! What else is it? Are you brighter than me, well you are, but what is it? If I’m with my brother, if I’m with Dad, anyone, “What does he want to drink?” “What does he want?” I have a mouth! It is frustrating and that’s what I meant about VI awareness. Kamran is frustrated by the lack of general common sense and public awareness. Being blind does not impact his ability to listen and respond to a question, yet conversation is often not directed towards him. Whether this is due to the lack of experience when interacting with VI people or the fear of saying something offensive, in Kamran’s opinion, there is no excuse for such naivety. Xander identifies social anxiety as being the root of this problem: People are so unnatural it is a joke sometimes. I think it is because that fear is built into them. They don’t know how to approach you because they are worried, and I think a lot of blind people add to that by being very aggressive and chip on their shoulder type thing. Even when I am feeling extremely frustrated, because it is so easy to snap and say, “For f*** sake, just get out of my face. Leave me I am fine.” I didn’t get into central London by teleporting myself here. I obviously got myself here so there must be a way, I must be fine.

158 Identity formation through disability sport They have also probably got that whole aspect of the whole P.C. thing and don’t know how to approach you and “I don’t mean to be like this” and “I don’t mean to be.” I don’t care what you mean to be like, just be yourself and say whatever it is that you want to say. And if I get upset, it is probably because I would get upset anyway at you saying something ridiculous. Just be normal and it is so nice when people are just completely comfortable. Although both Kamran and Xander are totally blind, their experiences emphasise the social advantages of passing as sighted and rejecting a VI identity. When they step out of their sporting bubble, the public’s reactions towards VI people can be patronising, reductive and strips the individual of their agency. It is understandable why there is no overarching group identity that positions VI as a central tenet. However, no matter how much individuals try to pass as sighted, manage their stigma (Taub et al., 1999) or adopt an athlete-first identity (Rembis, 2012), VI cricket is the thing that brings impairment into focus. Significantly, the act of playing cricket actually accentuates the players’ impairments. Rather than being a platform to positively “come out” as VI or disabled (Huang and Brittain, 2006; Le Clair, 2011), the players are actually being forcibly outed through their participation. This is particularly apt for the Partials who do not disclose their VI in everyday life but choose to participate in a VI-specific activity. The participants are not “normalised” by disability sport and PA: it endows them with an unwanted identity which, for many players, is only experienced when playing VI cricket.

A shared team identity? So far in this chapter, I have explored how the VI players construct and negotiate disabled and blind identities. And in both instances, the players’ motives for rejecting these labels are rooted in discourse. Being disabled is perceived to be associated with abnormality and does not reflect the players’ lived experiences – especially in sport and PA. It is also a form of identity that is seemingly dictated by other people and social institutions. Similarly, being blind is simultaneously a medical label and social identity with unavoidable stereotypes. Because of VI cricket’s player demographic, this label is highly contested; the Partials are eager to distinguish themselves from their less “able” teammates. Rather than celebrating being VI and the diverse abilities of the team, the players are predominantly concerned with demonstrating their normality. As I argue above, participating in VI cricket – or any disability sport or PA – puts athletes’ impairments into the spotlight. So, how do they negate this? Quite simply: by adopting terminology and forms of identity that do not correspond with those outside of this sporting space. As discussed in the previous chapter, B1, B2 and B3 are established social identities; as is the distinction between the B1s and the Partials (B2 and B3 classified players).

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Although appearing to be a shorthand for the sporting-specific categories, these terms also significantly avoid any disability-related terminology: B1 replaces blind, Partials replaces partially sighted, VI replaces visually impaired and disability is rarely used at all. While not necessarily a conscious decision made by the management or the players, the creation of alternative terminology establishes an environment where problematic labels – such as disabled and blind – are absent. Instead, cricket is this group’s social glue. Being a cricketer is an identity which is shared by all players. But this is not a specific VI or disability cricket identity, it is a form of identity which the players see as universal across all forms of elite cricket. As John, B2, explains, “I kind of see myself as a cricketer before a VI person.” His adoption of an athlete-first identity (Rembis, 2012) – in which a disabled person assumes an athletic narrative that transcends their impairment – epitomises the team’s collective standpoint. When I ask John about his transition from sighted to VI sport, he describes the similarities between his pre and post sight loss experiences: There wasn’t much of a culture difference because as soon as you get in a team environment … a team environment is a team environment, no matter what sort of sport it is. According to John, “a team environment is a team environment.” He clarifies this statement by explaining how the performance demands and commitment needed to succeed in elite VI cricket are the same as his previous experiences of sighted cricket. John’s athlete-first – or cricketer-first – identity is based upon his conception of how an athlete should act. Like blindness and disability, being an athlete is underpinned by ableist discourse and assumptions, thus it is necessary to consider how the players interpret the notion of an athletic identity. In the existing disability sport and PA literature, Marie-Josée Perrier and colleagues (2014) explore the extent to which physically disabled people lose or reconstruct an athletic identity after acquiring an impairment. The authors categorise their participants into three conceptual groups: the non-athlete narrative; athlete as a future self; and the present self as an athlete. Because of the focus on his present behaviour and his insistence that being an athlete is the same in both disabled and non-disabled sport, John’s response above demonstrates his belonging to the final narrative type: the present self as an athlete. Perrier and colleagues also recognise that their participants identify the same physical and psychological traits when describing what is meant by athlete, which the authors refer to as a master narrative. These traits, which include performance, skill, goal orientation and commitment, echo John’s earlier description of the characteristics required in an elite team environment. Yet, the athlete master narrative is more than just the physical and psychological traits identified above; it also includes the cultural values and social behaviours expected of an athlete – both positive and negative. In the context of team

160 Identity formation through disability sport sport, the implications of identifying as an athlete are greater, particularly if other members of the team identify in alternative ways. In returning again to John’s quote above, his response to my question references the notion of culture. Although it is a term so ubiquitous in elite sport that it has somewhat lost its meaning, culture plays a vital role in the players’ acceptance and rejection of particular identities. Drawing upon sport psychology, social psychology and organisational literature, Andrew Cruickshank and Dave Collins (2012: 340) define culture as “a dynamic process characterised by the shared values, beliefs, expectations, and practices across the members and generations of a defined group.” As is evident throughout this book, there are examples of the England team’s shared culture, especially in Chapter Four’s discussion of professionalism. However, the shared team culture is not drawn from disabled or blind culture – if such a thing even exists – it is evidently based upon the values of mainstream, non-disabled sport. And, as will become clear in the remainder of this chapter, it is a shared culture that is maledominated and built upon the hegemonic masculine behaviours which pervade much of recreational and elite male sport and PA (Connell, 1995; Connell and Messerschmidt, 2005; Woodward, 2006; Wellard, 2009). There is a lack of existing literature that explores masculinity and disability sport and PA (Smith, 2013); in particular, there is a complete absence of research into how a masculine identity is contested amongst teammates within a disabled team sport. In their work with men who acquire spinal cord injuries through sport and PA (Sparkes and Smith, 2002, 2003; Smith and Sparkes, 2008; Smith, 2013), Brett Smith and Andrew Sparkes explore how their participants were often unable or unwilling to let go of the masculine identities they had constructed through their sporting experiences. The authors also draw upon Arthur Frank’s (1995) notion of the chaos narrative to conceptualise how the self and identity can fragment in the wake of acquiring an impairment. In the England team, this chaotic fragmentation of identity has been present in previous chapters – for example, the abrupt end of John’s sighted sporting career in Chapter 4 – however, Sandy is the only player to reference his masculine identity when recounting his experience of sight loss: I don’t know, is it a man thing? I was physically able for 47 years and I lived in a man’s world. I worked for a demolition company; it was no give and take. I had quite a “If you can’t do it, then go away” and if you can, then you are made welcome, sort of thing. I had quite a hard work life so then suddenly to be dependent – if that is the correct word – and need­ ing assistance. To be registered disabled, it felt like a less manly term as in now, I understand it is not and at times you need help. From living in a “man’s world,” acquiring a VI undermined Sandy’s masculinity; he could not comprehend how a masculine identity was possible while being dependent on others for assistance. Disabled men are at the intersection of two conflicting ideologies: hegemonic masculinity and stigma of

