The game that shot itself?

For the past month or so, The Observer newspaper in London has been running an investigation into the decline and gradual fall of football in England. "The Game that Ate Itself" is the report's catchy tagline, a succinct summation of a sport that has become so overwhelmingly self-important that I, for one, can hardly bear to watch it any more.

For football, read cricket? The implication expressed by the ICC this week, that 99% of the world's bowlers are chuckers, has to rate as the most depressing slur on the game since the match-fixing scandal erupted in early 2000. This time, no-one can even pretend that the scandal (for that is what it is desperately aspiring to be) has been perpetrated by a repugnant minority, and to my mind, that somehow makes it all the worse.

Apparently, at the recent Champions Trophy, the only bowler to return a clean bill of health was that most innocuous of dobbers, Ramnaresh Sarwan. Even Glenn McGrath, whose marvellously economical action has been the envy of imitators and the enemy of the greatest batsmen of his era, has not escaped the tar-brush. Perhaps "The Game that Shot Itself" would be a better tagline.

It has been argued ad nauseam, on this website among others, that the intrusion of science into sport can only be a good thing. Forgive me if I come across as a Luddite for a moment, but that is utter rubbish. Science has been responsible for some of the greatest crimes against sport that have ever been perpetrated - from the titanium golf clubs that have reduced the great links courses to pitch-and-putt nonentities, to the space-age tennis rackets that put a Wimbledon singles title within the grasp of any old brute with a half-decent serve.

Taken to its logical conclusion, the intrusion of science into sport obliges us to treat as heroes the likes of Ben Johnson and Dwain Chambers - men whose pharmaceutically enhanced bodies have undoubtedly thrilled the crowds for brief moments in time, but ultimately left them short-changed. Perhaps this is the way we want all games to go? All in favour, say "aaaargh!"

But back to the cricket - or what remains of it, once we've allowed two-and-a-half minutes between balls to study every conceivable slo-mo replay of the preceding delivery.

Cricket holds a unique place in the world of sport. It is played almost exclusively by ten highly diversified nations, and differences of opinion are inevitable. But the bottom line is that it is just that - a sport. It has the power to cross boundaries, whether they be lines of control in India and Pakistan, or (reluctantly in England's case) Zimbabwean border posts. But such diplomatic immunity deserves to be blown out of the water, the moment the game forsakes its identity and is seduced by the same delusions of grandeur that have devoured football.

From the adoption of the Duckworth/Lewis rain-rules, to the introduction of those unfathomable ICC Championship tables, there has been an over-bearing desire to further complicate an already intricate game. Add to that the proposed use of TV replays to adjudicate on lbws, and now the likelihood of intense elbow scrutiny ... There's not a lot of room left for pure and simple enjoyment.

Andrew Miller is assistant editor of Wisden Cricinfo.