What a career it’s been though, and what an entertainer. Forget the numbers, staggering though they are; Murali wasn’t a numbers fellow, though each of his 800 astutely scrounged-out scalps inched Sri Lanka closer towards becoming a fine Test nation. He was a performer, plain as that; for all the wonder, controversy and batting shambles his amazing, wrist-spun off-breaks indulged in, it was, tellingly, his madcap, stand-on-one-foot-shut-your-eyes-and-duck-while-swinging-for-your-life tailend slogging, which somehow fetched a Test fifty against Australia and even won a couple of one-dayers, that brought the most unfettered glee. It was quite endearingly agricultural.

 His bowling, hampered by repeated outbursts of chucking (ie cheating), furious and occasionally tabloid-level attack from several quarters (including, bewilderingly, that of then-Australian PM John Howard), patiently conducted Tests, repeated explanations of a naturally bent arm, eventually reached an Everest (or K2). Whether or not you agree with Murali, an off-spinner who somehow wove his webs through robust wristwork, it’s hard to deny the character with which he brushed off repeated accusations and allegations, even when cleared by the officials, always with a pair of unnerving, ogling eyes, a friendly chuckle and a Cheshire-cat grin.

He couldn’t, said he, please everybody, but he pleased most, and this epitaph shan’t waste its space dealing with his stubborn detractors. Staggeringly, he took 67 five-fers, 22-match-ten-fers, and to allege that he was a minnow-strangler is plain foolishness, because he did it against every opposition in just about every set of conditions.

It was excruciating, waiting for that 800th, while about half of Sri Lanka sat packed under the Galle fort tower waiting for their most-loved countryman to get his 800th. It wasn’t, he’ll tell you, much more than a number, and yet it was very, very satisfying that this goggling, glaring, howling, grinning jester of a strangler reached it.

The unmitigated horrors that accompanied Pakistan’s winter tour of Australia and, even more so, the explosive but indecisive PCB inquiries that followed will hopefully be a memory by the end of this tour. Not that Pakistan have any bragging rights when it comes to Australia, but a  decent fight would do instead of sinking to the now-customary whitewash. England should be more of an even battle, but such is world cricket at the moment that nothing is as predictable as Pakistan’s unpredictability.

England, of course, hasn’t hosted a “neutral” Test since 1912, when a Triangular featuring South Africa and Australia kicked off. This makes them the first host nation not to participate in a Test, and it is rather lovely in a surreal sort of way. Now it might be shrewd financially motivated opportunism, or a sort of initiative from the game’s innovators, or just a romantic notion on my behalf, or indeed a mix of all these factors, but watching the Twenty20 double-header in a crowded Birmingham last week brought an appreciation of just how forward-thinking cricket’s administrators can be. It may or may not be coincidental that this takes place in diverse, immigrant-thronged Britain; at any rate, the packed stands were definitely more Bahawalpur than Birmingham.

I was up in England the other week, visiting my cousins in Scunthorpe. Though we saw rather than met most of them in our encounters, Britishtanis are quite charming folk in a jerky, aggressive sort of way–more hyperactive and loud, and a bit more in-your-face when it comes to patriotism of the Old Country (in this case Pakistan) than their Pakistani counterparts. They’re a rather diverse bunch, too–some very well-bred with chest-length beards and prayer caps, others with shaven scalps and chavvy paraphernalia on their arms and heads, and perhaps a few with a mixture of the twain. Anyhow, I’ve always been an unabashed admirer of British dialects and accents, and the Britishtani dialect is one that I’m hoping to master sooner rather than later. There’s a lot of head-wagging and bits of Urdu stuffed clumsily but comfortably into sentences, a healthy amount of cockney, whether genuine or acquired, a whole lot of “bruv’s” and “apnas” (the latter pertaining to any remotely colored member of the Britexpat population), and a few endearingly British expressions such as “jammy git” and “muppet”. Quite the home crowd, in short.

