‘Clicky Ponting’ suspended over finger-clicking cricket scandal but the sport, in England, Australia and around the world, is full of these tales
Opinion
For a game that treats sportsmanship so seriously that it has the “Spirit of Cricket” enshrined in its lawbook, cricket has an absurd relationship with fair play.
Nicked the ball? Nah, I’m not walking.
Beat the bat? Close enough. Howzat?!
The gentleman’s game, as cricket is traditionally known, is awash with stories of skulduggery.
In the few days since the chicanery of “Clicky Ponting” – the club cricketer formerly known as Brian Devine who allegedly deceived umpires by clicking his fingers to mimic the sound of an edge – came to light, this masthead has been alerted to a myriad of sharp practices by former players at local level through to the professional ranks.
Some are familiar – the Test batter who calls for a change of gloves a minute before stumps to prevent an extra over being bowled; the wicketkeeper who has signalled to fine-leg as if the ball has beaten them to lure the batter out of their crease and whip the bails off, or appealed for a leg-side catch to avoid a wide being called; the fielder who has “carelessly” scraped the ball on concrete while fetching it from over the fence.
Others are less well-known but also make a mockery of cricket’s reputation for fair play. A former first-grader in Melbourne’s old district competition told this column of a wicketkeeper he knew who had the skill to surreptitiously flick a bail to fall backwards, creating the illusion a batter had trodden on his stumps.
One veteran of local cricket knew of a second XI captain who, on the night before the game, would apply a thin layer of Araldite clear glue along the middle part of the seam of the ball. Once dried, the glue would harden and keep the seam proud, increasing the lateral movement off the pitch.
A former state player, who shall remain unnamed, has seen in-close fielders rubbing their hands on the ground on the bowler’s approach to distract the batter.
Cricket satirists Sam Perry and Ian Higgins of The Grade Cricketer, who have written to Clicky’s club Saltburn in a show of support, sent out a call to arms to their listeners this week, asking for their stories of the dark arts. They were inundated.
This column’s favourite anecdote was that of the veteran batter who had cultivated such a reputation for being a walker that opponents no longer appealed for edges. After his final game, he regaled to his teammates at the bar he had not walked in four years, despite nicking off dozens of times.
Less PC was the yarn about the lower-grade captain who refused his opposing number a runner despite his opponent clearly suffering the effects of polio as a child. His reason? The player had clearly come into the game with a pre-existing injury. He was run out.
Why, then, does a sport which has a nudge, nudge, wink, wink approach to sportsmanship reacted so savagely to “Clicky”, who is at the bottom of a global pile-on, been condemned by British broadcaster Piers Morgan, suspended by his club, and is under investigation by his league.
That’s not even mentioning the loss of a $1905 sponsorship by a local Indian restaurant, which includes discount privileges. As several X accounts have pointed out, there is now an opening for a fried chicken multinational to sign him up for a Finger Clicking Good campaign.
Australia rightfully defended the stumping of Jonny Bairstow in 2023 against claims of a spirit of cricket breach by saying they had abided by the laws of the game.
The clauses under unfair play in the laws of the game refer to the “deliberate distraction, deception or obstruction of [a] batter”, which does not apply to “Clicky” as his actions take place after the batter has committed to his stroke.
But you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who believes Clicky’s alleged actions uphold the spirit of cricket.
A former international umpire explains it this way. At umpiring seminars, umpires are advised to ask themselves, “What does the game expect?”
As questionable as it may be for a fielder at square leg or cover to appeal for an lbw, or a fielding team to appeal for a caught behind that has not hit the bat, there is a “conventional acceptability” of such an action.
“Clicky”, however, is blatantly cheating, the former umpire said. Just as there is no place for sandpaper on the cricket field, there is no need to be clicking fingers from first slip.
Judging by the growing dossier of video footage, “Clicky” has been at it in many more matches than last weekend, which is the subject of a North Yorkshire and South Durham Cricket League inquiry.
Perhaps there would be more sympathy for “Clicky” if his team was not on top of the ladder and there was no spike in the number of wicketkeeper catches in the games he plays.
But lost amid all the hand-wringing and moralising, largely from England, is the disproportionate reaction to Clicky’s deception. Does alleged cheating in a game watched by a few handfuls of people really warrant global condemnation?
A year of umpiring would be a reminder of the difficulties officials face, and the notoriety that will follow when he dons the creams next will be difficult to shake.
If cricket’s tradition of trickery is any guide, as much as “Clicky” may rue his actions – or getting caught – there will be more than a pang of regret among those who did not think of doing it first.
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