The sudden passing of Malcolm Fraser, Australia's 22nd Prime Minister, has resulted in journalists across the nation scribbling away furiously in their attempts to summarise the man's political life.
These summaries have all covered similar ground in trying to explain Fraser. 'Fraser transformed himself from the patrician Liberal...to a vocal proponent for progressive causes
often at odds with his own party.' said the Guardian. News stated that he 'a public transformation occurred after he lost office,' as did the Conversation, more than once. Yahoo7 claimed he became 'an unlikely hero of the Left.' InDaily called him a 'paradox'.
So, what is it about Fraser that seems to have confounded the media? Why did Miranda Devine describe him as having moved 'from extreme right to extreme left'? Well, I can't explain all of that, as I do not know how anything Fraser did could be described as either, but the gist of what she is saying is what they're all saying - he was a PM on the 'right', and once he retired he became 'left'.
So, what did Fraser do?
Firstly, let's look at his record as Prime Minister. Economically, Fraser was expected at the time to be part of the emerging neo-liberal dominance across the West, and criticism of him at the time was along these lines. In hindsight, this didn't occur. In actual fact, Fraser was a moderating force against neo-liberal elements within his party and the public service. Fraser, like many politicians of his immediate post-war era, had a Keynesian economic view, which he blended with classic liberal beliefs. This kind of in-between position meant that his public service cuts were too big to some, and not big enough to others. Medibank was not eradicated, but slowly dismantled. Family benefits came in as tax rebates for dependent children were abolished. Government spending slowed, but never deliberately shrunk.
On deregulation, Fraser's government was more pliant. Exchange rates, interest rates, foreign bank entries and control over capital movements were all deregulated under Fraser's government to some degree. None of these were total, and in actual fact it took until the Hawke/Keating duumvirate came into power before these were completed. But it was under Fraser that these plans got going, before the Treasury and Reserve Bank thought it was necessary.
By today's standards, none of this can be considered especially 'right'. Furthermore, even at the time he was at odds with younger members of his party (including Treasurer John Howard) who wanted harder cuts. The gently, gently approach to economics has been argued as one of the reasons the economy collapsed in Fraser's later years. But the fact that it was a Labor government who managed to push through deregulation, and a Liberal government avoided doing so, suggests that perhaps the difference between the parties isn't as clear as it often stated.
When it comes to social policies, Fraser's strengths were in areas that weren't overly politicised at the time. Human rights (especially for Aborigines) and immigration issues were not a source of political division. For the most part, Fraser carried on where the Whitlam government had left off, who had in turn carried on from the previous Liberal governments. In fact, immigration and human rights had never been a particularly partisan issue. After all, the union movement was a strong supporter of the White Australia policy. As the policy was removed, the parties moved as well. It is only in recent years that it has become an issue that the parties heavily disagree on.
That's not to say there weren't elements who disagreed with the open immigration policies of the Fraser government. But, interestingly, those elements didn't come from his party, but from the public service. It was the Department of Immigration who first became alarmed about people arriving by boat, and suggested that the boats either be stopped before they arrived, or that those arriving be sent to a 'reception centre', as they were 'queue jumpers'. Cabinet did not take these suggestions up.
He was also an early environmentalist, successfully protecting Kakadu, Fraser Island and the Great Barrier Reef with certain policies. This, again, is supposedly at odds with today's 'right'. He also pushed for the Franklin River to be protected from damming, although this was also something not completed until the Hawke government.
These economic and social policies followed Fraser into foreign policy. He pushed for free trade, which Australia needed as an raw material exporter, while also taking the forefront in promoting majority rule in Rhodesia.
Fraser's time as Prime Minister, then, may actually be a bit confusing for anyone trying to view it under the lens of the left-right spectrum. Economically, he attempting to walk the line between liberalism and Keynesianism. Socially, he focused on issues that were, at the time, bilateral, and today are arguably leaning to the 'left'. Despite this, it's claimed he was just another typical 'right' politician. This suggests either collective memory loss, or a failure in the portrayal of our politics.
But there was more to this. Fraser was meant to have moved from 'right' to 'left' after leaving the Parliament. We know he already wasn't 'right' in Parliament, but did he change his beliefs after leaving anyway?
Put simply - no. Fraser rarely commented on economic matters after he left office, but his foreign policy beliefs suggested that nothing changed. But on social issues, he was vigourous in his support of human rights, working for various think tanks and becoming particularly involved in South Africa's transition away from apartheid. He became increasingly critical of the politics of Australia, especially that of his own party, regarding immigration. By 2009, he had had enough, and left the Liberals after Malcolm Turnbull lost the leadership.
One area that he did move on was his policy towards the US. During the Cold War, he was suspicious of the USSR and not a supporter of detente, allying himself to the US and previous governments had. But in later life he began suggesting that Australia move away from its close ties with the US, instead being a more independent nation. In actuality, this fits in well with his foreign policy in office, which attempted to place Australia in a greater position in world politics. This is also about as close as it gets to a movement to the 'left'.
There have been suggestions that the Liberal Party moved away from Fraser, which is a reasonable argument. Neo-liberalism has slowly taken root without the party, though there's always the sense that there are plenty of members that aren't huge fans of it. Human rights issues, on the other hand, have become major partisan issues, which has changed the nature of politics in this country.
But this does not account for the initial description of Fraser as being of the 'right'. Fraser's classic liberalism meant he was, at the time, a natural member of the Liberal Party - but the Liberal Party was not always 'right' in the same way it is implied. That Fraser should be suggested to be such is a failure of the left-right spectrum, and as long as it is used, the media will be unable to grasp the nature of liberalism correctly.
Thursday 26 March 2015
Friday 20 March 2015
County cricket - cornerstone or millstone?
Following England's ignominious exit from the World Cup, the public (at least, those who are still interested in cricket) and the media have been looking for someone or something to blame.
As usual, those first in the firing line are the faces of English cricket: the coach, the captain, the selector, the director, the chairman. Putting some of these people in the firing line is questionable, but it is easy to do.
Surely, though, the most attention should be paid to the structure that they exist within? After all, England has been poor at one day cricket for two decades now, and for most of that time has been poor at international cricket in general.
This is, surely, the result of domestic structures. Australian cricket was hailed for the strength of its six team Sheffield Shield for years. When moves were made to reduce the strength of the Shield 2nd XI competition, it was rightly derided for weakening the entire structure by throwing out older, experienced players. Now, Cricket Australia is trying to lure those players back.
This is in contrast to the ECB, who decided around the same time as CA was making that mistake to do a similar thing, restricting the amount of foreign players that could play in its not-so-strong eighteen team County Championship. They have since hailed this
This alone is not the cause of all their problems, but it hints at some of the issues involved in a domestic structure almost as old as cricket itself. County cricket may not be so much the cornerstone of English cricket, as it is the millstone around cricket's neck.
History
The county championship started life as unofficial games played between join club sides from one county against a joint club side from another, beginning in the 18th century. Over time the county sides became increasingly important, and financially viable, and thus in 1889 was formed the County Championship, to begin the following year. It featured eight teams: Gloucestershire, Kent, Lancashire, Middlesex, Nottinghamshire, Surrey, Sussex and Yorkshire.