It’s not the only home comfort I’ll be getting this summer. India’s encounters with Sri Lanka are a tried and tired experiment, but I’ll try to follow them simply because of the venue. Sri Lanka earned a bit of respect in every Pakistani’s heart when responding to last year’s Lahore atrocity with almost alarming decency–even going out of the way to compliment the Pakistani bus driver who hotfooted them out of trouble, and offering to tour Pakistan again once their government allowed–but I really fell for the place in the summer of 2009, watching the Pakistan tour from Jeddah and Islamabad at different times. All in all, I’m rather looking forward to the next few months.

 To be honest I find this news rather horrible, and I suspect a slight majority of cricket fans agree. It’s true that ODIs don’t attract near the number of crowds they used to back in the nineties, that golden age of garish uniforms, pinch-hitters and dibbly-dobblers, but I don’t think it’s got a thing to do with the format, but with the numbers of matches played. Personally, I may doze through the session of a context-filled Test or yawn off yet another hit-and-giggle Twenty20, the 50-over game is one that I always regret missing.

Of course, the death of the 5o-over format has been predicted for a long time now. Respected Cricinfo English editor Andrew Miller has been predicting the death of the format for some years now. He doesn’t like it, quite frankly, believing it to be formulaic and lack all the drama, subplots, and scope for change that can be afforded in a typical Test. I’m not too sure about that, personally.

 You see, Mr Miller, one of the world’s most passionate and respected cricket reporters though he may be, has a habit of interpreting his own opinions as common public knowledge. As early as 2004, a year after Twenty20 had been introduced to first-class cricket, he was calling for the scrapping of the format because it clogged up the calendar and because, quite frankly, he didn’t like it. In 2007 he reacted to a rare England ODI series win abroad (in Sri Lanka) with the probably not wholly truthful assertion that England “should finally crack 50-over cricket at precisely the moment that the rest of the world is tiring of it.” Really, Mr. Miller? And what world would that be? A few Twenty20 honkers jumping on the World Twenty20 bandwagon? A handful of MCC members bored stiff with England’s overstated history of 50-over monotony?

Make no mistake, if the 50-over format goes with it will dissipate the interest of hundreds of cricket fans. Not the hit-and-giggle attention-deficient pseudofans that writers are so quick to bag, either. The fact is that thousands of cricket followers have been drawn to cricket, in all its formats, by the alleged joke that is ODI cricket. It may lack Test cricket’s sublime subplots–but it can come bloody close; it may lack the convenient zip of a Twenty20 encounter–but it has its moments. Precisely what evidence is there that ODI cricket is jaded and dying? A handful of matches with small crowds? In that case Test cricket–unmistakably the pinnacle of the game–would have been eulogized in the subcontinent years ago.

 Of course the number of ODIs should be cut down on. The seven-match series is a money-making joke, there have been a few triangular tournaments (think VB Series, Natwest Series and Challenges galore) too many. The 2007 calendar year was a particularly gluttonous one, with a whopping 191 ODIs–bureaucratic greed at its best. No wonder fans accepted Twenty20 cricket with particular regard to its one-dimensional nature; no wonder even respected publications like Wisden were moved to hail the IPL (a sham thankfully exposed) as a world-moving revolution. Too much of anything is a bad thing; my bet is that a glut of Twenty20s will see interest die far sooner than at any point in ODI history.

And what is with the needless innovations? Why are cricket administrators so eager to strangulate their existing fanbase? Why 40 overs, for instance, when 50 is a tried and true method? Michael Hussey, a batsman who can veer at any end of the tempo spectrum, is not impressed with it, saying, “I’m really keen to stick with the 50-over format. It is a lot different. That extra 10 overs is a lot different in the way you go about the game and I’d like to see us stick to the 50-over format.”

Hussey, modern-day cricket’s answer to Harry Houdini and Michael Bevan, has a point. And forget just 40-over cricket–what about the frankly laughable notion that four innings of 20-25 overs a day will pass off as an ODI? Might as well watch two Twenty20s in a day. What’s the break for, CA, more time to fry a shrimp on the barbie or however that goes?

Then there’s the accusation that it’s formulaic. What exactly is wrong with a touch of formula–for ODI cricket features no more that–is a question that needs answering before we all start getting bored with the formula of reverse-swing with an old ball, or spinners actually trying to flight the ball.

