Cricket 2.0

by Tim Wigmore

  There was a critical difference between T20 and longer forms of cricket and McCullum immediately grasped it. His recognition in his autobiography that his five scoreless balls at the start of his totemic IPL century were ‘almost as bad as getting out’ cut straight to the heart of batting in the 20-over format. Even ODI revolutionaries like Richards at least had some flexibility; the framework of the game encouraged them to attack, but the length of the contest allowed them time to pick their moment. It was a luxury not afforded to T20 batsmen.

  The length of T20 represented a tipping point in the precarious relationship between attack and defence. Now, defence virtually ceased to matter; the overwhelming focus was on attacking. T20 reduced batting to a simple credo, perfectly encapsulated in the immortal words of the Indian opener Sehwag: ‘See ball, hit ball.’ According to the data analytics company CricViz, between 2010 and 2018, batsmen in T20 attempted to score off 91% of deliveries compared to 79% in 50-over cricket and 52% in first-class cricket. Naturally, scoring rates in T20 were markedly higher than in other formats – on average teams scored at 7.84 runs per over compared to 5.28 in ODIs and 3.21 in Tests in this time.

  Scoring Attempts (2010–2018)

  First-Class Cricket

  List A Cricket

  T20 Cricket

  52%

  79%

  91%

  For McCullum, as for Sehwag, this aggressive approach came entirely naturally. In longer forms of cricket he had to hold himself back, but in T20, it was ideal: ‘I always wanted to play in a free-spirited manner and that aligned with T20.’ McCullum’s attitude towards attacking batting was shaped by his acceptance that it was an inconsistent, but essential, approach in the shortest form of the game. ‘T20 forced the issue a bit because you have to travel at such speeds that you’re going to come off the road occasionally.’

  At every turn T20’s new framework challenged cricket’s old understanding which was shackled by conservatism.

  Conventional wisdom prescribed that batsmen should take time to ‘play themselves in’ when they first arrived at the crease by getting used to the pace of the pitch and the nature of the bowlers. This method did have value, but in T20, with a premium on quick runs, batsmen had less time to do this. Batting in the Powerplay against the hard new ball and with just two fielders outside the circle certainly helped, but McCullum wasted very little time in getting going even by the standards of other openers. Between 2008 and 2018 he was one of only a dozen players who scored at more than a run a ball in the first over of the innings.

  Another conservative trope of cricket was that it was considered ‘smart cricket’ if a batsman followed hitting a boundary by taking a single off the next ball – the implication being the batsman should be commended for resisting the temptation to get greedy and hit another boundary. McCullum despised such an approach. ‘Nothing shits me more than boundary-one – and everyone claps and it’s the old-school thinking . . . But to me you’ve passed up your opportunity to be able to win the game in that moment.’

  Such was the scope of longer forms of cricket, changes in the direction of the match were obvious; major events were more spread out and therefore more discernible. But in T20 so much happened so fast it was hard to identify those that mattered and those that didn’t. McCullum saw inactivity as the biggest crime. ‘You have opportunities through a T20 game – and it might be in the fifth, sixth over – where your team is flying and you can put the opposition away. So you need to identify when that moment is and take the risk. If you get out doing it, then the other guys will then have another opportunity down the line, but you’ve got to try and take the opportunity when you can. If you can pick up a 20-run or 22-run over, not only have you potentially won the game, but you’ve got that guy under real pressure, maybe even taken him out of the attack. And then that forces the opposition to go a different way.’

  McCullum’s aggression belied the thought that went into his approach, which scotched the myth that T20 was a game of unrefined slogging, lacking any subtlety or strategy. ‘There’s a lot of preparation goes into how you play the game,’ he explained. ‘I’ll be thinking, right; we are playing at the SCG [Sydney Cricket Ground], the wicket is likely to be on this side of the block, the wind is up today so there’s going to be a short boundary on this side, here’s their bowling line-up, the wicket might have a little bit of tennis ball bounce, this bowler is going to bowl back of a length, then they’ve got this bowler who is going to take pace off the ball and their spinners will open up. Where are my boundary options? How am I going to be able to get a big over if I’m behind in the game. What are the dangers on this wicket? What is likely to be a par score and how am I going to be able to make a contribution that’s going to be sufficient to assist our team through 20 overs?

  ‘So you’re putting all of that in the mix and then when you go out there you’ve got that in the bank and you know that when you pull the trigger you’re a) going to need a lot of luck and b) have to put out all the white noise so you can focus on watching the ball, so you can be in that still position, so you can put the plans into place. A lot of that gets misread. You can’t be that aggressive unless you have some level of planning.’

