The damage done by removing cricket from free-to-air television can be seen in the viewing figures: more than 8 million people tuned in to Channel 4 to watch England beat Australia in the 2005 Ashes series. By contrast, the final day of England’s 169-run victory in the first Ashes test match of 2015 – broadcast exclusively to subscribers on Sky Sports – saw just 467,000 tune in.
“[In the nineties] people always seemed to know when England had just lost a Test match,” John says. “It’s what made the 2005 Ashes win so special – plenty of folk who’d never particularly engaged with the game got swept up in the narrative… Of course that changed when the game was no longer readily available on free-to-air TV.”
As cricket has slipped below the radar so the sport’s pull has diminished. Indeed, it is at grassroots level that the rot in cricket is most clearly discernible. The number of adults in England who play cricket on a monthly basis declined by around 35% between 2007 and 2016.
In 2013, 29% of players on the county circuit were privately educated, compared to 7% of the wider population
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The growth of the women’s game does provide a hint of optimism. The former England men’s captain Len Hutton may once have labelled the idea of women playing cricket “absurd, just like a man trying to knit”, 1 but in 2017, over 100 million tuned in to watch the final of the women’s cricket world cup.
Elsewhere, however, it is a story of increasing exclusivity. Few state schools play any cricket at all nowadays, resulting in the professional base of cricket in English county cricket becoming narrower. In 2013, 29% of players on the county circuit were privately educated, compared to 7% of the wider population. Moreover, England had five Afro-Caribbean players in the squad for the 1989-90 tour of the West Indies, whereas the crop of England players picked to face Pakistan at Lords in the first test this summer contained not a single non-white player.
At one time cricket offered what the Guyanese author Mike Phillips has likened to a “bridge” into English culture for migrants from the Caribbean:
“There was only one way of expressing West Indian character and a Caribbean presence, and that was cricket. Because it came out of Britain in the first place it offered a sort of bridge into the English culture. We understood what it meant to be part of this society partly because we understood cricket.”2
Such a need for a passport into English culture – epitomised by Norman Tebbit’s much-mocked ‘cricket loyalty test’ – has diminished, and the declining visibility of cricket has invariably had an impact on the rate at which youngsters are taking up the sport. So too has the drop in comprehensive funding and the difficulty experienced by working class parents trying to navigate the prestigious county cricket academy system.
The fate of English cricket in the digital age may thus be likened to that of the free market more generally
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Cricket’s declining popularity contrasts paradoxically with the relative success of the English national side. Back when Emma John grew up, the England cricket team were languishing near the bottom of the international pecking order. England contested 78 games of test cricket between 1993 and 2000 and won only 17 of them. By 1999 England were ranked as the worst test match side in the world.
But while today the England side continues to struggle overseas – a product in part of a hectic schedule which gives players little time to prepare properly for tours – on home turf they are able to compete with the very best. Unlike in the Nineties, however, few appear to be taking much notice.
Contemporary cricket is reliant, like Premier League football, on the money it receives from the television deals with satellite broadcasters (£1.1 billion in the latest ECB deal with Sky). So there is little prospect of winding the clock back to the days of terrestrial TV Test cricket (though the ECB appears to be trying to return some cricket to free-to-air television, something the Observer cricket writer Vic Marks likened to squeezing toothpaste back into the tube).
The fate of English cricket in the digital age may thus be likened to that of the free market more generally. Cricket is awash with cash compared to several decades ago. The game is at once richer, faster and slicker than it was in the past. Yet as with capitalism more broadly, people appear to be turning away from the hollowed-out end product in droves.
A permanent fixture of an Eighties and Nineties childhood was a forlorn looking English batsman trudging back to the pavilion under the ominous cloud of a single-figure score. Nowadays, England are able to field a far superior cricket team – a team which the country can justifiably be proud of, especially in the limited overs format. But while ‘England loses again’ headlines were a frequent feature of tabloid front pages during my childhood, ‘England wins again’ rarely makes it on to the back page, let alone the front.
The quaint and homespun imagery summoned by a Conservative Prime Minister in a speech 25 years ago was of an England that has gradually faded away. Few would bet on the “long shadows on the county ground” still being a feature of the English summertime of 2043. I can’t help feeling we’ve lost something more than long-form cricket in the process.
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