Lampooning Lyon: The folkoric charm of crowd banter

Quite some years ago, while sitting under the green roof of the members stand at the SCG, my wife and I watched as an Australian wrist-spinning understudy stood at the top of his mark, flipping the ball belligerently from hand to hand.

His contemplative countenance was splashed onto the big screen. You could almost see his nimble mind calculating revolutions per second and measuring acute angles as he formulated his fiendish plan.

Suddenly, a woman’s voice, rich with comic distain, was heard from several rows behind us: “He’s got a face I just want to slap!”.

The remark was so loud – and so apt for the circumstances – that everybody around us began to convulse with laughter.

You have to love good-natured crowd banter. It’s as old as the game itself.

Most cricket-lovers, steeped in the game’s long folkloric history, will know the story of bodyline architect Douglas Jardine swatting flies away from his face while fielding.

“Hey Jardine! Leave our flies alone!”

While I rebel against mean-spirited crowd-behaviour, like booing a brave combatant even after he’d been knocked to the ground by a bouncer, clever crowd heckling enriches the game.

Which brings me to this.

I was worried about how Nathan Lyon would perform in the Old Trafford Test after he fumbled a returning throw to the bowler’s end during that thrilling climax at Headingley and bumbled a certain run-out that would have won Australia the Ashes.

(AP Photo/Jon Super)

I was, however, amused when the English fans gave Lyon a raucous cheer – replete with pompous Pommy mockery – whenever he successfully pouched a throw from the outfield during his bowling stint at Manchester. And my spirits took flight when Lyon acknowledged the joshing by waving his hand and permitting himself a self-deprecating smile.

That missed run-out must have been a soul-destroying, sleep-depriving low point in Lyon’s career. That he could accept the opposition crowd’s semi-affectionate admonishment does him credit.

I can’t tell you how much I adored that exchange between player and spectator.

Crowd banter, like on-field chat, is at its best when it subtly exposes a player’s foibles by reminding them of their imperfections and by needling them for a past blemish – provided it doesn’t cross the line into malicious abuse.

Unlike the Steve Smith incident, I think mocking Lyon for the egregious error he made during the extreme heat of a spine-tingling battle is fair game.

And, not for nothing, Lyon’s response was perfect – take the jesting on the chin before returning to combat in earnest.