God, I hate The Hundred. I hate the concept; I hate the ridiculous names of the artificially concocted teams; I hate the faux-Americanism of the “franchise” model; I hate the sponsors; I hate the way these corporate sponsors have dressed top class international cricketers in shiny, polyester kits shilling for crisps and junk food during an obesity epidemic; I even hate the ridiculous drawn-by-a-ham-fisted-three-year-old font for god sake: I hate the fact it’s like a metaphor for modern Britain, a shiny surfaced death trap designed to rip money away from idiots.
The search for WMDs of sporting events.
It isn’t for me. I mean, “it isn’t for me” in the sense of “I hate it” (did I get that across before?), but it also “isn’t for me” in terms of design or execution.
I don’t live near a large population centre. I don’t have a lifestyle where I could finish work and pop to an evening game.
I like Test cricket, with its lulls, its skill, its tests of character and concentration. The nine course tasting menu of a la carte excellence.
One-day cricket is fast food.
The Hundred a bottle of Happy Shopper panda pop and a bag of 25p crisps rammed in your face on the way home from defacing a bus shelter.
And yet… People do drink pop and eat crisps. Even snobs like me.
And yet… I read a piece on twitter from Katie Levick, (@katie_lev) pointing out that not a lot of voices have been speaking out about the hit that the women’s game. Not having the money from The Hundred means these players are going to be out of pocket. It’s not just hit-and-giggle-all-the-way-to-the-bank merchants like Steve Smith, Aaron Finch, Alex Hales et al that are affected.
And yet… it is bringing cricket back to TV. Of all the tragedies I’ve seen and the travesties carried out by sporting bodies in the UK, the worst was the removal of cricket from terrestrial TV. I was there in Edgbaston in 2005 (and not in the way 150,000 people claim to have been – I have tickets and proof!), I was fielding calls from my mother’s church congregation to hear score updates and I was in a park in Birmingham when the win was sealed watching families playing as far as the eye could see and even then we were saying what an idiot thing it was that it was going to Sky from the next series.
Incidentally, I’ve seen more days of Test cricket in person in the intervening 15 years than I have on TV. So… nice one ECB.
And yet… Cricket changes. Bat width, materials, timeless tests, pyjama cricket, Twenty20 (another nauseating brand by the way) have all arrived or vanished and yet, the game endures.
Yes, developing a new format few if any existing fans like just after winning a World Cup in a format you’re about to downgrade to a second XI jamboree filled with lanky fast bowlers too young to shave and old pros too tubby to secure a contract with one of the sleazy new franchises, is almost as stupid as… Well, as stupid as finally winning a premier sporting contest for the first time in 18 years, inspiring a nation and ensuring the rights went to a broadcaster that would allow less people to watch the final test than the Columbo repeat on the BBC (that happened)
Still, if it brings new people to the game, if it’s free to see it on TV, if it inspires even one girl or boy to spot a new hero and pursue the game – although good luck with no playing fields – then perhaps it will be worth it. And if it offers gainful employment while the women claw their way to financial parity then, maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to hold my nose and chow down.