Craig Kieswetter ought to feel offended to have to confess to English loyalties after being picked to play for England © Getty Images

Craig Kieswetter is no doubt going to get thoroughly sick of being asked whether he feels English, even though it's the wrong question. Like me, he has one British parent and one foreign, which makes him as British by descent as I, though since his mother is a Scot and my father was English, I'm English and he isn't. He can hardly sit there at a press conference unveiling him as an England player and say he doesn't feel "English", but he ought to feel offended to have to confess to Sassenach loyalties. Robert Croft, the former England Test player, used to make a big point of not being English but Welsh – but then he had been born and raised in Wales, so nobody expected him to pretend to be English.

When someone has a choice of which nationality to adopt, in cricketing terms it makes sense to opt for British nationality: unless you can get on to the international circuit or get offered an IPL contract, county cricket is the most lucrative source of employment available. They decide to go through a qualification period not because they believe they will be selected for England more easily than for the country where they did most of their growing-up, but because it is the passport to fifteen years of being able to make a comfortable living playing cricket rather than stacking supermarket shelves.

Once they are qualified, though, it makes little sense for the England selectors to ignore them just because they were born abroad. And if it seems that too many immigrants are turning up in the England side, it's hardly the immigrants' fault that they're so good: the question, if any, is why people growing up in England don't seem to develop into top-level players, especially batsmen. It's a pretty complex question, but that most people in Britain now live in densely-populated cities with very limited space given over to playing fields, parks and so on, particularly in comparison to people-poor, land-rich Australia or South Africa, must be a major contributing factor – and there is little the ECB can do about that.

But at the bottom of the question lies an assumption that performing well in international cricket requires that a player is suffused with national pride, that unless he is utterly committed to Queen and country, he will inevitably disappoint.

This is a big assumption to make. I am sure that there are quite a few players for whom the thought of representing their country is a powerful motivator, but I doubt that it is universal among international cricketers. Enough of them talk about it being the ultimate physical and mental challenge available in the sport for it to be clear that many are most motivated by proving their excellence, whether to themselves, their peers or the press and public. Some are quite blatant about their desires to break records or be rated number one – that their team benefits from their statistical achievements is taken as read, and there is nary a mention of it being good for the country. Others just want to make their parents proud of them, and yet others want the glamour of celebrity.

I also doubt whether every callow young man even understands “representing his country” in any serious way. For quite a few, it has been a fairly overwhelming experience to suddenly find that they are not just playing a game of cricket but carrying the hopes and dreams of millions of people they have never met. Some have found that too heavy a load and have failed to perform.

What is important about a player is the fact that he is motivated to perform to the best of his ability. If nationalist fervour is what does it, fine, but questioning someone's selection simply because he doesn't wear Union Jack pyjamas to bed shows remarkably little understanding of professional sportsmen.

	Truth be told, it seemed like there was only person who could pull it off: Tendulkar © Getty Images

I tend to be a bit obsessed about cricket statistics. And given my vintage, it's entirely understandable that Test statistics tend to reign supreme. Indeed, to this day, one of the reasons that I don't get so hung up on the results of one-day internationals is that I started off thinking of them as unofficial games. But official they are, and their statistics are recorded faithfully. And there was one one-day statistic that I did spend some time thinking about: would a batsman ever make a double-ton in a one-day game?

I first entertained this thought not because of Viv Richards' 189 against England in 1984 but because of a glorious innings that preceded it: David Gower's 158 off 118 balls against New Zealand at Brisbane during the 1982-83 WSC triangular. For the time, Gower's innings was a true paradigm subverter; that rate of scoring was unprecedented, his domination complete. Indeed, that innings stood out even more than Richards' did, because, well, Viv was Viv, and you expected him to do that sort of thing. But Gower amping it up at a strike rate of 133, hitting four sixes, and all of the rest made me think that perhaps someday, someone could pull it off. (For the record, Viv's strike rate was 111 so Gower had one over the great Viv in that regard!)

When the modern era of one-day internationals got underway, the 200 became a real possibility. Of the ten 180-plus scores in one-day internationals, there are only two from the 1980s. And yes, both of them are by the great Viv. All hail the King! Folks like Anwar, Hayden, Jayasuriya, Kirsten, Ganguly, Dhoni, Tendulkar, and, er, Charles Coventry, racked up the rest. I did think for a while that the 200 would come in a World Cup game against one of the minnows.

And Sehwag's feats seemed to make him the logical choice to put your money on when it came to the business of going past the 200 barrier. But Sehwag doesn't make big scores in ODIs. His name features nowhere in the list of big-scorers in that variety of the game for whatever reason. I've given up trying to understand that particular genius.

It seemed to me that if 200 was to be made, it would be made by an opener, someone who would score quickly in the first 15, settle down in the mid-section, and then have enough nous and stamina to play through the inevitable acceleration to the end. And truth be told, it seemed like there was only person who could pull it off: Tendulkar.

For if there is one thing that seems to come easily to Tendulkar, it is the kind of innings I've just described. They are a dime-a-dozen for this man. He does it effortlessly, shifting gears when he wants, racking up runs, not letting his strike-rate drop. It always seemed like a matter of time before he would not lose his wicket in the final acceleration and simply go on to the logical next destination of the double-ton. 200 runs off 150 balls (a strike rate of 133.33) always seemed eminently doable for this master of the limited-overs game. No one else seemed to have the full package.

And on February 24th, he did it. Indeed, he seemed to have calculated it perfectly: 200 off 147 balls. The initial acceleration, the quick, expert farming of well-run singles and doubles, the final acceleration. It was a masterpiece of attack and accumulation (and the brilliance of shots was something to behold). And he did it against South Africa on an appropriate stage, a ground at home, in front of thousands of his ever-adoring fans.

The genius of this man is that such a singular feat should always have seemed so well within his reach, that his final breach of the barrier should come as no surprise.

"The IPL, through no fault of its own, faces the prospect of being a vehicle that will ultimately cause friction rather than harmony" © Associated Press

For a concept that went so far as to bring international cricketers together, the IPL, through no fault of its own, faces the prospect of being a vehicle that will ultimately cause friction rather than harmony. I post this blog piece today, deliberately timed so it gets published before any decisions have been made and diplomatic wrangles occur.

It's clear that security issues will continue to affect the IPL in years to come, regardless of how this year's event pans out. The relocation in 2009 to South Africa, prompted by security issues involving the national elections in India was managed admirably, making the best of a difficult situation. The 2010 situation is a bit more serious because it has the potential to reduce the international flavour of the tournament that makes the IPL such a unique dish. Sure, even if some international players pull out, the event might yet be a modest success, bolstered by patriotism and India's domestic strength but regardless of the brave spin that may be put on it, it will lose some of its lustre. No sense in denying that.

