You may or may not be familiar with Karsten Solheim. If you play golf you should have heard the name, and certainly, knowingly or not, will have been influenced by him. Solheim gave his name to the trophy for which the women professional golfers of the United States and Europe compete biennially, their equivalent of the Ryder Cup. But he made his name and fortune in golf club design.
Solheim, American but Norwegian by birth, was an aeronautical engineer who in the early 1960s took up golf and, in that inquisitive way that engineers think, decided he could improve on the putter design of the time. From there his thoughts shifted to golf club design in general, and it was Solheim who, towards the end of that decade, developed perimeter weighting and casting production techniques, as opposed to forging. Karsten Manufacturing was founded, and PING golf clubs became world renowned. For several decades there was scarcely a professional golfer who, it seemed, did not carry a PING one or two iron.
The principle behind the perimeter weighting, with the familiar cavity‑back design, was to spread the sweet‑spot of the clubs, making them more ‘forgiving’. In other words, where once, with a bladed club, a golfer who hit the ball off centre was in danger of losing fillings, Solheim’s clubs were forgiving: there would still be some value even in a mis‑hit shot.
Back in the days when there was no Test cricket during the Open championship, I would attend the event for this newspaper, and our golf correspondent Dai Davies would invite me to his table at the Golf Writers’ dinner on the Tuesday evening before the tournament. On several occasions I sat next to Solheim and each time had the same conversation. It was my contention that his clubs penalised excellence. If a modest ball-striker could still get the same results as the very best, I argued, that is devaluing skill. His reply was always the same (I suspect he had been in the same discussion a thousand times): “Every player deserves to be the best he can be.”
These conversations came to mind when the ICC cricket committee announced that it was going to recommend legislation to rein in the influence of the modern bat, which it is largely recognised, is having a disproportionate influence on the way cricket is being played. Given that this particular hobby-horse has been ridden in this parish for the past eight or nine years, this is very welcome.
It is likely that this view from the ICC will be conveyed to the cricket committee of the MCC, the custodians of the Laws of Cricket, for consideration, and possible inclusion when the latest revision of the Laws is updated next year. Given that weight is not the issue, as many seem to think, any changes are likely to centre on dimension (the current restriction is on maximum width, 4.25 inches, and height, 38 inches, something unchanged since 1771; and on the material which must be wood), with emphasis on restricting the thickness of the edges, which are now around half the width, and what we might call the depth of the spine.
That many more sixes are being hit now (and indeed gentle defensive pushes speeding to the boundary) is empirically evident. Some of the arguments put forward as to why this might be are perfectly cogent, too: a willingness to attack; the influence across the board of Twenty20; improved fitness and strength levels; and smaller boundaries, all play a part. But players have always been capable of hitting prodigious sixes: it is well over a century since Albert Trott hit Monty Noble over the Lord’s pavilion, and before the second world war the Somerset pace bowler Arthur Wellard hit more than 500 sixes in his career. Viv Richards also once hit my own bowling, with a drive, off the back foot, over what is now the Compton stand and into the Nursery at Lord’s.
There has always been advancement in bat technology too, from Thomas White’s blade (as wide as the wicket), that prompted the first law change, to sloping shoulders, scoop back, Jumbo, the Run Reaper with holes drilled through which some swore whistled when used, the very heavy timbers of the 1970s and 80s, and on to today’s unpressed, dried out, disposable trampoline bats.
To my mind, though, there are two overriding reasons why enough is enough. The first relates back to my contention and Solheim’s assertion. Chris Gayle, the most prolific hitter of sixes cricket has seen, would have done so whatever bat he used, just as the best golfers today would play beautifully with old clubs. That is to his credit and the game’s advantage. But the massive expansion in the sweet spot hitting area of the bat (research estimates this to have increased from three inches vertically to eight inches) means that moderate and even mediocre batsmen are able to hit sixes with shots that might otherwise have seen their dismissal. This is just wrong.
The second aspect applies to all batsmen. Last December, in a Big Bash game at the Gabba, I saw Gayle hit a six into the stands, 10 rows back, unusual only in that he was heaving mightily in the direction of midwicket and the ball flew high over extra cover from the outside edge. When Yuvraj Singh famously hit Stuart Broad for six sixes in an over in the inaugural World T20 in 2007, he admitted that the last one “had been a mis-hit”. Mis-hits should bring wickets not reward.
Rein the bats in and Gayle, AB de Villiers, Brendon McCullum, Virat Kohli and Joe Root will still be batting superstars but the rank and file will be kept in check. Everyone deserves to be the best they can be, but not if excellence is artificially created. Bowlers deserve to be the best they can be as well.
