How to rehabilitate cricket: lock them all up

Lock him up: celebrations like Mario Baoltelli's will be a thing of the past. Picture: GETTY

It was, as many have said, A Sad Day For Cricket. On the other hand, it was a good day for the hang ‘em and flog ‘em merchants, who wanted books thrown, keys chucked away, levers pulled themselves, and seemed largely happy that porridge would be served. Personally, I’m not sure I’d wish a spell in Feltham Young Offenders’ Institution on my worst enemy – even on Anthony ‘Nipple Cripple’ Jackson, junior school bully par excellence. And especially not in a country where the convict didn’t speak the language, but many think that Mohammad Amir and the rest have got the least of what they deserved.

Elsewhere today, Neil Warnock wants the Chelsea fans who chanted a cryptic, although despicably-intentioned, chant about Anton Ferdinand to be locked up for two years. 24 months, for shouting? It wasn’t even on Facebook.

But perhaps this is the solution to all sport’s problems, big or small: just bang everybody up, all the time, for anything. Given the amount of free space in prisons, and their superb work in rehabilitating offenders, a hardline approach is clearly what is needed to save sport as we know it.

I suggest that the England ODI team’s top-order batsmen could do with a short, sharp, shock after their efforts with the bat in India. If 18 months in Parkhurst can’t get Craig Kieswetter working the ball around against the spinners, I am not sure what can.

And why should cricket be the only sport to benefit from this excellent jail-based system? Perhaps Andy Murray might not go on the defensive so readily in Grand Slam finals if he’d had three character-building years fighting off armed robbers with a sharpened toothbrush in the showers at Wormwood Scrubs. Would Rooney be corrupting the nation’s youth by swearing on television cameras if he was doing a ten-stretch in Pentonville? Of course not, unless he was being filmed for a fly-on-the-wall documentary by Channel 4. Lock them up: it’s the only language these pampered millionaires understand.

So, yes, a sad day for cricket – but from the tragedy, a glorious sporting future might emerge. One where ill-discipline and play-acting and bad language and handling the ball in the ruck are a thing of the past, because even the slightest infraction is punishable by a custodial sentence. The people best placed to dispense this firm but fair justice are, of course, our Premier League referees. And once Mario Balotelli, or a generation of future Mario Balotellis, find themselves using a bucket for a toilet and sharing a cell with a homesick, amorous, 350-pound safe-breaker called Len, the evil of over-celebrating a goal will be eradicated from the game forever. Let cricket be the guide: only prison can set us free.

It was no surprise England lost 5-0

So England lost 5-0 in India. If you’d read my blog after the first match, you’ll know it was little surprise. That’s because England are not a top one-day side. Even the series victory over India at the end of last summer was never as convincing as many people wanted it to be. England won 3-0, but it could easily have been 3-2, either way.

This is nothing new. England have been like this for a long, long time. They have their moments, but consistency has always been elusive. It always will be while we consider one-day cricket the poor relation of our game.

England didn’t lose in India because the counties only play 40-over cricket, but such mutton-headed decisions play their part in a mindset that eventually leads to frustration, and sometimes embarrassment, at international level.

For once this was actually a series for which England were well-prepared. Forget the nonsense talk about tiredness. India had far more cause to complain in that department. England went to India early and had plenty of time. All the more reason then for Andy Flower to be so miffed that his team feel so short in the simple disciplines of fielding and running between the wickets. He has built his regime on improvement in those areas, and it was unfathomable as to why England were so poor in executing them in India.

England’s batsmen simply did not score off enough balls. They have improved their boundary hitting enormously, and it often showed when they outscored India in that department. But to use a very modern term, they used up too many ‘dot balls’.

It is my main criticism of Jonathan Trott. Not that he struggles to hit hard at the end of an innings (although he does because he struggles to secure a solid hitting base with his always-moving-forward trigger movement), but that he does not find enough singles at the start. He would take an awful lot of pressure off himself if he could only do that.

Playing spin in India is mightily difficult, but the truth is that, contrary to the incessant squeals from many commentators, you have to sweep. Yes, maybe England need to sweep better, but they sure need to sweep. Talk of moving your feet more is anachronistic, especially against a ball that you are unsure of which way it is turning. To try to play a turning ball with a straight bat is to play across the line. If anything on such slow pitches England’s batsmen need to play off the back foot more. Tim Bresnan did that to good effect in one innings.

I disagree, though, with my esteemed Telegraph colleague Michael Vaughan on the subject of pitches. We should not prepare turners at home. We should use home advantage like everyone else. You don’t see green tops in India. And the next World Cup is in Australia and New Zealand anyway.

