A magical combination

tauringhuang.

Jul 22nd 2008
From Economist.com

Sun, cricket and alcohol, on the cusp of great upheaval


Monday | Tuesday
Monday
THE buzz of anticipation starts to build well before reaching Lord’s. On the train into central London I see two young men in shorts and sun hats with a large cool box. Surely they are on the same journey as me—to Lord’s, the home of cricket. Nearer the ground the tube train begins to fill with more like-minded souls. I glimpse a flash of the distinctive “egg-and-bacon” yellow-and-pink tie of the Marylebone Cricket Club, the custodians of the laws of cricket, whose home is Lord’s. Next a Panama hat or two with a band in the same colours hoves into view. And finally on Wellington Road, close to the ground, the few become a jovial throng heading for the Test match. The smattering of MCC colours is reinforced by more daring older members who sport dazzling MCC blazers, lurid beacons amid the more soberly attired cricket fans.

There is no finer way for a cricket-lover to spend a summer’s day than at Lord’s. Players are of much the same opinion. Professional cricketers around the world, when asked what grounds they like the best, dutifully name their home turf, before adding “…and, of course, Lord’s”. It must be one of the world’s most attractive sporting arenas. An Edwardian pavilion nestles comfortably between more modern stands. Facing it across the gently sloping field of play is a space-age press box, often compared to a gigantic radio-alarm clock. The wacky design attracted controversy when it was first built but now is as much a part of the furniture as is “Old Father Time” on his weathervane.

AP

As fine as they comeUnlike most sporting venues, here the pitch and stands are surrounded by pleasant open spaces—the nursery cricket ground and cool shady gardens abut a circular walkway around the outside of the stands. If a whole day of cricket is too much to take (and it can be), wandering around Lord’s to the tootling and parping soundtrack of a traditional jazz band provides an excellent opportunity to watch the English middle-class male at leisure. This is not as awful as it might sound. Because a special spirit pervades—of bonhomie, great good cheer. A magical combination of sun, cricket and alcohol ensures that it is so.

Though women, children, and examples of many of Britain’s ethnic minorities mingle happily at Lord’s, the bulk of the crowd is male and white. Perhaps cricket’s great attraction for them is that it is one of the few occasions when otherwise respectable gentlemen, well past their teenage years, feel it reasonable, desirable, mandatory even, to begin drinking shortly after play commences at 11am. The only other venues where this sense of freedom, of a satisfyingly wicked abandonment of social mores, really takes hold is in airports, where a beer may be taken at any hour—though typically under the cover of an imminent switch of time zones.

And, unlike at most other sporting venues, bringing along a drink or two to cricket, while not exactly encouraged, is hardly frowned upon. Rules displayed prominently at the gates limit the amount one might bring into the ground. But more for the sake of the takings of in-house bars than from any fear that alcohol-fuelled violence will erupt among the middle-class men.

The worst result of excess boozing I have ever witnessed (and this was at London’s less salubrious international cricket venue, the Oval) was a naked man treating those around him to a spirited and tuneful rendition of “Suspicious Minds”. By the time stewards had come to eject him he had put his clothes back on. “Who was it?” demanded the leader of the baffled forces of authority. “Was it you?” they demanded of the guilty party, who had assumed an air of wounded innocence. The stewards, still unsure of their quarry, surveyed the mass of cricket fans suspiciously until a distant voice piped up: “I am Spartacus”. Another voice, familiar with the famous scene in the epic film about the slave revolt in ancient Rome, chimed in with the same line. Then another and another, until the scene of Spartacus’s fellow rebels attempting to shield him from capture by the Romans was pleasingly recreated in the Peter May Stand at the Oval, south London. The nude baritone was eventually identified and thrown out anyway.

