The Rat King Strikes Again
The purge on character, flair and individualism in the Australian cricket team continues. The Rat King and his band of bland lieutenants with the support of the game’s powerbrokers, men who inherently detest behaviour that strays from the norm, are seeing to that. Mundane conformity is what they want and they will execute the career of any individual who believes differently.
What started with the ostracisation of Dean Jones, the most naturally gifted batsman of his generation, and continued through the turn of the century with the shunning of the enigmatic and brilliant Shane Warne from the national captaincy and the marginalisation of outspoken leg-spinner Stuart MacGill is nearing its completion with the systematic rejection of Andrew Symonds. Insipid sterility is the endgame for the Rat King and his army. They are very close to fulfilling their charter. The war is nearly over. The genocide of the individual in Australian cricket is nearly complete.
The treatment of Andrew Symonds in recent times by Cricket Australia and the leadership group in the Australian team has been nothing short of disgraceful. He has been publicly humiliated by his teammates and hung out to dry by the administrators of the game in this country. All this for being a little different, for being an individual who refuses to conform to the arbitrary standards of character and behaviour set out by the likes of Ricky Ponting, James Sutherland, Trevor Hohns and now Michael Clarke.
Andrew Symonds has every right to feel aggrieved at the way he has been treated in recent times. To be sent home from the recent Bangladesh series in disgrace for nothing more than missing a most-likely pointless team meeting for a bout of fishing and then told he was required to undergo counseling before he would be considered for international duty again is what we in the business of common sense call a massive overreaction. The more cynical would call it another act in a methodical campaign to rid the team of its last great non-conformist. The insistence on a public apology from Symonds only adds more weight to the cynic’s position.
Anybody with an ounce of decency who believes in The Individual and rejects the notion of a sterilised Australian cricket team has a great deal of sympathy for Andrew Symonds today. If he decides to walk away from the game, there would be few Australian who would begrudge him. He has been marginalised by his teammates and the game despite his exceptional talents, tremendous flair and extraordinary marketability. He conforms or he is out. They are his two options.
It should come as no surprise to followers of cricket in this country that the Rat King and his acolytes have attempted to expel Symonds. Ponting and Clarke will justify their totalitarian-type behaviour by rambling about Symonds lack of commitment, the negative effect his conduct has on the team and the refusal of Symonds to adhere to direction or team rules (no matter how ridiculous, insulting or fascist they are). The words are hollow and lack any valid meaning.
The real tale is a little different, however, and is somewhat more Machiavellian in nature. Ricky Ponting, due to his lack of natural intelligence, cricket smarts, and natural flair, has required the support of Cricket Australia powerbrokers to hold on to his position as Australian cricket captain. As a result he has rallied against individuals and non-conformists in his team, doing the bidding of the faceless men who run Australian cricket. He does not have the public support Steve Waugh or Mark Taylor or Allan Border had. He was never viewed as the natural successor to Waugh. The icy relationship between Ponting and Shane Warne, a player with far greater cricket smarts and the man considered by many to be the natural successor to Waugh, is but one testament to this. Ponting is beholden to the powerbrokers of the game and behaves accordingly. He knows, as they say, who butters his bread. This may seem overdramatic and perhaps on some level it is but the point remains the same: Ponting is not a good leader and those who are not good leaders prefer to surround themselves with yes-men.
Michael Clarke, Ponting’s heir apparent and one of the most fortunate Test players in the history of the game, understands the nature of the beast just as well and is quite happy to play the good son. Michael Clarke never deserved his spot in the Australian Test team and the fact he has performed reasonably well at the elite level does little to take away from the fact that he was drafted into the side with a first-class average in the mid-thirties (well below that of many players including the always unlucky Brad Hodge) and was chosen only because of his looks and marketability. He was the image of modern cricket that Cricket Australia wanted and he was fast-tracked into the team because of the image he portrayed. Clarke now views himself as the Australian David Beckham and the Australian David Beckham, with his ditzy model wife and his flash car, should captain the Australian cricket team. It’s only natural. He certainly will not let a rogue like Symonds besmirch the image of the team that will soon become his. Clarke will tow the company line and talk the company talk and walk the company walk. He is a man with grand ambitions and petty ideas such as friendship, loyalty and respect for individuals mean little too him. He has already thrown Symonds to the wolves to prove his credentials to the String Pullers.
It is an indictment on Australian cricket that bland conformity has become the number one priority. The days of the great character are dead or at the very least on their knees begging forgiveness and praying that the final blow is not struck. Men like David Boon and Doug Walters, Darren Lehman and Merv Hughes, Dennis Lillee and Keith Miller would not be welcome in the current team. Their skills and their courage would count for nothing. These men who built Australian cricket in terms of The Public Spectacle would today be cast aside like a cold mug of bad coffee. Those who recall with some fondness Boonie knocking back fifty-two tinnies on the way to England for the ’89 Ashes tour and Doug Walters drinking until three in the morning before belting a century the next day are quickly charged with being over-nostalgic, the inevitable follow up being that “times are different now”. What bollocks. Times are only different because men like Ricky Ponting have been allowed to undertake a pogrom on individualism.
Characters like David Boon and Merv Hughes, with their eccentricities and their flair and their common-man characteristics, were beloved because they were different, because they didn’t fit the mould. We felt an attachment to them because they seemed just like us. They had reached the pinnacle through grit and determination and enjoyed a beer and a bet and because of that we saw ourselves when we watched them bat and we watched them bowl. Playing Test cricket for Australia, the collective dream of nearly every Australian boy and man, did not seem that far away when characters like Boof and Boonie and Dougie were plodding away. The dream seemed very attainable. So we watched with excitement and we cheered with unreserved pride.
These days the whole scene is somewhat different. Those who make it are the ones who have been run through the system. Good looks and marketability count for as much as averages and runs and wickets at the selection table. Politics is also just as important. Those prepared to conform will always get the nod over those deemed to be rogues or wags or individuals. “This is a team game and by God you play by the rules or you don’t play at all.”
The Rat King has spoken. He and the powerbrokers of Australian cricket will soon have the total conformity they desire. They will also soon have a sport that is not nearly as relevant as it once was when the character stood tall and the dream of the Baggy Green seemed not that distant. Cricket will regress into just another spectacle that will mean very little. There will be no attachment to players or matches or events. There will be little caring because there will be little to care about. The punters don’t care much for blandness and sameness and clichés and political correctness.
Nor, for that matter, do I.