Regionally, this meant the south-east of England had as many teams as the rest of England, a theme that remains surprisingly constant throughout the Championship's history. In 1891, Somerset (south-east) joined. Of the next five to join in 1895, two more were from the south-east: Essex and Hampshire. The remaining two clubs to join before the First World War were from the Midlands. So, by 1905 there were sixteen teams, of which seven were from the south-east, and only two from the north. This, in many ways, reflects the place of the game within society at the time. England has been a remarkably class-driven society for a long time, and cricket was undoubtedly one of the favoured sports of the well off. The south-east was also the most common region in which to find these people - and still is.
There is also an interesting footnote to the use of historic counties as the basis for the cricket clubs in the CC. The year that the Championship began, 1890, was the same year that historic counties ceased to be used for administrative purposes. Two of the counties playing that year - Sussex and Yorkshire - had actually had their historic counties split into two and three region respectively. It was already outdated then. Over time, as society evolves, you would expect the sports they play will evolve with it. Cricket has managed to stubbornly resist such change from day dot.
Nonetheless, the system worked well. Up until the Second World War, the game retained its strong mix of amateurism and professionalism. Increasingly after the war, it became something of a finishing school. The little-by-little expansion of cricket into New Zealand, India, Pakistan and, most importantly, the West Indies meant that the most promising players from these countries often found their way into county cricket, which did two things: firstly, it improved the quality of the cricketers coming in. These international players would get to learn from players who had been on the county circuit for years, and had vast experience. This also provided South African players with a future. Would we truly comprehend the quality of players like Garth le Roux and Clive Rice without their county careers?
Secondly, it improved the quality of cricket in England. Having seventeen counties (Glamorgan joined in 1921) meant plenty of room for internationals and domestic players alike. Just as international players would learn from experienced domestic players, so domestic players could learn from experienced internationals. This meant that fringe players could be in a dressing room with Viv Richards one week, and trying out something they've learnt from him in a second XI match the next week. Their experience can then be disseminated to lower levels of the domestic competition.
So at a purely cricketing level, county cricket worked well, both for England and for the cricket world at large. There is, however, the other side of sport that has to be kept in mind - the business side. Low attendances aren't a new thing. The whole reason for the introduction of limited overs cricket, both List A and Twenty20, was to attract crowds that could help support the County Championship. Both of them did that job for a time. But today, county cricket does not appear to be doing its job on or off the field.
Today
When did county cricket stop doing its job on the field? The 2005 Ashes series seems to have been the beginning of the end. It was after this triumph that central contracts were brought in, as the ECB sought to take proper control of the national team and fully realise its business interests. The England Lions second team and the National Academy in Loughborough both came into prominence around this time as well. These three things had the combined effect of taking a large amount of county cricket's best players away from county cricket. Not merely the best fifteen or so playing Test cricket, but also the next fifteen playing for the Lions, and some promising young player at the academy. In a competition with such a large player base, taking the best away seriously damages the quality of the competition, as those taking their place are likely of lower ability than in smaller competitions.
In response the counties, in need of capable replacements, began increasing the number of Kolpak players they were bringing in. This reached its zenith in 2008, when the now-infamous match between Northants and Leics took place with thirteen foreign-born players. This became such a big issue within the press over the course of the season that the ECB managed to influence the Home Office to tighten the restrictions on overseas players for 2009. This appeased not only locals concerned about county cricket, but also Cricket South Africa, whose domestic competition was beginning feeling the pinch of the mass migration.
One other thing is striking about that scorecard. Can you tell which of Leicestershire's overseas players was their official overseas player, rather than a Kolpak player? If you said Boeta Dippenaar, congratulations! You must have a good memory, or cheated. Now, while I don't mean to sully Dippenaar as a player, there doesn't seem to be too much difference between him and the Kolpak players in terms of ability. He's certainly no Viv Richards, and this was true of international players across the board that year. Compare this to Leicestershire's overseas player twenty years earlier, Winston Benjamin.
In fact, pick any match from 1988 and see which overseas players you can find. The quality of these players is substantial, and what is particularly striking is that players genuinely come from all over the world to play. What's also interesting is that, at the time, every club had two overseas players, but the two couldn't play in the same game. Generally this meant picking one well known, high quality overseas player, and one potential young gun. By 2008, this had turned into picking a decent overseas player who could hopefully play a full season, generally because they were either out of favour with their national selectors, or retired. The international schedule now works against county cricket, with both England and international players often unable to play county cricket.
The situation has become even worse since 2008. The limits on Kolpak players has meant that the players filling the void now are generally promising young players, the kind of players who would formerly have to work their way from the second XI to the top team through sheer weight of numbers. International schedules, meanwhile, have become so convoluted that clubs are left with two options - pick one of the aforementioned lesser internationals and hope they play the full season, or try to fill in the gaps with a bunch of different, better internationals. The latter sounds better in theory. For example, Surrey had Graeme Smith, Hashim Amla and Tillakaratne Dilshan for a month each in 2014. But when you keep in mind that the main benefit of such experienced internationals is in what they can teach the players, how much can they really do in a month? They don't really become embedded within the club, which is the kind of situation you want them to be in for them to teach well.
Off the field, things are not so clear. Some counties are in better financial health than others. Worcestershire, for example, have run at a profit for five years running, while Leicestershire relies on the ECB for two thirds of its turnover. Each county faces its own challenges. Surrey, for example, has a far easier time of it than Derbyshire, simply due to location. County cricket as a whole, though, faces a challenge in that the very nature of it being county cricket removes it from much of the population. In order to have good finances, you need decent crowds. In order to have decent crowds, you need to have a population that is both large enough to sustain the club, and connected enough to want to sustain the club by going and watching some cricket.
Twenty20 was meant to be the way for county clubs to reconnect with the public, but overall attendances for the T20 Blast were greatly below what was hoped. County cricket is failing to connect with the people in the same way as it has in the Indian and Australian T20 leagues. In many ways this is the most important part of all. It's not as though any country has large attendances to domestic first-class or list A competitions. But T20 is the one the public comes to see...except in England. What's going on?
Fixturing and a lack of free-to-air television coverage has to share at least some of the blame, but these aren't basic parts of the structure of county cricket. If we're talking about a sport that wants to be seen by as many people live as possible, let's look at where these teams are based.
According to the UK's Office for National Statistics, there are eleven urban areas with a population of 500,000 or more within England and Wales. Ideally there would be at least one county team for each of these urban areas, spread out across the regions. Unfortunately, this is not the case. (Note: I have chosen to use the ONS urban areas rather than EPSON's metropolitan areas, as I think the former gives a better indication of what the public perceives as local).
Nine teams play in one of these urban areas, with a further two playing in areas with 450,000+. This means that there are seven teams playing in areas that could not reasonably be called large population centres.
Furthermore, three of the eleven urban areas (Liverpool, Tyneside and Sheffield) do not have a team. Durham may argue that Chester-le-Street serves Tyneside, but I believe it cannot reasonably be considered to do so (and the ONS agrees, removing Chester-le-Street from the Tyneside urban area at the last census).
Of the remaining seven clubs, four serve small urban areas (Derby, Essex, Northampton, Worcester) and three don't serve an urban area at all (Durham, Kent, Somerset).
If a Twenty20 match happens in a place where no-one goes to see it, what's the point of playing it?
If a sport doesn't have a prominent ground in an urban area of 870,000, and a metro area of 2.3 million, does it even exist?
Unsurprisingly, given its predominance in places that aren't major urban areas, cricket has an image problem in England right now. And even when it is in a major urban area, it's as though that is the exception, rather than the norm. Even Leicestershire, one of the teams with a large urban area, and (even better) with a large Asian population, has mostly failed to connect with the local community, as new chief executive Wasim Khan has stated. Cricket is, perhaps more than it has been since before the Second World War, primarily the estate of the well-off. And, increasingly, the old.
