I Was Thinking, One Summer Afternoon

Cricket fans, especially those with Tragic intention, were born on long summer days when the play wandered towards stumps and the afternoon sun gave rise to discussions of greatness. As the bat kept ball at bay and occasionally gently stroked a wayward miscreant to the cover boundary, it seemed natural to make comparisons.

Then, in 1970, owing to a long rain delay which washed out a Test in Melbourne (rain in Melbourne, fancy that!), the game birthed a new 80% less version of itself to entertain fans in Bay 13 who had tired of naming their best team ever whilst sheltering under umbrellas. "It would never do," they said in long rooms with long faces. Test cricket must reign supreme and so it did for nearly 40 years, riding high on the financial success of those fifty over frolics.

Nearly 40 years later, another baby emerged kicking and screaming and 40% a lesser being. Here was cricket to feed the pulp fiction which is youth, with demands on its time which make them so demanding. Backyard cricket on acid. Baseball with leg pads. A bastard child with a fifty over mother and Amerian pop culture father and the people love it, complete as it is with all the elements to give it allure - colour, speed, young blonde men and the absolute lack of need for concentration, strategy or thoughtful understanding. Best of all, its over before the punters have time to think of what else they might be doing. Got your money, thank you very much.

Would Don Bradman be writhing in his grave? Are you kidding? The little stockbroker who followed a money trail to New South Wales to South Australia would be applauding every dollar spent by punters and just loving the way Cricket Australia now controls its puppets once more.

Unlike many of those sun loving Tragics, I've had more time to ponder the changes to cricket. Born in the mid fifties, by the time I could read I was filled with the wondrous tales of Australian crickets glory days. The Invincibles had been The Don's support act through an unbeaten tour of England less than ten years before and I grew with a father and uncle who loved the game and showed me how. I was also born in mid Spring, so apart from arriving on the planet the day St George won the first of eleven straight, I also took my first breaths as the grass was mown and my earliest formative sounds were willow on leather.

Like all good Tragics, I'm quick to reassure you good readers that comparison between eras is impossible and meaningless and odious ... and then I'll go ahead and do it anyway.

How do we compare Don Bradman and Ricky Ponting? How do we measure relative merits of Ray Lindwall and Glen McGrath? It can be done but on the understanding that certain elements of the puzzle have to be left unresolved.

Things like wickets and equipment are a no brainer. In the forties, pitches were largely uncovered and by the fifth day of Test they often extremely difficult to bat on. Bats were narrower, lighter and had only a narrow area of sweet spot about a third of the way above the bottom of the bat. Today, one day wickets are always flat and true and if the ball jags about the curator is attacked. Bats are heavier, wider and sixty to seventy percent of the surface area provides "sweetness".

Mind you, they had to stop timeless Tests because some pitches didn't deteriorate.

Players of the past played little cricket in comparison to the modern player and were no where near as fit. What they lacked in fitness, they made up for in social and personal development. They drank more, smoked more, had worse diets and were responsible for their own fitness and well being. This model is so far removed from the modern player who is pampered, managed and controlled down to the minutes of his day. Nothing is left to chance and in doing so, inspiration and natural flair are coached out.

Their games are different but that's not likely to have been a problem for the older player in terms of skill. Its hard not to think that Harvey or Benaud would have been highly successful in Twenty20 or Bradman himself with his amazing reflexes and ability to adapt and invent shots. Many mistake Bradman's batting deeds as meaning he was the grand stylist. Far from it. He was bloodthirsty, murderous compiler of scores - the most unconventional attacking batsman of all time. Where these and other might fall short is backing up three days later and three days later etc as their fitness regimes and nutrition and habits would have slowed them down.

In the end, it boils down to skills and the maintenance of them over a long career, so that whilst we can be certain Bradman would never have lasted the pace of modern cricket, he would easily have provided it with the skill levels. Bradman was in his 40's when he toured England in 1948. He had played a lot less cricket than Ponting but he was still scoring hundreds. Ponting is some way off life beginning again and he stuggled to average 20 this summer.

Of course, if you remove Ponting and substitute Tendulkar, then we have a whole other argument which I don't intend to pursue on this occasion. However, as the sun mellows you in this post tea comfort as you watch proceeding down there on the playing surface, consider this. When comparisons are made between the best - and Bradman and Tendulkar are the two poles of the extreme between past and present - one serious mistake is made. Consideration is only ever made of how well Bradman might handle a day in the life of modern Test cricketer. Instead, let them swap and ponder which would be the more successful in each other's era and then, after a year, tell me who you think is the greatest!

Even The Don thought Tendulkar as good as him.