English cricket must reach out and touch its public

Two cricket photographs stick in the mind from recent months. They are not photographs of great feats in a Test match or T20. They are barely sport photographs at all, and because of that they will not be regarded as worthy of mention by those who prefer their cricket to be entirely free of social or political observation. But they tell a lot about English society, about English cricket, and the pressing challenges that both face.

The first photograph shows Boris Johnson whooshing at a cricket ball during his Brexit campaign, a photo opportunity at which Sir Ian Botham, England's cricketing knight and advocate of old traditions, was on hand to offer moral support. Johnson clearly got the taste for the game, for he also played cricket the day after the Brexit vote was won and the UK, its deep divisions starkly revealed, began to brace itself for life outside the European Union.

The second was a more impromptu picture, of Durham's cricketers having a knockabout game with children on the outfield after a wonderful victory against Lancashire at Southport and Birkdale CC, which takes pride in its position as one of county cricket's few remaining outgrounds.

As Brexit encourages the nation to fall into introspection, the growth of anti-elitism and the importance of reconnecting with communities is back on the agenda, and here was Paul Collingwood's Durham showing just how much can be achieved by a strong team bond, a generous spirit, an appetite for life, and a sense of humanity.

The Boris Johnson stunt draws upon the traditionalism and conservatism that has been the bedrock of cricket in England for generations. The Durham picture tells a deeper story about how the urge for a more accessible game should influence how it behaves in the future. Two photos: different messages.

Johnson's post-Brexit game came when he donned whites for a match at the stately home of Earl Spencer, brother of the late Princess Diana. Cricket provided a safe house: the man who had helped bring down the establishment had realigned himself with it in a matter of hours.

Johnson playing cricket was further testament to the Conservatives' traditional affinity with the English game. Here is a sport besotted with its past. History and tradition are revered, change or innovation is suspected far more easily than it is embraced. Such certainties fit easily with those of Tory persuasion.

It was no surprise to learn a few days later that Theresa May, who emerged from the chaos to become the new Conservative prime minister, and quickly appointed Johnson as her new foreign secretary, had been a cricket fan as a student at Oxford University. David Cameron, May's predecessor, also knew the power of cricket for Tory voters. Last year he had to defend his decision to spend a day at Headingley while a political crisis was brewing in Northern Ireland; in March he risked it becoming a cliché when he picked up a bat again to drum up trade links with India.

'Twas ever thus. Geoffrey Howe turned to cricket metaphor when his speech in the House of Commons brought down Margaret Thatcher in a Tory schism in 1990. Stanley Baldwin, a paternalistic Tory PM, occasionally wore an I Zingari tie, expressing an affinity with the nomadic club formed in the 19th century by former pupils at Harrow public school. John Major really does care deeply for cricket, is a committed Surrey supporter and even spent some time after losing Prime Ministerial office by writing a book about cricket's early years.

The most striking omission among Tory grandees, though, is Winston Churchill, who never bothered much with cricket. It has been suggested, half-seriously, that he never forgave the Old Etonian England cricket captain Lionel Tennyson for rugby-tackling him into the Thames for a lark while he was wearing a parliamentary top hat and frock coat and in full oration to a lady - a tale related by Tennyson in his autobiography, Sticky Wickets.

Cricket and conservatism are so entwined that if the Church of England is commonly held to be the Tory party at prayer, then cricket often smacks of the Tory party at games.

This routinely causes frustration for cricket followers of more centrist or left-wing persuasions, as they feel unrepresented in the game that they love, a sensation that is most obviously expressed in inflamed sentiments on social media, where cricket's voice of opposition now resides.

The most striking example of that was when the ECB, firstly in the presence of Paul Downton, and then the man who replaced him, Andrew Strauss, as the re-titled director of England cricket, chose to end the career of Kevin Pietersen. Many protestors, in their desire to condemn the ECB, yearned to present Pietersen as a man of the people, badly treated by the argument. But it is generally more instructive to view cricket's schisms as a stand off between two types of Toryism - the paternalistic team ethic of Strauss versus the untrammelled individualism of KP. This was no revolution, it was merely cricket's old tensions between team and individualism writ large.

However much the ECB may feel it is more approachable these days (and evidence is patchy at best), it is now doubly under pressure. English cricket's image as an establishment game wary of change fits uncomfortably with its need to spread T20 cricket to a wider audience and to regenerate amateur cricket at a time when many clubs are in decline by becoming relevant to as many people as possible.

