Cheating?! In cricket? Unthinkable

The notion that a cricketer would cheat has always been seriously at odds with the supposed spirit of the game, and too unpalatable to contemplate. It is a naive view and it ignores both history and human nature.

When Dwayne Bravo emerged somewhat less than exuberantly from his outfield tumble and roll to send back Michael Yardy in England's final match of the Champions Trophy in India with a catch that video replays showed had bounced in front of him, you did not have to wait long for the head-scratching in the commentary box.

The pause reflected obvious misgivings. But it also underlined the reluctance of commentators ever to draw the instant conclusion that a player would do something underhand. In football, the outraged response to a foul or dive is in-built; in cricket the default reaction is: surely not!

I'm not calling Bravo a cheat. Only he knows how right or wrong he was to claim that catch. But it didn't look good. It was a decent piece of athleticism that put him in position to attempt it in the first place, yet he hardly celebrated accordingly.

There followed the sort of moral confusion cricket has had to face with increasing regularity. It is a game saddled with impossibly high standards from the past. It has also become, over the past decade, a game scrutinised to an unprecedented level by TV cameras. There is no hiding place.

Bravo was charged with failing to "conduct play within the spirit of the game". This arose from repeated viewings of the slow-motion film which left no doubt the ball had bounced up from the turf into his hands.

The buck was then passed to the match referee, Mike Procter, who didn't so much drop it as bin it. He will say he had a tough call to make. The evidence was incriminating, no doubt, but the bounce was small enough for Procter to judge, purely on the player's say-so, that Bravo may not have been aware of it. Procter chose the word of the player. The expensive, hi-tech video evidence became suddenly, curiously, ludicrously irrelevant. It was like being presented with the body, but agreeing with the accused that he could not be sure if he meant to pull the trigger.

The mantra from older players goes that in times gone by there would have been no dilemma: before super slo-mo, the snickometer, Hawk-Eye and all the other gadgets, players were scrupulously honest. If the ball fell short, they would not claim it; if they got an edge, they walked.

Well, we all know that was not universally the case. And how could it be? Cricketers then might have lived in an age more obviously imbued with a sense of fair play, uncorrupted by the sort of money available today, but they were just as fallible and weak as any gold-digging, passport-swapping, bet-taking soldier of fortune in the modern game.

If Bravo was guilty, it was in his lack of side. He pouched the chance and walked slowly back towards the bowler with little show of emotion. Into that look and stroll could be read several interpretations: he is one cool dude, he was waiting for the video replay, he wasn't sure at all if the ball had smacked him square in the hands with no deflection ... or he at least briefly suspected that the ball had had the sting taken from its journey by the ground.

In effect, he gave himself the benefit of the doubt. So did Procter. But the match referee's version was, in my opinion, just as flawed. "Television replays appeared to show the ball bounced but Dwayne thought he had taken the catch cleanly," Procter said. "From my experience as a player I know that can happen, but we needed to ask the question to make sure it was a genuine mistake by the player. For that reason the umpires were right to lay the charge but, after we all talked it through, I had no reason to disbelieve Dwayne's version of events."

That is clearly nonsense. The reason he had to at least seriously doubt "Dwayne's version of events" was what his eyes told him when he examined the replay. The reason he had to believe him was he found it uncomfortable to come to the conclusion that Bravo would try to deceive him. And maybe the player didn't. Perhaps he was totally innocent. And, given the parameters, Procter had no choice but to acquit.

Yet, despite his eminence as a former player, I have to take issue with Procter's logic, and, by inference, that of Bravo. Bravo said he had no doubt he caught it; Procter said that sometimes it is hard to tell. You can't have it both ways.

A few days later, Michael Clarke did the right thing when he waved away appeals for a 'catch' he had scooped up from Jacob Oram. He knew it had bounced first and he said so instantly. Anyone who has played the game, at any level, knows there is a different feel between a ball that lands at unimpeded speed square in the hands and one that is even minimally slowed down by hitting the ground. Indeed, a half-volley invariably nestles in the hand much more gently than a ball that flies above the turf. And certainly a genuine catch has that unmistakeable "smack" about it. Did Bravo know? I hope his take on it was genuine. But, if he was in the slightest doubt, he should have called for the replay himself, and accepted the decision. Those last three words should be what cricket is all about.

Click here to send us your thoughts.