If it comes to pass that players from Australia, New Zealand, South Africa and England withdraw, the risk is that it will create an East-West divide that will take many years to repair. And that will be the ironic legacy of the IPL if it does turn out that way: what started off as a global event may descend into a Cold War drawn along traditional and predictable lines. There will be accusations of cowardice and double standards, of plotting to steal World Cups and of the supposed arrogance of cricket's major powerbroker. One can only hope that the cricketers themselves will be spared the pain and vitriol that will inevitably flow from all disappointed stakeholders.

Already, there is innuendo that the Australian camp is divided. The ex-players are apparently keen to make the event, spurred on no doubt by advancing years and the promise of a last golden handshake. Let's not pretend otherwise - despite all the talk of great challenges and being part of a global event, it ultimately boils down to money. Plenty of it. An IPL without the big cheques would simply not be on the radar of these retired warriors.

The current Australian players are reputedly less keen, weighing up a long career in Australian cricket against the promise of a quick but uncertain payout. They are not in that much of a rush to make their fortunes and one can understand their reluctance to risk their safety when time is on their side. What makes this clash unique is that it will eventually come down to a question of whether the various player unions can exert enough influence over a membership that also includes ex-players who are essentially beholden to no one but themselves. If the advice is that they should not attend the IPL, how can they enforce that ruling on any 'retired' player who wants to act independently?

Next year's World Cup question is a bit easier to resolve because it involves playing for one's country and that will mean that the decision will be taken by the respective governing bodies, thereby not putting the players in the invidious position of making the call themselves. What is clear though is that it is patently ridiculous for any government, in any country, to offer guarantees and assurances of safety. If it was that easy to guarantee such a fluid concept, why can't everybody do that across all walks of life, not just for cricketers? I mean, how does one ever claim on such a ridiculous guarantee?

Perhaps the answer is for all parties to take the emotion and guilt out of the whole situation and genuinely leave it up to the individual's discretion with no threats or talk of lifetime bans or blackballs. All that sort of loaded comment does is to create guilt and resentment when none of this is really the fault of the IPL or the players. It's a function of the world we live in where terror threats are seen as a legitimate way to push a political cause. India is not alone in facing this problem but she should not view it as a personal betrayal if some cricketers make a personal choice based on their own family circumstances.

And that's pretty well what it boils down to. Some individuals are less risk-averse than others, some are less fazed by terror threats than others and no one deserves censure or praise for making a personal decision. It's really no different to any other risky job. It's up to each individual to decide whether the risks are worth the rewards and make choices accordingly. The IPL is not about representing your country with pride - it's purely about being a highly paid entertainer in a commercial venture. So let's hope they take the nationalistic jargon out of the diplomatic posturing and just treat it like any other job offer. Weigh up the risks and rewards, consult with your family and do what's right for you. It need not be a national insult or cowardice or any other loaded value judgement. Whatever the decision, let's hope it doesn't become a divisive issue that splits the cricket world across the cultural divide. The game is not big enough to survive that sort of pettiness.

"Just like even a broken clock can tell the time correctly twice a day, even Lalit Modi can get it right at times" © Getty Images

I'm not a huge fan of Lalit Modi. One reason why I am reluctant to watch IPL games is there is always the chance that I might stumble across the latest Modi photo-op; I have described him as a zamindar in the past (when his ICL crackdown was in full swing); and when Modi acolytes have shown up on Eye-on-Cricket and demanded I respect his organisational skills and financial acumen, I have politely declined (I similarly find myself reluctant to sing hosannas in praise of Bill Gates and Steve Ballmer, gentlemen who have plenty of fans but whose achievements I find strangely uninspiring).

But respect must be shown where it is due. Just like even a broken clock can tell the time correctly twice a day, even Lalit Modi can get it right at times. And Modi’s response to the release of the independent report commissioned by players' unions in England, Australia and South Africa that has led to talk of shifting the 2010 IPL to another country is a good example of that.

First, Modi correctly notes that "Nobody in the world can safeguard the safety of the players in any tournament. All we have to do is ensure we are putting on the best security". Indeed, there might be disagreements over what constitutes the best security for the visiting players but there can be no guarantees about the player’s ultimate safety (perhaps El Al, the Israeli airline, might be able to provide one but I doubt even those formidable folks would go so far). And while the ‘threat’ to the international players is possibly ‘credible’, all that can be done is to hunker down and make sure that as many angles as possible are covered. Fleeing to another country isn’t really a viable solution. Last year’s move to South Africa took place because no security apparatus could be in place.

The IPL’s staying put is just the way it has to be for anything else that has to take place in India (plenty of folks continue to go to work in Mumbai, I'm told). If terrorists were to issue kidnap threats against businessmen in India, should business come to a grinding halt?

But there are other reasons why Modi’s comments make sense for they raise an interesting point about the very nature of the IPL, about whether it is a domestic tournament or an international league. For Modi goes on to say (showing a non-Vitalstatistix-like personality), "The heavens aren't going to fall...this is an Indian tournament...we have the key Indian players and only a few international players. You have to understand that the market for us is India...it's not only dependent on foreign players, although they are part of it.”

Modi is calling his own bluff here. If the IPL goes ahead and is a success even with a diminished international player presence (and truth be told, I think there is a high probability there won’t be a complete pullout because the greenback rules), it will have displayed its viability in an Indian market with Indian players and maintained the domestic competition image.

For now, Modi has done all he could do. He has spoken reassuringly to sponsors and has done the right kind of spinning when it comes to the status of the IPL. Behind the scenes, negotiations over the player’s security demands will carry on.

The IPL will be played in India. If something does go wrong, there will be terrible consequence, sure. But the worst ones will not be that international players’ concerns will have been vindicated. It will be that innocent lives will have been lost. And that is a risk that folks in India are used to.

Australian cricketers recreate the famous image from the 1915 game at Shell Green on a visit to Gallipoli in 2001 © Getty Images

Sports, war, what’s the difference? Not much, or so it would seem, if one were to go by the language of sports-writing: crushing defeats, campaigns, humiliations, pitched battles, offensives, assaults, and so on. And of course, defeats in sporting contests can take on the significance that normally afforded to a besting on a military battlefield (depending on the insecurity of the concerned parties); witness the obsession over India-Pakistan cricketing games.

But cricket and war can be run together even more directly. The most famous instance of this came during the Gallipoli campaign, when on 17 December 1915, a game of cricket was played on Shell Green by ANZAC troops. In the now legendary photograph of this game, Major George Macarthur Onslow of the Light Horse is batting (and rather unfortunately, for the major, is in the process of being dismissed). The game, played while artillery fire continued overhead, was an attempt to distract the watching Turkish troops from the departure of allied troops.

