Silly points
Cricket’s capacity to hit its own wicket is legendary. Take the 1939 Test between the two countries contesting yesterday’s farce in Sydney, England and South Africa. The authorities had decided the Test should be played to a finish, but come the tenth day, with England 654 for five chasing 696 to win, the Englishmen had to catch a boat home. All that endeavour, all that skill, all those man-hours wasted.
Quite what the fans in Durban who had spent 60 or so hours waiting for a result thought of it has not been recorded. The response to yesterday’s events should be less muted, for under the Sydney lights and in front of a large and eager crowd, the notion that the world cup was something to be taken seriously died, the victim of mathematical absurdity and witless officialdom.
The facts are simple, even if the rules – framed to satisfy the Australian TV schedules – aren’t. After a frenetic, high-scoring game, South Africa needed 22 runs off 13 balls. South Africa, tyros of course in international cricket, had slogged and scampered their way towards England’s imposing total of 252 off 45 overs. We had what every one-day game needs – the perfect finish. England perhaps had the edge, but anything could happen.
In the event, nothing happened: there was some gentle drizzle, the English players looked keen to come off, the umpires deliberated and off they came. The rain soon eased but the brief delay – and here the rules are clearly seen for what they are, the product of a disordered mind – meant England were docked their two lowest scoring overs and South Africa’s target was 21 off one ball.
Those two never-to-be-bowled overs would have taken about eight minutes – hardly onerous in a game that had already been in progress for seven hours. The rain had cleared; light wasn’t a factor; time wasn’t a problem – two days had been allocated for the game; and the crowd, the thousands watching on satellite TV and the millions hugging radios all over the world, wanted a result. Instead, what they got was the biggest anti-climax in the history of cricket.
Cricket has often looked in need of the men in white coats. The problem is they are already running things, The game, and this dictum ought to be inscribed on the heart of every umpire, is financed by spectators and should be organised for their benefit. You can’t cut the last act of Hamlet just because the prince is feeling a bit iffy.
In the past cricket, a beautiful, elegant, simple game, has attracted the attention of poets and philosophers. A spot of psychoanalysis now seems to be in order.
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