This T20 tri-series isn't like the tri-series I know

Following this week’s gruelling cricket drought of almost 72 hours, Australia, New Zealand and England are set to clash in a triangular tournament with the winner to be forgotten by March.

But as significant as it sounds, this Gillette International T20 competition is nothing more than a cheap fake that fails in all of the exacting specifications of a local tri-series – even with three competing teams and cricket.

Firstly, a bona fide limited-overs tri-series should preferably be played in the 1980s and with heaps of unforced masculinity and public interest.

It should involve squads permeated with household names – preferably mulleted and/or unshaven from the waist up – meaning the retail booze isn’t the only thing that’s full-strength.

That means less of the niche short-form ‘specialists’ of today and more white names circa 1978 – in other words, increased Bruces, Geoffs and Scubas in place of the Jhyes, Dawads and Irishmen.

Then there’s the sponsorship – Gillette – which falls tragically short of spec.

Sure, Australia’s leading razor carries plenty of bloke cred as a product, but it’s not going to jeopardise your organs. Worse still, it promotes shedding of hair, a taboo behaviour among one in five cricketers according to Advanced Hair Studio.

Whether it’s Benson and Hedges, Carlton and United or Victoria Bitter, it’s not a sanctioned tri-series unless the brand partner shortens your life. In light of this, this series needs to save itself with a pre-mixed spirit or asbestos.

(CA/Cricket Australia/Getty Images)

Then there’s televisual matters. A real tri-series will always deny viewers two things: seeing the ball and the start of the second innings.

In regards to the ball, it must eventually resemble charcoal. Don’t change the ball when it discolours, because nobody wants to see the ball. Who wants to see the ball when you’re too busy marvelling at Greg Campbell’s taut backside in tight flannels? Stick to the fundamentals.

As for the broadcast, it must resume late after the innings break because of the news. Here we must be greeted with the chasing team two wickets down for bugger-all, which, under current performances, will definitely be Australia.

But take note: this only applies if you’re not living in the host city.

In this case you’ll be watching Married… with Children, because you’re lazy and should’ve coughed-up the $12 to attend after work even though it’s Tuesday, you live in Emu Plains and you have responsibilities.

Then there’s rewarding performance. Instead of a cheque amounting to 0.25 per cent of his match fee, the player of the match should receive a bloody weird set of goblets, a crystal decanter or something else half-priced from Copperart.

For the long-term performer the Man of the Series award must be a Nissan Maxima. But the rego will not be transferred until he drives recklessly around the outfield with his teammates unlawfully draped over every panel.

(CA/Cricket Australia/Getty Images)

As for the fixtures not involving Australia, these should be broadcast on Channel Nine in primetime – no paywalls or digital channels – with the full complement of frontline commentators.

Don’t get lazy; fly Bill Lawry to Perth and do not promote Brad McNamara, regardless of quality or consequence.

But while today’s fraudulent tournament falls depressingly short in most areas, there are some facets that meet code. There’s pyjamas (just need more lightning bolts), Ian Chappell is still 130 and Australia will probably still go at 4.2 per over.

As for the choice of competing nations, these are also acceptable.

New Zealand and England are familiar adversaries who have spent many a sultry January evening pretending to enjoy our oafish crowds, and both nations’ colours and names are familiar in Unisys graphics, so are welcome even without Chris Harris and Phil DeFreitas.

And the main ingredient, Australia. Sure, they have been woeful in the shorter forms in recent times, but you can count on a roaring return to form. That’s because nobody beats the canary yellow in home-based tri-series unless it’s the West Indies and petrol is 85 cents per litre.

Nevertheless, I still intend to bring this falsely-advertised ‘tri-series’ to the attention of the relevant power, which I presume is Schweppes or a Packer.

And if this reads like the sad ramblings of a nostalgic 30-something craving familiarity in the desensitised age of big-hitting tailenders, then shut up, because you’re right.