The greatest on-field scandal in the history of cricket was the Bodyline crisis of 1932-33, when the England captain, Douglas Jardine, instructed his fast bowlers to go for something not far removed from attempted murder to halt the seemingly unstoppable march of Donald Bradman.
It took place 12,000 miles away from home. There was no TV; no direct radio commentary; no informed and independent press reports; hardly any air travel – a few poor-quality (no zoom) news clips belatedly inched their way across the world, to be given a biased British voiceover. What really happened on tour stayed on tour.
When retribution eventually came, it fell on Jardine’s chief weapon, Harold Larwood. Jardine remained captain; Larwood never played another Test. It took years for UK public opinion to blame the upper-class captain and exonerate the working-class martyr.
Of course the world has changed. But then again it hasn’t. Indeed in some ways a cricket team on a difficult tour has become more isolated and embattled: fearful of intrusion by press and public, sitting in team rooms over-analysing performance and tactics – while still constructing a morality that makes sense at the time because there is no one capable of seeing the bigger picture. And it has even now taken days for the hierarchy of Australian cricket to head for the airport and take charge.
The current cause célèbre that has engulfed Australian cricket is, of course, a farce. Cricketers have always sought to gain unfair advantage, most of it in a manner best described as fair cheating all round. But it has hardly ever been executed quite as stupidly as in the Steve Smith/Cameron Bancroft affair. It would have fitted very nicely into the cinemas of the Bodyline 1930s: after the newsreel, Charlie Chaplin. Actually, Bancroft’s name would also have looked good on a pre-war film poster, though probably more as romantic lead than blundering nitwit.
If you are going to cheat on a modern international cricket field, with today’s cameras and mikes and social media and what Vic Marks, in these columns, nicely described as “21st-century hysteria”, a team has to be very skilful – not act like donkeys led by a mule.
Every country has a warped self-image. We can talk about the follies of Englishness another time. But Australians have their own delusions. They love to see themselves as fair-minded innocents but, deep down, canny; impatient of stupid authority but honest – dinky-di, true blue, fair go mate.
Actually, I reckon, in petty ways, Australians have now overtaken Americans as the most put-upon, bossed-about people in the world. Ask Jonathan Agnew, nicked for jaywalking across a deserted street after midnight. In Adelaide, not Pyeongchang. Fair go mate also seems to have taken a battering.
And perhaps Britain has something to teach the old colonies about the art of resignation. There is no longer any equivalent over here to match the status of Australian cricket captain. Even a decade ago Smith’s English counterpart and the England football manager might both have been contenders. But try asking people who are not sport-obsessed the names of the current incumbents. You might be surprised by the lack of response. They might well be able to identify Arséne Wenger or José Mourinho, but they hardly count as embodiments of national identity.
In Australia sporting leadership still matters. Their prime ministers come and go but captains set their stamp on an era. Perhaps Smith was over-imbued with the Australian sense of self-righteousness – hence the pickle he has created for himself. Once Bancroft was rumbled and Smith admitted his role, he had only one choice: resign at once. But clearly there was no one at hand with the wisdom, authority or guts to tell him that.
Instant resignation would have left three possible ways forward. First, Cricket Australia’s turn-left-on-the-plane-and-keep-going panjandrums might have arrived in South Africa and pleaded on bended knee for him to stay out of patriotic duty. Maybe that was always a long shot but going quickly would also have offered a second option of coming back slowly.
Memories would fade, he could make tons of runs while having more opportunities to pop off to India and fund the marital mansion with infinity pool and state-of-the-art gym. And, third, if the opportunity for return never happened, he would still have been considered a good bloke who stood up and took it on the chin.
Remember Lord Carrington, still with us aged 98? Foreign secretary under Thatcher, who resigned at once after Argentina invaded the Falklands. Now revered as the last truly honourable man ever to set foot in the muckheap of British politics.
There is an Australian adjective: “ordinary” as a euphemism for disgraceful. Much used by, for instance, Ricky Ponting to describe his team’s performances when they lost three Ashes series out of four. Maybe his country needs to recapture its old directness of speech. Everything about Smith’s response to this situation has been ratshit.
There is no easy way out for him now. Either he will be led away kicking and screaming or this storm-in-a-jockstrap will go on for years. Never mind “team leadership groups”. Never mind coaches, managers or supremos. On a cricket field the captain is responsible. However much crass administrators fiddle with the game, that at least must remain an eternal verity.
