AS the dawn breaks over the year 2002, what does the future hold for cricket? The news is not good, especially for the traditionalists, the conservatives and the purists.
I'm afraid we are coming to the end of the era in which Test matches dominated the international scene. Instead one-day internationals, and particularly the three-nation tournaments, will hold sway.
Tours have already lost their up-country matches, most of their provincial games and 90 per cent of those off-beat affairs against old-timers and newcomers that used to be such a major part of the development of young cricketers. In future, tours will be severely curtailed and, with the possible exception of Ashes tours, restricted to no more than two months.
MCC v The Australians at Lord's is no longer with us and apart from the opening games of Australian and English tours - at Arundel and Lilac Hill - cricket is going to bid a fond farewell to those games that set the scene for five months leading to a crescendo by the final Test.
The Australians protest against too many county games and England's players try to restrict all their trips; besides, the accepted wisdom says, spectators prefer one-day matches which are easier to prepare, sure to make a profit and very attractive to television and, therefore, to sponsors. Stand aside you Test lovers; the quick buck has won the day again.
The rest of the game will go on much as it has before.
There are one or two certainties. About once every six months a dark, cloaked figure will be seen wandering hotel corridors, slipping long white envelopes under the doors of journalists and running away giggling loudly.
The cricket writers will know what to expect when they hear that familiar rustling sound. "All right, Mr. Buchanan, just leave it right there. I'll deal with it when I've got a spare moment."
When the reporter opens the envelope he will find an unsigned memo which begins "G'day mate," and goes on to dissect Australia's opponents who, it will say, have no chance of winning, are composed of wretched batsmen, brainless bowlers and incompetent fielders. It will suggest Australia will be much better equipped if they follow the laws for life as laid down by some Roman Emperor, some Chinese general or some left-leaning philosopher.
When the reporter asks how this document - headed Top Secret and Not To Be Shown To Anyone Who Cannot Identify A Kangaroo At A Thousand Paces - has been so carelessly handled there will be a lot of head shaking and vague references to the skulduggery that is modern sport.
John Buchanan, the Australian coach, is the author of the tactlessly dropped memos meant to prey on the minds of innocent young cricketers. Don't mock his cloak nor his dagger. Buchanan's charges are on top of the world.
Australia will continue to win Tests, will be World Cup holders and World Champions and every time another country's hero steps out of line they will be the first to damn the skulduggery that is modern cricket.
At least we don't have to worry about the Bangladeshi babes winning either the World Cup or the Little Fosdyke Sunday League. In the 22nd century maybe. But please don't write off a Test return by Alec Stewart, whose ill-timed offer to make the trip to the one-day series in India has fallen on cynical ears.
The moment there is an injury crisis the good old boys of the selection panel will call him back. "Well, Mr. Chairman, he may be 57, but it worked with Cyril Washbrook in 1956 and Wilfred Rhodes in 1926."
I suppose we should be pleased tradition - as well as the idiot ideas of selectors - still exists.
Which brings us to a very serious problem indeed, but one that affects golf, football, basketball, baseball and, for anything I know, underwater darts, too.
It is the earaching sound of sports commentators, pundits, experts, radio reporters, in-house studio interviewers and all the rest with only three words in their vocabulary: "Fantastic." "Positive." And "Hopefully."
Gus Fraser, a lovely medium pace bowler and all-round nice guy, leads the race after scoring 1,000 "positives" as he summed up the three Tests for BBC radio in December. "Fantastic" is so widely used that no-one dare claim sole rights and as for "hopefully" there is no sentence spoken by a sportsman in the last 20 years that does not contain this apologetic word.
As you see, and particularly for those of us who are old and crotchety, it is going to be a difficult 2002.
You will not be outrageously surprised if one Jagmohan Dalmiya kicks up a further fuss about (a) the venue for the 2003 World Cup (b) the regulations for the one-day knock-out trophy in Fiji (c) the rain rules for the Priestly Cup final in Bradford and (d) people who keep interfering in stuff that is none of their business.
(Nasser Hussain will, by the way, continue to punctuate each sentence with "n'stuff" but he is such an English hero that if he spoke only in Latin he would be applauded in this country. Just let me make sure. England did lose that series in India 1-0, didn't they? Reports since they returned could easily have been written if they had won 3-0).
It is also alleged that the agenda for the next meeting of ICC will have just two items: 1. Complaints by Mr. Dalmiya. 2. Any other business.
There are bigger problems for ICC to solve. Bad-tempered displays in the dressing room, on the field, between erstwhile friends, between umpires perhaps, must be brought under control; and players must understand that it is their responsibility to keep cricket alive. Nine men defending the leg side, the bouncer as a defensive weapon, over the wicket and into the dust do not increase crowds, please sponsors or make for attractive television. Cut it out, lads. Finally, there is a problem that seems to affect all sports. It is whether their players should continue with their present lifestyle or whether they should be sent to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, Hollywood or Bollywood.
Watch the average Test and see the reaction of a batsman who gets a thin edge as he tries to run the ball to third man. Two or three years ago his head would have snapped round as he sought evidence that the wicket-keeper or first slip had snaffled the catch. Now he hardly looks back until the appeal has died down.
Watch the wicket-keeper grabbing the ball on the half volley or the short leg who has caught a rebound from a pad. Their appeals are just as passionate as if the ball had been cleanly hit and clearly caught.
It is now such a consummate performance that when Mark Ramprakash walked off after being given out caught in Bangalore I was convinced he could not have touched the ball. Yet afterwards he admitted openly that he had rightly been given out. The modern player deserves more Oscars than Meryl Streep; and Ramps should have a medal for honesty.
However, let our New Year's resolution be that we won't worry about such minor matters.
We should be thankful instead that in the last days of 2001 two men who have left indelible marks on the game have had operations that will allow them to watch in comfort for the rest of their days.
Dickie Bird, the eccentric but lovable former Test umpire, was told that nothing could save his sight but he sought out the one surgeon who gave him a chance and today proclaims that his eyesight is "as good as ever." His skill depended on his eyesight and in the pre-camera days, as 1,000 of his victims will testify, he had no equal.
Fred Trueman, who snared 307 Test wickets long before anyone else passed 300, has had a cataract removed from one eye and woke recently willing to go down on his knees in thanks for clear sight. Nowadays he reserves his keenest glare for the wildlife at the bottom of his hillside garden but none the less it is good to know that, as 2002 dawns, these two wonderful old-timers have regained the perfect picture.
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