A judge on Monday gave a cricketer a suspended sentence ‘so he could pursue his professional career’ after his trial, rather than banging him up. For banging his wife up. With a cricket bat. Oh, and forcing her to drink bleach when she… because she… Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Forcing someone to drink bleach is not something most people would ever think about, let alone do. Its ‘not normal’. But Mustafa Bashir is not really normal. He also lied about having a contract with Leicestershire Cricket Club, which earned him the virtual reprieve, but they denied any knowledge of him. The prosecutors are going to appeal the sentence. Otherwise what message does that send out? That its ok to attack your wife with things if you’re a sportsperson. I would never hit my wife with my cricket bat. Its an expensive and delicate bit of kit. I’d use a broom handle.

But cricket, even without the help of Mustafa, is in a funny place. Because its such an odd game. It is the most curiously unexciting of sports. You watch it for 3 days and if you’re really lucky, the last 2 hours will get really… really… well, sufficiently interesting that you stay awake in the summer sun and possibly feel so engaged that you put off the next trip to the bar until the end of the over. And then its a draw, however much the excitement suggested otherwise.

Which is why its not good for tv. Too bloody long. So the only people who really watch county cricket (3 days) or even test cricket (5 days) are the retired and the unemployed. TV needs stuff that grips you to the seat. Speed it up so as to force the entertainment value. Make it bigger hitting, faster bowling, shorten it and put it on at night. Then workers can watch it too, when their labours are done for the day.

People still watch test cricket. In fits and starts. Its a great place to host corporate hospitality. More deals are done at Lords over an Ashes test match than in 11 months of boardroom antics in the entire City of London. I made that up, but it could so easily be true as all the brokers and dealers and multi-nationals all have boxes and suites there. Come to the cricket, bring your lawyer.

So the Indians, the most cricket loving nation on the planet, invented a wham-bam version of the game just for the impatient masses. T20 they call it. Just 20 overs each, highest score wins. Oh, and change the ball from the red its been forever to white, just so we know its different. And cos its at night. Generally under floodlights but maybe ‘dark cricket’ is the way forward. A little dangerous, but with infra-red glasses, (only for the fans, not the players), a real spectacle. Anyway, they want to do it here. Pay lots of money to just 8 clubs, move them from the rural wastes where cricket lives, to the Cities where the spectators live and make a version that can be watched in one sitting. Mainly at home on tv. Where the money is.

Lots of crusty old English gentlemen are turning in their graves. And Sky are rubbing their hands together.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx