When numbers don’t add up

Perfect 10 Peter Siddle’s number is up after a top knock with No 49 Steve Smith

What an eyesore. The ICC’s move to whack names and numbers on the back of Test players’ shirts, as ridiculous and unnecessary as a decision can get, has at least given Joe Root the chance to parade his oft-disguised sense of humour. Root 66. Very good. But the demise of a pure, beloved, century-old tradition has nothing else going for it at Edgbaston.

It’s complete administrative lunacy. The great shame is that Betty Oldham hasn’t graduated from episodes of Yes Minister to the ICC. She may not have considered them chalk and cheese. And she may have felt moved to hold aloft a SMITH 49 shirt and repeat one of her better lines to Sir Humphrey: “Well, that’s a load of meaningless drivel, isn’t it!” Because that’s what all this is. Concocted rubbish.

The ICC reckons it helps with fan connection and player identification. Yes, just as well Smith’s name has been on his shirt in the first Test. We may never have solved the mystery of who’s made 144. After 132 years of complete guesswork by Test spectators, we know who’s bowling. Who’s facing. Who’s at first slip. It’s been a lottery until now. Cricket outfields being such dense jungles, we’ve been fortunate to spot the players at all. Well may you think Test cricketers are vaguely familiar in appearance and technique and mannerisms and just about every human trait imaginable. But no, not enough! We need their names and numbers in a font fit for a large-print novel. Well may you think their identities have been miraculously revealed on scoreboards and television screens before now. But no, not enough! Here’s the funny thing, though. Never at a Test has someone scratched his head and shouted the great social player’s refrain, “Bowler’s name?!”

It’s a merchandising ploy. Test shirts are now NBA singlets by another name. AFL jerseys. Put a couple of stripes across Smith’s kit and he could have been be running around for Geelong. What next? FEDERER 20 on the back of his shirt at Wimbledon? The All England Club has too much class for that.

Two social media posts have stood out on day one of the Test. The great Adam Gilchrist has written after eight minutes of play: “Sorry to sound old fashioned but not liking the names and numbers.” After three more minutes of what the young folk call “triggered”, perhaps staring at his screen wide-eyed like Alex in A Clockwork Orange, he’s added: “In fact, I’ll take my apology back. The names and numbers are rubbish. Enjoy the series everyone.” Good old @spartytalkback has said it more directly: “These numbers on the players can piss right off — is nothing sacred.”

Apparently not, @sparty. It’s about getting people to buy SMITH 49 shirts in Australia like people buy JAMES 23 singlets in American basketball. The real shame is that Test cricket is meant to be different to the shorter formats. Now a Test shirt looks like a white T20 shirt. When players in England put on a jumper or vest, the names and numbers cannot be seen. That’s hilarious. No-one at ICC headquarters, located in the cricketing stronghold of Dubai, has thought of that.

News Corp has revealed why Australia’s players have their numbers. Among the heartwarming tales is Michael Neser. “I was just given it,” he says. He wishes it was 20. Usman Khawaja has wanted 18, but that’s been taken — by Neser. Cam Bancroft has gone for 43 — because four is taken. Dave Warner has gone for 31 — because he seven and 21 are taken. Josh Hazlewood’s 38? Because anything with an eight in it will do. Oh, the goosebumps. The meaningless drivel.

The advertising at the Test is through (and probably on) the roof. Reading the play used to involve understanding the nuances of a five-day match. Now there’s such a bombardment of advertising that you’re accosted by logos on the grandstands, around the fences, around the boundary, on the gates, on the outfield, on the umpires clothing and on the stumps — is nothing sacred? When Moeen Ali has shone the ball on his forehead, it’s been one of the few places at Edgbaston without signage. For now.

Wimbledon has Test cricket-scale history. But it hasn’t caved to the corporate dollar like this. Look at the back fences on Centre Court when Novak Djokovic and Simona Halep have won their finals. They’re blank. Pristine. Traditional. It helps keep Wimbledon timeless. There’s nothing wrong with background ads at the cricket, but it’s become too much. When Dave Warner and Cam Bancroft have walked out to bat, there’s been signs in the television shot for Specsavers, Toshiba TV, Selco, Elonex, Birmingham City University, Hardy’s, Men’s Tweed suits and Pedigree. The Qantas emblem is on their chest and sleeve, more prominent than the coat of arms. The umpire’s promote an airline with Emirates Fly Better on their chests and backs. The sightscreen at the non-bowlers end plugs Vitality Health Insurance. A Specsavers sign has been painted onto the field, behind the wicketkeeper. Specsavers is written on all three stumps. Only a lesser newspaper than this would attempt a joke about those ads and the standard of umpires. But they’ve had a shocker. Perhaps there’s been too much to look at. SMITH 49’s ton has been a sight for the sorest of eyes.