Crash, bang and Pandora's box is opened

	The band United Colours of Sound pose with John Crawley and Chris Adams at the ECB's launch of the Twenty20 Cup © Getty Images Enlarge

Twenty20 seems to have been around forever, and cricket's movers and shakers are now showing almost indecent haste in their collective attempts to milk the format for all it's worth. But Twenty20, the brainchild of ECB marketing manager Stuart Robertson, only made its first appearance on June 13, 2003.

The competition was launched to general suspicion on November 13, 2002, although trial matches had taken place earlier in the year. In general they had gone well, although early plans to incorporate a golden over, in which runs would count double, were quietly shelved. The ECB struggled to find a sponsor until late in the day, and sceptics were quick to point out that the launch was set to be on a Friday the 13th.

On the eve of the first batch of five matches, the media was unsure what to make of it. Most decided it would attract crowds, few believed it would turn out to be anything more than a bit of a giggle.

"The only way to approach the whole adventure is with an open mind," wrote Christopher Martin-Jenkins in The Times. "Like many a novelty, given fair weather, it will succeed at first. My guess, however, is that it will, in the end, have a negligible effect on crowds, finance, standards or interest. The general impression that these are "fun" events will serve the purpose of attracting young people who are used to noise, spectacle and instant gratification; but the game's intrinsic qualities will remain its chief attraction."

Simon Barnes, also in The Times was hardly any more enthusiastic, with the noise his main objection. "It's the trappings I can't stand. The garnish. The gimmicks. The wrapping, the ribbons, the packaging. The noise. Music should be banned from all sporting occasions, live and televised. Never mind keeping politics out of sport; if we can keep music out, I'll be happy."

In The Sun, John Ethridge had a warning. "The traditional cricket followers might be advised to stay away for fear of choking on their gin and tonics. But the new generations of children and families are welcome with open arms."

	Hampshire players John Crawley, Simon Katich, Shaun Udal, Lawrence Prittipaul and Alan Mullally wait in the dugout at Southampton © Getty Images Enlarge

"If it does not come off, there is nowhere else to go," Mike Selvey wrote in The Guardian before offering a prescient prediction. "When the idea was first floated, a natural response was to predict that star players, many of whom already complain of overwork, would take the opportunity to sit out the competition. That would be unforgivable. New heroes could be created here.

"Those who might dismiss the format as pot noodle cricket that will destroy techniques could be way off the mark. Two weeks or so is not going to do any lasting damage and, besides, this is a competition that can be utilised to improve one-day skills."

Derek Pringle in The Daily Telegraph was not so sure. "Like baseball, a game lasts three hours, which should not tax the modern attention span too much. Slotting in mostly after-work hours during the week, the competition at least gives itself a chance, though rival events such as television soaps, homework and dinner may prove beyond sacrifice for some."

Cricinfo's Andrew Miller was upbeat but not without a note of caution. "Unless the teams themselves can put aside the razzmatazz, and knuckle down for some hard-fought competition, the whole fortnight will have the glib sterility of a graduate-recruitment fair."

Paul Dews in the Yorkshire Evening Post was the positive of them all, railing against those pouring scorn on Twenty20 before it had even started. "Quite why so many people are waiting to destroy a competition that hasn't even started remains a mystery, because the ECB should be applauded for breaking with tradition and giving something new a go. Twenty20 certainly isn't the future of cricket, but it could help the long-term planning of the game and should be judged on its crowd-pulling merits."

	Owais Shah interacts with the crowd at The Oval © Getty Images Enlarge

Most of the counties joined in the fun. Nottinghamshire, tongue firmly in cheek, got their more toned players to pose topless on posters as they billed games as Girls' Nights Out. The models were Kevin Pietersen, Chris Cairns, Paul Franks and Gareth Clough (not a regular but he sneaked in by virtue of having the chest most admired by the female marketing staff). Worcestershire placed a Jacuzzi on the boundary edge; Gloucestershire warned their committee that if any of them turned up wearing a tie they would be kicked out; Yorkshire sold tickets at £2; Glamorgan asked fans to turn up in pyjamas.

There were a few glitches. Middlesex abandoned Lord's for more rural settings after the local council stuffily rejected requests for music to be allowed, while Derbyshire's forward-thinking plan to involve cheerleaders fell foul of the political-correctness lobby who ensured that there were no IPL-style youngsters but a more middle-aged selection.

The first uncontrollable obstacle, the weather, was superb for the opening round of games. The Sky TV cameras were at The Rose Bowl, along with 9000 spectators, Hampshire's second largest crowd ever. Viewers at home enjoyed a more relaxed style, commentators in the players' dugouts and interaction with fielders via microphones taped uncomfortably to their ears.

Around 10,000 flocked to The Oval, twice the expected gate, which caused long queues at the bars; Durham, Taunton and Worcester also reported excellent sales. In all, 30,050 turned up for the arrival of a new era.

"Anything less would have been a failure given the novelty of the matches and the intensive marketing effort that has gone into them," noted Martin-Jenkins. The ECB had ploughed more than £200,000 into market research to, as Etheridge, observed "come up with the unbelievable revelation that cricket is watched mainly by white, middle-class, middle-aged men."

	Packing them in at The Oval © PA Sports Enlarge

"Welcome to Cricket Like You've Never Seen It," Selvey quipped. "Well, not since a National League match reduced under the Duckworth-Lewis method anyway."

The demographic surprised many. "There were children yesterday - lots of them," reported Tanya Aldred at Southampton. "There were toddlers. And there were women. It was no revolution but, compared to the average four-day county match, it was the Clothes Show Live at the NEC. The Guinness van was selling glasses of Pernod and Martini, the beer tent offered a special offer on Bacardi Breezers."

The Mirror touched on the same theme. "The traditionalists stayed away, the kids came out to play, and maybe, just maybe, cricket took a genuine step towards reversing its dwindling popularity.

If the public and media didn't know what to expect, neither did the players. "We're going to bowl first," explained Surrey captain Adam Hollioake on winning the toss against Middlesex, "because I haven't got a clue what's going to happen."

Fears it would be a flash in the pan, a decent turn-out from the curious before a return to the more usual smattering of spectators, proved unfounded. The following night the crowds were as good. The weather remained glorious throughout and the Twenty20 Cup was a hit. Even so, few had any inkling of quite what an impact Robertson's idea was going to have.