Sledging on the slippery slopes?

Malcolm Speed wants to clean up the game citing a “spate of Code of Conduct offences” as the impetus for his request for players to take a copy of the rule book to bed and wash their mouths out with soapy water.

There are many aspects of the game that fall under the generic banner of ‘conduct’ and I for one would certainly like to see continued penalties imposed for actions on the field that overstep the line. Shahid Afridi was dealt a three game ban for his pitch scuffing antics, and whenever a player is physically attempting to alter the conditions of play, then a penalty of appropriate severity needs to be imposed.

Ball tampering, pitch scuffing and intentionally slow over rates should all attract a consequence of enough significance to dissuade players from performing these activities.

Sledging however is different, yet Speed has bundled physical and verbal behaviour under the one statement.

But what is the ‘spirit of the game’? If it is defined as upholding its traditional values and enforcing a continuity of its history then sledging deserves its place as much as any other aspect for it has been around as long as over arm bowling and wearing white for Test matches.

To cite the spirit and therefore history of the game as rationale for eliminating sledging is a flawed argument. But does sledging belong in the game on its merits? To answer that I believe sledging needs to be at least loosely defined.

Where is the boundary line between sledging and just plain old fashioned abuse. Is humour one of the key ingredients that makes sledging such an interesting part of the game? Is it the relevance, with most good sledges having an immediate connection to the current dynamic between bowler and batsmen at that particular point in the game? Or is it that sledges have been generally given and received in the ‘spirit’ with which they were intended. A mental verbal trump card, designed to gain the upper hand?

If we consider sledging as just another means of gaining competitive advantage then a good sledge can sit in the arsenal alongside a fast bowlers intimidating deliveries or a spin bowlers examination of a batsmen’s reserve of concentration and skill. All of these weapons are used to test substance and mental fibre.

Sledging works best, when a team believes that an opposition player will be susceptible to its potency. The targets are players that buy into the theory that “sticks and stones can break my bones and words can get my wicket”. A batsmen that ignores sledging, who is immune to altering a shot selection following a sledge and is wise enough to avoid converting a sledge into two way dialogue is rarely the victim of persistent sledging.

Professional cricket is not a game for the faint of heart or the weak of mind. It’s a game for sure, but one that only the very best can aspire to play at international level with the qualities needed to justify a place in your national side extending beyond talent, technique and hours of practice alone.

The required qualities extend into character, into the ingredients that make a player tick, into the response demonstrated when the chips are down and ultimately into the value placed on one’s contribution to the team.

Sledging examines these qualities in a microscopic fashion.

If a batsmen crumbles after a few well chosen words of ‘encouragement’ he perhaps should take up a career in coaching, for the spotlight of international cricket may well be a few degrees to warm.

I don't believe players sledge for the sake of it. Sledging is not a platform for simply launching personal insults at a player for the sheer sake of abusing him. It is done to alter the state of concentration a batsman requires to preserve his most valuable asset whilst at the crease, his wicket.

A memory abides of Andrew Flintoff, fielding at slip to a struggling Tino Best during the first test of the West Indies tour to England in 2004. Best had played a series of forward defensive shots to Ashley Giles, prompting Flintoff to utter “Mind the Windows Tino” to the tail ender. Tino Best proceeded, the very next ball, to give Ashley Giles the charge and was stumped playing all around the delivery. There can be no doubt that Flintoff’s sledge, was as valuable a contribution to the wicket as Giles’ prodigious talent with the ball.

Tino Best’s shot was completely inappropriate for the state of the match. There was a slim possibility of the West Indies playing out for a draw, but to achieve this, the tail had to bat out the innings with solid defense and avoid shots with inherent risk. A draw in that game could have dramatically altered the outcome of the series but Tino Best had a point to prove to Flintoff. “I can hit big shots too!” and his desire to prove the inaccuracy of Flintoff’s sledge was momentarily given more importance than helping his team play out for a draw. Such is the power of a well aimed sledge.

England’s win in that first test established a platform of dominance that would carry them through to a 4-0 series win. They dominated physically, tactically and yes, verbally as well.

And isn’t that how it should be? Most, if not all team-sports played in every nook and cranny of the world, have their own versions of sledging. Exchanges of snappy dialogue designed to give one team an edge over the other. It’s a process that tests mental reserves and it should be allowed to stay unfettered for as long as its victims continue to show weakness to its influence.