The sun is high in the sky, the neighbours are in their garden playing songs from Mamma Mia at blood-from-the-ears volume, and the smell of barbequed meat is overpowering the subtler perfumes of early summer. British Members of Parliament are eagerly awaiting the moment to forsake Westminster for the ill-gotten delights of their second homes in the suburbs. It’s time for English 20/20. Some drink to remember, some drink to forget.
In one of the higher scoring games of the week, Surrey dealt comprehensively with last year’s 20/20 competition winners, Middlesex. They did so by constructing a single major partnership around Usman Afzaal and Mark Ramprakash which carried the Brown Caps (Oh, puh-lease!) to 186 in their twenty overs. This proved far too difficult a target for a Middlesex side reduced by players lost to international cricket and by defection.
Afzaal, a one-time England prospect, who actually played a game or two for the international side without distinction, looked ugly but was highly effective. The elusive Ramprakash, now in his fortieth year, looked in sublime touch and reminded us for the umpteenth time that on technique he could have been one of the all-time greats. The two of them ran like greyhounds when they couldn’t find the boundaries and showed that even in this truncated form of the game fitness is a real issue.
Pinch yourself. 186. In twenty overs. That’s a rate of more than nine runs an over. Transatlantic readers may not grasp the significance of this, but if you’d suggested to cricket-lovers even a generation ago that such a run-rate was achievable, they’d have questioned your sanity. When I was a kid two an over throughout the day wasn’t uncommon. I’ve seen days of Test cricket when not many more than 186 were scored. And in one way, so much the worse for such occasions – that wasn’t entertainment, it was self-indulgence, and disdain for the paying public.
Of course, entertainment – or at least – satisfaction isn’t necessarily guaranteed even in 20/20. There are always going to be ‘dead’ games of cricket. It’s written into the structure of the game. Sometimes one side will be overwhelmingly superior, and will show it early in the contest. Or (more rarely these days) the bat will excel over the ball to such an extent that no result is possible. Or the weather will prevent a result. Quite commonly one day (or three hour) matches will display the former fault too. What keeps longer games of cricket going in these sort of circumstances are the little battles between batsmen and bowlers, which may have some influence on events in three, six or eighteen months time. The individuals are working each other out. The shorter the game, the less opportunity there is for this. When it’s over, it really is over. There’s very little left to play for. But then why stay at a soccer match if your team’s 5-0 down at half-time? All sport can be boring.
It’s often said that 20/20 is a batsman’s game i.e. the often substantial crowds (and the numbers attending are holding up well, though let’s review that again at the end of the season!) come to see the ball being mightily dispatched. But actually it’s the bowlers who are the point of interest on television, where the ploys they use to maintain a fig-leaf of respectability in the midst of sporting carnage are fascinating. Sadly, the subtleties are hidden from those sitting out on the ring, sweltering inside their Elvis costumes, cans of XXXX in their hands.
There’s a guy playing for Middlesex, a South African by the name of Tyron Henderson, who’s taken more 20/20 wickets than anyone else. He has an extremely wide range of deliveries at his disposal, and the batsman never has a clue what’s coming next. He’ll bowl from close to the stumps, from as wide out as he’s allowed, from 23 rather than 22 yards. One ball will be fired in at over 80 mph, the next will be a slow leg break. He’ll try a slow-speed bouncer, and then with the next ball attempt to break the batsman’s toes. It’s great to watch, but even then it can all go horribly wrong. In Middlesex’s next match later in the week, Henderson’s allotted four overs cost him 56 runs without a wicket.
There are other things to admire too. The constantly improving standards of fielding. The way spin bowling is coming back into its own. But one thing really takes getting used to. The players look as if they can’t believe their luck to be paid for doing so little, and in these value-for-money recessional days that sticks in my craw. Sport is surely a little about suffering, and if we the public perceive there’s reward without pain, 20/20 (and ultimately all forms of the game) may go the way of snooker. And I imagine even fewer Americans have heard of that than have heard about cricket.
In one of the higher scoring games of the week, Surrey dealt comprehensively with last year’s 20/20 competition winners, Middlesex. They did so by constructing a single major partnership around Usman Afzaal and Mark Ramprakash which carried the Brown Caps (Oh, puh-lease!) to 186 in their twenty overs. This proved far too difficult a target for a Middlesex side reduced by players lost to international cricket and by defection.
Afzaal, a one-time England prospect, who actually played a game or two for the international side without distinction, looked ugly but was highly effective. The elusive Ramprakash, now in his fortieth year, looked in sublime touch and reminded us for the umpteenth time that on technique he could have been one of the all-time greats. The two of them ran like greyhounds when they couldn’t find the boundaries and showed that even in this truncated form of the game fitness is a real issue.
Pinch yourself. 186. In twenty overs. That’s a rate of more than nine runs an over. Transatlantic readers may not grasp the significance of this, but if you’d suggested to cricket-lovers even a generation ago that such a run-rate was achievable, they’d have questioned your sanity. When I was a kid two an over throughout the day wasn’t uncommon. I’ve seen days of Test cricket when not many more than 186 were scored. And in one way, so much the worse for such occasions – that wasn’t entertainment, it was self-indulgence, and disdain for the paying public.
Of course, entertainment – or at least – satisfaction isn’t necessarily guaranteed even in 20/20. There are always going to be ‘dead’ games of cricket. It’s written into the structure of the game. Sometimes one side will be overwhelmingly superior, and will show it early in the contest. Or (more rarely these days) the bat will excel over the ball to such an extent that no result is possible. Or the weather will prevent a result. Quite commonly one day (or three hour) matches will display the former fault too. What keeps longer games of cricket going in these sort of circumstances are the little battles between batsmen and bowlers, which may have some influence on events in three, six or eighteen months time. The individuals are working each other out. The shorter the game, the less opportunity there is for this. When it’s over, it really is over. There’s very little left to play for. But then why stay at a soccer match if your team’s 5-0 down at half-time? All sport can be boring.
It’s often said that 20/20 is a batsman’s game i.e. the often substantial crowds (and the numbers attending are holding up well, though let’s review that again at the end of the season!) come to see the ball being mightily dispatched. But actually it’s the bowlers who are the point of interest on television, where the ploys they use to maintain a fig-leaf of respectability in the midst of sporting carnage are fascinating. Sadly, the subtleties are hidden from those sitting out on the ring, sweltering inside their Elvis costumes, cans of XXXX in their hands.
There’s a guy playing for Middlesex, a South African by the name of Tyron Henderson, who’s taken more 20/20 wickets than anyone else. He has an extremely wide range of deliveries at his disposal, and the batsman never has a clue what’s coming next. He’ll bowl from close to the stumps, from as wide out as he’s allowed, from 23 rather than 22 yards. One ball will be fired in at over 80 mph, the next will be a slow leg break. He’ll try a slow-speed bouncer, and then with the next ball attempt to break the batsman’s toes. It’s great to watch, but even then it can all go horribly wrong. In Middlesex’s next match later in the week, Henderson’s allotted four overs cost him 56 runs without a wicket.
There are other things to admire too. The constantly improving standards of fielding. The way spin bowling is coming back into its own. But one thing really takes getting used to. The players look as if they can’t believe their luck to be paid for doing so little, and in these value-for-money recessional days that sticks in my craw. Sport is surely a little about suffering, and if we the public perceive there’s reward without pain, 20/20 (and ultimately all forms of the game) may go the way of snooker. And I imagine even fewer Americans have heard of that than have heard about cricket.
