ANNIE CHAVE
NEW COLUMNIST!
Annie Chave says that for the good of the game, it’s time to end the civil war
It’s not new. It’s laughable really, or it would be if it wasn’t so depressingly predictable.
Ever since its conception, give or take the odd golden era, county cricket has needed to be saved. On one side, and ‘sides’ it is because that is how ridiculously puerile the argument has become, there are CEOs with their corporate committees struggling to balance the books as the fight to survive becomes a boardroom battle of logistics.
The very real issues of wage increases to compete with the breath-taking salaries on the conveyor belt of franchise cricket; burgeoning numbers of backroom staff to meet with inflated needs; low gate-receipts; a fragile Covid-ravaged hospitality market; and sky-high utility bills, plus a rise in interest rates, see county managements having to look outside the cricket square, mixing unrealistic hospitality packages with the building of flats or hotels, not to mention the accommodation of a growing number of tribute bands to help make ends meet.
The international spread of franchise cricket means the loss of key players at critical times in a disjointed domestic season, which necessitates the emergency filling of gaps and an increasing risk of injury to add to the usual wear and tear of a county season. To top it all, there’s a group of members grudgingly putting their hands in their pockets to shell out a couple of hundred to ensure they can sit in their usual seats, complaining about the usual things while drinking out of their usual flasks and eating their usual home-made sandwiches.
They don’t want change and they’re happy to let you know that they’re not happy. They want the best players and the top coaches, but they don’t want it to affect the price. They want to preserve the four-day format despite the fact it’s bleeding the counties dry: they won’t accept the changes that will keep the counties afloat. They’re Luddites. They’re fleas on the tail of county cricket. That’s it on the one hand – the hand of the CEOs as they park their Audis in their reserved spot, brush down their Ar mani suits, make a beeline for their comfortable office (with its added meeting space and water-cooler), and glance at the cricket through a balcony window while discussing the latest money-spinner.
On the other hand, there’s a group of members who follow the trials of their county through highs – or lows – who loyally turn up, day after day come rain or shine, with an encyclopaedic knowledge of all the players who have plied their trade on the precious turf. They’ve watched the greats come and go, can recount endless tales of true champions, and bask in memories of momentous achievements. In their time they’ve watched young talent blossom and then fall. With frozen or sun-drenched hands