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disability (Gerschick and Miller, 1995), and it is difficult for individuals to negotiate these seemingly opposing labels. Yet, unlike the participants in Sparkes and Smith’s research who simultaneously lost their masculine and athletic identities, Sandy began to restore his masculine identity through VI cricket: BEN:

And, so to go from this manly world of the construction worker and to then have your identity changed; so, sport helped in that? Being able to play cricket? Did that give you back some of that manliness? SANDY: Not manliness I don’t think. It just makes you more aware that you are not on your own and does make you feel part of a team … maybe it does give you a bit of your manliness back. A difficult question Ben. While unsure at first, Sandy hints that VI cricket may have given him his “manliness” back. Disability sport and PA is frequently seen as a platform for men to reaffirm their masculinity and reject their “Otherness” (Kleiber and Hutchinson, 1999); the masculine ideals of physical strength and domination can be exhibited through participation which may, in turn, challenge the perceived weakness of disability (Martin et al., 1995; Wheeler et al., 1996; Wickman, 2015). Although Sandy does benefit from the physical prowess of playing cricket, it is his membership in this collective group that has restored his sense of masculinity. Prior to his sight loss, he did not participate in any regular competitive sport; but through the camaraderie of VI cricket, he has found an environment akin to the “man’s world” of demolition. Banter, bullying and B1 bashing From the moment I stepped off the train on my first training weekend and took my seat on the minibus heading for the venue, I was instantly submerged into the team’s male-dominated culture. Within an hour of arriving, I was part of “light-hearted” conversations about football, women and drinking. As I became more embedded in this environment, these conversations continued to intensify – in both content and frequency. One particular exchange two months later typifies the players’ hegemonic masculine behaviour. In the build-up to the World Cup, the players were told that Jenny Gunn, MBE and World Cup winning English female cricketer, was coming to address the team about her international experiences. In the following field-note excerpt, I note some of the players’ initial reactions: This piece of news is met by scoffs of derision from some players, espe­ cially those with more experience. Whether this is because some players have been to more major tournaments than Jenny Gunn and are well aware of what to expect or whether it is due to the fact that she is a woman … the players joke about how they will distract her by getting a B1 to stand

162 Identity formation through disability sport directly in front of her during her speech and start every question they ask with “darling” or “babe.” I think the players are intimidated by the idea of a woman entering “their” environment and how their masculinity is chal­ lenged by the fact that women’s cricket seems to be prized more highly than disability cricket. In 2014, England women’s cricket players were awarded ECB central contracts which means – like their male, non-disabled counterparts – they receive a fulltime wage for representing their country. As I mention above, there may be some animosity from the male VI cricketers who feel they are more deserving of professional contracts and lucrative sponsorship deals. However, the disparaging use of “darling” and “babe” demonstrates an attitude that goes beyond mere frustrations regarding central contracts. Certain players’ attitudes are indicative of the re-emergence of lad culture (Phipps and Young, 2013) that is found in male sports teams, on university campuses and social media. An integral component of this team’s masculine culture is “banter,” a term used to legitimise verbal abuse as light-hearted humour but serves to reinforce racist, misogynist, homophobic and ableist discourses. Banter is a feature of contemporary sport and PA (Burdsey, 2011; Magrath et al., 2015; Anderson et al., 2016) and is commonly justified by the perpetrators as an equal and mutual exchange of humour that is specific to the players within the team. In his research with British Asian cricketers, Daniel Burdsey (2011: 273) explains the significance of banter – specifically racist banter – within the locker-room: “Jokes can underpin divisive and exclusionary aspects of sporting subcultures, and they represent a powerful and symbolic means by which minorities are marginalised from dominant player collectives.” And, for the athletes who are on the receiving end of these marginalising comments, they often feel powerless to stop such behaviour or mitigate it as something to be expected in a team sport. In the remainder of this chapter, I explore the exclusionary use of banter in this space and discuss its underlying affect upon the players’ formation of identity. When I ask Marcus about the team’s culture, he identifies the importance of banter in developing camaraderie between the players: BEN:

Do you think there is a unique culture in blind, visually impaired sport that you’ve found is not there when you’ve played sighted sport? MARCUS: It’s played with a different level of camaraderie really. The banter within is different to what it would be outside. BEN: How is it different? MARCUS: I mean, in a nice way, it is sort of a mickey taking of sight, but it is in relation to what you are doing. It is meant not as a harmful, hard comment. And I think everyone is aware of that because you are within that environ­ ment. All of you do have a sight condition and there are things that can be said that, maybe in a mainstream sport, if that was said to you, you might

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be … that might seem harsh and as an offensive comment. But I think within a visually impaired team … BEN: So, it is acceptable? MARCUS: It is acceptable. Marcus makes an important distinction between the banter that is permissible within and outside of the team environment. As he explains, if this behaviour took place in a mainstream setting, it could be interpreted as offensive. His defence of the “mickey taking” is based on context: what is deemed as unacceptable in everyday life is welcomed amongst teammates. Bill supports Marcus’ comment by explaining that banter is a mutual exchange between individuals who share the common experience of being VI: People give you stick because you didn’t see it and then you give it some stick back. And it’s like, yeah actually we can take the piss out of each other’s sight. Whereas in like, say if you’re outside and not playing sport, if someone takes the piss out of your sight, you’d be a bit angry at them. Banter is acceptable because it is delivered by somebody who, nominally, has the same form of impairment. Both players make it clear that VI cricket – whether domestic or international – is the only place where such jokes are commonplace. The use of banter further demonstrates John’s earlier claim that “a team environment is a team environment” and reinforces VI cricket’s close relationship with mainstream sport and PA. Rather than a disabled sports team being a protective environment that allows players to be comfortable in identifying as disabled, the reality is that the players are more susceptible to abuse and banter than in any other social space. A similar phenomenon also exists within the England PD cricket team. When discussing the demands of elite disability cricket, a member of the support staff explains to me the key difference between mainstream and disabled cricket: In the England PD team, many of the players play mainstream cricket as well as representing their country. He talks about how they are protected in the non-disabled environment where the impact of their impairment is accounted for within the team, so each player has a suitable role. For example, a player with one arm may need to field in a particular position to maximise their abilities and is treated much like any other non-disabled teammate. However, once they are back within a disabled cricket environ­ ment, their safety blanket is removed, and their failings are scrutinised much more severely. This may also lead to the players being more aware of their impairment and any limitations that it may cause. Once in an envir­ onment, such as a VI sports team where it may feel like a “level playing field” due to the similar levels of sight loss, the social convention to avoid the “sledging” of blind and partially sighted players is removed.