There is, of course, a general formula. It can twist and change a bit depending on conditions, or it can stay the same. People accuse the middle overs of being dull as batsmen look to consolidate a position of attack. Of course, if Michael Atherton is wearing whites while nudging and blocking the cover off the ball, it’s “thrilling Test cricket”. Just as Tests have their place, so do ODIs–just cut down on the number.

 As I’m getting a bit heated here, let me give a personal view. In years of watching Pakistan cricket I have woken either side of 9:24, sat rooted to the TV (with the occasional break to hunt for food), and salivated at a prospect vying between hopefulness and realism. The openers bat like nine-year-olds; any three (and occasionally four) of Mohammad Yousuf, Inzamam-ul-Haq, Shoaib Malik and Younus Khan steer Pakistan to a steady position with dinky dabs, meaty drives and the customary running mixup, Shahid Afridi comes in and chugs the momentum either his or the enemy’s way, while Moin Khan, Abdul Razzaq and Azhar Mahmood blast exactly 73 runs off the seven last overs in a spectacular whirl of swipes, slogs and hell-for-leather run-outs. Then Pakistan bowl, with Shoaib Akhtar leaking batsmen’s blood, runs, or both, Mohammad Aamer bowling seven bouncy and sharp overs, Rana Naved-ul-Hasan chipping in with his unique brand of 5-0-41-3, while Saqlain Mushtaq and/or Saeed Ajmal probe away before the allrounders come on and the fast bowlers return for a last burst, hopefully but not necessarily a matchwinning one. Also, lots and lots of dropped catches, particularly if Kamran Akmal is keeping. It’s a fluctuating and occasionally exasperating formula, but what the hell, it works. And when it doesn’t–well, change is, if CA is to be believed, good. Right?

Nor is it a brand unique to Pakistan; every country has a unique approach to ODI cricket that can neither be found in Twenty20s or in Tests. Sri Lanka: a Jayasuriya bash-fest, a cultured middle-overs display by Sangakkara and Jayawardene, and a bit of late fun for the increasing tally of seam-bowling allrounders; then swing out the opposing openers with cutters at a medium-fast pace before the spinners come on and tighten the noose. New Zealand: field a team weak on paper, and always field first. Then bring on Bondy and Southee, an impeccable ten-over spell by Daniel Vettori with a bit of dibbly-dobbling for old times’ sake. Then have McCullum, Ryder and Guptill go berserk before an inevitable mid-life crisis rescued by Vettori and Oram. The script may be slightly different; the players and their composition almost constantly varying, especially with little tweaks like the Powerplays. But it’s a beautiful formula, and has far more room for variance than the pathetic new model.

One point put forward by the spanner-mixers is that the new format allows both teams the same conditions, thereby devaluing the toss. But seriously–apart from the Premadasa Stadium and a few dew-ridden matches, is the toss all that important? Are even day-nighters, which constantly affect the conditions, all that important–what happened to the days when a day-night match was a special treat, not a 4 out of 5 repetition stuffed down the throat? There are so many ways to address whatever problems there are with ODIs without scrapping the formula–why try the easiest way, the one that will almost certainly alienate half the fanbase, so readily?

As Osman Samiuddin, Cricinfo’s Pakistan editor, so eloquently put it, a twenty-over innings “doesn’t allow, say, a batsman to resurrect an innings, they don’t allow for a calculated heist… You can chase intelligently in T20s for sure, but the whole thing of seeing someone rebuild a tattered innings, with a cautious, but still urgent, hundred–I like that. And for bowlers - I love the fact that [a bowler] can go through a ten-over spell on a good pitch - a proper, thorough display of his full talent with new and old ball which you might not see in a T20.”

Quite simply, 50-over cricket as it is has more room for skill and variation than any form of cricket bar Tests; it has more fans on a constant basis than either Twenty20s or Tests, because it represents a fitting medium. For too long we were told that it was mindless “fast-food” cricket; now we’re being told it’s not fast-food enough. The only problem is the number of matches, and perhaps the absurdly flat decks seen worldwide nowadays. Tinkering dramatically with the formula, as CA are trying to do, will merely rob a wonderful contest of a legion of supporters. If you don’t believe that, check the feedback on Cricinfo’s comments page; though with their history of conveniently shunning the fans, neither the administrators nor the reporters will be moved to do that.