Future
None of this bodes well for the future, and the ECB knows it. The structure of county cricket is one of the things up for review under incoming chairman Colin Graves and chief executive Tom Harrison. Franchises specifically designed for a T20 cricket league have been mooted since the apparent success of the Big Bash League. (Whether the Big Bash needed to become a franchise league to become successful is for another time). But there seems to be a great deal of caution with doing too much to the counties themselves, even though the current situation is unsustainable. The ECB (or Cricket England and Wales, as it will soon be known - CEW?) must figure out a way
Just creating T20 franchises with eighteen teams contesting the other forms of the game won't work, for the simple reason that some clubs will miss out. Attempting to compensate these teams for not playing seems a very difficult thing to do, particularly as they wouldn't just be missing out financially. The primary aim of domestic cricket should be to ensure it is a breeding ground for the international team. Twenty20 tournaments and the like are simply designed to ensure that the breeding ground is sustainable. So, what does the ECB want county cricket to be? As far as I can see, there are three possible solutions.
Option one: Protectionism. Essentially, get the best England players back to playing county cricket. Lions tours and squads must never hurt county sides, and international players must be able to play for their county as often as possible. This reduces the pressure on county sides to find replacements, and also acts as a lure to get audience seeing England's best play for their local side.
Option two: Free market. Let the internationals roam free (to some degree at least). As long as they figure out a way to ensure that they aren't restricting international eligibility for those players, they could make county cricket the pinnacle of domestic cricket. It would genuinely be a finishing school for international players again, as it was when it was part of the reason the West Indies were so formidable.
Option three: Planned. Don't just make franchises for T20, make them for the whole competition. South Africa may yet again help out county cricket, this time by giving them a model to go from. CSA reformed their domestic competition with six franchises playing the four-day, major one day and T20 competitions, while the provincial teams played three-day and minor limited overs competitions. A similar model could well work in England, with one team for each region. This would also prevent the counties, especially the smaller ones, from disappearing, as the franchises are simply chosen from the best players in a particular region. This could also re-establish the role of minor counties, particularly in regions with less major county teams.
There is, of course, no reason why more than one of these can't be done. In any case, it is difficult to see how the county structure survives without some kind of change being made. As it stands today, the place of the sport itself in English society hangs in the balance, increasingly overtaken by other sports. An overhaul of the domestic competition may be just the kickstart English cricket needs.
As usual, those first in the firing line are the faces of English cricket: the coach, the captain, the selector, the director, the chairman. Putting some of these people in the firing line is questionable, but it is easy to do.
Surely, though, the most attention should be paid to the structure that they exist within? After all, England has been poor at one day cricket for two decades now, and for most of that time has been poor at international cricket in general.
This is, surely, the result of domestic structures. Australian cricket was hailed for the strength of its six team Sheffield Shield for years. When moves were made to reduce the strength of the Shield 2nd XI competition, it was rightly derided for weakening the entire structure by throwing out older, experienced players. Now, Cricket Australia is trying to lure those players back.
This is in contrast to the ECB, who decided around the same time as CA was making that mistake to do a similar thing, restricting the amount of foreign players that could play in its not-so-strong eighteen team County Championship. They have since hailed this
This alone is not the cause of all their problems, but it hints at some of the issues involved in a domestic structure almost as old as cricket itself. County cricket may not be so much the cornerstone of English cricket, as it is the millstone around cricket's neck.
History
The county championship started life as unofficial games played between join club sides from one county against a joint club side from another, beginning in the 18th century. Over time the county sides became increasingly important, and financially viable, and thus in 1889 was formed the County Championship, to begin the following year. It featured eight teams: Gloucestershire, Kent, Lancashire, Middlesex, Nottinghamshire, Surrey, Sussex and Yorkshire.
Regionally, this meant the south-east of England had as many teams as the rest of England, a theme that remains surprisingly constant throughout the Championship's history. In 1891, Somerset (south-east) joined. Of the next five to join in 1895, two more were from the south-east: Essex and Hampshire. The remaining two clubs to join before the First World War were from the Midlands. So, by 1905 there were sixteen teams, of which seven were from the south-east, and only two from the north. This, in many ways, reflects the place of the game within society at the time. England has been a remarkably class-driven society for a long time, and cricket was undoubtedly one of the favoured sports of the well off. The south-east was also the most common region in which to find these people - and still is.
There is also an interesting footnote to the use of historic counties as the basis for the cricket clubs in the CC. The year that the Championship began, 1890, was the same year that historic counties ceased to be used for administrative purposes. Two of the counties playing that year - Sussex and Yorkshire - had actually had their historic counties split into two and three region respectively. It was already outdated then. Over time, as society evolves, you would expect the sports they play will evolve with it. Cricket has managed to stubbornly resist such change from day dot.
Nonetheless, the system worked well. Up until the Second World War, the game retained its strong mix of amateurism and professionalism. Increasingly after the war, it became something of a finishing school. The little-by-little expansion of cricket into New Zealand, India, Pakistan and, most importantly, the West Indies meant that the most promising players from these countries often found their way into county cricket, which did two things: firstly, it improved the quality of the cricketers coming in. These international players would get to learn from players who had been on the county circuit for years, and had vast experience. This also provided South African players with a future. Would we truly comprehend the quality of players like Garth le Roux and Clive Rice without their county careers?
Secondly, it improved the quality of cricket in England. Having seventeen counties (Glamorgan joined in 1921) meant plenty of room for internationals and domestic players alike. Just as international players would learn from experienced domestic players, so domestic players could learn from experienced internationals. This meant that fringe players could be in a dressing room with Viv Richards one week, and trying out something they've learnt from him in a second XI match the next week. Their experience can then be disseminated to lower levels of the domestic competition.
So at a purely cricketing level, county cricket worked well, both for England and for the cricket world at large. There is, however, the other side of sport that has to be kept in mind - the business side. Low attendances aren't a new thing. The whole reason for the introduction of limited overs cricket, both List A and Twenty20, was to attract crowds that could help support the County Championship. Both of them did that job for a time. But today, county cricket does not appear to be doing its job on or off the field.
Today
When did county cricket stop doing its job on the field? The 2005 Ashes series seems to have been the beginning of the end. It was after this triumph that central contracts were brought in, as the ECB sought to take proper control of the national team and fully realise its business interests. The England Lions second team and the National Academy in Loughborough both came into prominence around this time as well. These three things had the combined effect of taking a large amount of county cricket's best players away from county cricket. Not merely the best fifteen or so playing Test cricket, but also the next fifteen playing for the Lions, and some promising young player at the academy. In a competition with such a large player base, taking the best away seriously damages the quality of the competition, as those taking their place are likely of lower ability than in smaller competitions.
In response the counties, in need of capable replacements, began increasing the number of Kolpak players they were bringing in. This reached its zenith in 2008, when the now-infamous match between Northants and Leics took place with thirteen foreign-born players. This became such a big issue within the press over the course of the season that the ECB managed to influence the Home Office to tighten the restrictions on overseas players for 2009. This appeased not only locals concerned about county cricket, but also Cricket South Africa, whose domestic competition was beginning feeling the pinch of the mass migration.
