Many degrees – and dollars – of separation between cricket’s haves and have-nots

“Individual countries forget that it’s supposed to be a world game. Are they just worrying about their own interests?” – Ryan Campbell, Netherlands coach

Telford Vice | Cape Town

CENTURION is a long way from the ocean. So what was the turquoise water lapping at golden sand, crowned by a grand pavilion, that filled the screen behind Ryan Campbell during an online press conference on Tuesday?

“That’s my hometown of Perth; it’s Cottesloe Beach,” Campbell said. “When you’re living in the Netherlands and you’re freezing and you’re a Perth boy and craving the heat, sometimes you need reminders of home.”

Campbell was appointed the Netherlands men’s team’s head coach in January 2017. That’s why he is in Centurion — where the Dutch will start a series of three ODIs against South Africa on Friday.

The idyllic seaside image, which bore no resemblance to the Highveld’s standard landscape of boxy buildings, busy highways and toxic mine dumps, nor to Amsterdam’s cloudy skies and quaint canals, served as an apt reminder of the unreality of the relationship between international cricket’s major entities and other countries where the game has a lower profile.

Campbell admitted he never gave much thought to the latter, in a cricket sense, for most of a senior career that stretched from February 1996 to March 2016: “I had no idea about what goes on in associate cricket. But I was drafted to go up to Hong Kong, and that was my first long hard look at associate cricket and the rigours you’ve got to go through. Mostly unpaid, those players put in so much time and energy.”

Campbell, 49, was a hard-hitting batter and wicketkeeper who played 92 first-class matches for Western Australia and five for Australia A, along with 79 and 24 list A games for those teams. And five ODIs: two for Australia and, by dint of his Chinese grandmother, three for Hong Kong. That changed his perspective.

“It gets under my skin that the top cricket teams of the world … I’m trying not to get political here, but we can come out and say we want to be the most participated in sport in the world, and go on and blah, blah, blah. But if you’re not giving opportunities to the best associate teams or teams lower down the scale to improve and go up against the big 10, it’s very frustrating. 

“I get the feeling individual countries forget that it’s supposed to be a world game. I think it was Donald Bradman who said we’re supposed to leave the game in a better position than it was when we found it. I would ask that question of all the big teams. Are they doing that, or are they just worrying about their own individual backyards and interests?”

In June 2017 the ICC board decided to give their associate members US$240-million — to be shared — during the 2016 to 2023 rights cycle, or US$40-million less than they had agreed that April. The full members would receive US$1.536-billion, US$405-million of it going to the BCCI alone. That meant India would get 347 times the amount paid to each of the associates.

“England and India and Australia wanted more, and that came out of the associate pool,” Campbell said. “Within weeks they were announcing new billion-dollar TV rights deals. That’s the world game as we speak. Hopefully some of the big countries understand that the growth isn’t going to come from the big countries. It’s going to come from all the ones underneath, and they need to get in and help.”

Further evidence of the myopia of the more powerful countries came last week, when it was announced that the Super League — which will decide the seven teams besides hosts India who will qualify directly for the 2023 ODI World Cup — was to be abolished. For the 2027 edition of the tournament, the top 10 sides in the ICC rankings at a predetermined point will book their spots. Four more teams will earn places in a qualifying event.

“The scrapping of the Super League after 2023 is really disappointing for all associate countries, but that’s the decision that has been made,” Campbell said, and explained why the system had given cricket’s smaller countries hope — and why its demise raised concerns.

“This year, the Super League brought us, for the first time in the history of Dutch cricket, cricket shown live on Dutch TV [when the Netherlands hosted Ireland in June]. We’re trying to inspire the next generation. We know that great footballers and hockey players come from the Netherlands, but we want cricket players to as well.

“I think every associate country is wondering what’s next. How do we play? Where do we get our fixtures? Is World Cricket League 2 [which is part of the qualifying process for the 2023 ODI World Cup] going to stay in place? How do you get to a ranking where you can compete for a spot in the 2027 World Cup?”

Between the end of the 2019 ODI World Cup and the start of this year’s T20I version, the Netherlands played 30 white-ball internationals. Among the 19 other sides who featured in both formats during that period, 14 were on the field more often than the Dutch — none more so than West Indies, who played 58 games. Of the five teams who had fewer matches than Campbell’s men, New Zealand were the only ICC full member: they played 19 white-ball games. But they also had 16 Tests to keep them busy. The other four sides spotted less than the Netherlands in that time were the United States, Papua New Guinea, the United Arab Emirates — and Namibia, who became the darlings of the group stage of the T20I World Cup by beating Ireland and the Dutch, who also lost to Sri Lanka and the Irish and were eliminated.

Cricket is even more impoverished in Namibia, a country consisting mostly of desert in which there are only five clubs, than the Netherlands. But the Namibians overcame those obstacles to make names for themselves. Clearly, success is more complex than mounting up matches and money.