What would be nice is if there was some 50-over county cricket played in the height of the summer when spinners might be able to play a part. At the moment spinners succeed in domestic short-form cricket (especially Twenty20), not because they spin the ball, but because they bowl slowly and batsmen struggle without pace for hitting. That is often not good enough at international level.

Should we panic now? I don’t think so. Selection after Christmas will certainly be interesting, especially as regards the wicketkeeping position. I see the knives are out for Craig Kieswetter. He has certainly had a disappointing series, but isn’t it time we backed a batsman/wicketkeeper? That revolving door we so love has to stop some time.

Maybe it is just that, as Flower alluded to, it is that this same group of players, with Eoin Morgan and Stuart Broad back (and possibly James Anderson), have to execute their skills more adeptly?

What do you think?

 

 

England squad face Dad’s Army Test

Roller on the floor laughing: two British comedy greats of yesteryear

In which England's South African-born cricketers get some cultural education on a sad day for British comedy

Graham Gooch shepherded the England squad into the room. A sign on the door read: “Batting Coach’s Office and Haircare Laboratory. NO Ethereal Leicestershire Left-Handers.”

Gooch looked hangdog and upset. More than usually so.

“Boys,” he said. “The announcement of an England squad is a happy day, particularly when we can welcome a new player into the fold.”

Stuart Meaker was patted on the back by his colleagues. Jonathan Trott began to lead the traditional team celebration anthem: “Ek gelofte my groen en aangename reis vanaf Heathrow lughawe na jou” (“I vow to thee my green and pleasant journey from Heathrow airport”), but Gooch shushed him.

“But this is also a sad day. David Croft, who wrote the immortal British sitcom ‘Dad’s Army’, has passed away.”

There were blank looks all round.

“As I have said in the past,” sighed Gooch. “Nobody minds where a player is born these days, as long as he can pass the Dad’s Army test. Does he find Captain Mainwaring and the rest hilarious? If so: that's English enough for me.”

He wrestled an Official Team England analysis laptop from the grasp of Ian Bell.

“Championship Manager later, Belly,” said Gooch. “Once you’ve practised concentrating really hard and done 2000 squat thrusts.”

He inserted a DVD. ‘Don’t Tell Him, Pike’ played.

Gooch laughed. Alastair Cook watched the coach carefully, and then joined in.

“I’m writing a sitcom,” shouted Graeme Swann. “It’s about a brilliant comedian trapped in the body of a sporting hero, and he’s got a pet cat called Tweet who drives him around in a car when they’ve all had a few drinks.”

Jade Dernbach raised his hand.

“Mr Goochie, bru. I mean sir. I don’t understand why it’s funny,” he said.

“Is it because that bossy old man has got a silly moustache?” asked Craig Kieswetter.

“There is nothing funny about that at all, you stupid boy,” shouted Gooch.

“No, you okes,” said Jonathan Trott. “It’s funny because they are laughing at foreigners.”

“I don’t think that’s very nice,” said Stuart Meaker. “Not in this day and age.”

“That’s the problem with you lot,” said Gooch. “You have absolutely no sense of humour.”

England v West Indies: Will Allen Stanford be watching?

Lapping it up: Allen Stanford was shown on television flirting with the England team's partners. Emily Prior, wife of wicketkeeper Matt, sat on his knee.

England play West Indies at Lord's tomorrow, in the first of two Twenty20s that make up the Allen Stanford Memorial Series, or the Contractual Obligation Series, or whatever. But while the two teams who once luxuriated in his largesse have a hit and giggle, the man himself will be a long way from London. So what will he be doing?

September 23, 2011.

Woke up in my cell at the Larry Hagman-Karl Rove Detention Center, Houston feeling blue as hell. A Stanford Cricketball Twenty20 double-header rubber starting in The Oval Bowl, London, England and me here in the pokey for a crime I didn’t commit? Not that I can remember if I did it or not: like my lawyer says, I got the amnesia real bad. And seeing as I’m paying Finkleberg or whatever the hell his damn name is a hundred thousand dollars an hour, I told myself: “Take his advice.” To tell the truth, I can’t remember if I told myself that or not. I gots me a serious illness here.

The thought of those cricketeering varmits playing a match-up without my say-so hurts bad enough; but not as bad as Emily Prior refusing my repeated requests for a conjugal visit. I goddamm loved that girl: I said to her “If that no-good catcher husband of yours drops you like he keeps on dropping all them cricketeer balls, you give me a call honey.” She says: “Please leave me alone and don’t make me sit on your knee again.” I love that cute British sense of humour.

To stop me from feeling too lonesome about not being at the cricketball, I organised me a Twenty20 in the prison yard at exercise time. I got me two teams of legends – on the one team, the Stanford Aryan Warriors, on the other side, the Stanford Ghetto Boyz – and I says to them: “Gentlemen, let’s have a good clean game of cricketeering and the winning team will get 20 cigarettes per player. Play ball!”