One other thing is striking about that scorecard. Can you tell which of Leicestershire's overseas players was their official overseas player, rather than a Kolpak player? If you said Boeta Dippenaar, congratulations! You must have a good memory, or cheated. Now, while I don't mean to sully Dippenaar as a player, there doesn't seem to be too much difference between him and the Kolpak players in terms of ability. He's certainly no Viv Richards, and this was true of international players across the board that year. Compare this to Leicestershire's overseas player twenty years earlier, Winston Benjamin.
In fact, pick any match from 1988 and see which overseas players you can find. The quality of these players is substantial, and what is particularly striking is that players genuinely come from all over the world to play. What's also interesting is that, at the time, every club had two overseas players, but the two couldn't play in the same game. Generally this meant picking one well known, high quality overseas player, and one potential young gun. By 2008, this had turned into picking a decent overseas player who could hopefully play a full season, generally because they were either out of favour with their national selectors, or retired. The international schedule now works against county cricket, with both England and international players often unable to play county cricket.
The situation has become even worse since 2008. The limits on Kolpak players has meant that the players filling the void now are generally promising young players, the kind of players who would formerly have to work their way from the second XI to the top team through sheer weight of numbers. International schedules, meanwhile, have become so convoluted that clubs are left with two options - pick one of the aforementioned lesser internationals and hope they play the full season, or try to fill in the gaps with a bunch of different, better internationals. The latter sounds better in theory. For example, Surrey had Graeme Smith, Hashim Amla and Tillakaratne Dilshan for a month each in 2014. But when you keep in mind that the main benefit of such experienced internationals is in what they can teach the players, how much can they really do in a month? They don't really become embedded within the club, which is the kind of situation you want them to be in for them to teach well.
Off the field, things are not so clear. Some counties are in better financial health than others. Worcestershire, for example, have run at a profit for five years running, while Leicestershire relies on the ECB for two thirds of its turnover. Each county faces its own challenges. Surrey, for example, has a far easier time of it than Derbyshire, simply due to location. County cricket as a whole, though, faces a challenge in that the very nature of it being county cricket removes it from much of the population. In order to have good finances, you need decent crowds. In order to have decent crowds, you need to have a population that is both large enough to sustain the club, and connected enough to want to sustain the club by going and watching some cricket.
Twenty20 was meant to be the way for county clubs to reconnect with the public, but overall attendances for the T20 Blast were greatly below what was hoped. County cricket is failing to connect with the people in the same way as it has in the Indian and Australian T20 leagues. In many ways this is the most important part of all. It's not as though any country has large attendances to domestic first-class or list A competitions. But T20 is the one the public comes to see...except in England. What's going on?
Fixturing and a lack of free-to-air television coverage has to share at least some of the blame, but these aren't basic parts of the structure of county cricket. If we're talking about a sport that wants to be seen by as many people live as possible, let's look at where these teams are based.
According to the UK's Office for National Statistics, there are eleven urban areas with a population of 500,000 or more within England and Wales. Ideally there would be at least one county team for each of these urban areas, spread out across the regions. Unfortunately, this is not the case. (Note: I have chosen to use the ONS urban areas rather than EPSON's metropolitan areas, as I think the former gives a better indication of what the public perceives as local).
Nine teams play in one of these urban areas, with a further two playing in areas with 450,000+. This means that there are seven teams playing in areas that could not reasonably be called large population centres.
Furthermore, three of the eleven urban areas (Liverpool, Tyneside and Sheffield) do not have a team. Durham may argue that Chester-le-Street serves Tyneside, but I believe it cannot reasonably be considered to do so (and the ONS agrees, removing Chester-le-Street from the Tyneside urban area at the last census).
Of the remaining seven clubs, four serve small urban areas (Derby, Essex, Northampton, Worcester) and three don't serve an urban area at all (Durham, Kent, Somerset).
If a Twenty20 match happens in a place where no-one goes to see it, what's the point of playing it?
If a sport doesn't have a prominent ground in an urban area of 870,000, and a metro area of 2.3 million, does it even exist?
Unsurprisingly, given its predominance in places that aren't major urban areas, cricket has an image problem in England right now. And even when it is in a major urban area, it's as though that is the exception, rather than the norm. Even Leicestershire, one of the teams with a large urban area, and (even better) with a large Asian population, has mostly failed to connect with the local community, as new chief executive Wasim Khan has stated. Cricket is, perhaps more than it has been since before the Second World War, primarily the estate of the well-off. And, increasingly, the old.
Future
None of this bodes well for the future, and the ECB knows it. The structure of county cricket is one of the things up for review under incoming chairman Colin Graves and chief executive Tom Harrison. Franchises specifically designed for a T20 cricket league have been mooted since the apparent success of the Big Bash League. (Whether the Big Bash needed to become a franchise league to become successful is for another time). But there seems to be a great deal of caution with doing too much to the counties themselves, even though the current situation is unsustainable. The ECB (or Cricket England and Wales, as it will soon be known - CEW?) must figure out a way
Just creating T20 franchises with eighteen teams contesting the other forms of the game won't work, for the simple reason that some clubs will miss out. Attempting to compensate these teams for not playing seems a very difficult thing to do, particularly as they wouldn't just be missing out financially. The primary aim of domestic cricket should be to ensure it is a breeding ground for the international team. Twenty20 tournaments and the like are simply designed to ensure that the breeding ground is sustainable. So, what does the ECB want county cricket to be? As far as I can see, there are three possible solutions.
Option one: Protectionism. Essentially, get the best England players back to playing county cricket. Lions tours and squads must never hurt county sides, and international players must be able to play for their county as often as possible. This reduces the pressure on county sides to find replacements, and also acts as a lure to get audience seeing England's best play for their local side.
Option two: Free market. Let the internationals roam free (to some degree at least). As long as they figure out a way to ensure that they aren't restricting international eligibility for those players, they could make county cricket the pinnacle of domestic cricket. It would genuinely be a finishing school for international players again, as it was when it was part of the reason the West Indies were so formidable.
Option three: Planned. Don't just make franchises for T20, make them for the whole competition. South Africa may yet again help out county cricket, this time by giving them a model to go from. CSA reformed their domestic competition with six franchises playing the four-day, major one day and T20 competitions, while the provincial teams played three-day and minor limited overs competitions. A similar model could well work in England, with one team for each region. This would also prevent the counties, especially the smaller ones, from disappearing, as the franchises are simply chosen from the best players in a particular region. This could also re-establish the role of minor counties, particularly in regions with less major county teams.
There is, of course, no reason why more than one of these can't be done. In any case, it is difficult to see how the county structure survives without some kind of change being made. As it stands today, the place of the sport itself in English society hangs in the balance, increasingly overtaken by other sports. An overhaul of the domestic competition may be just the kickstart English cricket needs.
Thursday 19 March 2015
World Rugby confirms their internationalism
It's quite nice when something you write gets confirmed by one of the organisations you're writing about. Last month, this article of ours discussed what the point of a World Cup was, the crux being that cricket was the only sport to deny internationalism, attempting instead to keep the sport entirely in the realm of those who already play it.
One of the examples of a sport opening itself up was rugby union. Lo and behold, the head of World Rugby confirms this by saying that "As the sport grows and we conquer new markets the discussion is about looking towards expansion, rather than contraction."
And then some more harrowing logic:
"A larger World Cup would offer the chance to sell the sport into new markets, as well as increasing the potential revenues from the tournament in terms of TV deals, sponsorship, hospitality and ticket sales."
Yes, it seems the head honchos at World Rugby understand the idea that more markets = more money in the long term.
Few sports can claim so similar a background to cricket as rugby can, so to see their philosophies on expansion be worlds apart underscores just how short-sighted cricket's administrators are.