(The Australian Light Horse also featured in another less-known cricket game during war, that between English and Australian soldiers on 25 October 2006 in Basra, Iraq. The match was put together to commemorate the soon-to-be-played Ashes series and in a sign of things to come, England made 109 for 9 off their 30 overs, and then watched as the Aussies ran up 113 runs off 27.5 overs.)

This sort of connection of cricket with war is considerably more benign than the linguistic one I began this article by noting. But the two can come together, nowhere better exemplified than that during the siege of the town of Mafeking during the Boer War. Here, a British garrison (and a motley crew of civilians) led by Robert Baden-Powell (the original Boy Scout, if you will) held out for 217 days (October 1899 to May 1900). The Boers, led at various times by Piet Cronje and J.P Snyman, mounted several offensives of varying intensity, supplemented by a shelling campaign from a variety of artillery pieces.

Amongst Baden-Powell's tactics for maintaining the spirit of the military and civilian residents, was (besides the regular publication of newspapers and the staging of evening variety concerts), the organization of a regular game of cricket on Sundays. That these games could be staged at all was due in no small part to the fact that at the beginning of the siege, Cronje and Baden-Powell had agreed there would be no fighting on Sundays! (Such Christian sensibilities clearly didn't extend to the idea of not fighting at all in the first place).

As the siege dragged on, the Boer President Paul Kruger decided enough was enough, and sent his grandson Field Cornet Sarel Eloff with reinforcements to bring an end to the siege. Besides fresh troops, Eloff was possessed of a sense of humor as well, and on arriving at Mafeking and hearing of the Sunday games of cricket, sent in a note to Baden-Powell on 30th April, suggesting a match between the troops on either side.

Two hundred days of the siege had passed. And so, Baden-Powell wrote back, saying that the Mafeking garrison had already scored 200 not out against Cronje and Snyman. Eloff was not in the least upset by this rebuff, and instead, amusedly remarked, that it was “tough, but true enough.”

The Boer War was a pretty vicious affair; reading its history (I can heartily recommend Thomas Pakenham's excellent The Boer War) can sometimes be a pretty depressing business. In the midst of that grimness, this little anecdote provides just a little relief.

Not too much, for war remains a bloodthirsty pursuit. And we should be thankful that sport is not even a bit like it, despite what over-eager journalists might suggest.

The highlight of Makhaya Ntini's career - a ten-for at Lord's © Getty Images

My last post was decorated with a picture of Makhaya Ntini looking tired enough to justify my remark that he had lost his zip. Since he didn't even make the squad for the India trip, it would be a brave gambler who would bet on his playing for South Africa again unless there is a disastrous string of injuries. So this is a good time to remember what he was like when in full possession of zip, mojo and other attributes of successful Test bowlers.

He first played for South Africa in 1998, and his first few appearances were not especially promising. He was fit, energetic and bowled fast, but he bowled from far too wide on the crease, his action was inelegant and awkward, and he had little command of length or direction. It was impossible to avoid the suspicion that politics had played a part in his inclusion.

He was persisted with, and gradually he improved. The action never got tidied up and he continued to bowl from an exceptionally wide position, but more and more balls travelled in the general direction of the stumps. What one could never fault was his enthusiasm and commitment; whether his team-mates could understand his constant shouts of encouragement in his first language must be debatable, but they certainly got the drift.

The breakthrough came at Lord's in 2003. England were in some disarray following Nasser Hussain's surprise resignation at the end of the previous Test, but someone has to take the wickets of even disconcerted batsmen and Ntini took ten of them, two five-fors as England were routed by an innings. He became the second South African to take ten in a Test in England, Peter Pollock having done so in 1965 at Trent Bridge, and the second South African to get on to the Lord's honours board twice after Allan Donald. No longer was he merely the biggest fish in the small pond of black South African cricketers – he had become an all-South African match-winning hero.

For the next four years, until the emergence of Dale Steyn, Ntini dominated South Africa's attack. People easily misled by those pernicious career average figures drooled over “the great Shaun Pollock”, but if he'd ever existed, he had stopped playing years before. The Shaun Pollock of the mid-noughties purveyed little to threaten batsmen, especially patient ones. True, he had the control to deliver six identical balls which passed four inches wide and six inches above the top of off stump, but canny batsmen realised there was no need to play at them. Pollock was given his wickets when batsmen got frustrated and hit out at balls which were not there for hitting.

Ntini, on the other hand, went out hunting for wickets and grabbed great bagfuls. He had gained the precarious control of a trucker piloting a fully-laden 18-wheeler down a steep hill, and that was enough. Pitch maps showing where the ball pitched looked like random paint-splatters, but at high speed it was very difficult for batsmen to pick up the line, especially for right-handers who had to come a long, long way across to see it before it was upon them. They played at balls they should have left and vice versa, only to see the ball balloon to gully or hear the crash as their stumps fell over. It was artless bowling, but supremely effective.

Over those four years, Ntini took 203 wickets at a strike rate of 49 against non-Zimbladesh teams, Pollock 128 at 68. Ntini had 15 five-fors and four ten-wicket matches, Pollock two five-fors in 2003 and none thereafter. Pollock did a decent enough job, but Ntini was a serial destroyer. I've laboured the point rather, but I don't think Makhaya ever really got the credit he deserved as a world class-bowler in the mid-decade. Not quite a great, perhaps, but a hugely important match-winner.

Criticism that he had no variations, no slower ball, no cutters rather missed the point: he had so much natural variation that to try anything fancy was fraught with risk. On the other hand, the lack of guile in his bowling left him entirely dependent on maintaining his pace. Once the speed dropped off, batsmen began to have the time to spot balls which were easy to hit given the extra fraction of a second to play; as it drops further, his lack of precise control becomes more handicap than advantage.

And that is why I'm not keen that Middlesex should sign him. I can easily understand why he would want to come and play at the ground where he played his defining Test, but if he can only bowl to the standard he displayed at PE and Kingsmead, I fear that he would not be an automatic first XI pick, and only IPL owners can afford the luxury of shelling out for expensive overseas bench-warmers who are largely past their pick-by date. I don't think the Ntini of 2010 would significantly strengthen Middlesex's bowling, and he is anything but the answer to the pressing problems with the top-order batting.

But end-of-career footnotes are hardly the point. South Africa know all about finding rough diamonds and then cutting them and polishing them into precious jewels: Ntini started as a dull pebble and ended as a national treasure.

Two Tests did not do justice for the rivalry between the teams © AFP

Let me get in the obligatory quick slam against the BCCI before saying anything else about this India-South Africa 'series'. Two Tests? Are you for real?