164 Identity formation through disability sport For some of the physically disabled cricket players, their transition from mainstream sport came as a shock. The social conventions and niceties that greeted them in a non-disabled environment were gone; the players were now open to criticism and exposed to banter. It is an equivalent process for VI players with previous experience of sighted cricket and even for those who had no prior experience of playing team sport. When impairment is the butt of the joke, it is unsurprising that many players choose to reject a disabled or blind identity. Despite certain players’ earlier comments regarding the distinction between blind and partially sighted players, when it comes to humour, everyone is “fair game.” As a sighted person, it is difficult to analyse the shared humour of a group to which I do not belong. As I established in Chapter 1, my epistemological standpoint is to conduct social research that accurately represents participants’ voices and positions them as the authoritative knowers within the social space of VI cricket. It is vital that I acknowledge the players’ interpretation of banter and shared humour while still retaining my critical position as the researcher. Shared humour is an integral part of many minority groups’ identities, particularly for VI people (French, 1999; Macpherson, 2008). Therefore, in the context of VI cricket, the banter relating to VI could be interpreted as a way of taking ownership of humour relating to their sight rather being passive victims. Mick explains the importance of shared humour amongst VI people: I think the great thing you will notice about a lot of the VI community, particularly in sport, is how much we take the mick out of each other, and I’m not sure you get that with other disability groups to the extent that we do. Mick’s point supports Sally French’s (1999) argument that VI people have their own sense of humour, although her interpretation of shared humour revolves around shared educational and social experiences rather than deprecating jokes and banter. Terry, who also discusses the importance of shared humour, argues that this behaviour is not just confined to VI cricket; it is replicated across the disability cricket teams: I’m sure there are plenty of guys with other sorts of impairments who have their own jokes and culture of dealing with it. You hear stories about the PD team of people chucking their feet at each other. I’m sure it is abso­ lutely hilarious and have a completely ridiculous time in the same way that I’ve played cricket with guys who think it is funny to take their fake eye out and put it in my beer and stuff like or leave it in your room or chuck it on the dance-floor. It is hilarious and I’m sure those guys must have loads of fun by like leaving their hands in the restaurant. That is a brilliant thing. From finding a floating glass eye in your drink to using a prosthetic as a projectile, the banter and high-jinx that is associated with male team sport is

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evident, but it incorporates the unique aspects of each team. Apart from playing cricket, the one thing that all members of the team have in common is being VI. And, as discussed above, it is the most obvious trait to focus on. When I ask Mick whether this shared humour had originated from his time at boarding school, he agrees and explains why impairment-based banter is so commonplace: Yeah, I think so. And it is a bit of sport thing, innit (sic). It is the banter and the easiest banter to do there, and the one that people would be most shocked at, is making fun of other people’s sight conditions. I think it is done for effect to sort of … guys like you who wouldn’t have been expect­ ing that sort of thing. Coming into the VI environment and you’ve got people like me and Terry who are sort of saying “blind idiot” whatever. Well I don’t know what you thought but some people have said to me, “I can’t believe you say that” but I think that makes people much more com­ fortable around the disability and to the point that they don’t even notice the disability. In context of team culture and the construction of an athletic identity, Mick’s justification for banter is significant: banter is an integral part of team sport; therefore, if you want to be recognised as a legitimate athlete, you need to be engaged in banter. And, for VI cricketers, the “easiest” way of doing this is targeting an individual’s impairment. While recognising that it may be shocking for an outsider, Mick claims that banter has a positive function of making people feel more comfortable. But he does not make clear who is being comforted by the banter: is it the players or is it outsiders? If he is directing his comment towards the players, banter is a unifying social act that alleviates any negativity towards impairment and reinforces that they are all “in the same boat.” However, if it is used to placate the discomfort felt by outsiders, banter is an attempt to reinforce the group’s “normality.” Mick claims that this leads to “the point that they don’t even notice the disability,” but this is counter-intuitive. Actually, banter is a constant reminder of the players’ impairments and their limitations. For those players who deliver the jokes – much like the use of gossip in Chapter 5 – it is also a way of deflecting attention away from their own insecurities regarding their visual impairment. Whereas Mick agrees that the team’s shared humour is a continuation of his educational experiences, Kamran describes something quite different: BEN:

So, what was the change from say boarding school, how did the culture differ when you came into the international game? KAMRAN: I think … I think it was more like being in a sighted world. It is difficult to explain, it was more practical, it was more tough … BEN: Was it harsher? KAMRAN: Yes, definitely harsher. Oh yeah. I had partial friends too, but we were in a confined space that we were so used to it was, you know, I was part of

166 Identity formation through disability sport a group, I say group loosely, who were friends and I took an active role. Sud­ denly, I’ve come somewhere where I am not taking an active role anymore, I am sitting in the back seat, being taken the piss out of and it wasn’t going to go down well with me. Kamran’s use of “sighted world” in describing his initial national team experiences is revealing. From the confined space of boarding school, he suddenly found himself in an environment where he was powerless to respond. According to Kamran, this hegemonically masculine culture, which is present in many non-disabled sports teams, had little in common with his previous experiences of sport and PA. Because of the representative nature of the team, he was expecting an increase in pressure and expectation; but he did not anticipate such an extreme change of culture. And, for the B1s, this harsh environment continues to the present day. During the participant observation phase of my fieldwork, it became obvious that certain B1s were regular targets for abuse from their Partial teammates. Kamran uses the phrase “B1 bashing” to label this behaviour which ranges from having condiment packets thrown at him during dinner, being teased for his love life to receiving a “wet-willy.”2 Although portrayed as harmless high-jinx, the repetition of these acts reveals the significant role that humour plays in this social space: to reinforce the power relations between the B1s and the Partials. There is a fine line between banter and bullying, yet sometimes this line is non-existent. Rehan argues that “the laughs and jokes and banter” at his expense have an ulterior motive, which goes unchallenged: REHAN:

Like, I understand there is going to be laughs and jokes and banter and stuff but some of it becomes borderline bullying. Generally, things will be done to provoke a reaction so if you do it and nothing happens, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. But people keep pressing and pressing and pressing and press­ ing because they want the reaction. They want that reaction and for you to snap or flip. BEN: And can they get away with it because they label it as banter or a bit of fun? REHAN: Well they can get away with it because no one says anything. Due to the B1s’ marginal position within the squad, Rehan maintains that banter continues without opposition as there is no collective or individual interrogation of this behaviour. Jatin, a fellow B1, shares Rehan’s view. When discussing the separation between the B1s and Partials, he considers why particular players are targets for abuse: JATIN:

You can get the message across by banter.

So, is banter usually aimed at particular people/particular players?