One of the examples of a sport opening itself up was rugby union. Lo and behold, the head of World Rugby confirms this by saying that "As the sport grows and we conquer new markets the discussion is about looking towards expansion, rather than contraction."
And then some more harrowing logic:
"A larger World Cup would offer the chance to sell the sport into new markets, as well as increasing the potential revenues from the tournament in terms of TV deals, sponsorship, hospitality and ticket sales."
Yes, it seems the head honchos at World Rugby understand the idea that more markets = more money in the long term.
Few sports can claim so similar a background to cricket as rugby can, so to see their philosophies on expansion be worlds apart underscores just how short-sighted cricket's administrators are.
Wednesday 18 March 2015
When Palmer United became a party divided
After the 2013 federal election, it appeared there was a new force in Australian politics. Clive Palmer, mining magnate and Bjelke-Petersen supporter, had run a huge campaign, storming across the nation from Queensland, like a tropical cyclone. It covered television, radio, billboards, newspapers, letterbox pamphlets and even a DVD, and it worked a treat. The Palmer United Party gained one House of Representatives member (Palmer himself in Fairfax), but more importantly appeared to hold the balance of power in the Senate, with three Senators from three states, as well as an 'informal alliance' with the newly elected Ricky Muir.
As of this week, those five MPs have dwindled to two - Palmer and WA's Dio Wang are all that are left, with Muir, Jacqui Lambie and now Glenn 'Brick With Eyes' Lazarus going their own way. The cyclone had petered out to a mild drizzle.
So what happened?
In order to understand the sudden collapse of the PUP, you must see the party for what it is. Some have claimed that the party was only ever a ruse or a front for Palmer himself, designed to allow him greater lobbying ability within the parliament, and ultimately the government. Certainly, Palmer has attempted to use the party for this at times, but it seems an overly open way of lobbying for even someone like Clive. Palmer is a clever individual - dumb like a fox, you might say - and he has decades of experience in politics behind the scenes. If he just wanted to lobby, he would just lobby.
No, it seems that Palmer was genuinely interested in some kind of party for the people. Of course, the party would have to serve his interests, but Palmer would presumably also believe that his interests are the interests of the majority of Australians. Essentially, he wanted to create a populist party that could claim to be for the people, by the people.
You can see this in the candidates that were selected. The range of backgrounds is remarkably wide, from academics to tradesmen and everything in between. But there is also the sense that in most cases they just picked whoever was willing to have a go, apart from a few hand-picked candidates.
This is an approach fraught with danger, but it didn't seem to affect their overall appeal too much. In fact, stories like their candidate in Corangamite's wild election launch party were probably just as appealing to some members of the electorate as they were unappealing to others. So, during the course of the 2013 campaign, all seemed well. The potential for disaster that exists with having independently minded candidates brought together only by dissatisfaction with current politics was hidden by the sheer breadth of the campaign. Palmer offered a simple, effective message to the public - 'reunite the nation' - and the public responded.
Even though many wondered how long Lambie would last within the party upon first hearing her opinions, things seemed to get even better for the PUP in the WA Senate election, when they received 12.34% of the vote, a remarkable amount for a minor party in Australia.
Since then, it has been downhill. Two Queensland state MPs quit the party, with one citing a culture of 'jobs for the boys'. The three Northern Territory rebel MPs who joined the party in 2014 quit soon after, due to a total lack of structure and support.
And, most crucially, two Senators announced they would be independent. Lambie and Lazarus both left after personal spats with Palmer. Muir, meanwhile, has quietly done his own thing.
In the end, it seems the problem is Clive, and the fact that everything in the party centres around him. Should a member find fault with him, they find fault with the party, and leave. This is a difficult problem to have, as Palmer is also the only reason the party exists in the first place. As is often the case when one person drives the entire party, the fortunes of the party live and die on that person's performance, which is in no way a viable long-term option.
The story of the Dutch Pim Fortuyn List is a clear example of this. Led by a populist, nationalist leader in Pim Fortuyn, the party rocketed into Government in its first election. It did this without Fortuyn, who had been assassinated during the election campaign. Without Fortuyn, and unable to use the wave of public support to govern in the same way it did to get voted in, the party fell apart. In only one year the party lost two-thirds of its vote. Three years later it barely registered at all.
So, what must the PUP do to avoid this fate? Firstly, it must change its name to what it was originally to be called - the United Australia Party. This, if only rhetorically, takes the focus off Palmer. Second, it needs to develop clear policy. Populism can only take a party so far, and often only on the back of a popular leader. As we have seen, a party based on a popular leader will not last, so the party must look to add depth of support, even if it comes at the expense of breadth of support.
Only then may the PUP be seen as a potential lasting force in Australian politics. If it does not, or cannot, do these things, it will be only a footnote in our political history.
As of this week, those five MPs have dwindled to two - Palmer and WA's Dio Wang are all that are left, with Muir, Jacqui Lambie and now Glenn 'Brick With Eyes' Lazarus going their own way. The cyclone had petered out to a mild drizzle.
So what happened?
In order to understand the sudden collapse of the PUP, you must see the party for what it is. Some have claimed that the party was only ever a ruse or a front for Palmer himself, designed to allow him greater lobbying ability within the parliament, and ultimately the government. Certainly, Palmer has attempted to use the party for this at times, but it seems an overly open way of lobbying for even someone like Clive. Palmer is a clever individual - dumb like a fox, you might say - and he has decades of experience in politics behind the scenes. If he just wanted to lobby, he would just lobby.
No, it seems that Palmer was genuinely interested in some kind of party for the people. Of course, the party would have to serve his interests, but Palmer would presumably also believe that his interests are the interests of the majority of Australians. Essentially, he wanted to create a populist party that could claim to be for the people, by the people.
You can see this in the candidates that were selected. The range of backgrounds is remarkably wide, from academics to tradesmen and everything in between. But there is also the sense that in most cases they just picked whoever was willing to have a go, apart from a few hand-picked candidates.
This is an approach fraught with danger, but it didn't seem to affect their overall appeal too much. In fact, stories like their candidate in Corangamite's wild election launch party were probably just as appealing to some members of the electorate as they were unappealing to others. So, during the course of the 2013 campaign, all seemed well. The potential for disaster that exists with having independently minded candidates brought together only by dissatisfaction with current politics was hidden by the sheer breadth of the campaign. Palmer offered a simple, effective message to the public - 'reunite the nation' - and the public responded.
Even though many wondered how long Lambie would last within the party upon first hearing her opinions, things seemed to get even better for the PUP in the WA Senate election, when they received 12.34% of the vote, a remarkable amount for a minor party in Australia.
Since then, it has been downhill. Two Queensland state MPs quit the party, with one citing a culture of 'jobs for the boys'. The three Northern Territory rebel MPs who joined the party in 2014 quit soon after, due to a total lack of structure and support.
And, most crucially, two Senators announced they would be independent. Lambie and Lazarus both left after personal spats with Palmer. Muir, meanwhile, has quietly done his own thing.
In the end, it seems the problem is Clive, and the fact that everything in the party centres around him. Should a member find fault with him, they find fault with the party, and leave. This is a difficult problem to have, as Palmer is also the only reason the party exists in the first place. As is often the case when one person drives the entire party, the fortunes of the party live and die on that person's performance, which is in no way a viable long-term option.
