Why do the counties exist?

Charlie Randall writes about Bob Willis expressing his disapproval over the English county system in the October edition of Wisden Cricketer. I haven’t laid my hands on the magazine yet, so am going by what Charlie has reported.

Willis believes that county cricket is no place for ex-international players like Graeme Hick, Mark Ramprakash and Dominic Cork; so-called English players like Nic Pothas and Stuart Law; and the crowd of Kolpaks and overseas players.

Willis argues that these players clog up county cricket and this acts against the interest of the national side. Which may perhaps be true, but then the question begs: What is the role of the counties in English cricket?

Are they supposed to be feeders to the national team? Are they like local government departments, set up with the objective of fulfilling the national vision of building a consistently successful national team? In that case, are the counties non-profit organizations supported in funding and organization by the ECB? If so, they can perhaps be told to operate with allocated team members, transferable through a centralised decision-making.

Or are the counties expected to exist on their own? Like private enterprises, with an eye on profit and maximising available resources? With contribution to the national cause akin to a corporate planting trees and building traffic islands at busy intersections?

I do not claim an inside knowledge of the English county system, but I reckon that the latter of the two cases above is closer to the truth. And in such a case, as the man running a county, I would be well within my rights to choose whoever I can to maximise the returns to my county, wouldn’t I?

Sure, developing a national player would increase the fortunes of my county. But at what cost and risk? If I can get a not-so-expensive fading star and the odd Kolpak or overseas player at a throwaway price and produce the results, why shouldn’t I? If the argument is that my team is not performing, then it’s a different matter. But, and apologies for sounding brutal here, why should I care about the English national team? If Ottis Gibson delivers for me (and how he has for Durham this year!), how does it matter to me that he will never turn out in English national colours? If Graeme Hick still draws the crowds at Grace Road, why would I not take him on instead of betting on a newcomer of unproven stock? And if Adil Rashid looks shaky to me (and he does, in the odd game I’ve seen him in Yorkshire colours), why would I be constrained to hold on to him when I can get a good spinner from Asia at a much lower cost?

I have deliberately taken an extreme position, but so has Bob Willis. If he is arguing for a governmental organization, I am arguing for a free market private sector. And county cricket seems to be a bit of both – which is perhaps the nub of the problem.

Hoist by his own petard?

I know it’s not quite cricket to talk or comment about people’s names, but this entry in the scorecard of the First Division County Championship game between Kent and Durham just cannot be ignored.

SJ Cook c Mustard b Onions

I wonder what the commentators had to say when the dismissal actually occurred.

The Mushtaq and Mushtaq Show

Watching Mushtaq Ahmed and Saqlain Mushtaq bowl in tandem for Sussex against Kent in the second semi-final of the Twenty20 Cup yesterday evoked a feeling of what might have been had the selection policy in Pakistan cricket been a bit more, er, logical.

Sure the Mushtaqs ended up on the losing side, but during the period of eight overs when they bowled through their quota, there was only one team playing cricket in the middle. Ahmed started with an expensive over and Saqlain ended with one, but the six overs that separated these two were just plain outstanding. Not a single boundary was scored (remember this is Twenty20, not good old test cricket), why, not a single genuine stroke was played. It was a miracle that the Mushtaqs grabbed only one wicket each. May be the Kent batsmen were not good enough to get out to them.

You may argue that Robert Key is no Kevin Pietersen. He most certainly is not, but don’t forget that Key is an English international of recent vintage, has played 15 test matches and has a test double hundred against his name. You may argue that Martin van Jaarsveld is no Graeme Smith. He most certainly is not, but don’t forget that Martin played for South Africa not too long ago. And you can’t argue against the fact that this was Cup semi-final night and that the game was played in right earnest.

Apart from their bowling actions and the fact that one turns the ball into the right hander (as his stock delivery) and the other turns it away from the right hander, the similarities between Ahmed and Saqlain yesterday were amazing. Bushy salt-and-pepper beards proclaiming their religious fervour, supreme confidence in every step, impish smiles after forcing the batsman into a false stroke (which was about 36 times in six overs, give or take the odd defensive shot) and, coincidentally, absolutely identical figures – 4-0-21-1. (To complete a day of spinning coincidences, that other magician Mutthiah Muralitharan had delivered exactly the same returns for Lancashire against Gloucestershire in the first semi-final, also in a losing cause.)

The other noticeable aspect of this passage of play was the way the Kent players approached the Mushtaqs. They had just two shots for them – the sweep and the reverse-sweep. Sure Graham Gooch did the orthodox one famously in the World Cup semi-final in 1987, but so did Mike Gatting, infamously, with the unorthodox one in the final of the same Cup. Surely the MCC coaching manual allows more shots to the turning ball?

On a different note, it is quite heartening that a team can bowl six absolutely unplayable overs in a Twenty20 game and still lose the match. That’s 30 per cent of the innings and 15 per cent of the game. It suggests that the Twenty20 is not such a slam bang game after all – there can be quiet passages of play in a winning cause as well. Ah, the possibilities are tantalising. Thanks – Mushtaq and Mushtaq.