The match was, indeed, Bangladesh at its sparkling best and its flimsy worst. Tamim Iqbal has had a ball against England in the last three months. He is a cricketer with an eye for the big stage, and though Australia or South Africa may have something to say about it, playing in England, birthplace of the game, is generally viewed as the stage for a cricketer. His innings against England this year have included 86, 85, 52, 55, 103, and 108, in the space of four Tests. It’s been attacking cricket at its best: in 590 balls he’s lashed 495 runs, with 67 fours and five sixes. At no point has he appeared fazed by the task of leading a weak nation; as he casually remarked after the match, the difference between him and his teammates is that he simply works harder.

Bangladesh, who recently were accused by Virender Sehwag of lacking the firepower to take 20 wickets in a match, contrived to lose as many in the space of two sessions. The first defeat was an honourable one; this one, to the subcontinent’s only country that puts a premium on the longest format of the game, will hurt, as will no doubt increasing questions over their Test status.

It would be tempting to term Bangladesh a one-man team after the dismal Manchester performance, but it would be grossly unfair. Yes, they batted shockingly, especially given the mouth-watering opening platform, but if one looks back to before the England rubbers it had been the middle order, comprising the very culprits of today’s batting travesty, that had regularly pulled Bangladesh out of trouble, players like Shakib-al-Hasan, Mahmudullah Riaz and Mushfiqur Rahim doing most of the hard work. Junaid Siddique has improved in both temperament and technique recently, and it would be unfair and unwise to drop Jahurul Islam for one poor match.  One player who almost certainly will suffer is Mohammad Ashraful, the most talented but most infuriating of players.

The bowling definitely lacks an edge, though. Shahadat Hossain, with his exertion-filled bursts, is talented but perhaps inevitably inconsistent. Rubel Hossain and Shafiul Islam both bowled well in stints but need grooming. It’s not just the seamers, either; Shakib, who underbowls Mahmudullah and overbowls Abdur Razzak, is left to drag a lagging spin squadron along. Mahmudullah, in addition, probably merits a position a couple of places up the order, while Abdur Razzak is a handy one-day veteran but not quite suited to Test cricket.

One thing is almost certain; if Bangladesh are to maintain some degree of consistency–and this match aside, they have been laudably consistent in the last season, despite a bare cupboard to show for it–they need not only more match practice against top-flight teams, but, as Bengal tiger Tamim has shown, a fighting mentality and a lot of hard work.

 For one thing, the press is often eager to step in. Last year Malcolm Conn of the Australian previewed Mohammad Asif’s return to Test cricket with the headline “Pakistan drug cheat Mohammad Asif eyes MCG Test”, while the sincere but pompous Peter Roebuck dismissed Chris Gayle as an unworthy, mercenary West Indies captain and questioned the regional side’s continued existence. Sydney’s Daily Telegraph was endearingly blunt in a headline reading “Ball-biting Afridi to captain Aussie Tests”, giving some indication of this proud Australian decision.

Most of the straight-faced talk comes, naturally enough, from the captain, and Ricky Ponting’s earnest George W-features and boyish grin can have a serious effect on your mind when telling you he thinks you’re not that rubbish, but yes rubbish. With a “Pakistan tour”–i.e. a series against Pakistan in England–coming up, Ponting rifles into his pages to remind AAP that Afridi “hasn’t played much Test cricket of late, has he? If you read between the lines,” (I wasn’t aware, by the way, that Ponting had this particular skill, but looks can be deceptive) said the skipper, “he’s almost in there as that leader and captain, not necessarily one of their best Test players. So we’ll test him out.”

I never thought I’d see the day when Shahid Afridi, pitch-pirouetting ball-biter that he is, would be typecast in a Mike Brearley role. But you learn something new every day; Ponting continued, “Even in the one -dayers in Australia last season with our quicks bowling the way they did to him, I think we can sort him out in Test cricket for sure.”

