On July 18, 2008, the ECB unveiled an audacious plan to bring together many of the world’s best players into a single 20/20 tournament. This tournament would showcase both proven and up-and-coming talent, mixed with a carnival like atmosphere, and watched by capacity crowds around the country. It’s fair to say that originality is not a virtue many of the ECB board members are blessed with.
On the other side of the world a few months previously, the aforementioned concoction of glitz and glamour (with the occasional bit of cricket thrown in for good measure), had already come to the boil. The BCCI had confirmed themselves as the richest, most powerful board in the world, and a legend of the game had lead a team that the term ‘underdog’ had been invented for to the first title of the IPL. Lalit Modi’s brainchild had captured the hearts of a billion people, baying for endless twenty20 action spawned from a shock victory at the inaugural World Cup.
Where it all began
It is, however, easy to forget the origins of the ‘hit and giggle’ form of cricket, with its boundary side hot-tubs and brash 80s corn whenever a wicket or boundary occurred. I am, of course referring to the (English) summer of 2003. Hampshire played Sussex at the Rose Bowl in front of the Sky Sports cameras. Elsewhere around the country, eight other teams took part in what was at the time (and is still viewed by many as) a jokey form of cricket, with fairly large audiences watching plenty of fours, sixes and wickets - all in an enjoyable evening. A number of group games lead to a quarter-final, and on to finals day, where the winner celebrated with a trophy and champagne, then turned their attention the next day back to the pinnicle of the County season - the County Championship.
It is here that I must pay credit to the ECB. For many years, the English domestic season meandered without much change, save for the occasional addition or removal of 5 overs to the Sunday League. Gate receipts were relatively low accross the board, with the site of a pensioner sat on their own with a blanket and a thermos flask the staple for most photographers. The domestic setup was in no way a viable business option, with the Counties’ primary function being to supply the National team with classical stroke makers and line and length bowlers. The ECB made cricket cool. They made cricket accessible to children and families. They created a form, though much maligned by the purists, that allowed cricket to evolve. It quickly moved to the international stage as an evening where the international players could relax after a gruelling test series and have a laugh - the first 20/20 match between New Zealand and Australia involved a brief return of the beige kits for the Kiwis. Large crowds turned up to see the test stars play with a bit of innovation, and life had been breathed back into cricket, due in no small part to the ECB.
A case of laxidasical authority
It was here that they made the fatal error of taking a back-seat, content with the twenty20 cup at home and believing that things wouldn’t change. Things did appear to be heading this way - until the World Twenty20 in South Africa. India, who sent almost a second string team and decided to give Tendulkar and Ganguly a rest, beat Pakistan in the final and the rest is for all to see. The Indian public, so fanatical about the 50-over game, suddenly became aware of a new form of limited overs cricket that took even less time to complete. It was Zee Television and then the BCCI that flicked the switch the ECB should have pressed all those years ago. Now Modi has the cricketing world at his feet. Players are literally millionaires. Others have been banned from international cricket for life (though there is now confusion over this). All because of a form of cricket the ECB dreamt up to get more people into county grounds on a Friday evening in June and July.
From here on in, the ECB have made a complete hash of every attempt at catch-up. Firstly, the fling with Allen Stanford, a helicopter, a large perspex box and the USA fraud investigation team. Now more commonly known as the Stanford debacle rather than the Stanford 20/20 for 20, that week in Antigua in November 2008, along with the events preceding this ill-fated trip, will go down in infamy. The sight of Chief Executive David Collier fawning over the box of US Dollars (legal tender or not) will haunt me to my grave. The only satisfying moment of the entire saga was Andre Fletcher, the young uncapped Grenadian, crying with joy as the English players wondered guiltily back to the pavilion.
Secondly, the whole idea of the ‘English Premier League’, though conceived before Sir Allen presided over desperate English players in his lair/ ground, has been the crowning punch in the face for Giles Clarke and chums. As original as ‘The Alexander Cipher’, the ‘EPL’ has spiralled from the heady heights of ‘IPL rival’ to laughing stock of the nation, thanks to the sub-prime market (I can’t stand ‘current economic climate’ or ‘credit crunch’), and Stanford’s fall from grace. A change of name to ‘P20′ still hasn’t masked the fact that the ECB’s latest invention is nothing more than the doomed Pro40 in half the time with a couple more overseas players.
Wrong move
This, I feel, is their biggest mistake so far - scrapping the Pro40. Many would rightly argue that it is a defunct format that is not played at international level. If the counties are supposed to feed the national team, then why are they playing a useless format? Though this is the sort of ruthlessness you would want to see from a board that is in control of all things cricket in this country, the fact that they are taking away a relatively large crowd puller makes it a wrong move. Replacing it with a 20/20 tournament, whilst still keeping the original 20/20 setup as well is going for overkill. People will soon become bored of 20/20, especially if it is on every other night from June to September. Attendences will drop, and the making of the board could be their undoing. Rather than being reactive - an all too common occurrence lately - the ECB must become streetwise and produce a brand of 20/20 that sets it apart from the IPL, not look like a cheap imitation.
The cliched ‘cash cow’ of 20/20 began its long and ponderous walk (ad infinitum?), shepherded by its owner, six years ago. Since that time, the BCCI have bound the cow to a pole by its legs, roasted it on a fire and sold its flesh to every corner of the globe. The inventors of the shortest format must grab their share of the spoils, before they are consigned to the past, forgotten by all.