Now, on to the series itself. This putative world championship of cricket featured two big, lopsided wins; both by an innings. If one were to cast about for sporting metaphors this would be a pair of boxing matches where each boxer knocked the other one out once (Schmeling-Louis anyone?) India looked outclassed in the first Test, and South Africa, despite the closeness of the finish, were severely outgunned in the second (to think they were 218-1 on the first day and ended up batting 347 runs behind in the second innings!).

Despite the lopsided nature of the games (at least far as the margins went), these were both very good Tests, just because there was so much outstanding cricket on display: high-quality swing bowling, determined, gritty, stylish, pugnacious batting, and some very good spin bowling at times.

But the margins of defeat in each Test showed that the two teams, despite being the top two in the world, did display some inconsistency and vulnerability. India's lack of resistance to Dale Steyn in Nagpur was perhaps more understandable in that any batting line-up, especially one weakened by injuries and dubious selection strategies, will always be susceptible to the kind of high-quality display Steyn put on. More worrying for India in that Test was the failure of the bowling attack to drive home the early first-day advantage or to even exert any sustained pressure thereafter.

South Africa's performance in Kolkata indicated a greater breakdown of sorts: they collapsed from 218-1 to 296 all out; they left their bowling plans in the hotel; they dropped catches and then when the time came to save the game, they played into India's hands by never remotely looking like they would get past 347 (the second innings ran for 131 overs and resulted in 290 runs).

There were other data points in the tests that are interesting: South Africa's batting is shaky (Graeme Smith kept playing Zaheer Khan with gaping gaps in his defense and the JP Duminy – Ashwell Prince pair always looked out of sorts); India's youngsters were disappointing at best (S Badrinath played one good innings and then looked out of his depth thereafter; M Vijay wasted his chances; and there were some dropped catches by the new brigade as well). While Gautam Gambhir failed to come to the party, the rest of the Indian batting line-up prospered: Virender Sehwag, Sachin Tendulkar, VVS Laxman, MS Dhoni all did their reputations no harm, with the former two shining in particular. And Hashim Amla's serene journey to almost 500 runs in three innings will long be remembered by those who watched him play; the impassive nature of his reaction to a painful blow on the elbow on the fifth day was inspirational (if only I could summon up such a response to the adversities of life!)

India's strong finish in the series makes them come across as marginally stronger, especially in home conditions. Kolkata emphasized that point strongly, for there was no doubt that the presence of that crowd had an effect on both the teams. South Africa will be keen to use their home-grown pitches to try and put one over the Indians when they visit, and one can only hope the Indian batting will be up to the task (I'm optimistic that a full-strength Indian fast-bowling attack will be a handful in those conditions).

Which brings me back to the point with which I began this post. The BCCI's biggest problem is not its supposed greed or mendacity; it's that it lacks imagination. This series, with more Tests played in the metropolitan centres like Mumbai, Chennai et al, could have been a genuine humdinger and would have allowed for the building of a rivalry similar to that India enjoys with Australia (and possibly one without all the nastiness that has come to be associated with it). Not for the first, and certainly not for the last, will I bemoan the failure to grasp the obvious by the powers that be.

"Hauritz’s success in the last year or so has been more than just the sheer numbers" © Getty Images

Cricket is full of intra-sport rivalries, even though much of it is meant to be in a light-hearted tone. Fast bowlers are said to be a bit ‘thick’, wicketkeepers are apparently eccentric and opening batsmen are often associated with having no fear. Perhaps none of these myths have any real basis but it adds to the romance and character of the game.

Another school of thought centres around the notion that it’s often a batsman’s game. Bowlers are forever complaining that flat pitches, shorter boundaries, covered wickets, new technology for bats and restrictions on the use of the short ball have made it even easier for the batsmen. Not surprisingly, batsmen are quick to point out that while bowlers get plenty of chances to make mistakes, one false shot and an innings can be terminated.

Here’s a question for you then. I only thought about it when thinking about the rise and rise of Nathan Hauritz in the last 12 months, despite not really being rated highly by any of his opponents. If you are underrated by the opposition, is it easier to be a bowler than a batsman?

Hauritz’s success in the last year or so has been more than just the sheer numbers. Anyone who has watched him closely will see a bowler who is now a genuinely a world-class performer, in the context of contemporary off-spinners. He has drift, he turns the ball much more than he used to, has a good arm ball and now operates (and can execute) a plan. I’m not going to get into an argument about how he compares with Murali, Harbhajan, Ajmal, Mendis etc because that will just distract readers from the theme I’m seeking to explore: has Hauritz actually benefited from being underrated and does this make it easier for a bowler to succeed?

Just about every team that has come up against Hauritz in recent times has not been particularly concerned about the threat he posed, yet they have succumbed to him in reasonable numbers. Most famously, Pakistan recently, somewhat ungraciously bemoaned giving him a bagful of wickets in the series. Reading between the lines, the not-so-subtle insinuation was Hauritz should not have got so many of them out …. but he did! Two five-fors on Australian pitches against an Asian side for an offspinner is a creditable achievement. He certainly out-bowled the much more fancied Ajmal, despite not really having a doosra up his sleeve. Or perhaps the Pakistani batsmen treated him with less respect than their counterparts showed to Ajmal and Kaneria.

It all started last summer when the New Zealander Aaron Redmond launched a stunning assault on Hauritz in Adelaide before lunch on the first morning, showing him scant respect, only to lose his head and the war and hole out to deep midwicket. Hauritz kept improving and kept believing in himself while his opponents kept refusing to acknowledge his growing stature. Even on the Ashes tour, Hauritz more than held his own, ironically, only to lose his place in the final Test at The Oval when his bowling on that pitch may just have decided the fate of the series.

My hypothesis is that it’s a lot tougher for a batsman in a similar position to Hauritz. If he is not rated, bowlers don’t really bowl with less intensity to him. If anything, they smell blood and actually raise their game a touch, thereby making it even tougher for a batsman who knows that one mistake finishes his innings. A bowler who is severely mauled can still win the battle, a la Hauritz in Adelaide in 2008-09 or even Jason Krejza on Test debut in India in 2008 (although his wickets came at a considerable cost and Australia lost that match).

I suppose Paul Collingwood and maybe even JP Duminy are two batsmen who weren’t really feared by opposition bowlers at the start of their careers, only to prove the folly of those assumptions. Collingwood has continued to thrive, despite still being seen as unfashionable and dour, even though he can be a devastating hitter in limited-overs cricket. Duminy is now finding out the hard way that once you become a target, batting becomes a whole lot more difficult.

Back to Hauritz though; it will be interesting to see if his performances start to wane over the next 12 months as teams eventually acknowledge that he cannot afford to be disrespected. If they treat him with more respect, will that play into Hauritz’s hands or will he find the soft dismissals won’t come as easily? His economy rate might improve but it might be at the expense of his strike rate.