JATIN: Oh yeah. Yeah, the message always come across that if I, like for instance,

have done something negative in the game or a little bit of bad spell. There is always, instead of encouraging and being as a team unit, there is always BEN:

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a sort of a … in one of the matches I had a shocking match in the World Cup and one of the players told me face to face in a sarky way of saying that “Every match you have bowled a shitty over” but that wasn’t nice. BEN: Is banter just a way of dressing up abuse? JATIN: That is right, exactly. It’s alright when they do the same sort of thing, have a bad spell, or have a bad period in the match. They don’t seem to say anything. BEN: Is it because you are a B1? What do you think? JATIN: B1s are always more targeted, I would put it that way. Obviously, we haven’t got as much to offer as they have. As Jatin articulates, “you can get the message across by banter”; it is a way of masking criticism or abuse in a socially acceptable manner. He also claims that the B1s are more regularly targeted because of their “limited” skills but this banter is not just motivated by the Partials’ frustrations with their teammates. As conceptualised in Chapter 5, the hierarchy of sight is clearly evident in Rehan and Jatin’s examples. Power – both on and off the pitch – relates to an individuals’ sport class and this leads to those with the least amount of sight having the least amount of power. Terry explains that it is vital that the B1s involve themselves in the team’s shared humour, “otherwise they (the B1s) will just become victims of bullying which in any team – any group of males – the overriding possibility is that you will pick on the weakest member of the group.” From his description, this behaviour is to be expected in a male sports team with the “weakest member of the group” – which he implies are the B1s – being picked on. His claim that banter serves to integrate the B1s and prevents them from becoming victims of bullying is inaccurate: banter quickly morphs into the bullying that Terry claims to be trying to avoid. Even Kamran, who is vocal in his criticism of the harsh team culture, admits that he uses banter to target his fellow B1s: BEN:

Talking a bit about banter and treatment of certain players, do you think the B1s are always the fall guy? KAMRAN: Yeah, yeah. Now I could be a B7 for all you care, all I am telling you is what I do when worst comes to worst. When I say worst comes to worst, it is when there is a social occasion and everyone is taking the piss out of, I’ll take the piss out of a B1 first. So, I’m being honest and saying that, that is what it is. And, mostly it will be me because I will put myself out there. So, at the beginning of today’s session, the Partials were playing football and the rest of the B1s are on the side, what do I do? I go and join in. Am I going to get the ball? Probably not. Am I going to miss? Am I going to look like an idiot? Probably yes. But that is the only way I know, the only way I know how to be involved. What you encourage is the piss take as well and I actually think sometimes they have that inner respect for me. They feel like I’ve got the balls to actually come and bother with us whereas the other B1s might not.

168 Identity formation through disability sport By pre-emptively targeting other blind players, Kamran uses humour as a form of self-preservation; he adheres to the social hierarchy and “takes the piss out of a B1 first” instead of making jokes about his partially sighted teammates. Kamran also discloses that he is willing to receive abuse in order to integrate himself with the team’s hegemonic masculine culture. He later adds, “that’s why I run after everyone. That’s why I hang around with the Partials, because I have to.” His worrying admissions demonstrate the Partials’ power in this sporting space. As discussed in Chapter 5, they are often left to decide who is and who is not socially included. Thus, survival in the sighted world of VI cricket requires the adoption of a masculine identity; one that copes with the harsh reality of divisive humour and can verbally self-defend through banter. Consequently, through the repetition of these impairment-specific microaggressions, disability and visual impairment are reduced to undesirable, stigmatised markers of difference.

Conclusion At the beginning of this chapter, I endeavoured to grasp the significance of VI cricket in the participants’ formation of identity. In doing so, I wanted to bring together the identity debates that have been present throughout this book and make a substantive argument about the relationship between elite disability sport and identity. While I have yet to comprehensively answer my initial existential question – who has the power to decide who somebody is and dictate how they should define themselves? – we are closer to understanding why disability is such a contested label. And, although self-identification of disabled athletes has been frequently analysed (Sparkes and Smith, 2002; Hardin, 2007; Wickman, 2007; Rembis, 2012; Perrier et al., 2014), this VI cricket team has provided new and previously unexplored insights into how identity is formed through disability team sport. Underlying this identity debate is the relationship between elite disabled sport and the body. Significantly, rather than VI cricket being a way to manage stigma or pass as “normal,” it actually accentuates the impairments that many players are attempting to dissociate from. For the B1s, playing cricket reveals their physical “shortcomings” in comparison to their partially sighted teammates or opponents. For the Partials who use sport to demonstrate their “normality,” cricket is one of the few social situations where they are outed as disabled or blind. The players do not actively choose to “come out,” their identities are institutionally ascribed through playing sport. A collective team identity does exist; however, it is not formed around notions of disability or blindness, but through the act of playing VI cricket. While not a surprise – due to the professionalised and competitive ethos established in previous chapters – this masculine, athletic-first identity is constructed in a harsh and unforgiving sighted world. Emulating a mainstream approach to elite sport has further consequences in the formation of identity. The hierarchy of sight, in which the highest

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performing players are most valued, has stifled any conception of a positive disabled or blind identity. Disability and blindness are either absent, rejected, or the butt of the joke. The binaries of able-bodied/disabled and sighted/blind – which I reject through my theoretical framework – are reinforced and remain a corporeal “reality.” Despite claims that the shared humour is harmless, banter serves to reinforce the negativity of impairment and the group’s power dynamic by targeting those with lower levels of sight. Being disabled is not an affirmative statement but a label enforced by playing representative disability cricket. The dominant discourses of disability as an individualised, medicalised condition is prevalent amongst those players who chose to either reject this label or begrudgingly accept that it is something they have to “deal” with. Yet, any notion of positively identifying as disabled is as absent as the word itself. But this is to be expected. While disability is broadly used to describe the four ECB national squads, the team is principally recognised as playing a VI game; thus, identifying as disabled, for the majority of players, is seen as irrelevant. Similarly, being VI – or blind or partially sighted – is also highly contested by the players and has a significant impact upon their selfidentification. Through the adoption of new sporting-specific terminology and rejection of value-laden language, the dominant group identity that emerges is one that is based around cricket participation rather than a shared form of impairment or a blind culture. For those who had been educated at a specialist school or had experienced negative public reactions, the rejection of blindness or being VI is also due to fear: fear of being discriminated against in social situations and fear of being labelled as “abnormal.” Multiple strategies are adopted in rejecting a stereotypical blind identity, such as passing as sighted in public situations and dissociating from those blind people with “unwanted” social behaviours. As acknowledged earlier, the players do demonstrate agency when forming their identities; however, it is used to reject disability and blindness rather than challenge the ableist understandings of these terms. Although this is a team for blind and partially sighted people, the dominant group identity that has been constructed is one that rejects VI as a central facet of identity. By adopting the hegemonic masculine values and behaviours of elite sighted sport, the team’s raison d’etre has become a negative and a form of identity to reject.

Notes 1 In the United Kingdom, to be certified as blind (or severely sight impaired), an indi­ vidual must fall into one of these categories: visual acuity of less than 3/60 with a full visual field; visual acuity between 3/60 and 6/60 with a severe reduction of field of vision; or, visual acuity of 6/60 or above but with a very reduced field of vision. To be certified as partially sighted (or sight impaired), an individual must fall into one of these categories: visual acuity of 3/60 to 6/60 with a full field of vision; visual acuity of up to 6/24 with a moderate reduction of field of vision or with

170 Identity formation through disability sport a central part of vision that is cloudy or blurry; or, visual acuity of 6/18 or even better if a large part of your field of vision is missing (RNIB, n.d.). 2 A slang term for a prank in which a moistened finger is inserted into a person’s ear.

