I say chaps, it's just not cricket

You step out of the country for 3 short years & people think that they can just go ahead & mess with your favourite game. Not happy Jan. How are you meant to work on your tan (I speak theoretically here - her royal pastiness has never been what you'd call a 'bronzed Aussie'), strike up a meaningful philosophical debate with the 150kg Maori men next to you (Is Vittori destined to be New Zealand's answer to Mark Waugh?), critique the streakers tackle, get through your pre-packed sangers & the obligatory meat pie, brave the beer lines to purchase your overpriced schooner of XXXX - all whilst surreptitiously consuming the 18 large popper packs of frozen juice you & your mates were up until 2am the night before injecting with vodka - in 3 measly hours?! 'Tis just not possible! Must we sacrifice our national identity, nay, our very souls to the corrupt corporate machine, in return for a few mindless, flashy baubles & cheap thrills? Is nothing sacred?

It is cricket, but not as we know it
Andrew Ramsey
The Australian January 10, 2006

I have seen the future of international cricket, & its name is ... umm, Catfish. Or was it Pup?Apologies to Rolling Stone magazine's Jon Landau but, as countless reams of newsprint & precious minutes of television and radio airtime have proclaimed, last night's Twenty20 international in Brisbane represented a landmark in our sporting development.

Rather like the crowd who joined Landau at that famous 1974 Bruce Springsteen concert, the good folk of Australia will be able to readily recount where they were on the night Australia & South Africa slogged it out at the Gabba in January, 2006. Certainly, the staid old game of cricket has never known such a dramatic innovation. Except, perhaps, for the introduction of the one-day game 35 years ago. And day-night matches in 1977. Not forgetting coloured clothing that same year. Plus the white ball. But as far as recent revolutions go, this is the big one.

Twenty20 is the limited-overs game without the tedious patch between the 16th and 45th over. It's cricket in the fast lane, which blends rhythmically with the non-stop rock'n'roll accompaniment and sideshow alley atmosphere.

A sell-out crowd of about 37,000 last night suggested three-hour cricket has already found a niche, though time will tell how many of those were lured by the novelty element. And perhaps for once, avaricious administrators might accept that the game's appeal among families and females provides an ideal marketing opportunity for the sadly neglected interstate and grade levels of the game in Australia. The one thing international cricket does not need is further programming pressures, so leaving Twenty20 fixtures as a cash cow for the tiers below would ensure the golden goose ain't headed for the Colonel's deep-fryer.

Like all culturally pivotal moments, scholars and social anthropologists of generations to come will doubtless dissect the Twenty20 phenomenon in a bid to explain precisely why a further shortened version of an already abbreviated game carried such mystique. After all, the science of 20-over cricket is far from baffling - bowlers bowl, batsmen slog, fielders retrieve, Mexican wave begins (reprise). What will require some explanation for posterity is the etymology of the nicknames used to identify each member of the ground-breaking Australian team.

So, courtesy of the sort of cursory research 20-over cricket demands and to provide a suitably authoritative historical account of last night's events, player nicknames will hereafter be accompanied by a brief explanation of their origins.

Last night's toss was won by Punter (refers to obscure forebears believed to be either River Cam punt operators of specialist kickers in America's NFL) who opted to bat.

Clad in grey uniforms designed not to disenfranchise fans with black and white TV sets, the Australians opened with Marto (short for tomato - he loves the salad fruit) and Catfish (family name originally Hopez, freshwater anglers from the Peruvian Amazon).

Despite their lack of expertise at Twenty20 level, Australia boasted an imposing batting line-up including Pup (always seen out wearing suede Hush Puppies), Kat (quirky spin on his original nickname, Dog Scratch) and Mr Cricket (lampooning his middle name, Jiminy).

And on a bouncy pitch, their new-ball attack of Bracks (after his hero and inspiration, Victoria's Premier) and Sarfraz (acronym of his former employer, Sutherland Association to Raise Funds to Recompense Aspiring Zoologists) loomed as a handful.

As the relentless ground announcements pointed out, Twenty20 is indeed a game with everything, except the forward defensive shot. And it's noisier than a Springsteen concert.

Saw the most amazing formation of birds this morning - there were hundreds swarming, darting & breaking in waves of a rhythmic gymnast's black ribbon. It's exceptionally gusty (even for Denmark) so they appeared to be simply having fun letting the wind buffet them up as they pirouetted & pliéd down. One of those moments I wished I had a video camera on hand... although that perhaps smacks just a little too much of that American Beauty kid filming the Willy-Willy (ohh I love that word - makes me feel 10 again).