But this says much about the amiable nature of a cricket crowd and the camaraderie and instant friendships that can blossom through a shared love of the game. And that spirit is a reflection of what you see on the cricket pitch. But now there are great fears about how long this spirit can endure in professional cricket. It is generally accepted that international and domestic cricket is on the cusp of great upheaval. Money is pouring in like never before and it’s not clear how cricket will stand up to this onslaught. Change is not something that cricket takes on lightly. The preface to the MCC’s laws of cricket states:

“The basic Laws of Cricket have stood remarkably well the test of well over 250 years of playing the game. It is thought the real reason for this is that cricketers have traditionally been prepared to play in the Spirit of the Game as well as in accordance with the Laws.”

The spirit of the game, shared by players and fans alike, is still in reasonable shape. It’s part of what makes a day at Lord’s such a pleasant experience. But can the spirit of cricket withstand the battering that huge wads of cash are sure to deal it?


Tuesday
In cricketing terms yesterday’s trip to Lord’s was not the most satisfying. For three of the five days of the Test match against South Africa, England were on top. The expectation was that day four would follow suit and England would wrap up an easy victory. An ideal day of Test cricket sees plenty of runs scored (for your side) and plenty of wickets falling (the other lot’s). Yesterday saw few runs, even for a Test match, where scoring is generally slower than in shorter forms of the game. And only one South African wicket fell, late in the day.

AP

Missing another chanceIt seemed, for a time, that no wickets would go down, a feat rarely encountered in Test cricket (one source reckoned it has happened just 22 times before). Had the South African batsmen held their ground, this recondite statistic would have provided some succour to those cricket fans interested in abstruse facts and obscure statistics. And that’s almost all of us—the many and various statistics are an essential lubricant for the game just as oil is for an engine (or, indeed, for a cricket bat). Cricket lovers are generally the sort of people who would enjoy studiously poring over the instruction booklet for something as obvious and simple as an electric toaster. As it was, the cricket itself provided fewer thrills than the manual for a household appliance. Fortunately, the many other attractions of Lord’s made up for it.

Reasons for applauding were few and far between. The warmest clapping was reserved for the two South African opening batsmen, both of whom recorded centuries. The underpinnings of the spirit of cricket are difficult to pin down. But fair play is a vital component. And certainly the practice of showing appreciation for cricketing skills from both sides in equal measure is part of the equation. Even the players will put their hands together for a hard-fought century by an obdurate opponent or for any similar piece of cricketing endeavour. And unlike football, where the referee must endure all kinds of abuse from crowd and players, not questioning the umpire’s decision, no matter how dubious, is a bedrock.

Today I am following the score on my computer at work, via cricinfo.com. If I have a moment or two I may even tune into the radio commentary from the BBC’s “Test Match Special”, a long-running institution of the game. The programme provides plenty of chat about cricket between the moments of action (and those periods of inactivity make up the bulk of any cricket match). Most of that talk these days is of what will happen to international and domestic cricket in the months and years to come.

Earlier this year the first Indian Premier League (IPL) tournament took place. The world’s finest cricketers (with the exception of England’s) were auctioned to franchises based in India’s big cities and then played in a Twenty/20 tournament, a newish ultra-short version of the game. Matches last for three hours or so rather than the potential five days of a Test match. The event was judged a huge success and the lucky participants earned sums significantly vaster than are on offer in any other form of the game. Since then, Sir Allen Stanford, a Texan billionaire and an unlikely benefactor to cricket in the Caribbean, has offered a $20m winner-takes-all prize for a Twenty/20 match between English and West Indian teams. The British cricket authorities have mooted a similar contest to the IPL on these shores.

Twenty/20 in an exciting addition to the cricketing fold. But the international calendar is crowded as it is. Unless the tour can be rescheduled Sri Lanka may well send a weak team to England next year. The country’s best players want to play in clashing IPL fixtures. And who can blame them—their pay for a few weeks’ cricket would set them up for life. English players, centrally contracted to play for their country, are also set to miss out on the IPL cash and are feeling unhappy about it. No one is quite sure of the likely outcome but the mood is one of trepidation. The outcome of the Test match was more predictable after the gritty South Africans dug in for another day’s batting: the game ended in a draw.