The story of the Dutch Pim Fortuyn List is a clear example of this. Led by a populist, nationalist leader in Pim Fortuyn, the party rocketed into Government in its first election. It did this without Fortuyn, who had been assassinated during the election campaign. Without Fortuyn, and unable to use the wave of public support to govern in the same way it did to get voted in, the party fell apart. In only one year the party lost two-thirds of its vote. Three years later it barely registered at all.
So, what must the PUP do to avoid this fate? Firstly, it must change its name to what it was originally to be called - the United Australia Party. This, if only rhetorically, takes the focus off Palmer. Second, it needs to develop clear policy. Populism can only take a party so far, and often only on the back of a popular leader. As we have seen, a party based on a popular leader will not last, so the party must look to add depth of support, even if it comes at the expense of breadth of support.
Only then may the PUP be seen as a potential lasting force in Australian politics. If it does not, or cannot, do these things, it will be only a footnote in our political history.
Saturday 14 March 2015
Book review - Second XI: Cricket in its Outposts
There's something about a World Cup that makes people look outside of their own time. Some may look back, reminiscing about past glories (especially for Australians) or past failures (especially for Englishmen). Some may look forward, wondering how the next World Cup might look, what should be changed, will it be any good?
It seems that this World Cup has tried to combine the two. There has been much written about the decision to turn the 2019 World Cup into an exclusive, ten team affair. The major justification used for it is that the best World Cup was supposedly held in 1992, and had a similar format to the one proposed.
It is with this background that Second XI: Cricket in its Outposts has been written. It is, as far as I'm aware, the first book ever to focus on a variety of national teams that don't play Test cricket, although there are a smattering of books on specific nations. It's primarily the work of Tim Wigmore, a prolific freelance writer whose work on Associate cricket over recent years has been outstanding, and Peter Miller, another freelancer, best known for his cricket podcast. There also contributions from Tim Brooks, Sahil Dutta, and the ubiquitous Gideon Haigh (which is by no means a bad thing).
The book contains, despite the name, ten chapters (like any second XI it's missing one, ho ho ho). There are four parts to the book: four chapters on the World Cup associates (Afghanistan, Ireland, Scotland, United Arab Emirates), two chapters on Associates that have since lost ODI status (Kenya, Netherlands), two chapters on rising Associates with strong homegrown talent (Nepal, Papua New Guinea), and two chapters on the potential gold mines (China, United States).
It's difficult to argue with the selections. While there are other teams that undoubtedly have stories worth telling - Canada and Bermuda have both fallen from grace in their own ways, while Hong Kong is the only current ODI nation without a chapter - these countries offer great variety. Each have their own unique stories to tell.
Cricket in Ireland took far too long to get to the point it is now. Afghanistan is the great romantic story. Kenya is a sorry tale of corruption. The Netherlands is a sorry tale of a couple of bad days ruining the near future. The United States has managed to mangle its future countless times.
Very quickly, though, a common theme becomes apparent: development of the game in these outposts is clearly being hindered by the way the ICC and the full member nations are treating them. Why has Ireland played so few full members? Why has the Netherlands lost 'ODI status' and, with it, had years of hard work undone? Why was Kenya abandoned as soon as the 2003 World Cup was over? Why is Nepal not receiving any assistance from its neighbours? Why is the ICC so insistent on not joining the IOC?
The answer to all these questions seem to come down to the short-sightedness of the current administrators, who are insistent on maximising revenues gathered amongst themselves (something they are failing at too).
Each chapter does well to tell the tale of cricket in that country, charting the history of the game from its beginning to the modern day. Particular highlights are Wigmore's chapters on Ireland and Kenya, and Dutta's on China. Dutta paints a wonderful picture of the state of the game in a country where even the most basic concepts are completely foreign. The reproduction of Haigh's essay on cricket in PNG could be seen as disappointing, but it's a thoroughly readable piece. The UAE chapter is slightly short, but at the same time doesn't leave the sense that much is being left unsaid.
The overall tone is factual, without being dull; serious, without being morose; teaching, without being preachy; and with elements of levity, without being condescending. It's a tough balancing act, but it's done well.
Miller deserves kudos for his efforts to get some words out of Sultan Zarawani, immortalised in cricket history as the man who faced Allan Donald in a hat. Wigmore likewise for the less glorious find of Maurice Odumbe, accused and banned on account of corruption, who to this day protests his innocence. Haigh's tale contains a number of characters, the best of whom is the scene-stealing Luke, and none of whom you'd expect to meet in an essay on, say, the ECB.
Above all, Second XI is a great introduction into the world of Associate and Affiliate cricket. Anyone who enjoys cricket should read this book, as it will open up a world of vivid colours that contrast remarkably with the increasingly monochrome world of full member nations.
One quote summed up the latter best, whether in or out of context: "It makes no financial sense." - Giles Clarke, ECB.
Second XI: Cricket in its Outposts is out now. You can buy it here.
It seems that this World Cup has tried to combine the two. There has been much written about the decision to turn the 2019 World Cup into an exclusive, ten team affair. The major justification used for it is that the best World Cup was supposedly held in 1992, and had a similar format to the one proposed.
It is with this background that Second XI: Cricket in its Outposts has been written. It is, as far as I'm aware, the first book ever to focus on a variety of national teams that don't play Test cricket, although there are a smattering of books on specific nations. It's primarily the work of Tim Wigmore, a prolific freelance writer whose work on Associate cricket over recent years has been outstanding, and Peter Miller, another freelancer, best known for his cricket podcast. There also contributions from Tim Brooks, Sahil Dutta, and the ubiquitous Gideon Haigh (which is by no means a bad thing).
The book contains, despite the name, ten chapters (like any second XI it's missing one, ho ho ho). There are four parts to the book: four chapters on the World Cup associates (Afghanistan, Ireland, Scotland, United Arab Emirates), two chapters on Associates that have since lost ODI status (Kenya, Netherlands), two chapters on rising Associates with strong homegrown talent (Nepal, Papua New Guinea), and two chapters on the potential gold mines (China, United States).
It's difficult to argue with the selections. While there are other teams that undoubtedly have stories worth telling - Canada and Bermuda have both fallen from grace in their own ways, while Hong Kong is the only current ODI nation without a chapter - these countries offer great variety. Each have their own unique stories to tell.
Cricket in Ireland took far too long to get to the point it is now. Afghanistan is the great romantic story. Kenya is a sorry tale of corruption. The Netherlands is a sorry tale of a couple of bad days ruining the near future. The United States has managed to mangle its future countless times.
Very quickly, though, a common theme becomes apparent: development of the game in these outposts is clearly being hindered by the way the ICC and the full member nations are treating them. Why has Ireland played so few full members? Why has the Netherlands lost 'ODI status' and, with it, had years of hard work undone? Why was Kenya abandoned as soon as the 2003 World Cup was over? Why is Nepal not receiving any assistance from its neighbours? Why is the ICC so insistent on not joining the IOC?
The answer to all these questions seem to come down to the short-sightedness of the current administrators, who are insistent on maximising revenues gathered amongst themselves (something they are failing at too).
Each chapter does well to tell the tale of cricket in that country, charting the history of the game from its beginning to the modern day. Particular highlights are Wigmore's chapters on Ireland and Kenya, and Dutta's on China. Dutta paints a wonderful picture of the state of the game in a country where even the most basic concepts are completely foreign. The reproduction of Haigh's essay on cricket in PNG could be seen as disappointing, but it's a thoroughly readable piece. The UAE chapter is slightly short, but at the same time doesn't leave the sense that much is being left unsaid.