He’s got a point; Afridi really struggled against Australia, struggling around to hit 48 off 26 balls, 40 off 29, and 29 off 10 balls among his five-digit scores. He managed only 127 runs off only 76 balls, at only ten an over. Hang on…

Not, mind, that Ponting doesn’t have a point. The bouncy hard pitches of Australia where Afridi gleefully glutted in lower-order limited-overs bashing are a far different proposition to playing–and leading–a format where he hasn’t played for nearly four years, that too in conditions likely to seam and zip around. The Pakistani’s return to Test cricket should be a test, and yet Ponting is, in the grand old tradition of pre-series ribbing, taking a mild risk.

Afridi’s Test record–37.40 with bat and 34.90 with ball–is far from ordinary, and despite a galloping strike-rate his batting in that arena is, usually, far from hysterical (if, occasionally, not very far). Seaming conditions tend to test most subcontinental batsmen and spinners, yet there is little about Afridi’s technique that really needs gauging, particularly against the fast bowling that has been touted; that area is left to his temperament.

And, considering the mechanic efficiency with which Australians conduct themselves, Ponting is only wasting his time trying to mentally disintegrate the Pakistanis. When it comes to playing the Aussies, Pakistan–already accused of mental retardation by former coach Intikhab Alam–hit a mental roadblock. Australia have swept their last four series–that’s 12 matches–clean against Pakistan; considering that Pakistan’s last victory over them was back in 1995, even a draw–the last one dating to 1998–would be a minor triumph in itself.

Not, mind, that Pakistan are incapable of halting the juggernaut. No team manages to kick aside the betting tables quite as spectacularly as Pakistan often can; the challenge of facing a Goliath with an almost home crowd–if not pitch–may be the boost that they need. But it’s very very very–and square that ”very” for every month Ejaz Butt’s circus-act is in charge–unlikely, and if Ponting was trying to short-circuit the already tangled wires that form the Pakistani thinktank against Australia, then he was, really, just wasting his time.

 But Bangladesh can take plenty from the match. Like Sri Lanka a couple of decades ago, they’ve taken their time but are finally beginning to find the technique and fortitude to battle it out in various conditions.

Tamim Iqbal is a cricketer intent on carving out a niche in history, and the swift century he laced on the fourth day, battling injury and to go with a similarly aggressive first-innings fifty,  ranks with the best innings from his country. A swashbuckler who sets himself high goals, Tamim is the most thrilling of young cricketers and can on his day incinerate most attacks. And there was a fairly dandy bit of backstory to go with his 94-ball century, after which he sprinted towards the dressing room and indicated his name be put up on the famous honours board. It transpired he had heard the famously blunt Geoffrey Boycott belittling Bangladesh’s attack the previous night, and decided to make an impression with a stupendously emphatic performance.

Nor, refreshingly, was it a one-man effort that had England fairly worried by stumps on the fourth day. Imrul Kayes finally showed some grit and temperament, playing the straight man to Tamim’s swashbuckler in both innings to score 43 and 75. While his partner lashed and flayed, Kayes steered and parried, making for some compelling viewing in an opening partnership that few Bangladeshis, let alone others, would have expected. Meanwhile, Junaid Siddique and Jahurul Islam were both impressively mature in their efforts, Siddique in particular showing a technique and temperament that would have been alien to the happy-go-lucky campers who represented Bangladesh’s disastrous initial forays into the Test arena.

The middle and lower order comprising Shakib-al-Hasan, Mushfiqur Rahim and Mahmudullah Riyad had an uncharacteristically underwhelming match. Those three have represented much of Bangladesh’s solidity in recent times, and their off-days meant that Bangladesh couldn’t capitalize on a flying start. That, along with a fairly rank bowling effort, cost them the match. As far as that department goes, Bangladesh’s spin-heavy attack lacks an edge in these seamer-friendly conditions. Rubel Hossain has threatened and probed without much success, but the good news is that Shahadat Hossain, while as volatile as the Sharapova-esque grunts he lets out during his efforts, is finally showing the long-awaited bite to lead the attack. He grabbed a deserved 5 for 98 in England’s first innings, and though the numbers may not reflect it he has hustled and threatened far more often this season, as have his side.

 On the other side of the camp, Steven Finn seems to be all the rage. While the England camp has since the arrival of coach Andy Flower displayed a level-headed sense to do the obdurate Zimbabwean proud, their press remains as manic-depressive as ever. No series, apparently, goes by without an eye on Australia, and consequently it has been all but confirmed that Finn will board the flight down under in six months’ time.

