After America

SP on turning points, Test cricket, and lessons from America

Artwork by Fisher Classics

We love a “turning point”. When England recently lost to Spain in the final of the Euro’s, where after 90 minutes of cumulative play they finished with less possession, fewer shots, fewer shots on target, fewer corners, fewer passes attempted, fewer passes completed, fewer tackles attempted, fewer tackles won, and ultimately fewer goals, much focus has been on the “turning point” of Kyle Walker’s 76^th minute throw-in back to John Stones. Was South Africa’s recent capitulation to India down to David Miller’s perceived go-slow with 30 to win? Was it SKY’s catch? Was it Rishabh’s knee injury?

Prosaic as it is, sporting results rarely turn on a moment. They are generally the cold accumulation of micro-victories or defeats. And turning points, contrary to its name, are less moments on which a game spins, and more likely a dramatic emblem of what’s come before, rebadged.

July is usually the time we talk about turning points for Test cricket. Or, perhaps more accurately, what we have versus what we knew. With some exceptions, July is when we emerge from six months of wall-to-wall short form, hot on the heels of IPL ubiquity, bookended by the Abu Dhabi and South African leagues at one end, and (at least this year), a T20 World Cup on the other. Or is Major League Cricket the bookend? Whatever the case, there’s more T20, more of the time, and more to come.

The discordant sights and sounds follow. From the drums and shrieks and whistles of India’s thrilling triumph to the Lord’s hush as video unhurriedly checks whether a leg bye went to the boundary. This as the soundscape to a series between England and the West Indies that the excellent Mark Butcher, speaking on Wisden Cricket Weekly, described as “seal clubbing”.

From the seeming millions on Mumbai’s Marine Drive to greet India’s World Cup winners to the scattered souls in the single digits there to welcome Pat Cummins after Australia’s own World Cup triumph last year. There’s Cummins, solo, sorting out his Optus sim before exiting.

Australia’s leading player is currently in the United States playing the remainder of the MLC season. It comes after signing his longest playing contract – committing to the San Francisco Unicorns for four years – ostensibly for the opportunities presented by Silicon Valley. Last week, Australian selectors announced Cummins would not tour with the national team to England for an extensive white ball series, owing to a “pre-planned, long-term load management strategy”. These moves make complete, practical sense in the circumstances.

What are those circumstances, turning points, patterns? Does it matter? In cricket, it’s all heading one way.

For me, if you’ll allow, The Grade Cricketer’s trip to the United States was particularly instructive. While covering Indian and English cricket has always given TGC a decent appreciation of life outside the seasonal Australian cricketing discourse, there’s no substitute for physical distance. As timezones change, so do the pieces you read, the people you talk to, the things you see, the localised algorithm of smartphone narcissism you consume…

So as cricket foisted its flag upon the United States, putting its best foot forward at the Mecca of money and opportunity, an intentionally symbolic act of the game’s growth and progress, what did it look like?

First, it was very different to the concept many Americans would have had of cricket. Cricket in 2024 was not a vestige of Anglophone civility, and it was not long-form. It had a South Asian face, feverish fans, players shorn of their traditional white clothing, now in coloured clothing, hitting the ball long. Relevantly, Australia wasn’t considered important to this mission, nor was England.

The cricket was respectable. Teams fought, moments were made, boilovers happened, India-Pakistan soared. And with it, against the backdrop of ongoing conversation about member nation sustainability and associate nation assistance, we saw a format through which more countries can viably and competitively participate, co-hosted in a rich, nascent cricket nation. That nation, the United States, progressed past the group stage. Afghanistan, as they’ve so often threatened to do, finally bested Australia, who themselves required some luck to beat Scotland earlier in the tournament. Pakistan, who reverted to type, nevertheless were arguably the team that ran India – the winners – closest. The other host nation, the West Indies, were near-favourites. Through the prism of T20, how is West Indies cricket faring?

You could see how cricket might include more countries via this thing. Relative to Test cricket, it’s cheaper to play, easier to compete, marketable to young people, and is generally designed in line with 20^th century entertainment principles: short, fast, shallow.

And India won. As increasingly seems to be the case, when India wins, everyone wins. Commercially, that is. They are so overwhelmingly strong now that they were able to simultaneously celebrate back at home, and crush Zimbabwe in a series away from home, 4-1.

As cricket’s growth-through-T20 continues apace, it begs important questions as to the posture of the traditional Test nations. Only last week, at World Cricket Connects 2024, did Cricket Australia’s Chairman Mike Baird say, “but [Test cricket] still remains the dominant game in Australia. It is very clear Australia will support and invest and grow Test cricket opportunities as long as we possibly can.”

It’s at this point that those concerned for Test cricket’s future are wont to say, “It’s all well and good to prioritise Test cricket, but Australia will need someone to play against.” That is, if Australia continues to develop the notion of Test-cricket-as-pinnacle at home, and root the game’s value in the delivery of marquee Test matches on TV, it is betting strongly on a format that most nations are fleeing.

Will India continue to invest in Test cricket? We must hope so. India doesn’t appear to need it – commercially, spiritually, morally, ethically, traditionally – in the way Australia appears to. The IPL is booming, its satellite IPL ambitions are seeding and succeeding in other countries, and its youth appears to prefer T20. Ergo, its infrastructure and cricket economy is handsomely set to consolidate and grow through the T20 format.

The same can’t be said for Australia, whose audience is so conditioned to five summer Tests, played over four weeks, that the notion of pivoting to a T20-first calendar would be met with riotous indignation down the SEN line. But we cycle back to that question: if other nations cannot afford Test cricket – and that is indisputably the case – who will Australia play? And, perhaps more pertinently, if the only way to regenerate Test cricket is through Indian finance, how likely is that?