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The Big Bash: Serving up bargain bucket cricket

26th January, 2017
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The Big Bash is bigger and bashier than ever. . (AAP Image/Theron Kirkman)
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26th January, 2017
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It seems to me no coincidence that the principal sponsor of the Big Bash League is KFC. KFC is Colonel Sanders’ famous brand that promises chicken in a bucket containing 11 secret herbs and spices.

T20 rarely offers us more than a single flavour. On rare occasions the spotty teenage boy on the fryer may sprinkle on a few extra variables for our delectation, but these rarely extend beyond the crash, the bang and the wallop.

No complex flavours or nuance here. Just, up and down bowling and meaty one dimensional heaves. Everyone can dine out on it. We are all free to kick back, relax and enjoy the limited and unchallenging fare. Big, brash, bold and wrapped in a sterile cardboard box.

Kids love it. They would gorge on it every day if they could. Maybe one day they will become tired of consuming the same manufactured, packaged and limited offering over and over again. It will become dull and unstimulated. The empty bucket or box tossed away and crushed under the feet of the departing crowd.

The Big Bash currently stands mightily as a commercial success. Packed crowds and television audiences mark it as an exemplar of cricket’s future. The undeniable saviour of the game. A plastic hybrid of cricket perfectly pitched for today’s consumerist society. It unfolds like a game of chess on a reduced board with all the interesting pieces removed.

With the boundaries moved in the ball endlessly sails over the ropes from the miss hit edges of cudgel like bats. It quickly becomes boxing with just the knock outs and everything else discarded from view. Stick and move, fly-weight technicians can stay at home.

Lumbering one-punch heavyweights need only apply. In fact no build up is required at all. Just the garish ring walk followed by a haymaker to the face.

The count out on the canvas and a ten second clip to post all over social media. Everything else is a waste of time. A distraction from the main event and its vital, naked action. It plays out in an endless staccato like a picture with no background. A connected hybrid of Cricket but with the back story and context omitted.

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Viewed in moderation let’s not kid ourselves that it isn’t fun. The fast-paced action can be exhilarating and entertaining. The difficulty is that it comfortably falls into a routine formula.

One that can be every bit as dull as a Test match played on a flat and lifeless track, but without the regular final day twists that now so often occur. It is has encouraged the development of new strokes and super charged batting but has confined some others to the pavilion or dugout. Power hitting is the undeniable mantra.

Bowling has evolved into a disappointing concoction of wide half trackers and slow bouncers. Taking pace off the ball and grim defence the routine aim when all the benefits are retained by the batsman. Who would chose to be a bowler with the game locked into this format?

Brad Hogg of the Melbourne Renegades

It is hard though not to enjoy the late renaissance of the two Brads: Hogg and Hodge. Two forty-somethings plying their trade is evocative of another bygone era when elder statesman like Bert ‘Dainty’ Ironmonger bestrode the field of play. Perhaps, if it wasn’t for fielding, the Brads could carry on all the way into a civilian style 60+ retirement. Collecting a gold plated carriage clock, pension scheme and all.

I will also concede that it is better than the IPL. The teams feel less manufactured and more tethered to the locations that they purport to represent. A strong element of franchise exists but with an overriding local presence that acts as an acceptable counterbalance to the usual mercenary guns for hire emptiness.

The standard is raised while retaining the integrity and honesty of a genuine team competition. The IPL in contrast is a glorified exhibition featuring big name stars representing identikit brands that are cynically bolted on to centres of population.

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The bright lights and razzamatazz merely there to mask the emptiness that is hidden in its core. A cold and cynical machine oiled and greased by vast piles of money. The supporters are unflinchingly loyal to their brand while the players migrate to the highest bidder.

Without the reservoir of money the competition would collapse. Behind the outward façade this remains its only reason for being. And this is where we can turn our faces back to the Sheffield Shield and know that we can trust its purity.

Based on longevity and the total lack of financial incentive, its status and aims can only be sincere. But, our game needs money and exposure that the Shield can’t deliver. I can therefore hold my nose with the best of them.

It staggers me though how many people fall for the IPL and accept it. But, probably I am being overly harsh and this is just the way of all modern sport. Or more accurately the contemporary world in which we exist.

Sport merely holds up a mirror to modern life. The picture is frustrating and unflattering but the only one that the mirror has within its power to give.

Fast food can be fun for all the family. Let’s dig in and enjoy it but take care not to forget that other more complex and satisfying options exist.

Collect a bucket and sit down but take care not to stay too long. As you may soon find that like the Hotel California, you can never leave – even if you could there is no longer anywhere else to go.

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