Death By Money

As the concentration span of modern-day humans diminishes, so we should not be surprised at the arrival of One Day Cricket and then Twenty20. After all, these variations are exciting for cricket betting enthusiasts and why not have events which are purely fun to contrast with the seriousness of County and Test cricket? Then along came the Indian Premier League with big money offers to players who suddenly find themselves drawn to large paydays and then suffer the consequent conflict with their County and long term Test Match responsibilities.

I remember our headmaster addressing my class of 13 year olds back in 1961. Hands up who knows who Richie Benaud is. Blank looks stared back at his appalled expression. Impressed by his passion, that night I scrutinised the back pages of the Daily Express to find Benaud was the captain of the Australian cricket team and they were here for a series of test matches for something called The Ashes. That was it for me and from then on it was the fortunes of Raman Subba Row and Geoff Puller, Ted Dexter and Freddie Truman that consumed my every moment. Nail-biting, close fought battles between masters of the bat and ball. All that summer I walked around with a transistor radio glued to my ear and an appreciation of the willowy leather depths of the beauty of the cricketing spirit was born within me.

This past week there has been a cricket event going on in Antigua. Something to do with some rich bloke dishing out large amounts of cash to people who play cricket. The pitch is rubbish, the outfield rivals the rough at St Andrews, the floodlights aren’t bright enough to allow proper fielding and the rich bloke is shown fondling the wives of the cricketers on the big screen while they play. They say they’re playing for England. I say they are playing for themselves and I don’t know about fellow cricket fans, but I’m doing my best to pretend the whole affair isn’t happening. It’s just isn’t cricket.