Embracing the atmosphere

There was something of an outcry when the Test venues were announced for England's tour of New Zealand. The two biggest population centres of the North and South Island are Auckland and Christchurch respectively, and they have the two biggest stadiums to boot, but neither city was awarded a match. Instead New Zealand cricket farmed its big games out to the "boutique venues" of Hamilton, Wellington's Basin Reserve and Napier. To judge by the crowd on the first day of the series, it was the most sensible decision they've made in years.

It wasn't that it was a massive crowd, but it was a content one. In this era of quick-fix cricket, a five-day Test is a hefty commitment for all parties but perhaps most significantly the fans. With the plethora of TV angles and multi-media coverage available these days, most aspects of a match can actually be better appreciated in one's armchair - especially if, for one reason or another, the fan concerned is too busy to commit to eight hours in a stadium.

The only thing that remains sacrosanct is the atmosphere. There's still no feeling quite like the "I was there" variety, but increasingly in Test matches around the world, no-one's been there. "It's been a long time since we had a decent crowd for a Test match," remarked Daniel Vettori on the eve of this match, and he wasn't playing to the gallery. England bucks the global trend because of its deep-rooted affection for the traditional form of the game, and thanks to the strength of the pound and their willingness to travel with it, the Barmy Army is welcomed with open arms wherever it roams. But for Test cricket, home audiences are thin on the ground no matter where you look.

New Zealand Cricket may well have hit upon the answer to the malaise. There were probably no more than 3000 fans scattered around Seddon Park for the first day's play, but it felt more like 30,000. There was an engagement with the game that has been miserably absent from too many contests at too many venues around the world. The fans were able to spread out as they pleased on the grassy banks at the city end, or wander round the boundary's edge past the tea and burger stalls. They were welcomed onto the pitch during intervals, and allowed to play French cricket on the concourse, and generally invited to make the place their own while the contest burbled on behind them.

Imagine if those same 3000 fans had been watching in the Jade Stadium in Christchurch, or any similar multi-sports structure around the world. They'd have been scattered among tiers of empty seating, their voices and interest lost to the four winds. They would have been forbidden access to unspecified areas, hassled by armies of security guards and generally made to feel like trespassers. That's not necessarily the fault of the stadiums concerned, more an aspect of Test cricket's unique nature. A degree of boredom is inevitable over an eight-hour day. The best antidote is a venue that recognises this fact.

There's a reason why Lord's and Trent Bridge are the two best cricket-watching venues on the English Test circuit - they are the two most attractive grounds, and the most conducive to roaming. There is a reason why the Gabba in Brisbane was so loathed by the English fans during the last Ashes. The days of the dog track are long gone - it is a super-stadium these days, better suited to a quick burst of Aussie rules than cricket, where everyone has a designated seat and where the fun police patrol to ensure that no-one strays out of line. Adelaide was the supporter's stand-out ground, not least on that incredible final day when every office-block in town poured out onto the hill to witness Australia's coup.

And there is a reason why Test matches in Pakistan are virtually ignored, even when India come to visit. They are soulless and dusty concrete bowls, where the sun beats down on the bleachers to drain even the hardiest fan of their will to sit it out. On England's last tour the PCB threw open the gates and invited everyone in for free. It worked to a certain degree in the provincial town of Multan, the scene of the first Test, but by the last game in Lahore the numbers had dwindled to a handful. A far more pleasurable solution, and surely more profitable in the long run, would have been to host the Test match at the beautiful Bagh-e-Jinnah in the centre of Lahore's foremost park. If the pitch was good enough for a first-class warm-up, it could cope with a full five days.

Sadly the trend in most countries is in the opposite direction. The West Indies have wiped out most of their ancient and atmospheric venues, replacing them with excessive concrete structures such as the Sir Vivian Richards Stadium in Antigua - tastefully built maybe, but entirely out of keeping with the local preference. And in Sri Lanka, the wonderful Asgiriya Stadium in Kandy, where Muttiah Muralitharan recently broke the world record to the delight of his local supporters, will soon make way for a purpose-built out-of-town structure.

But for the time being, Hamilton is the home for England's cricketers, fans and media, and a very appealing home it is proving to be. The only slight issue, one that is common to all such grounds, is the catering for the glut of media who've piled in to watch the match. During the recent one-day international, Ian Botham famously refused to commentate from the top of the stack of Portacabins that had been erected to house the spillover - and it has to be said, there is a perceptible wobble whenever the winds get up. But all told, it's a small price to pay for the aesthetics we've been granted in this game.