Nobody seems to have noticed that our cricketers slunk home empty-handed last week from yet another international tournament. We were therefore fortunately spared the usual gnashing of teeth. I guess we’ve just become tired of crying into our beer. No more tears to waste. We’ve accepted our lot. Failure has become too familiar.
That Lance Klusener/Alan Donald run-out in Edgbaston more than a quarter of a century ago has become the stuff of cricketing folklore. It also seems a psychological hurdle that we’ve so far been unable to overcome. It’s our brand. Chokers, they call us. Though that tag has lost its sting a bit, it won’t go away until we win something. Anything.
A galaxy of cricketing stars has since then merely flattered to deceive at every ICC tournament. What we thought was a golden generation that looked set to bring home the bacon in 2015 met an inspired New Zealand propelled by Grant Elliot, our own boy from St Stithians in Johannesburg, who savagely pummelled Dale Steyn to all corners of the ground at Eden Park. It was like he was clubbing seals, and it was excruciating to watch. The Black Caps were again our tormentors, this time in Pakistan, bundling us out of the semifinal, with Glenn Phillips, another of our exports from East London, delivering the coup de grâce. Stabbed by our own weapon again.
Proteas coach Rob Walter is, I suspect, now safely back home in New Zealand, where he lives. Why we don’t deserve a coach who lives among us, only the tin gods at CSA can explain. And it’s not as if Walter is superlatively excellent. He came highly recommended, but so far he hasn’t covered himself in glory. Last year, having limped to the T20 World Cup final in the West Indies, his team handed the trophy to India when winning seemed easier than floundering. Old habits die hard.
Maybe it’s just as well they didn’t bring back the trophy. At least we were spared the tasteless spectacle of Gayton McKenzie, the uncultured minister of arts and culture, bragging and swaggering around as though the victory was all his doing. For Cyril Ramaphosa’s government of national unity to limp along, one suspects, we’ve had to suspend our moral probity. We had to scrape the bottom of the barrel. But one would sincerely hope we won’t make it our business to hand out ministerial posts to ex-gangsters or people of that ilk. That sticks in the craw, and helps to tarnish further South Africa’s reputation as a society that’s not only riddled with crime, but rewards it. I know it’s a bit unfair to pick on him when the entire cabinet is crawling with pompous wretches. But it seems Ramaphosa has, for once, appointed to the cabinet someone qualified for the job. As a former bank robber, McKenzie is suited to be minister of sport. After all, crime is our number one national sport. If any international contest were to be organised in this regard, there’s no doubt we’d win it at a canter, and we’d have the right man to lead the celebrations.
But this Champions Trophy in Pakistan was organised purely for the gratification of the Indian team, if not its government. Pakistan hosting the tournament was to be the culmination of the return of international cricket to the country. In 2009, a terrorist attack on the Sri Lankan team on their way to a cricket match in Lahore led to the suspension of international cricket in the country for almost a decade. It was a hard blow for a nation where cricket is almost a second religion. The national team had to play all their home fixtures in Dubai, which meant only supporters with means could travel to see their team in action. This year’s Champions Trophy was the first ICC event to be held in Pakistan in 28 years, and, needless to say, it was awaited with great anticipation. Hosting the tournament was a matter of honour and vindication. But India was to rain on Pakistan’s parade.
The right-wing government of Narendra Modi refused the Indian national team permission to travel to Pakistan for the tournament “for security reasons”. But that was just a pretext. The two countries are avowed foes, having fought at least three wars since partition in 1947. Cricket has now become India’s preferred weapon, and it wields it with some relish. The two countries never play each other, except in ICC events and at neutral venues. The India team therefore had to be based in Dubai this time, which meant every team that had to play them had to travel there. Unlike the other teams, they didn’t have to move — staying at the same hotel and playing all their games on the same pitch, thus able to master the conditions better. India were almost co-hosts of the tournament. That more than inconvenienced other teams. Even the hosts, Pakistan, had to travel to Dubai to play India. Both Australia and South Africa had to travel to Dubai to familiarise themselves with conditions there in case they had to play India in the semifinal. Australia won the lotto, so to speak, which meant South Africa had to fly back to Pakistan to play New Zealand. No wonder the final was a damp squib, with India easily sashaying home. India can crow all they like, but they had the trophy handed to them on a platter.
It's easy to see why India has sway over international cricket. The ICC chair is 36-year-old Jay Shah, son of Amit Shah, India’s home affairs minister. Before that, Jay Shah was secretary of the powerful Board of Control for Cricket in India, the wealthiest governing body and the tail that wags international cricket. That wealth and power come from the fanatical support for the game in India. Cricket-playing countries know that to host the Indian team means a huge injection of funds into their coffers. And every year players and commentators from around the world eagerly flock to the money-spinning IPL. India therefore has got everybody involved in cricket in its pocket.
Such untrammelled power can’t be good for the game. It’s just not cricket.
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