How to resurrect English cricket, vol. ∞

An evidence based approach to the identification and development of England Test cricketers in the County Championship. (including the full stop at the end) is the simple, unprepossessing title of a paper written by Neil Davidson, Chairman, Leicestershire County Cricket Club and released by the club recently. The 69-page paper is available on the county’s web site – click here to access it. (Caution: opens a pdf file.)

Based on an analysis of England test cricketers from June 1996 to December 2006 and of the 2006 County championship season, the author comes out with a “unique development system which will deliver a high quality Test team over a sustained period.”

The development system set out in the paper comprises seven recommendations.

1. The creation of branded ‘Academy Showcase’ cricket to funnel under 17 talented young England qualified cricketers into the First Class system.
2. ‘Senior Academy Showcase’ cricket to bridge the gap into First Class cricket, replacing the current 2^nd XI Championship.
3. A combination of regulation and incentive to ensure that young England qualified cricketers get proper opportunity, across 18 counties, consistent with Phases 1-3 identified previously.
4. A mature and informed debate about the role of unqualified players as part of such a unique development system to create the best standard of First Class cricket in the world.
5. A salary cap to deliver a level financial playing field.
6. Clear communication to all stakeholders by the ECB PR machine.
7. A phased approach.

A couple of reviews have started coming in and more are likely to follow. Better worthies than this blogger will no doubt pore over the report, identify the good points (there ought to be some), slam the bad ones (there might a contest on who finds the most here) and pass overall judgement on the paper. The inevitable comparisons with the Schofield report (and innumerable others of its ilk) are bound to crop up too.

But there is one sentence hidden rather unobtrusively in the report that made one wonder.

Premiership football is now ‘big business’, thankfully cricket has not reached that stage and hopefully it never will.

Cricket is not big business? Ask any Asian cricket administrator. Even in England, isn’t Twenty20 an effort to make cricket big business? Even assuming cricket is not big business yet, why be hopeful that it never will? Is being big business necessarily bad? After all, cricket moved from being amateur to professional long long ago. Therefore, a professional cricketer is as much a businessman as a financial consultant or any other professional. And which businessman would not want to become a big businessman?

Associated with this is the fifth recommendation above: A salary cap to deliver a level financial playing field. What were you thinking, Mr. Davidson? That cricket become a government department, with fixed salaries and pensions?

Whither West Indies?

Now that the test series is over, the predictable noises about the decline of West Indies cricket have cropped up again. It’s a refrain we’ve been hearing for quite a while now – decline of a great team, attitude to play well, developing a winning habit, consistency, commitment, where have the quickies gone… Jonathan Agnew bemoans the West Indies’ fate here, Daren Ganga spouts brave-but-hopeless words here. Pitiable really.

Without denying the truth of it all, is there hope for the West Indies? Are the players interested in winning at all or are they just turning up for their pay cheques? The way Marlon Samuels and Chris Gayle celebrated yesterday after getting Kevin Pietersen out, when the horse had long bolted, told a depressingly insightful story. Are these cricketers playing for irrelevant, personal, cameo victories alone? Is that all they are capable of?

These are questions that are not easy to answer, there probably aren’t any answers even. And while we leave the worthies to sort out the mess, it may be worthwhile to just take a step back and examine what made the West Indies a world-beating team in the 1970s and 1980s.

To begin with, they had a great bunch of players. A lot has been said about the West Indian fast bowlers of that age, and without doubt they defined the West Indies of those days. Superbly talented, relentlessly aggressive and wonderfully complementary, they were able to take on all comers.

While one half of their cricket was taken care of by the fast bowlers, the West Indies also had a great set of batsmen. They were fortunate to have as contemporaries, batsmen of the stature and durability of Clive Lloyd, Alvin Kallicharan, Sir Vivian Richards, Gordon Greenidge, Roy Fredericks, Desmond Haynes and Larry Gomes, and I’m sure I’m forgetting a few others. Intersperse these with the short-term exploits of batsmen like Collis King, Lawrence Rowe and Faoud Bacchus, and you have a batting line-up that will have any bowling attack queuing up – in the opposite direction. Some longstanding glovemen like Deryck Murray, David Murray and Jeff Dujon (with their more-than-useful batting) did not hurt either.

While the fact that the West Indies had such great players is well-known, what were the other differentiators that the team had?

For one, I think the fact that they (specifically Lloyd) ushered in the era of the all-pace attack took a lot of the opposition off-balance. This remorseless pace barrage was an innovation of the highest order, and it took West Indian cricket to the next level. You look at Australia’s dominance today – it’s a function of an all-round aggression on the field in every act – openers scoring at close to four runs an over in test matches, fielders pouncing on the ball like hungry lions on scampering prey, captains playing mind-games with brittle opposition captains or star players, spin bowlers with the face cream and aggression of fast bowlers – total cricket, anyone? West Indies cricket perhaps needs to bring in an innovation to change the way the game is played. Do they have it in them? Well, if they do, it is a very well hidden secret, indeed.