The overall tone is factual, without being dull; serious, without being morose; teaching, without being preachy; and with elements of levity, without being condescending. It's a tough balancing act, but it's done well.
Miller deserves kudos for his efforts to get some words out of Sultan Zarawani, immortalised in cricket history as the man who faced Allan Donald in a hat. Wigmore likewise for the less glorious find of Maurice Odumbe, accused and banned on account of corruption, who to this day protests his innocence. Haigh's tale contains a number of characters, the best of whom is the scene-stealing Luke, and none of whom you'd expect to meet in an essay on, say, the ECB.
Above all, Second XI is a great introduction into the world of Associate and Affiliate cricket. Anyone who enjoys cricket should read this book, as it will open up a world of vivid colours that contrast remarkably with the increasingly monochrome world of full member nations.
One quote summed up the latter best, whether in or out of context: "It makes no financial sense." - Giles Clarke, ECB.
Second XI: Cricket in its Outposts is out now. You can buy it here.
Thursday 12 March 2015
The value of politicians from all walks of life
Last week, with only a little fanfare, Senator Ricky Muir gave his maiden speech in the Senate. He took nearly eight months to get around to delivering it, which may (or may not) be a record. Prior to that, he had only spoken three times in the chamber. This may suggest that Muir someone who clearly shouldn't be in the parliament, someone who doesn't belong, isn't well educated enough and doesn't have the right qualifications.
Certainly, that is the impression that has been given of Muir since his election. When it became apparent that this unknown candidate was going to gain a seat in the Senate with only 17,000 votes going to him off first preferences, the media naturally set about finding what they could about him. The first thing they found was a video of him flinging kangaroo dung around on a camping trip.
This set the tone for the way his image was shaped in the weeks following. There was precious little else to go on, so the media happily took this as proof that Muir was just some Aussie larrikin that really shouldn't be in the parliament. His first television interview, done with Mike Willesee, was also more or less a disaster. But Muir kept his head up, and continued his preparations.
As it turns out, the image of Muir as some uneducated, incapable Aussie bush bloke is, ironically, rather unrefined.
The first indication we got of this was in this piece by Sophie Morris in July last year. Muir is - surprise - a car enthusiast, but he is also more than that. He is a strong family man, he understands the value of employment to the average person, he is thoughtful, and he is independent.
He also calls himself 'just an ordinary bloke'.
Then, last week, all of these things were confirmed in his maiden speech, which you can see here:
Muir bought his first suit just for the speech. For the most part, like most people would in a similar situation, he read the pre-prepared speech word for word. There was nothing slick about it, and there wasn't any sense that Muir was there for his own interests. He was there because he cared, and because he felt a duty towards people like him.
If you read the comments below the YouTube video, you'll find that they are overwhelmingly positive, praising Muir for being authentic, humble, real and, above all, an average Australian. How many politicians would get that kind of response to a speech of theirs?
Not many in our Parliament today. Certainly, not many from the major parties. One other 'average' Australian comes to mind, though, in Jacqui Lambie. Lambie's performance in public since being elected could not be further removed from Muir's, but she receives similar positive responses for being real.
To the public, they are just ordinary Aussies.
Muir has also given every indication so far that he intends to make informed decisions in the parliament. He has sought to learn from those in the know, and he has learnt quickly. He needed to. Of all the people elected to the Senate last year, he was the one being held up as the clearest example that the Senate was not representative.
But, thanks to the way our political system works, it often turns out that those elected with the smallest proportion of votes can actually truly represent the largest number of voters. When we vote for our Senators, we vote for individuals. If we were able to meet all the people running for the Senate face-to-face, chances are it would be people like Muir who would be most positively received.
There's no doubt that a system that allows people to be elected with 0.03 of a quota on first preferences isn't quite working correctly. But it also happens to be those same quirks that allow us to have representatives who aren't beholden to behemoth parties, and who genuinely care about their constituency.
If the Senate is ever the 'unrepresentative swill' Paul Keating claimed it is, it will be when people like sawmill worker Muir, military policeman Lambie and boilermaker John Madigan are barred from entering the parliament. We must ensure this never happens.
Certainly, that is the impression that has been given of Muir since his election. When it became apparent that this unknown candidate was going to gain a seat in the Senate with only 17,000 votes going to him off first preferences, the media naturally set about finding what they could about him. The first thing they found was a video of him flinging kangaroo dung around on a camping trip.
This set the tone for the way his image was shaped in the weeks following. There was precious little else to go on, so the media happily took this as proof that Muir was just some Aussie larrikin that really shouldn't be in the parliament. His first television interview, done with Mike Willesee, was also more or less a disaster. But Muir kept his head up, and continued his preparations.
As it turns out, the image of Muir as some uneducated, incapable Aussie bush bloke is, ironically, rather unrefined.
The first indication we got of this was in this piece by Sophie Morris in July last year. Muir is - surprise - a car enthusiast, but he is also more than that. He is a strong family man, he understands the value of employment to the average person, he is thoughtful, and he is independent.
He also calls himself 'just an ordinary bloke'.
Then, last week, all of these things were confirmed in his maiden speech, which you can see here:
Muir bought his first suit just for the speech. For the most part, like most people would in a similar situation, he read the pre-prepared speech word for word. There was nothing slick about it, and there wasn't any sense that Muir was there for his own interests. He was there because he cared, and because he felt a duty towards people like him.
If you read the comments below the YouTube video, you'll find that they are overwhelmingly positive, praising Muir for being authentic, humble, real and, above all, an average Australian. How many politicians would get that kind of response to a speech of theirs?
Not many in our Parliament today. Certainly, not many from the major parties. One other 'average' Australian comes to mind, though, in Jacqui Lambie. Lambie's performance in public since being elected could not be further removed from Muir's, but she receives similar positive responses for being real.
To the public, they are just ordinary Aussies.
Muir has also given every indication so far that he intends to make informed decisions in the parliament. He has sought to learn from those in the know, and he has learnt quickly. He needed to. Of all the people elected to the Senate last year, he was the one being held up as the clearest example that the Senate was not representative.
But, thanks to the way our political system works, it often turns out that those elected with the smallest proportion of votes can actually truly represent the largest number of voters. When we vote for our Senators, we vote for individuals. If we were able to meet all the people running for the Senate face-to-face, chances are it would be people like Muir who would be most positively received.
There's no doubt that a system that allows people to be elected with 0.03 of a quota on first preferences isn't quite working correctly. But it also happens to be those same quirks that allow us to have representatives who aren't beholden to behemoth parties, and who genuinely care about their constituency.
If the Senate is ever the 'unrepresentative swill' Paul Keating claimed it is, it will be when people like sawmill worker Muir, military policeman Lambie and boilermaker John Madigan are barred from entering the parliament. We must ensure this never happens.
Thursday 5 March 2015
Wally's wonky cricketing farce
In the lead-up to the World Cup, many pundits were predicting a fairly high scoring affair. They pointed to the array of new regulations which have been brought in recently, and the lack of regulation of bats, to suggest that this World Cup would be a run-scoring bonanza.
I suspect that even they are surprised by just how bountiful the matches so far have been.
Today we saw Bangladesh, a team that has never before scored 300 at a World Cup, easily chase down a target of 319, set by Scotland, who had also never before scored 300 at a World Cup. Bangaldesh had not previously chased down a score above 250 at a World Cup.
Yesterday Australia absolutely obliterated Afghanistan, making 417, which is the highest total ever at a World Cup, and winning by 275 runs, the biggest margin ever at a World Cup.