The hulking seamer has done everything he can to assure that so far, but that’s hardly the point. Why oh why must every series be played with an eye on the cricket and another eye on Australia? Yes it’s the oldest, most hyped and most intense rivalry in all of cricket, but for once let’s not measure all performances in terms of the Ashes. There’s almost six months to go till the Brisbane Test kicks off. Six months, as Pakistan and West Indies will tell you, is a long time in cricket. Why not, as Australia do, focus on every series in its own right without spewing on and speculating about how so-and-so will do against the Aussies? It would make for a positive change that England’s cricket fraternity badly needs.

That, unfortunately, is not the case at present, and this Ashes mania has served to sour up this series as well. In the Times ex-cricketer-cum-writer Steve James (who considers his writing “deliberately inflammatory”, make of that what you will) says, with a point, that Tim Bresnan does not look Test-class as a bowler. Fair enough, though Bresnan makes for a handy seam-bowling allrounder in the shorter formats. He also maintains, quite sensibly, that England should keep their heads before hyping up young Finn as the next McGrath. True. He then says that Jonathan Trott’s wonderful double-century is of little consequence, as it’s only Bangladesh. That, of course, brings the subject to “only Bangladesh”, and while maintaining that they may have improved, he complains that the delight they displays even at a “hiding” only shows the pathetic level of their cricket, and that they shouldn’t be playing Test cricket and clogging up the calendar.

But that’s symptomatic of the English press’ attitude. Clogging up the calendar? Isn’t it a cricketer’s job to play other cricketers? An international match is just that–of course there are more competitive teams. Nobody called for England’s ouster a decade ago, because despite being ranked at the bottom when Nasser Hussain took the lead England were starting to show long-sought improvement and grit against all comers. It’s true that Bangladesh are nowhere near their peers as a Test nation, but the marked improvement they have shown in the last year-and-a-bit shows the need to continue playing top-level cricket. There’s no other way to improve. A call to oust Bangladesh from cricket’s top tier would have been sensible, say, three years ago, when despite the odd flicker they were by and large regularly thrashed. But a Test team is not built in a day, and the steep rise of Bangladesh’s standards in the last season shows why a two-tier system–a glass ceiling, really–would only deter competitive cricket.

The England management, of course, shows little pettiness in this regard. Since Flower and Andrew Strauss have taken the reins, it’s been a refreshingly focused, competitive group. Their World Twenty20 victory–while, as Michael Vaughan would say, “not as important as the Ashes, don’t get me wrong”–showed a professional and fresh attitude that has been missing from the country’s cricket since the 2005 Ashes, which only stirred up Ashes fever and made every non-Ashes series irrelevant. Strauss has led from the front, and though Bangladesh’s attack mayn’t be the hallmark of threat he did well this Test. As did James Anderson, whose fine 4 for 78 in overcast conditions went almost unnoticed amid the hype of the more consistent Finn.

The standout performers, of course, were Jonathan Trott and Steven Finn. As a fellow patient, I suspect Trott may have some sort of mild psychotic disorder like OCD, because the almost obsessive intensity, nervousness and fidgeting he displays is laughable. (After hitting the winning runs here, he scratched out his mark again and had to be reminded that the match was won.) What isn’t laughable is his technique and focus, which fetched him an immaculate 226 that should do wonders to his confidence, even though, again, it was “only Bangladesh”. He pulled and drove with precision and force, and the only worry he should have is his own fidgeting and self-consciousness, which really only serves to delay proceedings and can be a very handy sledging point. A quiet vote of confidence from the management could be useful here–it’s not often you score 262 in a match and still have your spot questioned by the masses.

But it was Finn who swept most of the honours. Comparisons with Glenn McGrath are a stretch to say the least, though he possesses a similarly efficient action and delivery stride, and even comparisons with his mentor and role model  Angus Fraser are a touch hasty. But he is a real promise for the side, his towering 6-foot-7 height fetching extra bounce off a length while he has been very accurate and threatening in the many conditions that clouded London these past five days. It’s still a bit early to envision him troubling the Aussies, though he has done everything he can to ensure a plane seat to Brisbane this November. Then again, with England playing Pakistan and Bangladesh this summer, that’s really not what matters.