Returning to the argument about batsmen and bowlers, I was always happy I was an all-rounder. As the Overseas Professional in League teams in England, there was always the comfort that it would take more than one bad ball to ruin my day as a bowler, especially when the hard-bitten old club faithful expected the pro to do the business every weekend. Needless to say, they were often disappointed! Like Hauritz, I too was severely underrated but in my case, it was entirely justified.

"It was painfully apparent at Port Elizabeth that Ntini had lost his zip" © Getty Images

Established players' careers end (or take a long break) either through retirement (whether for personal reasons or injury) or because the selectors think someone else can do the job better. Retirements take the decision out of the selectors' hands – they only have to work out how to replace what is lost; the harder call is when a dip in form signals terminal decline, or who has to be omitted to accommodate someone whose form and ability simply screams “pick me!”. Getting those decisions right is what justifies a selection panel.

England's selectors have done quite well at this recently. Andrew Flintoff's retirement was met with a lot of worry about how he would be replaced, but he was hardly missed in South Africa. There is no one specific player who replaces him, but what he brought to the team is being covered. Super Fred, the great all-rounder only really played between 2004 and 2006; thereafter, Flintoff's value to the team was as a mid-innings specialist.

An hour and a half's batting would bring 60 or 70 quick runs, demoralise the opposition bowlers and buoy the England tail so that what had looked like being a mediocre 264 turned into a healthy 380. The lack of five-fors shows that he was no destroyer, but his special gift was coming on with a 58-over-old ball and nabbing three middle-order wickets to start a slide, cutting what had bid fair to be 480 to a manageable 305.

Matt Prior, Stuart Broad and Graeme Swann have all shown themselves capable of the rumbustious cameo with the bat, and Swann and Broad are now regularly chipping in with those mid-innings spells. Between them, they usually now produce the impetus which Flintoff provided. What the selectors got right was predicting that would happen, allowing them to pick Ian Bell – much criticised at the time – whose batting was crucial to winning at Durban and drawing at Newlands.

The transition between specialist swing bowlers was also pretty smooth. When England lost the first Test on their tour of New Zealand in 2008, they took the tough decision that Matthew Hoggard should be replaced by James Anderson, who responded with a five-for and England went on to win the series. Hoggard complained bitterly for months that it had been one bad match that did for him, but the selectors have to be praised for getting it right.

South Africa's selectors, on the other hand, got it wrong in a similar situation. They really had little choice but to pick Makhaya Ntini for the first Test. Steyn was injured, and an attack of Morne Morkel, Friedel de Wet and Wayne Parnell would have been horribly inexperienced and what Ntini certainly has is experience.

However, although it was painfully apparent at Port Elizabeth that Ntini had lost his zip, his 390 career Test wickets tempted the selectors to give him the nod ahead of de Wet for Kingsmead. Strauss made mincemeat of him and set up England's big first innings total, and thus South Africa prevented themselves from winning the series as they should have.

To be fair, they have recognised that whatever fine qualities Ashwell Prince has as a No. 5 or 6, he can hardly open a beer can, let alone a Test innings, and Alviro Petersen's debut hundred has rewarded them.

For the future, the big question is how the Indian selectors are going to deal with the inevitable loss of Dravid, Laxman and Tendulkar. Will they have the courage to wield the axe when it becomes necessary, or will they leave it to them to retire? Of course, there is no point in dropping legendary players unless and until there are players ready to take over and as yet there is little sign of any serious challengers emerging, so perhaps it will not matter. But if their constant dithering about what would be a good bowling attack is anything to go by, it will be chaos.

	Despite the heroics of folks like Jason Gillespie, the notion is still ridiculous © Getty Images

I don't like night watchmen. I've got nothing against those poor souls that are sent out by their timid captains to weather the storm, but I do have a principled objection to the very idea. It is internally incoherent, is poor cricketing strategy, and when the captain does it to protect his wicket, it looks especially pusillanimous.

The first time I encountered the concept of a night watchman was when Srinivas Venkataraghavan went out in the fading Delhi light on the second day of the first Test of the 1976-77 series against the touring MCC. The score read 49 for 3, and India were tottering. Anshuman Gaekwad, Mohinder Amarnath and Gundappa Viswanath had all gone lbw to Lever. A deadly spell of swing bowling was in effect. Two balls later, Venkat joined the procession, bowled for a duck by the same bowler. Brijesh Patel had to come out and bat for time.

I thought the idea was silly then, despite its 'rationale' being explained to me by my ever-patient father. Why was Patel not batting? If Lever could blow away that illustrious bunch that had preceded Venkat, why not Venkat?

Years later, despite the heroics of folks like Wasim Bari, Tony Mann and Jason Gillespie, I still find the notion ridiculous. Captains send in a tailender to deal with a difficult passage of play so that a recognised batsman won't have to? (Yes, batsmen are a pampered lot, we all know that). And if a wicket does fall, does not a recognised batsman have to come out anyway? Or are we going to send out another night watchman? Or is the task of the night watchman to hope for the best? That either he survives till the morning, or he chews up enough deliveries before he gets out so that the incoming stalwart only has to face a few deliveries?

Of course, the next batsman will have to deal with a more hostile and testing atmosphere, because the bowling side has their tail up, having taken two wickets, and because facing five deliveries at the end of the day is harder than facing ten.

The incoherence of the night watchman strategy especially becomes apparent when captains use it when three or four wickets are down. By doing this, they ensure that a recognised batsman is shoved further down the order, and is reduced in his effectiveness.

The night watchman strategy seems to work well when they hang around the next day, frustrating the bowling attack, which wants to get on and dismiss the recognised batsmen. But the bowling side's task has already been made a bit easier by the fact that the recognised batsmen will be forced to bat with more of the tail than they'd like to. And of course, night watchmen, if they simply hang around and block, can get in the way of a team trying to push on and score quick runs to drive home a potential advantage.

The reason why I feel compelled to write this post is because I was reminded of the points made above when I noticed Amit Mishra being sent out as night watchman near the close of day two at Eden Gardens. Dhoni's decision was nothing short of ludicrous. With one stroke Dhoni managed to do three things: potentially expose Mishra to Steyn (there was no guarantee the bad light suspension would have taken place), push himself down to No. 8, and last, by not coming out himself to face the music, I dare say he didn't exactly look like Captain Courageous.

In a post on this blog a few days ago I complained about batsmen being treated with kid gloves by the laws of the game. Its a pity their captains don't even feel like making them earn their keep.

	The Indian spin quartet of the 1970s had the backing of a skilled bunch of close-in fielders © Getty Images

Puzzlement (or glee, or anger, take your pick) is often expressed these days over the supposed cricketing demise of Harbhajan Singh. But I'm perplexed by something else altogether: why don't Indian captains of recent years set more attacking fields for their spinners? If it was Australian captains like Bobbie Simpson who pioneered the umbrella slip field for their quicks, then I'm inclined to think (with little more than a vague memory) that Indian and Pakistani captains pioneered truly aggressive fields for spinners. And even if they didn't, they certainly exploited them the most fruitfully.

