Roar Rookie
When Stuart Broad recently tweeted, “Glorious day for our Team England golf at The Grove. Got buggies…”, he received a reply, “Still not walking, hey?”
The Broad ‘dismissal’ caused some outrage on the field, with his apparent audacity to stand his ground the cause for much angst with fans around the world.
His behaviour of not accepting his apparent fate was regarded widely as filthy cheating, a blight on the game, ‘it’s just not cricket’.
As understandable as this reaction was, the Khawaja ‘dismissal’ last night is a fabulous example of the alternate argument – the batsman’s perspective – of the right to not-walk.
I was by no means a quality cricketer. But as an opening batsman in grade cricket in Brisbane and in minor-counties in England over many years, I feel my experience can provide a reasonably informed argument on this.
I was a walker – much to my Australian team-mates’ disgust. A feathered edge and I’d ‘do the right thing’, put the bat under my arm and be on my way.
After one significantly run-barren season though, when I was certain I’d faced unfortunate decisions consistently throughout, I sat down with the scorecard and considered my dismissals types across the season.
I had been dismissed LBW on more occasions than all other dismissal types combined.
While this could be a technique issue, it was extremely out of character – I decided there was no possible way I was correctly adjudged on every occasion.
Reality dawned, my naivety waned, I decided to exercise my right not to walk.
Have you ever noticed that the furore evoked after a high profile non-walking tends to stem from the media and the public?
No Australian player publicly commented on Broad, they commented on the decision. Even Shane Warne congratulated Broad on his fortune rather than aim an attack his way.
Professional cricketers accept this as part of the game, are understandably pretty upset when it occurs for sure, but accept it as a batsman’s right.
Consider this now – and this I think is a key point to make. Over the course of even one day’s play, how many times does a fielding team appeal for a dismissal?
Do you seriously believe that every one of those players actually believes that it was in fact a wicket – or can you conceive that they are appealing out of hope – trying to influence the decision?
Why can’t appealing when you are confident it isn’t out, be considered ‘simply not cricket’?
Last night before the lunch break alone I counted England appeal, ponder to challenge via DRS but decide not to, on three occasions.
This is itself is a great example of how rarely a team will appeal for a dismissal without actually believing it to be a certain wicket.
This is what a batsman faces on every occasion he is at the crease. There is no way that on every occasion he is adjudged dismissed, that it is a correct decision.
Why should a batsman be the sole player on the field to have to ignore the good and accept the bad?
Just as a fielding team attempts for and wantonly accepts a poor umpiring decision, why can’t a batsman accept a little slice of luck when it comes their way?
Why can’t Khawaja, after last night’s debacle, now allow for karma to balance itself out and accept a fortunate decision when offered?
In short, he can, and should, and I hope he does.