First off, Howard’s career as Prime Minister is of as little relevance as the laughable opinion that he’s a racist for thinking that Muttiah Muralitharan chucks. It’s also true that the region, combining Australia and New Zealand as two of the sport’s most senior members, is well due an articulate, firm, and principled expert on cricket. None of which, I’m afraid, Mr. Howard is.

 Indeed, the Kiwis can be forgiven for indignation that a far more qualified individual in their candidate Sir John Anderson, who has years of experience both as chairman of the New Zealand cricket board and of numerous other companies, has been passed off for little other reason than that he is a lower-profile character from a lower-profile country. When it came to choosing which man would receive the nomination, the meeting was chaired by allegedly neutral Australian businessman Sir Rod Eddington. On one side there was a man who had vast experience as a cricket and business administrator; on the other side there was a politician who would love to be able to hold a bat properly. A no-brainer was literally decided with no brains.

The only argument of any substance against Anderson can run that as he chairs Television New Zealand, he may have outside interests. But, really, that’s all, and his experience as a cricket administrator would have been invaluable, and very probably superceded his television motives. Howard, on the other hand, is a politician who–ignoring whatever controversy there was during his long stint as Australia’s Prime Minister–seems all too eager to rub off popular public opinions without a hint of restraint, gleefully branding Murali a chucker and going out of his way to forbid Australia from touring Zimbabwe.

The argument for Howard runs that he’s an alleged straight talker, and won’t be afraid to send that money-loaded subcontinental bloc with a flea in its ear. But that’s highly dubious; he has already made clear that India, the majordomo of the subcontinent, is to be soothed rather than scolded. And considering the cringeworthy haste with which he has always made his views on cricket (usually conveniently in step with popular Australian opinion) clear–at least John Major was tasteful about his fanhood–he is anything but a front-up straight talker.

And then there’s that bloc word again. It seems a convenient one, whichever “bloc” is using it to get one over the other. This time the allegedly cheating, bullying subcontinent finds itself on the receiving end, but it can easily veer either way; just years ago India was guilty of supporting Zimbabwe Cricket–backed, whether we like it or not, by the despicable Robert Mugabe–simply to get one over the non-Asian bloc. And, rather than avoid such pettiness, the non-Asian cricket world has been equally childish.

A case in point was the infamous 2006 Oval affair, when Pakistan walked out on Darrell Hair’s insinuations of cheating, and refused to participate under the controversial umpire again. Veteran writer Scyld Berry, who should have known better, decided to forgo the substance of the argument and wrote in the Times, “A most unfortunate precedent, however, has now been established. Any umpire who in future makes a decision which angers one of the Asian Test-playing countries — India, Pakistan, Sri Lanka and Bangladesh — can expect the wrath of the Asian bloc to descend upon his head,” thereby turning Hair–right or wrong, an unacceptably haughty and abrasive official–into the poor honest straight-talker kicked out by the cash-wielding corrupt. All very convenient.

And there’s always that issue of chucking. It has little to do with Howard at the moment, but may almost certainly arise during any ICC official’s tenure and should therefore be swiftly laid to rest. Murali, Shoaib Akhtar, and others of the sort usually suffer the ignominy of having any achievement, however spectacular, cast under the cynical “chucking” label, simply to make a point. When a bowler, Asian or not, chucks, it should be firmly if discreetly dealt with. But the rule is, ignoring for a moment the 15-degree ICC sanction, that bowling with a bent elbow is chucking. The bent elbow gives an extra zip and jerk to the delivery, hence giving the bowler an unfair advantage. Murali, for one, has an unusually bent elbow to begin with, so whether or not he does induce that unfair jerk into his action–and the numerous studies all indicate otherwise–his elbow will remain bent all the same, giving the illusion of chucking even though it may be a perfectly normal delivery. But try explaining that to the bloc-criers, who ward off any argument with accusations of bribery and corruption without even a moment of consideration.

