Where on earth is the World Cup mascot?

The World Cup is bearing down on us like a cricketing hurricane. We can already feel the bluster of its irresistible force blowing hard against our houses: There's the plethora of venue guides and exhortations to visit the host nations and cities, a touristic PR tour de force that makes Tony Greig's fantastically enthusiastic on-air recommendations of Sri Lankan mangos and Colombo seafood restaurants seem half-hearted. The nostalgia for anything and everything thrown up by tournaments past, from glorious kits - ah, 1992, where would cricketing chic be without you? - to mesmeric knocks and iconic shots. Then there's the arguments over which one of South Africa's impressive body of self-destructions was the most comic, plus the endless repeats of Bermuda's Dwayne Leverock, a salmon trapped in a hippo's body, swooping through the air to take that catch.

One essential part of any frothing World Cup build-up is missing, however, and cricket fans are increasingly restlessly asking two all-important questions: Why hasn't the official mascot yet been announced, and what on earth is it going to be?

Let's go full Maxwell and tackle those queries in reverse. So, on the matter of form, given that these cuddly, cartoonish visions are usually a symbol of national or regional pride and that next year the event is being co-hosted by both Australia and New Zealand, speculation is rife that this tournament's will be some sort of kangaroo/kiwi hybrid. Personally, my hunch is that the Tasman cousins will save on design costs and just make it Luke Ronchi, but in reality no one knows. We do thankfully have a logo - a really quite stylish nod to the indigenous heritage of both countries - but no sign of a mascot.

So, on to the first point. Why is it taking so long to be unveiled? There are three possible reasons:

1) Authoritarian overtones
The World Cup cricket mascot is a relatively recent phenomenon, only gracing the event from 2003 onwards, when the South African hosts opted for a zebra dressed as an umpire and signalling a six. In actual fact, despite concerns over hoofmarks at the bowler's end, this design actually looked quite vibrant and impressive, but the present organisers may worry that having any mascot at all will bring back recollections of this unusual celebration of officialdom at a time when supporters feel those in charge of the game are already too power-hungry. The issue's not black and white, but would sparking memories of an iconic zebra umpire lead to further accusations of ICC self-congratulation?

2) Spirit of cricket concerns
While there is no direct evidence of a World Cup mascot ever mankading anyone or not walking after getting a nick, 2011's manifestation has sadly nevertheless been constantly dogged by allegations of cheating. The tournament, held in India, Sri Lanka and Bangladesh, was represented by a cute-looking elephant called "Stumpy", who was pictured bouncing a ball off its trunk. Well, cute at first glance we should say, for if you look closer you can see the ball he's toying with has a seam more enlarged than a foie gras goose's liver. Replays at the time were inconclusive, but if you had tusks that sharp and the ball was doing nothing on slow, low, subcontinental pitches...?

3) Forgetfulness
Organising a huge international tournament - especially one where you have to cater for the notoriously challenging culinary demands of the England squad - is a huge undertaking. Things can slip from administrators' minds. When, for instance, the game's premier quinoa-chompers hosted the World Cup themselves in 1999, they forgot to buy any working fireworks for the opening ceremony, leading to the game's premier event being prefaced by what ultimately appeared like a controlled explosion of a small lava lamp. In 2007, the West Indies also forgot to have a mascot with seemingly much to do with the region beyond a couple of dubious stereotypes. "Mello" (you can see where they were going there) was a sort of phlegmatic, androgynous raccoon - ah, those famous phlegmatic, androgynous Caribbean raccoons, you say - and remarkably never really captured the public's imagination.

So as the hurricane brews in the distance, cricket fans wait with bated breath for the bit of emblematic nonsense we demand as our right. More importantly, we need something to take our minds off the inevitable appearance of Pitbull at the opening ceremony (doubtless performing a duet with Katy Perry, while Doug Bollinger gatecrashes the stage to inexplicably teach them both how to play golf). We frankly don't care what it is: Srini dressed as a big foam rubber dollar sign; Greg Chappell in a Ganguly mask; Chris Martin decked out as a hapless duck. Just give us our mascot, ICC. In these troubled times for cricket, it's the very least you can do.