We took the family to watch MI Cape Town (MICT) play the Joburg Super Kings in a SA20 match at Newlands in January. We left the game three hours later, bedecked in bucket hats and beaming, victoriously waving our MICT flags as bright-eyed converts to a fabulous evening of family entertainment.
I am a traditionalist. Watching the ancient rhythms slowly play out during a day of Test cricket at Newlands with a newspaper, a pair of binoculars and a few beers in the shade has been one of my life’s great pleasures. There are the ripples and murmurs of the crowd in the cool morning before they reach a crescendo at 3pm, when the beer kicks in. After that there is half an hour for a nap and then one last cleansing ale before the close of play. The crack of bat on ball and the malty smells of the brewery melt together to create the magic, along with the feats of the figures in white.
My first experiences of T20 cricket were fun, though I worried that this was the next iteration in society dumbing down the best parts of the human experience for the impatient minds of the TikTok generation. The games didn’t stay with me, and I reasoned that surely anything worthwhile took time.
Watching SA20 through my children’s shining eyes changed my mind. Perhaps T20 is the salvation of the game after all. Albeit not in the way we once thought.
The excitement that infected us via osmosis from three generational groups of fans walking briskly towards the turnstiles reminded me of night cricket in the early 1990s, when we emerged back into the bright lights of international cricket like moles after a long winter.
The crowd at SA20 was a healthy mix of families, students and working people of indeterminate age. Even a few veterans had come along to see what all the fuss was about. Perhaps they were trying to supplement their pensions with a one-handed catch for a share of the Betway Catch 2 Million or a lucky spin on the Absa Wheel.
It was refreshing to see a lot of women and girls in the crowd. Most people looked tanned and happy after the holidays and reluctant to accept that the fun was over. They waited eagerly in queues for free bucket hats, to get their faces painted or for giants on stilts to construct an animal out of balloons.
It was a perfect Cape Town Day, 25ºC with a light southeaster. The sun set gradually over the dark green mountain as the sky moved from blue to orange on its path to darkness. Every seat was taken before the first ball. The atmosphere crackled.
MICT batted first, smartly turned out in royal blue and gold. Canary yellow Joburg Super Kings were spread out in the outfield. The cricket was pyrotechnic from the outset. It began in a hurry and sped up from there. Fast bowlers charged in and bowled faster than I could see. Spinners fizzed and twirled, while batters launched and reversed with cracks and laps. The fielders (including members of the crowd) sprinted, dived and caught like circus performers.
If we missed anything we could catch a replay on the big screen. When the batters smote a six into the crowd it looked like a group of schoolkids fighting over spilt sweets as people pushed each other out of the way and fell over chairs and picnic baskets for a chance to clasp on to the ball with one hand. These tickets should come with a warning, and a mining helmet rather than a bucket hat. The crowd hooted and jeered at the amateur catching attempts while beer was spilt everywhere. Fortunately, plenty more was being brewed across the road.
Having said this, it was surprisingly hard to get a beer. The queues were endless. I suspect this is an attempt at social engineering. But it would be better (and more profitable) to weaken the beer and provide greater access to it. Mobile waiters, roaming the stands pumping beer out of nap sacks would be a fun addition.
The DJ was hard-wired into the main vein of the crowd’s mood. He had a degree in Razzmatazz. And when he sensed things were getting quiet, or the players took a strategy break, he played a popular tune, and the dance cam searched the ground for the best dancers who were displayed on the big screen.
The dancing ranged from high-class moves worthy of a stage to the rhythmically challenged whose ungainly hips and arms moved in a fashion that bore no relationship to the beat. The kiss cam was another highlight for all apart from those who were attending with the wrong partner or whose relationships had soured.
Some members of the crowd subscribed to a rule that must have evolved at university, which involved downing your drink if you appeared on camera. And then the Mexican wave started. Everyone but the ancients or the stubborn patricians rose and sat periodically as the tide of standing people circled the ground. Occasionally plastic beer cups were thrown into the air to accentuate the effect.
Someone in the SA20 planning department must have done market research at a baseball game in the US. Baseball is boring. So, they had to invent peripheral entertainment to keep the crowds coming back to watch a batter strike a ball 30% of the time. Americans made a day at the baseball about more than the baseball — it became about tasty hot dogs, weak Budweiser and that strange organ music.
