To walk or not to walk

Thank-you, MS Dhoni, from the bottom of my heart. Had you not claimed that “catch” off Kevin Pietersen at Lord’s today, the Walking Lobby might have continued imagining it had half a leg to stand on.

The Walking Lobby never goes away. Every so often, it dons a suit and tie and bursts into the room, jabbing the air with a big fat cigar (Cuban preferably), wailing about declining ethical standards and professional liars, urging batsmen to get the game’s values back to where they once belonged. And, just as often, some slapping-down is necessary.

On the basis that taking issue with fellow toilers in my scruffy vineyard is impolite, names will not be named. Suffice to say that two colleagues for whom I hold nothing but the utmost respect have dredged up that stalest of old potatoes this week by clamouring for a return to walking. To which the only response is a respectful raspberry.

Much is made of professionalism being the source of all skulduggery, that the amateur occupies loftier moral terrain, but this is purest balderdash. Have you ever watched a game of golf or tennis between a pair of club hacks? Are Sunday morning soccer games on Hackney Marshes any less filthy than the Premiership shenanigans down the road at White Hart Lane? One member of the Walking Lobby expressed the view that the pursuit of money – in individual and collective terms - lies at the heart of the dishonesty that underpins the philosophy of the Non-Walkers. But could not the same be said of any journalist who declines to credit his or her sources and instead presents facts and quotes obtained by others as their own handiwork? I’ll willingly hold my hand up to that one.

Once upon a time, or so Derek Birley related in his myth-busting book, The Willow Wand, walking evolved as a symbol of the class divide, a means by which a batsman asserted his social and moral superiority over umpires and bowlers alike, both of whom almost invariably hailed from less privileged stock. Bowlers served; umpires gave batsmen the benefit of any doubt. To give oneself out was the sign of a gentleman, not a player.

As if this weren’t objectionable enough, the cracks in the custom were soon apparent. If a batsman had made 100, he was a good deal more likely to walk than if he had struggled to 10. Some manipulated the system, walking just often enough to acquire a reputation for integrity and thus sowing more than sufficient seeds of doubt among umpires, and hence derive the benefit whenever they chose not to walk. How blissfully ironic that one of the Walking Lobby’s latest attempts at persuasion should take place during Monday’s annual Cowdrey Lecture at Lord’s: Colin Cowdrey, after all, was notorious for having it both ways.

The Walking Lobby had its biggest field day in Cape Town at the turn of 1965. In the third Test, infuriated by the refusal of Eddie Barlow to do what he and his colleagues believed to be the decent thing, that proudest and most patriotic of Poms, Ken Barrington, walked on 49 when he knew his apparent glance to the keeper might have eluded umpire Warner. To make a point. Not so much, perhaps, that walking was morally correct, more that, even if the opposition were rotters, an Englishman knew how to do the right thing.

Which brings us back to Dhoni. Gone, inevitably, are the days when batsmen took fielders at their word. Why should they? Libel laws probably mean that I cannot describe the catch Steve Waugh claimed off Brian Lara at the start of the dynasty-ending 1995 Worrell Trophy series – replays left viewers in no doubt whatsoever that the ball had bounced first – in the manner I would ideally like. On the other hand, it would be naïve to propose that this was endemic of a new, cancerous strain of cynicism. So long as fielders have been permitted to appeal, there has been a desire to persuade by dishonest means. As Mike Atherton astutely noted from the Lord’s commentary booth, Pietersen’s edge flew into the upper part of Dhoni’s horizontal glove – a sure sign to any experienced keeper that it had kissed the turf first.

That Adam Gilchrist walked in the 2003 World Cup semi-final was profoundly admirable, no two ways about it. But it was an act of protest – at global perceptions of allegedly over-competitive, under-scrupulous Australians - that stemmed from a secure base. There was plenty of batting to come and his side were the world’s best by a mile or three. Had Sri Lanka won that day, it is hard not to wonder whether he would have copped some flak from his bemused teammates. It bears remembering that Glenn Hoddle, then England soccer manager and born-again Christian, castigated Robbie Fowler after the striker confessed to having dived to win a penalty for Liverpool, then purposely fluffed the resultant spot-kick.

A letter published in Thursday’s Times proffered the obverse side of the coin: if walking becomes de rigeur, does that mean that the batsman has every right to refuse to venture pavilion-wards if he disagrees with the umpire’s decision, which is supposed, is it not, to be the final word?

Lest we forget, those men in white coats are paid a pretty penny these days to dispense such wisdom. Recent statistics, moreover, revealed that, at Test level, they get decisions right comfortably more than 90% of the time. So let them get on with it. They get more than enough help as it is.