And if that is not enough of a challenge, even if the ECB has appetite for the fight, it must reposition the game at a time when hostility to elites - not just political elites but many distant, London-based bodies, as long as they are perceived to hold power - has never been higher. Purely because of the social tensions that have built up in the past decade, even the most enlightened sport governing body would find its authority - its sanity even - forever questioned.

The ECB faces a conundrum. If it adopts city-based T20 with the aim of maximising TV revenue and spreading the game to a wider, younger audience, the very fact that this new T20 competition will be concentrated in only a few major centres will leave it open to resentment in the shires, and to accusations that it is a decision pushed through by an elite who are out of touch with the needs of the ordinary cricket fan in outlying areas. If it stays with the status quo of the 18-county system, many progressives will again rail that a Tory-dominated game is wedded to tradition, not progress.

Somewhere lies a compromise, but it is by no means clear where.

While that search for T20 salvation goes on, the challenge for the Championship, still treasured by many from afar but attracting crowds of a few thousand, is simpler. The urge in four-day cricket when opportunities occasionally present themselves should be to connect wherever and however it is commercially viable to do so, to ensure the game does not feel moribund, nor majors entirely on the county HQ, to renew links with areas that hunger for attention.

That is why the behaviour of Durham's players after victory at Southport was worth marking. In their own minds, they were just a few cricketers having a few beers and a bit of fun against some local kids on the outfield on a perfect summer's evening. They had won splendidly against Lancashire on an excellent pitch and gone second in the Championship, so almost to a man they loaded their gear onto the coach, sent it back to the north-east and stayed on to celebrate - with the added attraction for some of a mind-clearing round of golf at Royal Birkdale the next morning.

Durham, in common with the rest of the northern counties - perhaps more than any other northern county - draws from a cricket catchment that crosses all sections of society. Many of their players are rooted in club cricket, just as many southern counties are more likely to have players whose real roots come not from clubs but from private schools. They had a few beers at Southport because it felt the most normal thing to do, and Southport thought better of them for it.

They chatted to fans, chiefly with Lancastrian loyalties, they led the communal singing in the bar, and Ben Stokes was dismissed on the outfield, with beer glasses symbolising fielders, by a seven-year-old who will never forget it. County cricket has become much more professional; it need not become more isolated.

As Durham left, they expressed the happy wish that they could return to Southport. It is worth emphasising that this was an away team in supposedly hostile territory. It is virtually inconceivable that it could happen in football, certainly not at professional level, but cricket's fellowship runs deep and that fellowship has never been more welcome.

Collingwood, Durham's captain, was unsure whether he could retreat to the county circuit after England deemed him surplus to requirements five years ago. Some poor investments meant he had to bite the bullet. The day after Southport, as he tweeted pictures from the 11th fairway at Royal Birkdale, Pietersen jovially tweeted back: "Stop playing. Just play golf." But Collingwood has built something special at Durham, something in the manner of Geoff Cook, the director of cricket, with resilience and integrity at its core. The simple pleasures he enjoyed on a sunny night at Southport are things that Pietersen has never identified with, but they are a clue to why England's professional circuit survives.

Those who extol the value of county outgrounds are often cast as dyed-in-the-wool traditionalists - just another version of the Boris Johnson photograph - and this might indeed be part of the story. But their value runs deeper than that. In helping county cricket re-engage with communities, outgrounds tell of a professional sport that is still accessible, and of values that go deeper than the next salary slip and England ambitions. Southport, which has worked spiritedly to stage county cricket when many other grounds have lacked the communal spirit to survive - Aigburth and Horsham being recent examples - deserved to stage such a splendid week. Communities that want recognition must begin by lifting themselves. Pessimism and selfishness have taken hold in some of those towns and those who seek to banish it deserve respect.

That English cricket has been right to build bigger grounds that can maximise the appeal of international and T20 cricket is surely incontestable, even allowing for the heavy levels of debt that now burdens the county game. That expansion is not yet complete and nor should it be. Lancashire have developed a very fine stadium at Old Trafford - and to see it full is a delight - but after a routine day of Championship cricket there is never the urge for singsongs with the opposition in the bar.

England's professional game must echo far beyond the walls of the big Test grounds. It must echo in the overlooked towns and cities of England. Outgrounds must be nurtured and restored and be allowed their week in the sun. It is not just ingrained conservatism that tells us so, it is the cries of those who feel themselves ignored. English cricket should sense its moment.