Ball tampering: Australians have heaped ridicule on themselves

Cameron Bancroft and Steve Smith reacting as they answer questions from the media about England wicketkeeper Jonny Bairstow last November.

“The line” has been a faithful servant of Australian cricket, endlessly supple, always favourable. But its day is done. Finally, belatedly, somewhat unwillingly but at last decisively, Cricket Australia has pulled it tight.

The last time that Steve Smith and Cameron Bancroft faced the media together, in Brisbane at the end of November, it was in an atmosphere of barely-suppressed hilarity. Jonny Bairstow. The headbutt. How we laughed.

To this press conference, in Cape Town, it was actually quite difficult to listen. Bancroft was dropped in the deep end, and quickly sank. Smith deployed the standard cliches in the event of indiscretion: it was a “poor choice”; people will “learn something”; people will “move on”; he will “come back strong”. All done? Not so fast, skipper. We’re not finished with you yet.

The offence is grave. If the dark arts of “preparing” the ball for reverse swing are widely practised and any abrasive surface will do, they remain well beyond the official pale.

But what’s worse — more serious, more dismaying — is the combination of recklessness, sneakiness and eventual blitheness involved.

The Australians knew it was wrong. They knew it was risky. They did it anyway. They seemingly kept it from their elders. They squirmed when they were caught. They fessed up when there was no alternative. They probably believe they deserve credit for that. They don’t.

The footage is desperate. Slowed down, and repeated, as it will be endlessly, probably for the next generation as representative of Australian cynicism and duplicity, it savours of vulgar calculation. I suspect there was less premeditation involved: it looks improvised, furtive and inept rather than cunning.

But in the wider public, such distinctions are irrelevant. We cheated. We got caught. Dirt-handed.

The questions didn’t end with the press conference; they’ve barely begun.

Steve Smith is this newspaper’s Australian of the Year. Did he mistake all the accolades for impunity?

He has been altogether too sanguine about Australia’s on-field reputation with his tiresome prattle about “the line” and “good, tough Test cricket”.

He was evasive here in positioning himself as consulting with a “team leadership group”, whom he then all-too-cutely declined to name, that resolved the strategy. It has not saved David Warner; it may not save others.

Above all, though, “not proud” is not the same as ashamed, which he should be. It has been a tough tour for Smith, not making runs, not winning tricks. But character emerges in adversity, and what we have learned does not flatter him.

Nor does the involvement of Cameron Bancroft seem a fluke. He is an earnest and likeable young man desperate to play for Australia, and correspondingly desperate to endear himself to those in charge.

Those in-the-know speak glowingly of his unswerving commitment to the team. His is a selection based on “character”, quietly contrasted to Matt Renshaw, who is regarded, apparently, as a little callow and self-involved.

During summer, Bancroft was observed reading a book called The Courage to be Disliked. From the title at least, he does not seem to have picked much up. He volunteered to cheat. His offer was accepted, with alacrity.

This speaks to team culture, and whether all the expectations of unshakeable unity and the insistence on playing to the edge of legality have not led to a dressing-room environment of corrosive conformity.

Smith’s “team leadership group” — it was then Warner, Mitchell Starc and Josh Hazelwood — were last heard of in December 2016 when they fined Glenn Maxwell for the heinous offence of nourishing ambitions to play for Australia, and admitting he was irked to be batting behind Matthew Wade for Victoria.

Maxwell, it was said, had breached the omerta. Wade, a recent Smith pick in the Australian team, had to be defended.

It was all histrionic, self-dramatising nonsense. But it also exposed a cliqueiness that this Australian team is inclined to mistake for comradeship.

We all know they live in a bubble — that’s modern sport. But Smith’s team seem just a bit too content with this state of affairs.

Darren Lehmann has held the job of national coach nearly five years. He ushered the “team leadership group” into being. He gained deserved kudos in early days for changing the culture of the Australian dressing room; but what has it changed into?

While on the subject of culture, what about corporate culture? James Sutherland’s failure to read the room yesterday was almost as culpable. It was a “very sad day”. He had “strong and clear views” about proper behaviour. Everyone knew that. He had issued a press release about it.

Integrity? Of course CA took it seriously. They had an Integrity Unit. It would gather facts. There would be a “process”. Had Sutherland made an attempt to ascertain the facts himself?

Apparently not.

Fans are at the point where they might wonder what it is Sutherland does all day. It’s like he could not make a finding on the sinking of the Titanic without a report from the Iceberg Unit.

Whomever decided to speed the process at least had a feeling for public mood, which I have never known to run as strongly against an Australian cricket team as in the last 24 hours. But their job is far from done.

The line has outworn its usefulness, and we are in no position to be lecturing anyone any more — not, frankly, that we ever were.

Time to get reacquainted with cricket’s spirit.