 (”If it looks like a chuck it is one, 15 degrees or not,” goes the popular argument that the likes of Ross Emerson put forward, but if that had been the case legendary bowlers such as Fred Trueman were almost certainly chuckers. The 15-degree rule has not been made to accomodate Asian bowlers; it’s merely a measurement of the limits of any bowler.)

Leaving all that aside, Howard will need to tackle the formidable task not only of satisfying the current cricket fraternity, an onerous task in itself, but of spreading cricket to new communities. What he makes up for in boyish enthusiasm he lacks in experience, and it’s dubious whether the ICC will be roused from its customary stagnation. At the moment he has an opportunity at the side of Sharad Pawar–another politician, will we ever learn?–and if he wants to silence his doubters and make a move for cricket’s welfare, he’d better not take notes.

 The two matches, a drawn series between New Zealand and Sri Lanka, featured a sluggish pitch with little room either for exciting strokeplay or exciting bowling, and is generally agreed to have featured more in the stands (look! real live Americans!) than on the field. Critics will call for the ground to be dug up and replaced with either a Newlands-esque homestead or an MCG-style concrete jungle; optimists will want to give it time. But the enterprise, and its nature, seems very dubious.

For one thing, cricket and the ICC have an almost surreal obsession with America. Not to knock the Yanks, but it might be worthwhile to satisfy the existing fanbase, hardly enchanted at the current state of the game, before trying to carve out new territory. Of course, it’s the moolah, and the high-profile of American soil, that beckons. How much do basketball and football players earn for a night’s game? Enough to make an IPL millionaire weep. How many movies have been made on baseball? Certainly, the ICC thinks, more than enough to boost the profile of a  wider-spread but less acclaimed game.

 Making money, of course, is no crime, but when it’s done at the expense of everything, it’s as destructive as the “purist” traditionalism that is supposed to have held back the game for decades. Just ask the lawyers of Allan Stanford and Lalit Modi. (On second thought, it’s a waste of time.)

The other disturbing factor is that popular opinion in the cricket world seems to have equated not only a good game with a quick-scoring one (many of the driest Test match sessions have seen batsmen pillaging runs at four to the over, while many of the tensest cliff-hangers, if pure run-rate statistics were to be believed, been snorefests). It also seems to equate Americans with fast-lane, intellectually deprived, ADD patients who can’t appreciate the thrills and depths of a game without seeing every second ball dumped into the stands. Hence the fact that it was Twenty20–intrinsically very close to baseball, and nobody dumps their jam with sugar–that has been used to breach the American gates, when an ODI may easily have sufficed with more sub-plots and as much entertainment in a day’s play. Americans are not (all) stupid–and nobody likes things dumbed down for them.

The cricket world’s relationship with America, indeed, is like an infatuated teenager’s sleazy attempts to chat up a rich, beautiful but aloof young woman who is less dim than he thinks.

“Hey there, sunshine.”

“Are you talking to me?”

“You want to do something tonight, babe? It doesn’t have to be long–just 40 minutes, er, overs.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. What d’ you have in mind?”

“Well, I’m thinking a couple of sessions–coloured clothing, of course, if you like–on a nice shirtfront, a real featherbed, not too much movement or carry, and lots and lots of maximums.”

“Maximums?”

“Oh don’t worry, it’s simple, you’ll understand it, we can even cut down the boundary size and the number of overs if you like.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Don’t worry, it’s easy. You’ll understand it. And fun. Really fun. We can even make it into a movie. You know?”

“Er, let me see. Is there anything else?”

“Er, yes. It’s loads of fun, don’t worry, and it’s short too, just for you. There’s sweepers in the deep, and we can call top edges fly balls, and replace the point with a shortstop just to make you comfortable. You’re not confused, are you?”

“Er, I don’t think so, but–”

“Ooh, and I’ve got a short third man for the cute reverse sweep, a guy out at the cow corner, and a nice fine leg as well.”

“Pardon?”

“Well, it’s more of a long leg, really, but I could make it finer if you like.”

“Well–”

“Ooh don’t worry, there’s lots to do, lots of music and drinks and everybody having a great time because it’s so short and you’ll understand it. What do you say?”

“Let me get this straight. Are you asking me out to the Red Sox game?”