SPECTATOR SPORT
A handful of dust
Frank Keating
MIGHT Michael Atherton already have decently done the obvious thing and stepped down to spend more time with his batting? Earlier in the week, for sure, it looked his only option. More often than not with a dotty presumption, English cricket has always assumed the high moral ground (especially when the natives are restless) and the captaincy of the England cricket team down the century has been invested with a folkloric mystique demand- ing shining whiter than whiteness.
Few blokes had seemed to fit Central Casting's concept of the job better than young Mike, when he smoothly pulled out the willow Excalibur last summer, choirs of Disney angels fawningly serenading him. And in no time, whatever the results of his teams, the nation continued to be warmed not only by his staunch batting and leader- ship but by his bonny, all-round good- eggery. When (or, still, if) he leads out Eng- land on Thursday in the second Test of the three-match rubber against South Africa, the halo above the hitherto fresh-faced, sweetly-freckled altar-server's face will be as wonky as a Geoffrey Boycott grin.
For those blithely unaware of the story so far, Atherton admitted (crucially, forgetful- ly, or stupidly, at the second time of asking) that he had dirt in his pocket, not to rough- en up the ball on one side to assist its propensity to swing in the air — a dastard- ly, unethical ploy indulged in by foreigners, especially those from Pakistan — but to better keep dry his sweaty heands on a sweltering day (quite sweet, really). The authorities at Lord's accepted this latter explanation, but then fined him heavily for doing this quite legal thing. In every matter like this, you can always rely on Lord's illogically to cock it up completely — 'Ga- ting, you were outrageously rude to a Pak- istani umpire: here's a £1,000 bonus for you and your team'; or 'Gaffing, we totally believe there was no nooky between you and that Nottingham barmaid on the night of a Test match: you're fired.'
Atherton's credibility — and, by golly, one is desperately keen to believe he was simply no more than a silly clot for not telling the simple story of his sweaty hand in the first place — has now been dented forever, even if he remains at the helm and at the crease, Goochlike, into his forties. Certainly as long as that will last the vindi- cated joy in Pakistan. What a pity they do not drink over there; more than a few large and mirth-making swifties would have been sunk this week. As Asif Iqbal, one of Pak- istan's most resplendent all-rounders, said on Monday, 'The whole thing is an insult to the common man. If Lord's fine him, he's guilty of something; but if he's not guilty, why fine him?' Quite.
To be sure, had the captain of Pakistan, say Imran Khan, been seen on television doing the same as Atherton (however inno- cently), then he might have been arrested, tried, convicted and marched in chains to the Tower well before teatime last Satur- day.
At the height of the establishment's gor- geous discomfiture, I heard someone mut- ter about 'trial by television' being an utter scandal. 'Well, you sanctioned the "third umpire" and the TV recording,' I danced in front of him, gaily. Dear old Trevor Bailey growled on BBC radio on Sunday after- noon — yep, the same TEB who once appealed against the light on a sweltering blue-bright midsummer's day when Eng- land were up against it, knowing the umps would be obliged to consult and so waste more precious time — 'This all-intrusive television is the absolute end, you can't even safely pick your nose on the field now.' Sure, Trey, but there's nothing in Law 42 about nose-picking. 'But picking your nose in public is far more revolting than picking the seam,' said the old medium- paced seamer and swinger. And he sighed.
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