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7

Embodiment, identity and disability sport The close of play

In a game of cricket, the close of play is often a welcome relief. After hours of back-breaking bowling and chasing the ball in the hot sun or the wind and rain, the final delivery of the day brings a finite end to proceedings. Once the players have shaken hands and pleasantries have been shared with the umpires, they return to the sanctuary of the clubhouse for a well-deserved drink and the chance to deliberate the day’s play. While this idyllic and somewhat oldfashioned scene does not necessarily reflect the diverse experiences of cricket players around the world, it does capture a universal facet of cricket: the art of reflection. Whether in the maidans of Mumbai or Port of Spain’s Queen’s Park Savannah, the same ritualistic, blow-by-blow account of the day’s play will take place – often going on late into the night, involving both players and spectators. It is a chance to take a step back to consider how the game unfolded and what has been learnt from the encounter. And, in essence, this is what a good concluding chapter should also do. My use of close of play as this chapter’s title is more than just convenient wordplay; it is a purposeful choice that reflects my attempt to capture the conducive spirit of this conversation. This chapter is an opportunity to take a moment and contemplate this world of visually impaired (VI) cricket. As a reader, you may have been solely focused upon the players’ narratives and the intricate details of the game itself, but what else have you gleaned from this sporting subculture? As the author, it is my chance to consider what I wanted you – the reader – to take away from my book. And the best way to do this is by returning to Chapter 1. Introductory chapters are predominantly written like a manifesto for prospective political candidates: promise a lot but deliver very little. In looking back at my own introduction, I did indeed promise a lot. A flick through the opening chapter may have convinced you to take this book out of the library or buy it from a bookshop but have I delivered what I intended? Drawing upon C.L.R. James, I wanted to know the social significance of VI cricket and establish that it is an enlightening site for sociological research. I also endeavoured to move beyond the boundaries of VI cricket to consider how this book’s findings may contribute knowledge to other disciplinary fields. In the remainder of this concluding chapter, I will demonstrate the ways in which I have met these intentions. My discussion is organised in three sections. Firstly, I analyse the

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salience of my theoretical framework An Embodied Approach to Disability Sport in the context of this study and also in its potential application in the wider disability sport and physical activity (PA) field. I discuss each component in turn and give examples that exhibit the divergent ways in which this approach underpinned my research. Secondly, I return to the notion of Cricket. But not as you know it and argue for VI cricket to be recognised as a significant sporting subculture. I identify the substantive themes that have been present throughout this book – including sensuous experience, elitism and professionalisation and identity – and explore how these findings transcend this novel social space. Finally, I conclude this chapter by considering the future direction of elite disability sport and take a critical look at the role of national and international governing bodies in its development.

An embodied approach to disability sport In Chapter 2, I established my blueprint for an embodied approach to disability sport. In doing so, I wanted to demonstrate how an interdisciplinary theoretical framework – which draws upon phenomenology, sociology and contemporary disability theory – can be constructed and then applied in an empirical study. As I argued earlier, I believe that there needs to be a fundamental change in how we use social theory in disability sport and PA research; there is often a disconnect between theory and practice. Now, I am not jumping onto the real-world soapbox – whatever real-world means – instead, we need to consider how our conceptualisations of disability and/or impairment resonate with our research. If we only take a cursory glance at these concepts or ignore them completely, then we are in danger of repeating uncritical, ableist discourse that I have endeavoured to break down in this book. This is particularly crucial when exploring issues of classification, empowerment and identity that are intimately linked with notions of physicality and ability. Instead of just talking about the disabled sporting body as a site for research, my embodied approach posits that key contemporary disability sport and PA issues should be theorised through disabled athletes’ lived experiences. And this is an important distinction to make. While embodiment and lived experience are increasingly popular concepts in sport and PA research, they are often used without explanation or justification. In response to this ambiguity, I established my conceptualisation of embodiment and then identified the three distinct yet interrelated theoretical components that constitute my framework: Reviving the body, Breaking down binaries and Agency and resistance. Although aspects of my approach are tailored to VI sport, such as the deconstruction of the sighted/ blind binary, these three components can be applied to the experiences of any disabled person who participates in sport and PA – whether elite or recreational. There is also flexibility to adapt the framework to another impairment-specific groups, for example, athletes with intellectual disabilities who seek to challenge ableist stereotypes about intellect and ability. Or physically disabled athletes

176 Embodiment, identity and disability sport whose use of technology – including wheelchairs and prosthetics – initiate debate around the construction of impairment, hybridity and the human/machine binary. Again, these are not abstract examples in which the disabled body is a disembodied object: these are disabled peoples’ lived, corporeal experiences of sport and PA. Reviving the body, the first component, provides the theoretical basis of my embodied approach and marks a significant departure from how many disability sport scholars engage with impairment. As I have made abundantly clear throughout this book, we need to interrogate the meaning of impairment as readily as we do with the concept of disability. And this means adopting an understanding of impairment that is more than the physical basis upon which disability is built. Yes, having an impairment is a corporeal experience – as is the experience of pain and illness – but we also need to acknowledge the role of discourse and social interaction in its construction. Impairments are also not fixed entities; they are often context or situation dependent. However, because of the historic separation of impairment and disability in social theory, these can be difficult ideas to wrestle with. It may even appear to be an abstruse academic debate which does little to address the everyday oppression of disabled people, but I would argue on the contrary. Engaging with impairment is a vital part of understanding the barriers that disabled people face, and this is nowhere more evident than in the experiences of this book’s participants. We were presented with several powerful examples in which impairment was at the heart of social interactions. Whether in their journey from school or domestic cricket to the international game or the reading of a restaurant menu, the players’ lived experiences of impairment were continually changing – even if their sight conditions remained stable. Notably, these instances demonstrate how the “parameters” of impairment are often fluid and contextual. Yet, it is how disabled people embody these parameters which are frequently overlooked. For the most part, the players willingly accepted their social roles and the expectations – both high and low – placed upon them because of their impairment. From Rohan’s worries of not being able to see enough to Jatin’s adamant defence of what a B1 should be able to do, their corporeality was rooted in the context of elite VI cricket. And their lived experiences would have been different when playing domestic cricket or when participating in a different disability sport or PA. For example, in Chapter 5, Clive argued that blind footballers felt more empowered and had more social influence than their cricket-playing peers because they play in a team solely made up of blind participants. While both sets of players have similar impairments and are classified as B1, the expectations upon them are markedly different. This also applies when considering disabled peoples’ lived experiences of impairment in and out of sport and PA; beyond confidence or self-efficacy, how does their understanding of self change and what happens when an athlete returns to everyday life? Conceptualising impairment as a biological reality is unhelpfully reductive; it is a socially framed phenomenon that should be at the foundation of critical disability sport scholarship.