Four of the ten highest totals in World Cup history have been made at this World Cup. Three of the seven successful run chases of 300+ in World Cups have been in this one.
What's really noticeable about the three successful 300+ run chases is how easy they were. At no point did Ireland, Sri Lanka or Bangladesh seem like they were in serious danger of losing the match.
Despite this, Bangladesh's 322 is only the tenth highest score at this World Cup. There have been sixteen scores of 300+ in the first innings so far, three of which were over 400.
But the most distressing statistic of all has been the average runs scored from overs 40-50. This currently sits at over 100. Yes, that is an average of ten runs an over in the last ten overs across an entire World Cup. Little wonder 300 is increasingly being viewed as a par score, when teams are scoring that many runs so quickly and so consistently.
And what is the reason for this?
It's all thanks to one man.
The man on the left is Wally Edwards. He is the quiet one of the Big Three chairmen - all of whom will soon be out of their board positions for one reason or another - and he has some ideas on which way ODIs should be going. Some of them are worth discussing, particularly his idea that ODIs should be based around the World Cup, as the World Cup is what gives them context.
But today we'll be looking at the ideas he's already had implemented: two new balls and tighter field restrictions.
The idea of having a new ball from each end had been mooted here and there for a number of years before it came in. It replaced a fairly unusual situation before when the white ball would be replaced around two thirds of the way through an innings. However, it also necessarily changed the nature of the innings. Previously, the ball would swing for around ten to fifteen overs (if it was swinging at all), and then the shine would come off, making batting easier. Then, as the ball got even older, reverse swing would come into the picture, with both the first and second balls.
Two new balls completely changed that dynamic. Instead, the ball could be swinging for twenty to thirty overs at the start of the innings, and then doing not much for the remainder. Reverse swing ceases to be a factor entirely, as the ball doesn't wear enough. It's little wonder that India was unimpressed with the idea.
So, how does this change the game? Well, it means two scenarios are more likely. First, the bowling team can tear through the entire opposition. If the ball is moving around a lot, it will be moving for at least half the innings. Chances are, if they're a good bowling team, they can take most of the opposition's wickets by the time the ball ceases to be as potent. Second, the batting team can rack up a higher score. If the ball isn't doing much, there is no threat of reverse swing to worry about at the back end of the innings. This means that teams that save their wickets early on can go ballistic in the last twenty overs, knowing that the bowling won't be throwing up any surprises.
This is where the new fielding restrictions come into play. Previously, a fielding captain would at least feel somewhat secure in the knowledge that if the batsmen were swinging the bat, he could have five men in the deep, ready to catch any mis-hits. The simple change of forcing him to only have four men out in the last ten completely destroys that safety net. Four men cannot hope to cover the 360 degrees that batsmen can hit in. Theoretically, having five men inside the circle could keep the pressure on batsmen. But, if the batting team knows what they're doing, they will have enough wickets in hand that they will be hitting the ball over the fielder's heads, thus rendering them useless.
We have seen a few occasions where teams have fallen into a rut in the last ten overs, but this has been far outweighed by teams putting the game out of reach for their opponents by scoring at ten runs an over.
So, why have these clearly lopsided regulations been brought in? Well, according to Dan Brettig, Edwards believes that the regulations for ODIs should encourage attacking cricket; that is, more wickets and more runs. Certainly, there are games with lots of runs, and games with lots of wickets.
Unfortunately, these very rarely happen together, and what these regulations have actually done is kill the contests. It's hardly surprising that the two best games of the cup so far have involved totals of less than 250 being chased down with only one wicket in hand.
For the most part, it has been a dull affair with massive first innings scores, and occasionally some massive second innings scores too.
And the worst thing is, it's not even close to being over yet.
I suspect that even they are surprised by just how bountiful the matches so far have been.
Today we saw Bangladesh, a team that has never before scored 300 at a World Cup, easily chase down a target of 319, set by Scotland, who had also never before scored 300 at a World Cup. Bangaldesh had not previously chased down a score above 250 at a World Cup.
Yesterday Australia absolutely obliterated Afghanistan, making 417, which is the highest total ever at a World Cup, and winning by 275 runs, the biggest margin ever at a World Cup.
Four of the ten highest totals in World Cup history have been made at this World Cup. Three of the seven successful run chases of 300+ in World Cups have been in this one.
What's really noticeable about the three successful 300+ run chases is how easy they were. At no point did Ireland, Sri Lanka or Bangladesh seem like they were in serious danger of losing the match.
Despite this, Bangladesh's 322 is only the tenth highest score at this World Cup. There have been sixteen scores of 300+ in the first innings so far, three of which were over 400.
But the most distressing statistic of all has been the average runs scored from overs 40-50. This currently sits at over 100. Yes, that is an average of ten runs an over in the last ten overs across an entire World Cup. Little wonder 300 is increasingly being viewed as a par score, when teams are scoring that many runs so quickly and so consistently.
And what is the reason for this?
It's all thanks to one man.
But today we'll be looking at the ideas he's already had implemented: two new balls and tighter field restrictions.
The idea of having a new ball from each end had been mooted here and there for a number of years before it came in. It replaced a fairly unusual situation before when the white ball would be replaced around two thirds of the way through an innings. However, it also necessarily changed the nature of the innings. Previously, the ball would swing for around ten to fifteen overs (if it was swinging at all), and then the shine would come off, making batting easier. Then, as the ball got even older, reverse swing would come into the picture, with both the first and second balls.
Two new balls completely changed that dynamic. Instead, the ball could be swinging for twenty to thirty overs at the start of the innings, and then doing not much for the remainder. Reverse swing ceases to be a factor entirely, as the ball doesn't wear enough. It's little wonder that India was unimpressed with the idea.
So, how does this change the game? Well, it means two scenarios are more likely. First, the bowling team can tear through the entire opposition. If the ball is moving around a lot, it will be moving for at least half the innings. Chances are, if they're a good bowling team, they can take most of the opposition's wickets by the time the ball ceases to be as potent. Second, the batting team can rack up a higher score. If the ball isn't doing much, there is no threat of reverse swing to worry about at the back end of the innings. This means that teams that save their wickets early on can go ballistic in the last twenty overs, knowing that the bowling won't be throwing up any surprises.
This is where the new fielding restrictions come into play. Previously, a fielding captain would at least feel somewhat secure in the knowledge that if the batsmen were swinging the bat, he could have five men in the deep, ready to catch any mis-hits. The simple change of forcing him to only have four men out in the last ten completely destroys that safety net. Four men cannot hope to cover the 360 degrees that batsmen can hit in. Theoretically, having five men inside the circle could keep the pressure on batsmen. But, if the batting team knows what they're doing, they will have enough wickets in hand that they will be hitting the ball over the fielder's heads, thus rendering them useless.
We have seen a few occasions where teams have fallen into a rut in the last ten overs, but this has been far outweighed by teams putting the game out of reach for their opponents by scoring at ten runs an over.
So, why have these clearly lopsided regulations been brought in? Well, according to Dan Brettig, Edwards believes that the regulations for ODIs should encourage attacking cricket; that is, more wickets and more runs. Certainly, there are games with lots of runs, and games with lots of wickets.
Unfortunately, these very rarely happen together, and what these regulations have actually done is kill the contests. It's hardly surprising that the two best games of the cup so far have involved totals of less than 250 being chased down with only one wicket in hand.
For the most part, it has been a dull affair with massive first innings scores, and occasionally some massive second innings scores too.
And the worst thing is, it's not even close to being over yet.
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