Some see the Indian Premier League as a circus for ageing cricketers: a
Twenty20 league where fading stars can dash off a few quick runs and score a
few hundred thousand dollars before their blazing accomplishments are
extinguished. A place where vast sums can be accumulated with a flick of the
wrists between the rigours of the endless Test calendar; a cricketer’s
bounty but not a threat to the five-day tradition, the roots of the sport.
It has been compared to the Kerry Packer circus, and unfulfilled fears of
the Cassandra voices of that era have left the international game feeling
perhaps less concerned than it should be – a lot less so. This league is a
threat to the Test game on a different level, primarily because of the
competition’s Indian base.
The two growth economies of the 21st century are widely assumed to be those of
China and India. Beijing has been granted the Olympics even as our
politicians avert their eyes from fundamental issues of human rights which
have long plagued China’s international reputation. Morals do not matter
when money is to be made and nor might the trifling affairs of cricket’s
tradition. This tournament, with a 10-year deal worth £513m, is not a
sideshow or an opportunity for Englishmen to take a sideswipe at the
less-than-patriotic Australian cricketers of recent vintage. It is the
forces of globalisation, 21st-century style, preparing to strip the assets
of less affluent regions for the benefit of corporations and the
entertainment of the masses.
Nowhere in world cricket are the masses more obsessed, especially with the
bastard version of the game, than in India, and nowhere is the potential for
profit as boundless. Cricket’s financial powerhouse is a substantial threat
to the history of the game. It should come as no surprise. Capitalism,
especially the untrammelled forces of the free market so beloved of the West
in the last century and much of the East in this gathering one, cares little
for what has been, only what is to be. It is slick, sharp and shallow.
Cricket has rarely been regarded as any of these in the heyday of five-day
Test matches but the new darling of the East is an adman’s dream.
The ferociously competitive Australian, Andrew Symonds, who will bat and bowl
for the pleasure of the subcontinent’s excitable legion of fans, understands
the growing threat to what has been, until now, the undoubted hegemony of
the ICC and Test match cricket. “Loyalty is going to become an issue,
particularly when you make more money in six or eight weeks than you can in
a whole season,” he says. “Who wouldn’t be tempted to take a job offering
more money for less work?”
In normal circumstances his question would be sidelined in the dusty realm of
rhetorical questions. But in the case of sport, somehow we are led to
believe that representing one’s country is the essence of a man’s ambition.
It is a noble sentiment and one espoused by Alastair Cook, but he is part of
an England team who are amply contracted (some would say magnificently
remunerated if the contract was in any way performance-based). It is
tempting to wonder whether loyalty to Queen and country has until now kept
any English names from the auction of cricketing talent that occurred last
week or the fact that our players are paid such comfortable sums of money
that the cosseted nature of their existence has converted them into players
the majority of whom are not of interest to the Indian ringmasters.
It is inconceivable that players of the glamorous stature of Kevin Pietersen
will not one day be targeted, and before we buy too cheaply into Cook’s
patriotic failure to imagine anyone would ever consider a fast financial fix
over national service, we should remember that our finest batsman is South
African. He chose England for reasons divorced from national pride and could
quite as easily opt for a life less pressurised given the incentives to
trade in the glory that currently goes with Test cricket.
My father brought me up with the names of his cricketing heroes, men such as
Denis Compton and Don Bradman. As a child I awed at the spectacle of Dennis
Lillee and Jeff Thomson roaring in, at Alan Knott weaving spells behind the
stumps. But on the subcontinent, the driving force of 20th-century cricket,
the most expensive purchase is India’s one-day captain, Mahendra Dhoni. He
is marvellous value but hardly worth twice the money of a modern great –
such as that eminently decent Aussie and exhilarating batsman, Adam
Gilchrist. But this is not cricket as we know it, this is cricket
Bollywood-style. Fantasy cricket brought to what many think would be
stirring life. This could be the shape of cricket to come.
In commercial life it seems an eternity since money respected national
boundaries; now we are seeing the power of the rupee proving as alluring for
West Indians, New Zealanders, Sri Lankans, Australians, Pakistanis and South
Africans as the pound has so long been for these selfsame players. However,
the Board of Control for Cricket in India has greater resources than the
counties of England ever possessed and with financial clout comes the
knowledge that most sportsmen have their price. This 44-day event may be
regarded by establishment figures as bread and circus for the Indian citizen
and profit for the shrewd businessmen but it is far more than that.
Pandora’s Box has been opened in a new era and a fresh century’s worth of
cricketing troubles might prove impossible to round up. The timeless game of
cricket may just have changed forever this week.
Benitez makes his own luck
Some things remain the same. Liverpool, as has ever been their habit in
Europe, bounced back from the debacle of the home defeat to Barnsley with a
crafty performance against powerful European opposition. The beleaguered
manager, Rafael Benitez, received short shrift in the aftermath of last
Saturday’s loss when he asked to be judged on his record in the Champions
League but by Thursday morning those obituaries were once more on hold.
The panache of Manchester United, slick passing of Arsenal, guile of Chelsea
and exuberance of Celtic in Glasgow failed to produce a win between them
while Liverpool beat Inter Milan, runaway leaders in the Italian League,
unbeaten in five months, by 2-0. Two late goals, one of them a fortunate
deflection, a highly contentious sending-off – is it another case of lucky
old Liverpool? Such an explanation could be considered if not for the fact
that Liverpool won the title three years ago and were runners-up last
season. Such a record has nothing to do with luck. It has everything to do
with the way Liverpool play. It may win few admirers but it wins them games
Chelsea, Manchester United and Arsenal cannot. Fabio Capello believes it is
because: “Liverpool plays with a different level of concentration and
determination from what they produce in the Premier League.” Benitez’s
tactical appreciation is more applicable to the pace of the European game.
Maybe he deserves criticism for failing to work out a strategy for domestic
football, but when it comes to the high tide of world club football, his
brain is up there with the best. The criticism after the FA Cup is a
reflection of a sporting society divided between those who cherish our
traditions and see domestic success as the foundations on which great teams
are built, and those from cultures that have a markedly more European focus.
The ways of Benitez are geared exclusively to European football. The
rotation of players and tactics may never pave the way for the glorious
dynasties established by Bill Shankly and Bob Paisley but in these times of
short-term financial imperatives, Benitez serves his masters well.
Walk on dark side
Bernard Hopkins is at it again. When his April fight date with Joe Calzaghe
was announced he offered some antiCaucasian comments that would have been
regarded as racist had people taken him seriously. Last week he manufactured
a theatrical death threat when the boxers met up in Times Square: “You
better be willing to die. If you ain’t willing to die, you will make it easy
for me.”
Hopkins’ psychopathic hymn borrowed from J G Ballard is typical of a sport
that has lost its dignity. Controversy sells tickets and the game is about
big bucks, with boxers the pawns in the game. The USA and boxing are made
for one another; the aggression seething beneath the surface and the sense
that any moment could be that knock-out moment when you strike it lucky.
Boxing represents not so much human nobility made tangible by sport but a
journey into our darker recesses where race, violence and a lust for money
are the forces that enable promoters to sell sport in a land where the
powerful dabble in unenlightened theocracy. God is good, Mammon is great.
Rant away – sell those tickets, anything goes in the US of A.
Hugh McIlvanney is away