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Building upon an embodied understanding of impairment, Breaking down binaries, my second component, further challenges the orthodoxies that are commonly accepted as the norm in disability sport and PA. I focus upon deconstructing able-bodied/disabled and sighted/blind binaries, but it could include a wide range of binaries – such as hearing/deaf in the context of Deaf sport and PA or, as discussed earlier, human/machine in specific physically disabled activities. Drawing upon critical disability studies and the concept of ableism, this component is my call to action for disability sport scholars to deconstruct fixed modes of thought that continue to dominate current research. As Dan Goodley encourages, we should be critically engaging with the messiness at the centre of these binaries. For example, where does an able-bodied athlete end and a disabled athlete begin? Is it merely based upon whether an athlete is registered as disabled? Or does it rely on an essentialised idea of what a sporting body should look like and what it should be able to accomplish? Much like impairment, we should not accept that binary oppositions emerge from an innate, biological basis: they are socially constituted and can change depending upon the context or situation. As well as considering the ways in which social researchers may resist or inadvertently reiterate binaries, it is as equally important to interrogate how athletes, coaches and organisers internalise these modes of thought as reality. For many of the players in my study, there seemed to be very few grey areas in their understanding of the able-bodied/disabled binary; they assumed VI cricket was a way of proving their ableness and rejecting disability was an integral part of this process. Unsurprisingly, ableist discourses are ever present in disability sport and PA. This is manifest in the normate sporting body that the players and coaches are constantly trying to emulate. As I said in Chapter 6, I had hoped that the members of this social space would be active in their deconstruction of the able-bodied/disabled binary, but the opposite applied. Yet, we should not expect disabled athletes to be complicit in challenging established ways of conceptualising disability; instead, we should be asking why and how these binaries have become so engrained in their thinking. Due to the heterogeneity of disabled sport and PA, any exploration of binaries should also disrupt impairment-specific distinctions. In this book, the VI players’ lived experiences demonstrate the fallacy of a sighted/blind binary. You can be sight impaired and play blind cricket, despite not being registered blind. You can be registered blind and still have some residual vision. You can be sight impaired and still pass as sighted. Being sighted and being blind are not two distinct states of being, which is suggested by the sighted/blind binary; it is far more complex than that. This is prescient in the context of disabled team sport where these supposedly fixed boundaries are embodied by teammates with nominally the “same” impairment. While VI cricket’s mixture of blind and partially sighted players epitomises the messiness of the sighted/ blind binary, it would be interesting to investigate how other existing binaries are contested through participation in disability sport and PA.

178 Embodiment, identity and disability sport Finally, Agency and resistance, the third component of my theoretical approach, relates to the importance of personal experience. In the previous two components and throughout this book, I have discussed the potential role of disability sport and PA in resisting dominant notions of disability, blindness and sport – but whose perspective is this from? I am claiming to conduct research using an embodied approach and using the lived body as the vantage point of perception; thus, I should prioritise the experiences of those who I am researching. As social researchers, we should not speak for our participants; we should provide them with a platform to share their thoughts and opinions on the issues that directly impact their lives – even if we disagree with what they are saying, or it contradicts our theories! This component is underpinned by the notion of individual agency. Rather than being passively constrained by social structures, agency is the capacity of individuals to make their own choices and act independently. It can also be an embodied act in which individuals use their corporeality to demonstrate their abilities and resist normative discourses. For example, the players’ construction of sense-making strategies demonstrates their agency in actively negotiating the game of VI cricket. As I discuss above, agency was also demonstrated in the players’ formation of identity but not in an affirmative way. Rather than choosing to resist disabled and blind stereotypes, the majority of players exerted their agency by rejecting these identities. Again, much like Breaking down binaries, disability sport and PA can still be conceptualised as a tool of resistance that provides participants with a high level of agency – even if the players themselves do not recognise this. This is not to say that other disabled athletes use their agency in the same way; a resistant, affirmative attitude may be more prevalent in other activities. Individual and collective agency are significant features of disability sport and PA – both at the elite and recreational levels – but are markedly absent from our theoretical approaches. My approach addresses this deficiency and provides a framework to understand the transformative potential of agency and resistance in disabled athletes’ lived experiences.

Beyond the boundary In writing this final chapter, I once again find myself drawn back to the England and Wales Cricket Board’s (ECB) strapline that was featured at the beginning of this book: Cricket. But not as you know it. And I feel prompted to ask: is this an accurate summation of the game? Of course, it depends on what one already knows about cricket – as discussed throughout this book – but this phrase suggests that VI cricket is distinct from the mainstream, sighted version. To a certain extent, this is correct: underarm bowling with a ball filled with ball-bearings, a predominance of sweep shots and, most significantly, the presence of blind and partially sighted players. However, this is juxtaposed by players wearing the same kit, stepping onto the same hallowed turf and adopting the same high-performance ethos as their sighted peers. The dual

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aspect of this social space that is simultaneously elite – organisationally and attitudinally – yet still “different” is problematic. The players’ lived experiences, their formation of identity and valorisation of their sporting bodies are all mediated through the lens of “legitimate” sport. Rather than the underlying crux of this book being Cricket. But not as you know it, it is the opposite that applies. In many significant ways, elite VI cricket is Cricket. As you know it. But beyond an eye-catching strapline, how has this book’s key findings established VI cricket as an original, enlightening site for sociological research and in what ways has it furthered our understanding of contemporary disability sport and PA? Thematically, I organised my empirical chapters (Chapters 3–6) in such a way to convey how the players’ narratives changed in line with their evolving experiences of disability sport and PA. In doing so, I identified several substantive themes – some of which are unique to this game and others which are universal across elite disability sport. And, although each chapter has a distinct focus and builds upon the previous chapter’s content, there are three themes that are central to all four empirical chapters: sensuous experience, elitism and professionalisation, and identity. Fundamentally, it is the relationship between these themes that demonstrates why elite VI cricket is the epitome of a contemporary disability sport. Firstly, I want to consider the significance of the players’ sensuous experiences, both when playing VI cricket and in their everyday lives. While a sociological exploration of sensuous experience may seem superfluous – particularly when considering traditional social issues of access and barriers to participation – it actually reveals previously unexamined aspects of blindness and disability. For example, although blind and partially sighted individuals’ negotiation of space has been explored in a variety of academic disciplines, this is the first study to conceptualise VI sporting space. While the formation of embodied cognitive maps, which are created through repetition and experience, is commonplace in the existing literature, VI cricket’s lack of physical landmarks and the fast-paced nature of the game present a unique challenge. Rather than depending on fixed, stable objects, the players base their spatial knowledge upon the constructed fielding positions and the movements of their teammates and opposition. Perception is an intercorporeal, social act: the game is brought to life by the auditory and haptic interactions of the people in this space. This is most evident through the wicket-keeper’s “running commentary” which alerts the players to the ball’s movements and acts as an additional sensuous stimulus. Such active and performative sense-making strategies demonstrate the players’ high levels of agency and reveal something greater than mere sensory compensation: it establishes an ontological shift in how sport and PA can be enacted without a reliance upon visual perception. Because of the nature of an adapted activity, VI cricket is always going to be compared to its mainstream version, but this does not mean that the adaptions made to the game make it inferior. As with the discussion of difference in Chapter 6, being different does

