I’m trying to get angry about Angelo Mathews being sent on his way in Delhi, timed out, open mouthed, outraged, tearing up in the dugout. How cross he must have felt when he discovered that broken chinstrap in the middle, how temporarily betrayed by his Bangladesh counterpart, Shakib Al Hasan.
How infuriating to walk back scoreless, without having even put bat to crease, the popped balloon of an end to a barren run of games that have rung up only 161 runs at the miserly average of 17. How irritating, the impish face of Shakib, cheerfully twice insisting to the umpire that, yes, he was quite sure, he really did want to appeal. That Mathews flung only his helmet to the ground when he stepped over the boundary, rather than the full BLT that Ben Stokes deposited after sweeping straight to the short fine leg fielder against Australia, is a testament to his powers of restraint.
I hear the howls of the Sri Lankan fans, but also the frisson of excitement writhing through the stadium: they were there to witness a first in international cricket – like seeing a spark of a fight, from a safe distance. Though, as Wisden’s Harriet Monkhouse soon pointed out, there have been six previous instances of a player being timed out in first-class cricket, ranging from Hemulal Yadav – sent on his way after ignoring the call of the wicket and chatting to his coach on the boundary – to AJ Harris, whose groin strain slowed him down so much he was given out by the time he reached the middle.
There must have also been countless times when a player could have been timed out, but neither the captain nor the fielding side thought of appealing. Take the Championship match between Kent and Lancashire at Aigburth in 2002. The late and lamented Andrew Symonds took his time to get from the balcony, down the stairs, and out through the old pavilion – “I was just having a piss when Ed Smith was out,” his explanation – but Lancashire didn’t appeal, and he made a match-winning century. Shakib wasn’t going to make that mistake.
At the end of Monday’s game the players didn’t shake hands. Mathews nearly exploded in a cloud of righteous fury at the press conference, “It was disgraceful from Shakib and Bangladesh,” he spat. “If you want to play cricket like that and stoop down to that level, then there is something wrong, drastically.”
It all sounds very much like a job for the Spirit of Cricket, who has been invoked fairly regularly of late. There was the mankading of Charlie Dean by Deepti Sharma at Lord’s in September 2022, and then that other incident at Lord’s this year, the one that culminated in a mob of MCC blazers forming a plummy-vowelled-mob against the Australians in the Long Room.
The fallout from Jonny Bairstow’s ditsy spot of gardening, and Alex Carey’s quick hands behind the stumps, eventually resulted in one member being expelled, and two suspended, as well as Rishi Sunak, your next door neighbour, and the police force of the state of Victoria having their say.
The question is really what you want the Spirit of Cricket to do. At the moment, the Spirit of Cricket is the sort of person you want to sit next to on a bus. He is polite and decent and ignores the man watching his phone loudly without his headphones on. The Spirit of Cricket lets people copy his homework, but is also a stickler for the rules, insisting that you please don’t step on the grass. People are friends with the Spirit of Cricket when they want something, but the Spirit of cricket doesn’t always get invited to parties.
Maybe we want a Spirit of Cricket with a bit more teeth. A sergeant-major Spirit of Cricket? When you read the MCC’s explanation of what the Spirit of Cricket actually is in the preamble to the laws, it is vague. Shakib certainly falls foul of some of the guidance – “create a positive atmosphere with your own conduct and encourage others to do likewise”. Fail. “Respect your opponents,” Hmmm.
But he could just about defend his actions under “Play hard, and play fair” – the Laws do after all stipulate that being timed out is a way of losing your wicket. If we decide we actually aren’t very keen on it, perhaps the easiest thing is just do away with Law 40.1 – and consider binning some of the other more obscure ones at the same time.
Was all the bad feeling worth it for Shakib, who made the initial appeal after being tipped off by one of his players? Yes, it seems so – Bangladesh went on to win and still have a shot of qualifying for the Champions Trophy. He even won the player of the match award for his 82, after looking out of touch in most of the previous tournament.
“I thought it [the dismissal] helped in a way. It gave me more fight. I won’t deny that,” he said defiantly. “He [Mathews] came and asked me if I would withdraw the appeal. I said I understand your situation, it was unfortunate but I don’t want to.” That being said, it was later revealed that Shakib had fractured his left index finger during the match, and has flown home before Bangladesh’s final game, against Australia on Saturday.
Ultimately, in a world that feels more chaotic and catastrophic on an hourly basis, Mathews’s dismissal is a moment of levity. It lights the touchpaper to furious yet safe debate over rights and wrongs, morality and shame, while through the saloon door of the pub, the friendly ICC World Cup partner Aramco continues its voracious thirst for oil, and humans keep endlessly killing each other.
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