For the good of the game

“Other people might feel different.” Such were Nasser Hussain’s ominously heartfelt words the day after the announcement of the Champions League. He was referring to the notion of Test cricket as the game’s pinnacle. All-too wisely, he expressed the fear that future generations, of players and spectators, could well disagree, that the appeal of a five-day ballgame might soon dwindle even more quickly for players than it currently is for spectators who prefer bucket seat to armchair. It was difficult not to share his fears.

So much has happened to cricket over the past year, at such a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it rate, that keeping pace with developments is becoming akin to plotting the emotional graph of a teenager. One thing, though, must be clear to anyone who holds the game dear: we have reached a crossroads. The past and future will soon be considered the modern equivalent to BP and AP (Before Packer and After Packer). Enterprise, player power and Mammon sit in one corner, fear, loathing and rose-tinted nostalgia in the other. The prize is cricket’s future – and its soul.

That soul lies not in cricket’s so-called “spirit” but in the way that, at what is perceived to be its highest level of expression, ie. four-innings matches, two elements above all combine to benefit humanity: second chances are possible and artificiality barely intrudes. You can redeem yourself. Bowlers are not restricted by over-counts, nor captains by fielding circles. Tests are novels, ODIs short stories, Twenty20 cartoons. All are equally valid, but who has time for short stories? Either you want the depth and escapism of the full Monty or you prefer to flick through the pics – or both. Cricket is unique in offering two such disparate options. Long may it be so.

Accepting that the game’s loudest format is going to form an increasingly large portion of our cricketing diet is the no-brainer bit. It makes sound financial sense to all the major parties concerned: boards, players and broadcasters (since when have spectators, increasingly marginalised as the less affluent are becoming, been able to vote with anything other than their feet?). The trick is to decide whether there is a will to protect Test matches, which attract good attendances in only a small minority of nations and will become increasingly less attractive to players if the alternative is sufficiently profitable. Why worry about how Wisden will evaluate you in 50 years’ time if you can earn a bundle now? Given the choice between posterity or financial security, what would YOU do? The “others” Nasser referred to may soon be the majority.

And if that will exists, which it appears to, the next two steps are reasonably straightforward: 1) forge an organic, umbilical link between Twenty20 and Tests by making the former a four-innings affair, and 2) giving us the bonafide World Test Championship so many have craved for so long.

Encouragingly, the ICC have confirmed that they are examining the possibility of the latter. In which case, the first step is plain: scrap the Future Tours Programme. And the World Championship table, which has served as an accurate barometer but is so non-punter-friendly that the latest table can only be worked out with the aid of a press release. The FTP was also welcome and well-intended, but fatally unwieldy and too often observed strictly in the breach. How often do Bangladesh play England or Australia? How can New Zealand play two Tests in a year when 12 are stipulated? What, pray, is the point of a best-of-two series? All these mooted windows for IPLs and EPLs and Champions Leagues will make it unworkable anyway.

Better, surely, to devise a biennial or even annual World Test Championship and leave all other fixtures in the lap of the individual boards, as it was for more than a century. Which will probably lead to a preference for one-off games rather than series. Even the long-running rivalries may shrink and lessen in frequency – anyone for a three-match Ashes clash? On the other hand, the less you play, the less prepared you will be when the WTC comes around. One-off engagements in Bangladesh and Ireland, say, might well prove attractive in terms of providing practice while earning funds for the hosts and stimulating interest for the game there. But the chief means of opportunity for the lesser lights should be Twenty20, which by its very length reduces the gap between stars and amateurs, and hence the possibilities for embarrassment and diminishment.

So how would the WTC work? Tricky one. Ideally, we would rule out home advantage by playing knockout games on neutral territory. Imagine Australia v Pakistan in Mumbai, Sri Lanka v West Indies in Durban, India v South Africa at Lord’s, England v New Zealand in Sydney. Each tournament would have to have a designated venue for the final, if only to allow the hosts sufficient time to prepare a worthy pitch and marketing campaign.

On the other hand, staging all the games in one country, on a rotational basis a la the World Cup, would concentrate and heighten the commercial appeal. This, though, would mean flexibility in terms of timing: England in late summer, the rest in their most climactically clement month. And yes, biting the bullet on floodlights, with a pink ball if necessary, would be imperative.

As to who participates, there is an argument for going straight to the quarter-finals and drawing the eight senior nations against each other. Better, though, to invite the best Associate nations – according to results in the Intercontinental championship, arguably the ICC’s foremost contribution to the evolution of first-class cricket – to participate in a 16-team knockout. Sure, most of the first-round games would be over inside two days, but thereafter competition would hot up. Besides, we could always spice things up by giving the minnows home advantage. Who knows what terrors might lurk in Dublin or Amsterdam.

The last and most crucial trick will be to protect and promote the five-day fray in the way that we preserve and sell the finer arts. As a duty to mankind and future generations. Which means putting the emphasis on quality rather than quantity. Scarcity can become an asset. Test cricket should be added to the burgeoning heritage industry, hoisted alongside the Sydney Opera House and the National Gallery: as a living, breathing, vibrant slice of 21st-Century culture that also encompasses a sense of history. Benefactors and patrons will be needed. Creative marketing will be crucial.

As CLR James always maintained, cricket is an art form. And never more than in its first-class incarnation. Those hyphenated words, for all that they exude a top-hat-and-tailed snobbery and snottery, are not misplaced. We’re talking top-of-the-range here, folks, the Maserati-cum-Sistine Chapel of sporting endeavour. It may not always reap profits but it has value. It reminds us that life need not be frenetic, that winning isn’t everything, that a hard-earned draw can be every bit as satisfying, that second chances and redemption are possible. Name a sport that sends out a better message to children.

And yes, governments must be prevailed upon to play their part. Funding Olympic athletes hasn’t exactly done much for their credibility. Isn’t it about time they showed their supposed commitment to sport, not only by supporting one with a regular and loyal global audience, but one in which drugs are probably less help than hindrance?