180 Embodiment, identity and disability sport not necessarily equate with being Other; it is possible to recognise that it is an alternative way of participating in sport and PA and should be celebrated accordingly. And this is the case for all adapted sports and PA. There are countless examples of disabled athletes exhibiting skill, ingenuity and using their bodies in amazing ways. However, such celebrations are frequently reduced to examples of so-called inspiration porn in which disabled people are praised for overcoming their impairments and congratulated for participating in everyday life. Significantly, when this discourse is adopted, it is then that difference becomes a state of abnormality. The issues of difference and Otherness played a pivotal role in the players’ articulation of their sensuous experiences. Despite the diverse sense-making strategies that utilised auditory, haptic and kinaesthetic modes, many of the Partials sought to reinforce their visual abilities and argue that other sensory modes were “fallbacks” for when they could not see what was going on. While it is understandable that players rely on their residual vision, it was this ocularcentric valorisation of visual perception that served to underpin the team’s hierarchy of sight. In some cases, they even claimed that their high level of sight meant they had more in common with sighted cricketers than their blind teammates. Although the VI players’ sensuous experiences do challenge dominant conceptions of blindness, disability and sport, this is not universally evident in their descriptions of playing the game. Yes, this may be a conscious decision to display their “normality,” but it was also this book’s first example of how an elite, professionalised approach to disability sport can affect how an individual comprehends their own or others’ corporeal abilities. Beyond the impact upon sensuous experience, the consequences of emulating mainstream sport and PA are multifarious. In Chapter 4, the players’ narrative accounts provided an insight into the journey from recreational to elite disabled athlete. For the majority of the Partials, especially those at the top end of their B2 and B3 classes, this was a straightforward process. Their initial, empowering experiences of feeling like a big fish in little pond – whether at school or a local club – were validated as they thrived in an elite environment. Although there were increased demands and expectations upon the players’ performances, they also benefited from high-level, mainstream coaching, facilities and equipment. Conversely, many B1s did not thrive in this elite environment for the very same reasons. As an illustration, training weekends often took place in an indoor facility at a prestigious English cricket stadium. While it is an internationally renowned venue, the building’s acoustics make it almost impossible for the B1s to hear the ball, especially when it is fully occupied. At times, this meant that the B1s were forced to have a designated quiet time while the Partials continued to part in mainstream-style training drills. Even though this is a niche example, it is indicative of the fallacy that emulating elite non-disabled sport means that disabled athletes will benefit. In reality, the closer the relationship between disabled and non-disabled sport, the more disempowering and marginalising it is for the “most” disabled athletes. Again, I return to the ideal of the normate

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sporting body: contemporary disability sport has embraced an organisational approach that overwhelmingly benefits individuals who embody dominant notions of athleticism and limits opportunities for those who do not. Similarly, if mainstream coaches continue to approach disabled and nondisabled sport in the same way and justify this by saying, “I don’t see disability, I only see the athlete” then the “least” disabled athletes will thrive at the expense of their peers. Central to this elite culture is the classification process. Although valorisation of bodies is a continual process in all forms of disabled and non-disabled sport, classification is an overt way of demarcating what an individual can and cannot do. And, while this process is an essential feature of disability sport and PA, it is the social consequences of classification that need further investigation. As discussed in Chapter 5, classification is so embodied in VI cricket that the B1, B2 and B3 (the Partials) sport classes are social identities with set corporeal and social expectations. When these expectations are breached, certain players are accused of cheating the system. This culture of rumour, gossip and accusation serves to maintain the status quo. In combination with a highperformance ethos, the classification process results in a hierarchy of sight in which the athletes with the highest levels of sight are most valued. Beyond VI cricket, what other internal hierarchies exist in elite disability sport? And how are they embodied by disabled athletes? We must also consider the gap between the promise of being elite disabled athletes and the realities of being elite disabled athletes, and its impact upon impairmentspecific hierarchies. For instance, the partially sighted players in this book were required to support their blind teammates while simultaneously fulfilling the role of elite athlete. The impact of this is twofold: firstly, it inhibits the players’ opportunities to be elite and, secondly, it reduces their less able teammates to burdens and strengthens this team’s marginalising social order. Again, this is a VI cricket-specific example but attends to broader issues of valorisation and the effect of adopting an incongruous mainstream approach to disability sport and PA. When considering the significance of sensuous experience or the evolution of elite disability sport, identity and the identification process have been integral to these discussions. In Chapter 6, I brought these strands together to specifically engage with how the VI cricket players construct their identities. As evident throughout this book, the team predominantly adopted an athlete-first identity. It also embraced the hegemonic masculine values and behaviours of elite sighted sport, which was most apparent through the use of impairment-specific “banter.” Because all players were VI, this social space was harsh and unforgiving. When it came to abuse, the social conventions had been removed and everyone was fair game. Consequently, many players rejected disability and blindness as positive facets of their identities. A disabled identity was rejected because it was institutionally ascribed. To play VI cricket, the players must identify as disabled, but only temporarily. The negotiation of blindness or VI was a more

182 Embodiment, identity and disability sport complex process. To distance themselves from “undesirable” forms of blindness, some Partials chose to pass as sighted to avoid the negative social consequences. And, despite a number of players claiming their “normality” by playing VI cricket, it actually accentuated their impairment. Despite the creation of various passing strategies in everyday life, cricket is one of the few social situations that outs them as VI. This is an important departure from the notion that disability sport and PA helps disabled people escape the “disability ghetto”; it reinforces their marginality. As the demographic of elite disability sport continues to change (i.e. the decrease of severely disabled athletes), this situation is going to become more common. In the context of VI cricket, Clive was correct, “In a blind man’s world, the one-eyed man is king.” As I acknowledged in Chapter 6’s conclusion, this sport that was purposefully adapted for VI people has now become an activity in which its intended participants are struggling to compete. It is those players with most amount of sight – thus closest to a “normal” cricket player – who thrive in this social space. But where does this leave athletes who want to positively identify as disabled? And what does this do to disability sport’s already-strained relationship with the disability rights movement? In my opinion, the closer that elite disability sport comes to emulating the mainstream, the more unrepresentative and marginalising it becomes for disabled people. Yes, a small minority of disabled athletes will prosper from this system, but at the expense of the “most” disabled athletes or those who cannot or do not want to participate in sport and PA.

