On Sunday’s Chappell-Hadlee radio broadcast, former Kiwi cricketer Peter McGlashan declared the New Zealand public as being notoriously impatient towards any of their batsmen with unusual batting techniques.
As an Australian, I was affronted.
Not only were McGlashan’s comments a naïve attempt to frame his country as uncivil, it also proved he has never spent a summer in Australia.
While New Zealand may trounce us at rugby, progressive politics and the box office, there’s no way they’re better than us at unfairly demeaning the different.
Unorthodox and optically-offensive batting styles are no exception.
Australia has long held prejudice towards ugly batting techniques, and we’ve always exercised it in a proper manner – by the means of inequitable scrutiny and institutionalised discrimination.
A history weaved with Trumpers and Bradmans and Chappells has treated us to decades of textbook compliance and aesthetic titillation, thus leading us to lofty expectations of decadence with the stick.
Unfortunately, this has now combined with our bloated sense of intelligence and stupid selection policies to lead us to a state of chronic delusion.
As a result, Australia now fusses for a desired prototype like we’ve become Hitler’s Germany or a dissatisfied reality TV bride.
That means if you’re an avant-garde rising through the ranks with a twisty grip, a feral stance or a trigger movement that would make a rat spew, you’re pretty much stuffed.
Even runs are futile.
While some homespun atrocities have proven effective in piling on the currency, the breathtakingly short grace period and zero stays of execution eventually weed them out.
These discards are then sadly doomed to being harnessed by one of a generation of salivating batting coaches, where their kinks will be ironed out to sweet homogenisation and an unspectacular 31.45 average.
As history shows, ugly technique is also used as a popular excuse at an administrative level.
Selectors will wield it as a watertight reason for banishment alongside other crimes like snoozy bowling, impotent fielding and having an opinion.
Just look at the veritable numbers of the unattractive who have been unfairly dumped in modern times.
Australia tolerated the runs of Simon Katich and Chris Rogers. Phil Jaques was a last start centurion, but was also not pretty enough.
George Bailey is the first recorded instance in history where showing ass hasn’t opened doors.
Then there was the dearly missed Phil Hughes, a precocious youngster overhauled beyond recognition – and all because of a perceived short ball issue, because international cricket was the first time he faced bouncers.
The serviceable-yet-unconventional technician is condemned to a career in Australia perennially situated below good-looking academy batsmen and a question mark – if they’re lucky.
To be honest, the only way around the entrenched method-shaming is the Steve Smith model; score heavily in a weak batting line-up until you’re the only plausible option as captain.
Sure, you might not be like the majority. You could be a follower who claims to be progressive. You may crazily believe the ends justify the means.
You could claim to not judge on looks, and to see their massive scores through the puerile convulsions. You see a freak and not a freak show.
But you know you are fighting against instinct.
Don’t kid yourself. You crave a top six filled with batsmen who craft like Mark Waugh on an Adam Gilchrist blitz, and anything else is just an eyesore with a farcical backlift, forever handicapped by a spirit of innovation.
That’s why despite averaging 99 in Test cricket, we must pray for Peter Handscomb.
Batting for Australia with technical impurities is like playing on a two-paced deck – you never really feel ‘in’.
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