After the riot had calmed down, and I was recovering in the prison hospital wing, I had a whole bunch of time to think. You get that in the jail: aside from converting to the Nation of Islam and changing my name to Tariq Al Stanford, I’ve had a lot of time to read my mail.

A package just arrived from my old business associate Giles Clarke: it had a cake with a file in it and a note saying: “Get yourself out of there, Shawshank style, and come see me to talk about new mutually rewarding opportunities.”

I know things are bad in Texas jails right now, but if it’s a choice between having any more meetings with that goddamm asshat Clarke and staying in the joint, I’ll take my chances with ole Governor ‘Itchy Fingers’ Perry any day of the week.

Yours in cricketball, and in jail,

Sir Tariq Al Stanford III Junior

Political prisoner and lover of cricketeering

India dressing room: rain delay fly-on-the-wall

India's latest call-up warms up for action at the Rose Bowl

Behind-the-scenes in the Indian rooms at a rainy Rosebowl…

“Right then you guys,” said Duncan Fletcher. “How about we use this rain delay for a bit of work in the gym?”

He bounced a rugby ball eagerly on the floor and mimed some forward presses.

“That is a most splendid idea, Mr Duncan,” said MS Dhoni. “And thank you so much for bringing it to our attention. Very much the sort of radical ‘out of your box’ thinking that we are keen to hear from you.”

Fletcher looked pleased. “I thought we could start with a really good run around and then I could whack some balls about for everyone to chase and –”

MS held up his hand, smiling benevolently.

“As I say, Mr Duncan, a wonderful suggestion but I think it would be best if we all had a bit of discussion and got back to you with our findings.”

Politely but meaningfully, MS nodded towards the dressing room door. Fletcher trudged out sadly. He took a picture of Ashley Giles and Geraint Jones fooling around with the slip cradle out of his pocket and sighed. Fletcher shut the door behind him.

Parthiv Patel woke up with a start.

“Is that the pizza man? You better not have had my pizzas, you greedy sods. I’ve had nothing since lunch,” said Parthiv.

“It’s okay man, relax,” said Suresh Raina. “It’s just that old guy who tells the scary stories about packs of fast bowlers. He’s harmless enough.”

“Oh thank goodness,” said Parthiv. “I thought I’d missed my pizza.” He went back to sleep on top of a pile of bandages.

“Well then boys,” said MS. “Shall we give this ‘gymnasium’ business a go, then? Rahul swears by it, apparently.”

Praveen Kumar stood up. He picked up a niggle.

“On second thoughts,” said Dhoni. “I don’t think we can afford any more injuries. I’ll tell Fletcher he’ll have to come up with something else.”

India Dressing Room: Rain Delay Fly-On-The-Wall

India's latest call-up warms up for action at the Rose Bowl

Behind-the-scenes in the Indian rooms at a rainy Rosebowl…

“Right then you guys,” said Duncan Fletcher. “How about we use this rain delay for a bit of work in the gym?”

He bounced a rugby ball eagerly on the floor and mimed some forward presses.

“That is a most splendid idea, Mr Duncan,” said MS Dhoni. “And thank you so much for bringing it to our attention. Very much the sort of radical ‘out of your box’ thinking that we are keen to hear from you.”

Fletcher looked pleased. “I thought we could start with a really good run around and then I could whack some balls about for everyone to chase and –”

MS held up his hand, smiling benevolently.

“As I say, Mr Duncan, a wonderful suggestion but I think it would be best if we all had a bit of discussion and got back to you with our findings.”

Politely but meaningfully, MS nodded towards the dressing room door. Fletcher trudged out sadly. He took a picture of Ashley Giles and Geraint Jones fooling around with the slip cradle out of his pocket and sighed. Fletcher shut the door behind him.

Parthiv Patel woke up with a start.

“Is that the pizza man? You better not have had my pizzas, you greedy sods. I’ve had nothing since lunch,” said Parthiv.

“It’s okay man, relax,” said Suresh Raina. “It’s just that old guy who tells the scary stories about packs of fast bowlers. He’s harmless enough.”

“Oh thank goodness,” said Parthiv. “I thought I’d missed my pizza.” He went back to sleep on top of a pile of bandages.

“Well then boys,” said MS. “Shall we give this ‘gymnasium’ business a go, then? Rahul swears by it, apparently.”

Praveen Kumar stood up. He picked up a niggle.

“On second thoughts,” said Dhoni. “I don’t think we can afford any more injuries. I’ll tell Fletcher he’ll have to come up with something else.”