But in recent years, the most aggressive fields for spinners that I've seen have been set by Ricky Ponting for Nathan Hauritz, Graeme Smith for Paul Harris, and Andrew Strauss for Graeme Swann. (No cracks about any of the bowlers on that list; they've managed to inspire faith in their captains).

For many years now, if there is one feature of Indian outcricket that stands out (in my mind at least), it is that we don't seem to have enough men close to the bat. Harbhajan most commonly bowls with a slip and a forward short-leg. Forget the absence of a silly point, which would seem like a no-brainer for a bowler who is supposedly an exponent of the doosra, Harbhajan often doesn't even employ a backward short-leg. When Mishra bowls, he will often not employ the backward and forward-short-leg. It is almost as if these men are supposed to only be bowling their stock-balls and not their wrong 'uns, and as if the psychological value of having a close-in man has been completely discounted.

And I'm not even going to get into the business of whether fields for them have been sufficiently attacking a little further away from the bat. Instead, we've been treated to field settings that are vanilla in the extreme, with a pronounced tendency to go on the defensive all too quickly.

Perhaps this defensive attitude has been forced on modern Test cricket with the dominance of the bat due to dead pitches, heavy bats, shortened boundaries and the like. But as the example of the captain-bowler combinations above shows, it's still possible to display an attacking mindset.

This display of faith by the captain, and confidence, by the bowler, can be infectious. I'm inclined to think that part of Harbhajan's problems stem from his reluctance to take on an attacking posture in his field-settings. Freed of the pressure of close-in men, batsmen milk him endlessly, and he retreats further into his shell.

Of course, my complaints about the lack of “men in your back pocket” is only partly a complaint about tactics. It's also partly aesthetic. Some of the most wonderful sights of Test cricket have involved spinners wheeling away with a cluster of eager, alert, (and sometimes talkative) brave men, waiting for that little nick, that quick deflection, that little pop-up. Imran's fields for Qadir on the 1982 tour of England were a delight to watch, and enhanced the drama of that series in wonderful fashion.

I used to complain (to anyone that cared to listen) that part of the reason I disliked one-day international cricket as a spectacle on television was the sight of empty fields close to the bat as the game wore on. Sadly, that denuded vision is all too common even in Test cricket played by the country that has had the richest tradition of spin attacks in the history of the game.

I tend to classify my political views into two categories: those where I can understand my opponent's point-of-view and am willing to entertain it seriously, and those where no matter how hard I try, my brain doesn't seem to understand why anyone would hold a contrary view. Matters of economic management tend to fall into the first category and lifestyle choices fall into the second.

Similarly, when it comes to cricket. An example of a view where I don't understand the case for the opposition is the business of legalising ball tampering. I would ask someone to explain to me why ball-tampering is still illegal, but since I don't get it, I'll stick to expressing my bewilderment. At a time when cricket has increasingly become a batsman dominated game, when the single biggest threat to Test cricket is not the IPL or T20 but the roads that are routinely produced by groundsmen the world over, what precisely is the case against ball-tampering?

The great Wasim Akram, arguably the finest exponent of the arts of swing in recent years, has argued that it is pointless. But with all due respect to Akram, there is very little chance he would have come out in favor of ball-tampering. Given the steady stream of allegations against Pakistan bowlers over the years, it would have been highly problematic on his part to have come out in favor of ball-tampering; plenty of people would have regarded it as a tacit admission of guilt and simply said, “About time the Pakistanis 'fessed up. The Pakistanis must have been doing it in 1992 and Pakistani cricketers and journalists have been lying since then.” No, not really a satisfactory state of affairs.

But Akram's comments then prompt a further question: if he doesn't think tampering is going to help bowlers swing the ball, then why not simply make tampering legal? Let bowlers do their worst; at the very least, we won't have any of these silly allegations made against fast bowlers. Indeed, Akram seems to have missed a trick on this one. It is the illegality of ball tampering which has criminalised so much behavior and led to so much rancor.

Other arguments are straightforwardly moralising: it is cheating, it is unfair, it sends the wrong message to youngsters. These “what will the children think” expressions of concern are touching. But they leave me cold, for they fall into the same old tired pattern of only proscribing that behavior in cricket which favors batsmen.

To proscribe an activity is to seek to discourage some behavior and concomitantly send out a message about what behavior is considered permissible in a society. Keeping ball-tampering illegal does neither. Bowlers and fielders continue to strive for advantage in a world stacked in favor of batsmen and the moralists in the game continue to throw around the “cheat” slur. Cricket remains locked in a mode where it persists in making some behavior illegal almost as if to ensure that a certain discourse continues to take place amongst its followers.

This sanctimony helps no one; it inflates batting averages, stacks the field unfairly against bowlers, and contributes, most irritatingly, to a vocabulary full of the word “cheat”. When I see an area of conversation that is full of morally-inflected slurs thrown around at behavior that is common, I know something is amiss. (Like the conversation surrounding "drugs", where hypocrites like to think those that smoke marijuana are “doing drugs” while they pour themselves a glass of fine Pinot Noir).

Cricket should get over the batsman-favoring morality it is so in love with (witness the shock and horror over Mankading, which plenty of fans think is unsporting). Every single moral debate in cricket has something to do with making the world safer for batsmen: restrict bouncers, increase over-rates, condemn Mankading, keep ball-tampering illegal, don't appeal if you think the batsman is not out, and so on.

One of my favorite cartoons, reprinted in the World Cricket Digest many, many years ago, shows a trembling vizier confronting a beturbaned maharajah, while a loincloth-clad servant waits. The vizier says “Your majesty, I risk your displeasure, and death by a thousand lashes, but the laws of cricket do not permit your servant to take your run-up while you bowl.”

Cricket has a bad habit of treating bowlers like the maharajah's minions. It's about time they were treated like first-class citizens, able to shake up the comfort of the privileged class made up of willow-wielders.

Rarely has a moderate run-chase been buried in the third over with the fall of the first wicket © Getty Images

The summary of Cricinfo’s ball-by-ball match commentary from the MCG tonight reads:

34.2 Hauritz to Rampaul, OUT, Australia go 1-0 up, Rampaul sweeps without too much power behind the shot, the ball loops to Shaun Marsh at deep midwicket, simple catch and West Indies go down by 113 runs, Gayle's 4-1 prediction looks implausible now, Australia picked up their sixth straight ODI win this summer.