Campbell’s reference to Bradman’s sentiment about the custodial responsibilities of the game’s incumbent generation couldn’t be found, but the Don did say this: “May cricket continue to flourish and spread its wings. The world can only be richer for it.” And this: “The game of cricket existed long before I was born. It will be played centuries after my demise.” And, in the wake of the 2000 fixing saga starring Hansie Cronjé, this: “Despite recent sad developments cricket will survive and remain the noblest game, and I shall be proud to be a part of its history and development.”

That was not long before he died on February 25, 2001: more than three years before the England and New Zealand women’s teams played the first T20I, and more than seven years before the IPL saw the neon light of day/night. Since Bradman’s death, 904 Tests have been played by men alone, along with 2,643 ODIs and 1,447 T20Is. And 31 Tests, 868 ODIs and 1,004 T20Is by women.

Many of those games would have involved teams he would never have dreamt of playing against. You wonder what he might say about the game now, and whether he would think — all things considered — that he and his contemporaries left cricket in a better state than it was when it found them.

First published by Cricbuzz.

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Why teams, not countries, play cricket

“Imagine there’s no countries. It isn’t hard to do.” – John Lennon

Telford Vice | Cape Town

A Tongan, a Hongkonger and 11 Pakistanis walk into three different dressing rooms. Which teams do they play for? A clue: neither Tonga, Hong Kong nor Pakistan.

To that list of nationalities add 17 South Africans, eight Indians, seven Englishmen, two each from New Zealand and Australia, one from West Indies and another from Ireland. These are players who were born in countries other than those they were picked to turn out for at the men’s T20 World Cup. They add up to 51 of the 240 — not counting the reserves — who started the tournament on October 17. That’s 21.25%: more than a fifth of the total playing personnel and not far from a quarter.

Some teams are more prone to this phenomenon than others. A dozen of the Netherlands’ 15 are not from there. They include Scott Edwards, a Tongan. Sufyan Mehmood, from Muscat, is Oman’s only homegrown player. The rest of their squad consists of nine Pakistanis and five Indians.

Of the 12 sides who reached the second round, only Afghanistan, Bangladesh, India, South Africa, Sri Lanka and West Indies did so using solely home-born players. So half of the Super 12 squads featured players from elsewhere, including all four who made it to the semi-finals.

Australia’s Josh Inglis drew his first breath in Leeds. England captain Eoin Morgan is a Dubliner, Tom Curran a Capetonian, Chris Jordan a Bajan from Christ Church, and Jason Roy a Durbanite. At least, they used to call those places home. New Zealand harbour two South Africans — Devon Conway of Johannesburg and Glenn Phillips, an East Londoner — Hong Kong-born Mark Chapman, and an Indian, Ish Sodhi, a native of Ludhiana in Punjab. Pakistan? Imad Wasim hails from Swansea in Wales.

Something similar is true of the backrooms. Ten of the original 16 sides have foreign-born head coaches, including all four of those who didn’t make it to the Super 12. Seven South Africans started the tournament in this capacity. Six of them survived the opening round — Ireland’s Graham Ford was the exception.

This will no doubt come as a blow to those who want cricket to function as a blunt instrument of nationalism; war minus the shooting, in George Orwell’s enduring phrase. The other side of this coin is to wonder whether failure to reach the final four has something to do with a lack of diversity: none of the six purebred sides in the Super 12 stage made it to the semis. Or to think about whether, unlike what the nationalists and the marketing people want us to believe, cricketers play for nothing and no-one except their paycheques, the lure of winning, themselves, and each other. In the words of John Lennon, “Imagine there’s no countries. It isn’t hard to do.” The social media abuse meted out to Mohammed Shami during the T20 World Cup makes another of Lennon’s lines pertinent: “And no religion, too.”

In South Africa we know all about people trying to claim cricket for whites. Or for English-speaking whites, as opposed to white Afrikaners. Or to consign football to blacks and rugby to white Afrikaners. Brown South Africans — many of whom’s first language is Afrikaans — are accepted, sometimes grudgingly, as sport’s supreme allrounders. Except that all of the above play all of the above, and have done for centuries. 

Cricket in England is currently trying to confront racism, as the game continues to do in South Africa. Doubtless all societies where cricket is prominent need this kind of catharsis. Where the dividing line is not race it could be religion, class, culture or caste. This shouldn’t be taken to mean the game is a particularly poisoned island of inequality in an otherwise just world. We know the world isn’t just, and that injustice has infected cricket as much as it has everything else.

When you watch the T20 World Cup final in Dubai on Sunday, know that you aren’t watching Australia play New Zealand. That’s too simplistic, and an insult to all involved and the planning and work that has taken them this far. What you will see is 22 fine cricketers drawn from squads that include players from five countries split into two teams who have managed to survive until now. That’s the best reason there can be to call the tournament a World Cup — it is more than the sum of its mapped parts.

Neither the Aussies nor the Kiwis can nationalise that truth, and many won’t try. Because we shouldn’t stoop so low as to conflate cricket with patriotism. What we want is a decent contest. Nothing else matters.

First published by Cricbuzz.

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