Catharsis at cricket’s cathedral

I watched as much of the World Test Championship final as I could. Each ball was a profound, emotional event that transfixed me. It was as if my TV and my favourite armchair were possessed of high-powered magnets while the cricket was being played. This isn’t surprising. Test cricket is so rare for SA fans that we are compelled to watch as much as we can while we have it. We are analogous to the condemned, relishing each morsel of our final meal.

Our path to the final at Lord’s Cricket Ground undoubtedly involved playing weaker teams than our opponents, Australia, or the other two bullies in the Big Three, England and India, had been faced with. But we played the hand dealt to us.

Lord’s is cricket’s cathedral. A day here has been carefully curated by history and tradition into an unforgettable pleasure.  The green outfield is mowed into perfect squares and slopes idiosyncratically from left to right as you look out from the grand Victorian pavilion. Somehow, the alien spaceship that poses as a press box, and the futuristic Compton and Edrich stands moulded either side of it, juxtapose elegantly with the older, uniformly white stands that circle the ground and the Victorian pavilion, joining the present with the past. The antique red brick, verdant outfield, white stands, and the bacon-and-egg ties of the members of the Marylebone Cricket Club (MCC) fall soothingly on the eye, in a luxuriant tapestry.  

History is woven into every corner. The Compton and Edrich stands are named after two Middlesex and England batsmen who brought joy back to grim, postwar Britain in a summer of 1947. They also remind us that, as important as it seems, compared with war, cricket is only a game.

The Long Room is decorated like a country house, tastefully renovated by an owner who has discovered gold in the back garden. Shining floorboards reflect increasingly colourful paintings of the best former players that cover most parts of the walls in a collage of the cricketing pantheon. Red-faced members, scarred with gin blossoms and dressed in pastel trousers occupy the white benches.

The well-dressed crowd are trusted to bring a few bottles of wine into the ground to accompany their picnic. The morning session is serenely prosaic, characterised by the genteel sounds of polite clapping and popping champagne corks. Typically, Lord’s crowds are civilised, unless one of their batsmen is run out by the keeper for wandering out of his ground, in which case they let themselves down.

Any South African who could afford it had made the trip to the World Test Championship on June 11 2025. Whether from Wimbledon, Constantia or Bryanston. Former players mingled in the Pimm’s Bar behind the pavilion with bankers, mining tycoons and renewable-energy financiers. Unfortunately, they didn’t include me. I have been to Lord’s often, and even played on the hallowed turf in a heretical corporate six-a-side tournament. I thought it would be good enough on the telly. I was wrong. I would have loved to have been there belting out repeated verses of Oh Aiden Markram, you are the love of my life.

Reports suggest that the usually demure Lord’s crowd came alive with the deluge SA supporters and a trickle of Aussies. The Englishmen who turned up supported the South Africans, while teaching their fans to adapt pop songs to praise their heroes. A friend who is an MCC member described the Friday of the match as one of the most joyously thrilling days of cricket he has seen at Lord’s.

Australia were the holders of the golden lollipop, having beaten India in the previous iteration of the World Test Championship. They were also the overwhelming favourites to win this match within three days, being possessed of a team of superstar winners who have won every ICC tournament on offer.

But there was a belief in this SA team that the sum of its parts could overcome the odds. Cunning plans were hatched by a crafty coach. Former Aussie slayers were consulted for advice on Austro-Lordian idiosyncrasies.

The details of the match are covered far better elsewhere, but watching the game play out over four days held all the tension, narrative arc and thrilling denouement of the best theatre in any entertainment format.

It seems logical to favour Temba Bavuma and his diverse charges over the uniformly middle-class and unchallenged Australian cricketers in any pressure situation away from cricket. As CLR James said: “What do they know of cricket, who only cricket know?”

My daughter asked me why my eyes glistened when Kyle Verreynne finally hit the winning runs after an excruciating morning of tension in which the Proteas struggled to get over the line. Various cricket disappointments — 1992, 1999, 2015 and others — kept presenting themselves as examples of how these players might contrive to surrender this seemingly unassailable position. Aussies on the field chanted, “one brings two” into the stump mic to increase the tension. My chest tightened and pulse quickened. It was tempting to give up and do something else.

The moment of victory was more a relief than an explosion of joy.

Why did a cricket match matter so much in this rapidly changing world that is veering towards widespread war?  Because by its nature, test cricket takes five days, so watching (or following) your team play for five days at a time over almost 30 years is a significant investment of time and emotion. 

Also, being a fan provides a community and a common identity for those supporting a club team. But supporting the national team in SA is so much more than being a fan. Our team’s success is an existential necessity to bind our fragile society together. It is a reminder that working together in diverse groups provides a world-beating example that there are potential solutions to our troubled society. It also provides so many of us with hope and heroes to emulate.

Though, like any enduring tragedy, this one has a horrible ending. Because, despite all the celebration and fanfare, and the mace, these players are playing only six tests in the next two years. Between our cricket board, the ICC and the Big Three, despite significant demand from their fan base for more content, this team have been unfairly denied their right to surf the wave of success in front of adoring fans because SA can’t afford to stage test cricket against anyone but India, England and Australia. And they don’t want to play with us because they can’t make as much money when they play against us.

Spectators are likely to tire of the teams playing against the same people. After all, national diversity is at the heart of test cricket’s appeal.

The SA water polo fraternity has proved in the high court that communities have a right to govern themselves. So, if Cricket SA can’t deliver, why not ask the SA20 guys to provide us with what we want?