Au contraire, Chris Gayle has now ensured that he is on track to keep his bold prediction. While we’re in the mood for making ridiculous statements, we may as well pretend this is all part of the Gayle Masterplan. He’s got the hard bit out of the way – the only loss. Now it’s simply a matter of four consecutive wins against the feeble Aussies and he’s a genius!

Despite Gayle’s cool persona, a cricketer of real substance lies underneath that languid exterior. We saw that much earlier this summer, in contrasting innings’ in Adelaide and Perth. In the eyes of many Australians who hadn’t really seen him at his best in this country before, he gained new respect and new friends. That will soon disappear if he keeps making foolish statements that belong more in the world of boxing or rock ’n’ roll wrestling than a serious cricket contest.

Four-nil indeed! It’s one thing being confident and upbeat but unless he made that statement with tongue firmly in cheek and clearly meant in jest, he risks being dismissed as irrelevant and trivial. His disparaging comments about Test cricket earlier in 2009 have already singled him out for closer scrutiny, redeemed somewhat by his leadership in Australia during the Test series. To then come into a one-day series, missing six of your best players, against a rampant Australian outfit on their home soil, world champions and Champions Trophy winners, and to seriously expect respect by talking about a 4-1 series triumph will do nothing for his credibility.

Even with Bravo, Benn, Sarwan, Barath, Chanderpaul and Taylor in the team, any sensible bookmaker would have the Aussies as comfortable favourites. Against a team like this current West Indian one, brave and honest in the field but seriously lacking pedigree with the bat, the 4-1 prediction sounds like it’s the rum talking. The TV broadcasters were trying to beef it up all evening, claiming that the batting was the strong suit (hence the choice to bat second) but secretly they must have feared that as soon as Gayle was dismissed, any interest in the game would be assassinated with it. And so it came to pass. Rarely has a moderate run-chase been buried in the third over with the fall of the first wicket.

The West Indian bowling and fielding was admirable at times. They read the pitch conditions and pulled back a likely 300-plus chase to a manageable target of 258. A stiff chase it was always going to be but with their apparent batting strength, it was a slim possibility. What we saw tonight has killed off any real interest in the rest of the series, unless Gayle can bat for most of the 50 overs himself. The rest of the top order do not appear to have the back-foot strokes to relieve the choking grip that the Australian seamers apply with the length they bowl, rarely allowing the batsmen to get on the front foot. I can’t recall an international No. 4 (Lendl Simmons) reduced to scoring singles between third man and square leg, unable to draw on any other stroke to wrest the initiative away from the bowlers. It’s a far cry from thrashing the ball on England’s flat pitches in the World Twenty20. No such easy pickings here son, not unless you’ve got a back-foot game and a plan to go with it.

Some of what we saw tonight was amateurish. Denesh Ramdin carries his gloves in his left hand and then wonders why he is slow to turn when scrambling back to make his ground. What sort of professionalism is that? It’s like a hairdresser working in a spa bath with an electric hairdryer. Dwayne Smith goes to extreme lengths to fetch a ball from outside off stump and gently paddle it down midwicket’s throat. To think he actually tried to hit it there. Gosh, who put that fielder there?

To cap it all off, despite falling wickets and a spiralling run rate, West Indies forgot to take their batting Powerplay. Their last glimmer of hope probably rested with Smith and Ramdin so surely that was the time to throw the dice. It’s inconceivable that a crucial strategic aspect of the game is completely forgotten or ignored. We all know that Gayle's so laid back that he virtually walks in his sleep but is there anyone else awake in that dressing room? I can’t think of another instance where a batting team has not taken their Powerplay in a losing situation. No John Dyson to blame this time.

Then again, it might all be part of the Gayle Masterplan. Maybe he thought he could save that unused Powerplay for the next game, along with the 15 overs that they didn't get through tonight. Actually … not a bad idea. Give them 65 overs and an extra Powerplay. Anything for a contest; even 4-1 the other way would be something to look forward to

It was inevitable that Alastair Cook would be an England captain © Getty Images

England's forthcoming tour of Bangladesh is going to offer several players an opportunity to make an impression. The Tigers' fans will be hoping for the big upset, but the interest for English fans should really lie in what is revealed about the bench strength.

The main window is the one opened by the absence of Andrew Strauss, or rather the two, since he has one job as captain and another as opening batsman. There has been some adverse comment on his absence but it seems misplaced to me. No one bats an eyelid at Jimmy Anderson missing the tour because of the knee strain which was affecting his bowling, yet Strauss is not supposed to recover from the brain strain which was causing his batting to get flabby towards the end of the tour [of South Africa].

And he's entitled to a brain strain: he started 2009 by being hastily installed as captain, then had to form a relationship with a new head coach, win the Ashes from the underdog position and lead the team through a creditable series in South Africa, and in the meantime succeeded in transforming the ramshackle nonsense of the ODI side into a moderately competitive international 50-over team. After a year like that, any captain could do with a breather.

So that gives Alastair Cook an outing in his first attempt at captaining England. It was inevitable that he would be an England captain: he is expected to open the batting until at least 2020 and it would be unheard of, for an England player to last 15 years in the top order without being captain for some of them. Strauss is liable to be around for another three years or so, by which time Cook will be 28 and in his prime, so he makes a pretty logical choice as deputy.

Michael Carberry is unlikely to get that many opportunities as the reserve batsman behind a settled opening pair, but I hope that they decide to use him rather than shuffle the established batsmen around so that both Ian Bell and Jonathan Trott can play with at least one of them having to play out of position because playing in Asia usually demands two spinners. James Tredwell is probably the player with the most to gain from this tour because the position of second spinner is definitely up for grabs. He does not seem to be more than a conventional county off-spinner, but that's what most of us thought about Graeme Swann 18 months ago, and we've had to revise our opinion since then.

And it is not really an option to go into Tests in Asia with only two frontline pace bowlers. Broad is a given, but Graham Onions is the only one I'd be even vaguely happy with as a sole second paceman. Ryan Sidebottom has the seniority but looked to be well off the pace at the Wanderers, much as Makhaya Ntini had done in the first two matches, and I'm not sure that he deserves to be picked. If they have the sense to leave Sidebottom out, then we ought to get to see whether Liam Plunkett or Ajmal Shahzad have any prospects. The other option is Luke Wright, but what England do not need right now is a batsman who bowls a bit, whereas Plunkett and Shahzad are bowlers who bat a bit. Plunkett's a big hitter like Swann while Shahzad is a proper batsman like Broad, but the real interest is their bowling. Plunkett is probably the better bowler now, but Shahzad is improving rapidly and may well offer more for the future.

So, even if England don't have any dramas and put their opponents to bed in an orderly fashion, there should be a fair amount of interest in the newcomers (or, in Plunkett's case, old-comers having another go).