The future? Notably, this book captures an important moment in time. In 2019, the International Paralympic Committee (IPC) announced a new strategic plan which, according to their press release, signals the start of a bright and exciting new era for the Paralympic Movement. They have refined their vision and mission statement to “better reflect its (the IPC) purpose in using sport as a catalyst to create a better world for all” (IPC, 2019, n.p.). In doing so, the IPC also claim to have placed a greater emphasis upon transforming attitudes towards disabled people and driving social inclusion. In the context of VI cricket, the ECB have announced the creation of an International Inclusive Cricket Centre, located at the University of Worcester, which will be used by all four England teams and recreational disabled cricket players. Mick Donovan, deputy pro-vice chancellor at the University of Worcester, argues that the centre “will inspire generations to come, change perceptions on inclusion and unleash the potential cricket has to offer” (ECB, 2019, n.p.). But are these changes too little, too late? The IPC and ECB seem to be promising something which they cannot deliver: inclusion and transformation of social attitudes through elite disability sport. Beyond the rhetoric, this would require a cultural shift in how these institutions conceptualise high-performance sport which, considering their ever-closer relationships with non-disabled governing bodies,

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is inconceivable. For the IPC, it may also irrevocably change the elite, mainstream “product” that they have carefully cultivated through large-scale investment and corporate sponsorship. Whether my book marks the beginning of an inclusive period for disability sport and PA or, in fact, illustrates an elite sporting culture that will become more widespread, only time will tell. However, if the lived experiences of this book’s participants are anything to go by, creating an inclusive disability sporting culture is an insurmountable task and one which not all disabled athletes, coaches and organisers would welcome. Disability sport institutions, such as the IPC and ECB, are at a crossroads: they want to be elite and professionalised while simultaneously professing to be inclusive and transformative. If they do not consider their organisational approaches carefully, they are in danger of achieving neither of these worthwhile ambitions.

References England and Wales Cricket Board. (2019). England’s Disability Teams Set to Enjoy New Base at Worcester Inclusive Cricket Centre. Available at: www.ecb.co.uk/news/1320111/ england-s-disability-teams-set-to-enjoy-new-base-at-worcester-inclusive-cricket-centre (Accessed 28.08.2019). International Paralympic Committee. (2019). The IPC Reveals New Strategic Direction. Available at: www.paralympic.org/news/ipc-reveals-new-strategic-direction (Accessed 28.08.2019).

Index

Abberley, P. 29

ableism 23, 32–3, 177

acoustemology 55

agency 34–5, 79, 178

Allen-Collinson, J. 51

Allen, C. 52

Atherton, M. 85

auditory knowledge 60

B1, B2 and B3 see classification

banter 162–8

Barnes, C. 14–5, 148

Berger, R. 93

Beyond a Boundary (James) 2

binary 32–33, 177

Blind Cricket England and Wales 4

blind cricket see visually impaired cricket

blindness: blindies and blindys 89; and

humour 164; and identity 150–5; public attitudes towards 157–8

Bolt, D. 153

British Blind Sport 4

British social model 18–20

Brittain, I. 90

bullying 83, 165–8

Bundon, A. 16

Burdsey, D. 162

Burkitt, I. 144–5

Bury, M. 18

Butler, J. 143

Campbell, F.K. 32, 147

classification: and disability sport 111–5; evidenced-based 113; and visually impaired sport 113–4 Cole, P. 29

Collins, D. 160

Cook, A. 101

Craven, P. 78, 145

Cricket. But not as you know it

1–2, 178

critical disability studies 22–24 critical realism 21–2 The Country of the Blind (Wells) 110

Crow, L. 29

Cruickshank, A. 160

culture 160

Davis, J. 6

De Haan, D. 94, 96

Descartes, R. 24

disability: affirmative understanding of 145–6; definitions of 17–19; and identity 145–50; sociological theories of 16–24; see also impairment Disability Rights and Wrongs Revisited (Shakespeare) 22

Dis/ability studies: Theorising disablism

and ableism (Goodley) 23

Disabled People’s International 18

echolocation 67

education: experiences of 83; and visually impaired sport 87–90 embodied: approach to disability sport 28–35; expectations 116; reconceptualisation of self 90–4 embodiment: as a shared process 27–8; the socialness of 26–7; what is 24–5 empowerment: through disability sport model (Pensgaard and Sørensen) 81; what is 79–82 England and Wales Cricket Board 1, 4, 97,

99–100, 182–3

ethnography 5–6

Index Feld, S. 55

Finkelstein, V. 34

football: blind 96, 135–36; deaf 89;

partially sighted 117

Frank, A. 26

French, S. 145–6, 164

goalball 52

Goffman, E. 17, 143, 147

Goodley, D. 23, 32

Gunn, J. 161

Gutierrez, L. 80–1

Hall, S. 147

Hammer, G. 49, 127

haptic perception 66–9

hierarchy of sight 133–6

Howe, P.D. 48–9, 78, 80, 100,

114, 134

Huang, C.J. 90

Hughes, B. 24, 30–1

Hull, J. 68

identity: athlete-first 159; the B1s and the Partials 124–33; a shared team 158–68; what is 142–5; see also disability; blindness impairment: definitions of 17–19; and

disability sport 31, 176; sociology of

30–31; see also disability

Ingold, T. 67

intentional misrepresentation 113

intercorporeality 27, 56–60

International Classification of Functioning,

Disability and Health 18

International Classification of Impairments, Disabilities and Handicaps 17–8 International Paralympic Committee 100,

112–3, 182–3

interviews 7–8

James, C.L.R. 2

Jenkins, R. 142

Jenks, C. 70

Jessup, G. 85, 95

Kitchin, P. 100

language see terminology

Lawler, S. 143

185

lived body 26

Lyotard, J. 15

Macbeth, J. 114

Macpherson, H. 49, 127

mainstreaming 100

Mann, D. 114

masculinity 160–1

McRuer, R. 32

media coverage 95–98

medical model 16–8

Merleau-Ponty, M. 26–7

Morgan, E. 97

Nordic relational perspective 21

the normate 32

ocularcentrism 70

Oliver, M. 16, 149

one-day international 4

Paralympic Games 78, 96–7

participant observation 6–7

passing 155–7

Paterson, K. 24, 30–1

Paterson, M. 66–7

Peers, D. 114–5, 144

Pensgaard, A.M. 80–1

Performativity 143–4

Perrier, M. 159

phenomenologically-informed

approaches 24

physically disabled cricket 163–4

Pink, S. 27

Pow, C.P. 68

professionalisation 98–103

Purdue, D. 100

Ravensbergen, H. 114

restored self 93

Rice, T. 60

Roulstone, N. 21

rumour and gossip 118–23

Sacks, O. 50

Saerberg, S. 52

Schafer, R.M. 54

sensuous experience: of space 49–54; of

sport and physical activity 48–9

sensuous self 27

Seymour, W. 91

186 Index Shakespeare, T. 22, 29–30

Sherry, M. 31

sighted world 49, 166

Silva, C. 80

Smith, B. 16, 93, 160

social relational model 20

Sociologies of Disability and Illness (Thomas) 18

somatic work 48

Sørensen, M. 80–1

soundscape elicitation 8

Sparkes, A. 93, 160

sport class see classification

Stigma 147–8

Sullivan, L. 58

Swain, J. 145–6

tandem cycling 49, 127

terminology: sport-specific 115, 159;

sight loss and 150–3

Test Match Special 63

Thomas, C. 18, 20

Tweedy, S. 113

twenty20 4

Union of Physically Impaired Against

Segregation 18

United Nations 78

valorisation: of disabled sporting bodies

134; in visually impaired cricket 111

Vannini, P. 27, 48

Vehmas, S. 23

visual perception 70–2 visually impaired cricket: auditory structure of 54–66; initial experiences of 85–94; a note on 4–5; relationship with mainstream sport 98–101 walking 49, 127

Watson, N. 23

Wedgewood, N. 35

Weedon, C. 144

Wells, H.G. 110

Wolbring, G. 32

Woodward, K. 25

World Blind Cricket Council 4

Zimmerman, M. 80