The teams are owned by teams from the Indian Premier League (IPL), hence the odd mix of Indian and SA cities in the names of the teams. This link to the IPL, along with the timing of the tournament in the calendar, means that some of the best players and coaches in the world play and coach in the SA20. This is an ideal finishing school for the talented cream of young cricketers who emerge from our excellent schooling nurseries.
It’s no surprise that the 19-year-old biffer, Lhuan-dre Pretorius made so many runs so quickly. He opened the batting with the world’s best batsman. Imagine what he learnt during those chats in the middle? A legion of exciting youngsters has emerged in a cricketing renaissance that has followed the decade lull since the golden generation retired. They are being shaped and schooled on the small lessons by the best in the business. It’s analogous to a young professional in the retail game getting the opportunity to be Jeff Bezos’ executive assistant for a month.
The TV coverage of SA20 is excellent and innovative. Recently retired GOATs like AB de Villiers and Kevin Pietersen provide insight into the minds of the players. It was interesting to hear De Villiers talk about how important playing Test cricket is for batsmen playing T20 because Test cricket ensures that all your basics are being properly executed, before the flair of T20 is added.
SA doesn’t play much Test cricket any more. We play occasional two-match series mostly against bottom-tier nations, even though most of our players aspire to Test cricket above all other forms. The problem is Cricket SA can’t afford it. Not enough eyes watch our Test cricket unless we are playing India, or to a lesser extent, England, or Australia. We are not in the cool crowd.
There is no doubt that Test cricket remains special. Ryan Rickelton reaching 200 at Newlands in January elicited genuine emotion from the crowd and his teammates. It was several notches higher than the reaction to a milestone reached in a T20. Unfortunately, the pace of Test cricket doesn’t resonate with part-time cricket followers, or people new to the game who inquire, incredulously, how a game can last five days and possibly end without a result. I am not sure how we sell its subtleties to the current generation accustomed to instant gratification.
Perhaps we could use SA20 to pay for more Test cricket but that isn’t teaching Test cricket how to fish for itself. Is T20 an addictive-enough gateway drug to get kids into cricket and keep them interested while we take them up the complexity curve?
Those who want to keep Test cricket relevant need to learn from SA20 but not necessarily by making the game shorter or synthetically more exciting. The SA20 is a compelling package because it has looked carefully at what its customers want and then delivered that. It has also spent a lot marketing that to us. We need to conduct the same analysis of Test cricket’s potential customers, and then repeat the process.
The Lord’s Test has been a jewel in the London Season for more than a century. A small percentage of the non-members who attend the first day at Lord’s are there for the cricket. It’s all about the occasion and popping a champagne cork onto the field before the first ball. It’s also about the magnificent Victorian red brick pavilion and the redder-faced members in their bacon and egg ties.
I haven’t been to Boxing Day at the Melbourne Cricket Ground but the same applies, albeit in a less refined, Australianised fashion. The Adelaide Test match used to be a relative non-event in the Australian summer. So, the Aussies began staging Test matches in Adelaide at night and with a pink ball. They have made an event out of hanging out in the food and wine tents serving Barossa wines and premium Australian gastronomy “out the back” of the stands at the Adelaide Oval.
To invigorate Test cricket in SA, we must absorb these teachings from SA20 and learn from our cricketing cousins by packaging the annual Test match as events to rival the Durban July or the Cape Town Met. If we isolate the DNA of each Test venue, including its history, we will surely attract more punters with an improved and evolved product.
Imagine a Newlands Test linked to a high-end food and wine fair next door at Kelvin Grove showcasing the best of Cape produce. Consider the diversion of sipping a perfectly chilled chenin blanc in an air-conditioned blue and white striped jousting tent, among tanned models in flowing summer florals while nibbling a smoky Parma ham and fig bruschetta.
Consider parts of Kingsmead transformed into a beach cafe, with swimming pools, palm trees and fiery curries to bring the punters back.
SA20 is an outstanding product, which has been refined for the local audience by a talented team. Why not do the same for the Test matches?
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