Sigmund Freud famously wrote of the impossibility of autobiography and biography. Part of the reason the good doctor thought thus was because that wonderful human facility, memory, which is often thought to be constitutive of our personalities, is also an amazingly flaky thing. To put it mildly, if you know what I mean.

As cricket fans, we are all subject to the vagaries of the art of recall. Players grow in stature; we are mysteriously present at games we never attended; statistics grow and multiply.

And in the modern internet era, we no longer need to rely on the photographic memories once needed to commit all those Wisdens and Frindalls to the insides of our craniums. And the internet can also serve to remind us of the things we get wrong.

For years, one of my favorite cricketing stories was told to me by my father. It concerned two greats of years gone by: CK Nayudu (the Colonel) and Keith Miller. Their encounter, during the Australian Services team tour of India in 1945-46, had for my father, the status of legend. In 1998, I posted an account of this story on the cricket newsgroup rec.sport.cricket. Some folks enjoyed it, and I certainly enjoyed telling the tale. Recently, I posted the story again on my blog, Eye-on-Cricket. There is a twist to the story that needs some tackling.

For it does not seem that the story told to me by my father and faithfully reproduced by me can possibly be true. At least, not in its statistical details. I had realised even back in 1998, that I needed scorecards to confirm its authenticity. I didn't do the needful for a very long time. Perhaps subconsciously, I resisted the moment of truth.

A quick examination of the scorecards of the Australian Services Team to tour India in 1945 shows that they played nine games. They played one game (Princes XI vs. Australian Services) in Delhi, the one that I presume my father attended. More the point, it was the only game of the tour that CK Nayudu played in (his youger, and largely overshadowed, brother CS Nayudu played for the Indian team in the Tests of the series as well as in this game). The scorecard for the Delhi game shows that Miller was bowled CS (not CK) Nayudu for 18 in the first innings; that CK Nayudu was bowled by John Pettiford for 14 in his first, and in the only second innings, Miller was caught and bowled CS Nayudu for 35.

So, something is amiss. Miller could not have hit 30 runs off CK Nayudu in either innings. CK's bowling figures (4-0-28-0 and 5-0-15-0) make that impossible. And neither did CK do that off Miller. Whatever happened that November in Delhi, it wasn't exactly like the way the story goes.

And of course, it’s not clear whose memory is at fault. Did my father tell me a reasonably simple story of how perhaps Miller and Nayudu hit a six or two off each other, and I grew that little tale into an epic? Or did my father, then attending the game as a wide-eyed 10-year old schoolboy, himself embellish that tale before passing it on to me? Or was it a combination of the two?

I realised of course, that it didn't really matter in the end. Some things still stood out: the impact that those flamboyant allrounders Miller and CK Nayudu made on my father; the recall of CK Nayudu at the age of 50(!) to play the Aussies; and the fact that the two greats did have some kind of encounter. For after all, the game did take place in Delhi, and Miller and Nayudu did play in that game. That much is true. The rest is in the story and it’s worth recounting.

And it’s still a damn good yarn. For if nothing else, it contributed to the romance I associated with the game, and played a significant role in the attention that I paid to its history. So, if there is ever a campfire around, I’ll make sure I tell the story in the form (I think) I heard it first.

You have to ask, what is happening in Australian society to produce such agitation? © Getty Images

Imagine for a moment if the shoe were on the other foot. Pakistan has become so demonised, the spectacle is not hard to picture. During an ODI in Lahore or Karachi, an Australian fielder is standing at square leg. All of a sudden, a Pakistani spectator jumps the fence and sprints on to the field, tackling the Australian from behind and pinning him to the ground. What happens next?

Yes, security will run after the invader and subdue him, as happened in Perth. But after that? Do you imagine the Australian player picking himself up without fuss and walking up to his captain to describe the event with a wink and a smile? Do you imagine the Australian team shrugging the whole thing off and getting on with the rest of the game?

Probably not.

Far more likely, if a spectator jumped the fence like that in Pakistan – and despite the barbed wire they can still do it, trust me – Ricky Ponting would call his team into an exaggerated huddle, announce to the umpires that his team has had enough, and walk off the ground in a huff. The tour would be abandoned forthwith and the international media would start blaring nonstop what a rotten place Pakistan really is.

In fact, what happened with Pakistani fielder Khalid Latif in Perth is a timely reminder that it is Australia where such incidents of uncivil behavior are being seen more and more. Even a casual Internet search reveals several reports of crowd trouble in Australian sports. Australian football, it turns out, is no stranger to crowd disturbances, but over the last few years, a number of visiting cricket teams have also suffered and been forced to lodge complaints. This year even the Australian Open tennis tournament was marred by the need to eject unruly fans.

Still, I could not find any mention of a spectator assaulting a fielder in the middle of a cricket international. In over three decades of watching cricket obsessively, I certainly have never seen anything like it.

You have to ask, what is happening in Australian society to produce such agitation? The country has a troubling history. Its early settlers maltreated indigenous races, and even today there are reports of immigrants of South Asian descent being killed for no apparent reason other than prejudice. A widely cited survey conducted in Queensland and New South Wales during 2001 found that 40% of Australians felt certain ethnic groups did not belong in their country, and 10% had views that were considered overtly racist. Of note, the choicest venom was reserved for Muslims.

There is something arrogant and unwelcoming in all this – to put it mildly – and it is hard to deny that this attitude is now creeping into cricket. One would have expected more responsible behavior from an advanced industrial nation like Australia. In the event, the ones behaving responsibly in this matter were the Pakistanis. They showed great tolerance and good humor in picking themselves up and carrying on after the assault in Perth. But this should not and does not diminish the shocking scale of the incident.

Of course, it would be unfair to paint all of Australia with one brush, and it must be acknowledged that modern Australian society has opened its doors to many refugees and immigrants, the majority of whom enjoy a life of peace, fulfillment and dignity. At the same time, there is no denying that something is amiss. Incidents like the one in Perth are unwanted symptoms of a pervasive malady. There are forces in Australian society – government, social agencies, academia – that are hard at work to diagnose the root cause and fix the mess. The rest of the world is with them.

In the meantime, one must give full marks to the Pakistan Cricket Board for raising the issue in a formal complaint to the ICC. Unlike the national team, which had a spineless performance in Australia, the PCB is now standing up to this Australian boorishness. “Pakistan gets blamed for security breaches, but look at what happened in Perth,” a PCB official was quoted today as saying. This trenchant and hard-nosed attitude from Pakistan’s cricket authorities, who are forever playing off the backfoot, is long overdue.

For its part, Cricket Australia has tendered to the PCB an unconditional apology. Pakistanis are a forgiving bunch and the apology is accepted, but CA must make sure stuff like this isn’t allowed to happen again. If this becomes a pattern, we could soon be asking whether Australia is a safe venue for Asian teams.