A second aspect that differentiated the West Indies of the halcyon days was that almost all the worthies in it played full-time English county cricket with a passion and commitment that saw them perform as well there (if not better than) as in the international arena. Be it the batsmen or the pace bowlers, they are as much legends in the counties they played for as they are in their native isles. Greenidge was (more than) half an Englishman with Hampshire, Richards and Somerset, Lloyd and Lancashire, Marshall and Hampshire, the list is endless. This drive to play cricket through the year is what characterized them. They earned their keep, did those West Indians. How many of the current crop play English county? And with what degree of success? The West Indies don’t have much of a domestic set-up and are unlikely to, so why not utilize the cradle of English cricket?

One final sobering thought: the great West Indies teams of the 1970s and 1980s did not emerge because of any great cricketing system in the islands – it came out of some great cricketers who came together at the same time. So duplicating their success is not likely to happen at a systemic level. That is where a mature, organized cricketing set-up like Australia looks more likely to stay on top at a more sustainable level. As for the West Indies, I suppose they can sit and pray. I fear they will disintegrate.

Where it’s just a game

Mike Marqusee has been writing the Level Playing Field column for The Hindu’s Sunday magazine for as long as I can remember. In this week’s piece, Mike dwells on English county cricket, and while a lot has been said and written about the ills of the county cricket scene, there is definitely an unmistakable charm to the game in the countyside (and countryside) of England. And the key to that is perhaps the wholesomeness of the experience – the settings, the atmosphere, the tea and scones, the chilled lager, the colourful costumes of the spectators contrasting the pristine white of the players, the pace (or the lack of it)… ah, county cricket sounds like an idyllic Sunday afternoon!

May be there is a clue here for administrators – can we woo the spectators back to the game by creating a wholesome experience around play day rather than just the game and the players? May be Twenty20 is attempting something like that, albeit on a frenzied note. (But it is that frenzy that takes away from the charm, isn’t it?)

Apart from painting a (deservedly) charming picture of the county game, Mike raises a point that has been the bone of contention of many a former English (and non-English) cricketer, commentator, coach and administrator.

County cricket has long provided a handy scapegoat for England’s cricketing failures. An influential school of modernisers would like to do away with it altogether, and slim down English cricket to some half a dozen sides. The argument is that the comfort zone in county cricket is too great. What’s needed is fewer and more competitive games. But that would require un-doing a great deal of history and up-rooting long-established loyalties. It also presumes that the principal function of domestic cricket is to act as a nursery for the England squad.

Note the last sentence. The key argument here is that county cricket is not a means to an end; it is an end itself. Club football in Europe has pretty much been that way for quite a while now, and shows no signs of changing. So why shouldn’t county cricket be likewise? May be cricket should also explore the international league system a bit more deeply than it has done so far? Fancy a cup final between New South Wales and Transvaal at Lord’s? I’ll be there I reckon.

A Service or a Profession?

I used to like Dinesh Mongia in his early days with the Indian ODI team. He had that tough, Aussie-like demeanour about him, his batting was crude but aggressive, and his bowling had a look of uselessness about it that made batsmen take one chance too many against him.

But that was long ago. Really long ago. When I saw him get out yesterday against Bangladesh, holing out to mid off, and in the first game, spooning a catch to midwicket, I wondered. Mongia just does not seem to put a price on his wicket. Sure, we don’t want him to become a grafter and just occupy the crease (and thus save his place, as a few others are alleged to have done). But surely, he has it in him to play a long innings? Unlike in the case of a Sehwag, who “just plays that way,” Mongia does not have a big enough image to be trapped in. So what accounts for his repeated failures?

As I replay the dismissals in my mind, what sticks is what happens after the dismissal. Mongia doesn’t seem to regret getting out. I wonder, is he not too keen to turn out in the national colours? No, I don’t mean to suggest that he is not patriotic. May be Mongia is happier just turning out for Leicestershire, where he has performed consistently well, where the pressures are much less, where the pulls and pushes of politics perhaps not as pronounced, and where he has a more stable place in the squad. He seems to be a regular, happy, journeyman, whose interests in the game are truly professional, in a personal sense. (As an aside, I watched a replay of a one-day game between Worcestershire and Nottinghamshire yesterday, and I can understand why Mongia may prefer the English county scene to turning out for India.) It’s a job for him, and he prefers an employer like Leicestershire rather than one like India.

For followers of English county cricket, this may not sound unusual – there are players legion who prefer the sanguine atmosphere of a game in the countryside to the hustle and bustle of international cricket. Why did a certain Steve Harmison retire from the international one day game at such a young age? May be the sub-text in Mal Loye’s interview recently also suggests something.

So is playing for the country important? Is cricket a profession or a service? (The days when it was just a game is way behind us, so let’s not even go in that direction.) Are you conscripted to play for your country if you take up the game? Can you choose to play only for a county and not for your country? As with any profession, don’t cricketers not have freedom of choice?

Are these actually considerations for the national selectors when they sit down to select the team to represent the country? Do they actually conduct interviews to find out whether players are really interested in playing for the country? Is it that difficult to figure out? In the corporate world, there are many ways in which the behavioral aspects of potential recruits are assessed. Is it worth thinking on the same lines for cricketers?