Turn back the pink tide

What would WG Grace say, if you told him that the 2017 Ashes series could include two day-night Tests, played with a pink ball? He would say nothing, because he is dead.

But let’s add a tantalising new wrinkle to our hypothetical: what if he were alive, and you told him this fact? And also, let’s specify that you’re talking to him back in the 19th century or whatever, not now, so he’s not a supernaturally long-lived man who is constantly screaming at you to kill him and end his suffering.

So, what would WG Grace say? He’d saying something like:

Goodness me, what a right bloody cock-up this is and no mistake! Blimey, I never thought this bally old game of ours would sink so dashed low, what?

Make no mistake: if the good Doctor were alive today, he would roll over in his grave, if he were dead.

Test cricket runs on many things: courage, passion, skill, patriotism, regular laundering, alcohol and sunshine are among them. But perhaps chief among all the vital ingredients in the great casserole we call Test cricket is tradition.

Without tradition, what is Test cricket but a pale, overlong imitation of the Big Bash League? Those of us who love the game and who will continue, no matter what, to put it on the telly while we browse Twitter, do so because we are in love with the history and heritage and wondrous, beauteous culture of the thing. Every Test that takes place is a chapter in a great novel that is still being written, another episode in an epic saga that tells the story not just of a group of assorted sportsmen, but of the human race itself, in microcosm.

Within that novel are characters greater than any to be found in the canon of western literature. Characters like Warwick “The Big Ship” Armstrong, who captained his country to Ashes glory despite being officially classified as a county upon his arrival in England. Characters like Vinoo Mankad, the all-rounder so bewitching that he combined twin careers as cricketer and verb. Characters like Derek “Deadly” Underwood, one of history’s finest bowlers on fungus. Characters like Dirk Wellham, I suppose.

Of course the Test cricket novel has gone through its various twists and turns over the years. Bodyline. Chucking. The aluminium bat. Homeworkgate. That time Jason Gillespie rode his bat like a horse. There have been some weird and wonderful moments in the history of Test cricket, there’s no doubt about it.

But all of these fit into the rich tapestry of the game. They complemented the flavour of it, they seasoned it, they added to the drama and the pageantry of it all. Whether it be Steve Waugh breaking his nose or Inzamam-ul-Haq breaking the rules, it was all just another page in the book.

But pink-ball cricket? It does not fit the tradition. It sits outside the tradition. It is not a chapter in the book, it is a completely different book, a thin, flimsy one printed on cheap paper with a misprint on the title page. If Test cricket is a magnificent epic novel, pink-ball Tests are an authorised biography of One Direction.

Why? The reasons are legion. But for a start, look at how the first pink-ball Test went last season, between Australia and New Zealand. It was over in a trice and I can barely remember a thing about it. When the game looks like day-night cricket, people will treat it like day-night cricket, i.e. forget all about it the day after and call for its abolition.

And as we found out, the pink ball grants unreasonable superiority to bowlers. The batsmen found it incredibly difficult to play the pink ball, and whether that’s due to the excessive seam movement, or the difficult visibility when playing under lights, or the overtly sexual overtones of the ball’s colour… it doesn’t even matter, the point is it’s incredibly hard to bat against, and Test cricket has always been about an even contest between bat and ball. Except in circumstances when it’s particularly easy to bat. Or in circumstances when it’s particularly hard to bat. But apart from that it’s about an even contest. And even when it’s not, the point is it’s an uneven contest in daylight, which is the proper time for Test cricket, because white clothing looks awful at night.

And what about the ball itself? Even if we could solve the problem that the pink ball swings too much and seams too much and turns into a near-invisible grey blob after three overs, the fact remains that it’s pink, and that is wrong, in a deeply unsettling way. To demonstrate: look at old photos of Dennis Lillee. What colour is the ball that he is bowling? It is red. Look at old photos of Greg Chappell batting. What colour is the ball he is stroking through mid-on? It is red. Look at old photos of Bradman. What colour is the ball? It is grey, but according to his diary, it was actually red, and experts believe it just appears grey because it is a black and white photo.

The evidence is in: Test cricket is played with a red ball. Ergo, any game not played with a red ball is not Test cricket. For example volleyball is played with a white ball, and is not Test cricket. QED.

And what about the children? Does nobody care? Does James Sutherland propose forcing them to stay up well past their bedtime just to see a day’s Test cricket? Isn’t it enough that they have to stay up well past their bedtime to see basically every other sport? I thought Test cricket was a haven from that sort of nonsense.

But more than anything, what we have here is just another encroachment of the despicable modern on the charming classicism of the game we once called our own. We have accepted video umpires. We have accepted ridiculously thick bats. We have accepted ridiculously thick batsmen to hold the bats. We have accepted sponsors’ logos and deodorant commercials and computerised biomechanical analysis. Can’t we at least keep the red ball? Can’t some part of Test cricket stay the same? Can’t we hang on to the tiniest scrap of a glorious history? Can’t we stand fast against the tide of change to salvage something noble and good and objectively completely unimportant?

Can’t Test cricket – real Test cricket, as played by Dr Grace and the Don and the Typhoon and Graeme Hole – carry on the way it always has? Or at least, with a similar colour palette? Please?