Why Twenty20 isn't the answer

Cricket stumbled upon another first yesterday: after a brute of a pitch - it's amazing how effortlessly New Zealand are able to produce these - had reduced a one-day game between New Zealand and the FICA World XI to a 35-over contest, the teams indulged the spectators to a Ten10 game. It was all in good fun of course - everyone bowled, batsmen swung their arms merrily, sometimes twice to the same ball, runs came at more than 17 an over, the match ended in a tie, and the crowd went home smiling. It was cricket at its proletarian best, the game pared down to such a basic level that everybody was made equal, everybody could bat, everybody could bowl, and everybody had an equal chance of succeeding, or failing.

Call this a sequel to last week's column about tweaking the one-day game. Plenty of readers wrote back, agreeing with some of the suggestions, disagreeing with others, and coming forward with new ones. A few went as far as to suggest that 50-over one-day cricket be replaced with Twenty20. The logic is simple: Twenty20 is a game which keeps up with the pace of the modern world. Even the one-day game is too long for people with decreasing attention spans; Twenty20 is a game that puts a premium on action, and is perfect for an evening out; it is easy to follow, and it is perfect for television.

Moreover, it's already a hit in the English market, which was beginning to shut its doors on cricket. For the last two years, it has been conducted with much fanfare in a carnival atmosphere, and it has attracted young people unlikely to be otherwise interested in the leisurely, and apparently languorous, world of cricket. It has seemed to do to the game in England in the last two years what one-day cricket did three decades ago. Since then, South Africa have introduced it in their domestic season and, by all accounts, it has been a roaring success. And it has started with a bang this year in Australia. Peter Roebuck called it a "bold if belated experiment that might change the face of the game around the country".

It may well. In many parts of the world cricket is becoming primarily a television game, and with the reach of satellite television, it is only one of the many sports on the air. Cricket can ill afford to be elitist and out-of-synch with the world.

But it is not merely an elitist concern that cricket needs to retain its identity and character. It's fine to try to change, to adapt and keep apace, but it must not be forgotten what drew people to cricket in the first place. In the minds of its serious constituents, which includes the players, Test cricket remains the ultimate contest because it allows the major skills of the game to be expressed to their fullest. It amazes those unfamiliar with the game how any sport can hold spectators' interest for five whole days. Yet it does. Test cricket these days is as absorbing and exciting as it has ever been. Its idiosyncrasies, its subtleties, its ability to surprise and startle, its capacity to reveal character: these are the qualities that make cricket unlike any other field sport, and though its leisurely pace might seem anachronistic to many who are befuddled by it, it is what makes cricket the game that it is.

The problem with one-day cricket isn't that it has become any slower. The problem is that it has become far too predictable and far too non-competitive, if we consider the contest between bat and ball to be the central appeal of cricket. It doesn't need a massive overhaul to make it more exciting; what it needs is a little more help for the bowler.

I have seen a bit of Twenty20 on television, and it's been fun at times. But I have found it difficult to warm to it. In the year of its inception, Mike Marqusee, the American liberal who discovered cricket on a summer journey to England and has stayed a loyal lover ever since, bemoaned the "lack of space for feeling, that bond between spectator and spectacle that can never be generated by a top-down exercise in consumer demographics". I also found a lack of a meaningful contest, which is the essence of any sport.

We all like sixes and fours being hit, and on the face of it, Twenty20 is a virtual gold-mine. But you feel numb after a while, because the idea of Twenty20 reduces boundary-hitting to a virtual free-for-all. The first 15 overs of a one-day match is thrilling not only because there is a scramble for boundaries, but because of the awareness of the attendant risk. A total of 100 for 2 from the first 15 could be a matchwinning one, but 100 for 4 could be a losing score.

Twenty20 gives batsmen the licence to murder with impunity, and that, in an instant, takes the edge away from hitting. It puts a lesser premium on traditional skills. Adam Hollioake, who wasn't even good enough to hold a place in England's one-day side, was the leading Twenty20 player in England in the first two seasons. Last year, Dinesh Mongia, whose ability as a slow left-arm bowler is limited to spearing the ball in at the pads, was one of the bowling successes for Lancashire. Murali is yet to play a Twenty20 match, but he is likely to struggle to match Mongia's economy rate of four runs per over.

Twenty20 has its place. But it should stay in its place. Cricket needs to change, but not so much that it isn't cricket any more.