  What came so intuitively to McCullum – aggression, risk and daring – was anathema to some batsmen raised on first-class cricket who struggled to abandon the principles that had governed batting all their lives. ‘When you try and play aggressive cricket,’ said McCullum, ‘you need an all-in mentality . . . you’re asking guys to go out there and play at a level that may even be slightly uncomfortable for them but it will become more comfortable the more they do it. But initially it will be uncomfortable and what comes with that is a bit of insecurity and a bit of doubt and often a lot of inconsistencies.’

  In longer forms of cricket, volume of runs and the average number of runs scored per dismissal were effective measures of success or failure for batsmen. But in T20 it was possible for a batsman to make a large number of runs while harming his team’s chances of winning – a phenomenon which became known as a match-losing innings. In T20 volume of runs was still relevant but the rate at which they were scored was far more significant.

  In the 2009 T20 World Cup India’s Ravindra Jadeja provided a perfect example of such an innings. Chasing England’s 153 Jadeja arrived at the crease with India requiring 129 off 98 balls but he scratched his way to 25 off 35 balls, a strike rate of only 71.42. India fell short of the target by just three runs, having only lost five wickets.

  ‘Batting like in a Test match in Twenty20 cricket is not really going to work,’ said Kane Williamson, McCullum’s successor as New Zealand captain and widely hailed as his country’s best-ever Test match batsman.

  ‘I believe T20 cricket is, out of all the formats, the most “team” format of cricket. Four-day cricket probably has a little bit less – it’s more “team” off the field, and guys have individual pursuits and various things. But certainly the white-ball formats, I believe, are committing to a team plan and trying to do that as best you can, to use the skills you have to try and execute that plan.’

  Batting in the format is ‘high risk, so there’s a lot of failure in this format in particular. So it is being brave, sticking to a team plan,’ Williamson explained. ‘You certainly don’t want to fear for your wicket. You always want to score and get as many runs as you can, but certainly not at the expense of the team, and there are innings that I think we’ve all seen in the past where guys have put themselves maybe before the team situation. And then scoring a big score looks really nice but it might have actually been to the detriment of the team. So it certainly is all about the team, and doing your best to move the team forward.’

  The struggles in getting batsmen to reconfigure the worth of their own wickets were compounded by the scarcity of meaningful analysis of the T20 format in its earliest years. Not until at least 2008 did data analysis gain any traction in cricket and it wasn’t until around 2012 that it started to become more com
monplace. As a result traditional barometers of success and failure retained their value, especially among some team owners and coaches who formulated strategies and renewed contracts.

  Incentives of players and teams did not always align. What might be best for the team – attacking hard and early in the innings – might not be best for the player, who would rather play himself in before accelerating later on, padding his own statistics and impressing teams who used unsophisticated means of judging players. McCullum recognised these innings when they happened. ‘You can actually lose games by not attacking enough. I’ve witnessed it a fair few times. Guys have missed out in a couple of innings previously and just want to get to 20 off 20 before they pull the trigger.’

  As analysis of T20 improved and the format matured, the advantages of aggression became increasingly evident. McCullum, Sehwag, Gayle and the hulking Australian Andrew Symonds led the way, soon followed by A.B. de Villiers, David Warner, Kieron Pollard, Andre Russell and Glenn Maxwell. These were the players who came to dominate the T20 circuit and they were rewarded handsomely with contracts in leagues around the world.

  Increased attacking intent had a seismic effect on the way the game was played. In T20’s early years batting perhaps experienced more change than at any point in its history, at least comparable to the introduction of helmets in the 1970s or the invention of the leg glance at the turn of the 20th century.

  Perhaps the clearest example of the paradigm shift instigated by T20 was the career path of Australia’s David Warner. Without a single first-class appearance to his name, Warner made his T20 international debut for Australia in January 2009, thumping 89 from 43 balls against South Africa. Belligerent batting in coloured clothing saw Warner force his way into Australia’s Test team despite having made only 11 first-class appearances. He quickly established himself in the Test team with a century in his second match and he would go on to become one of their greatest-ever opening batsmen – adopting a very positive approach to dealing with the new ball, blunting it with aggression rather than stoicism. Warner taught himself the art of defence but his batting was unashamedly founded upon his attacking play. This career path supported the thoughts of Viv Richards that attack, not defence, was the more complex skill. England’s Jos Buttler, India’s Rishabh Pant and West Indies’ Shimron Hetmyer were among those who later followed Warner’s lead, with T20 performances laying the foundation for their Test careers.

  The 20-over game heralded an age of fearlessness, power and innovation. Those who could not keep up were left behind by batting’s very own industrial revolution and the pursuit of power.

  ***

  T20 accelerated and intensified the evolution of batting. ‘It has asked guys to play at an even higher speed,’ said McCullum. ‘It has asked batsmen to develop their game. Players are stronger and more powerful.’

  Up until the late 20th century, cricketers were not renowned for their fitness or strength. That began to change with the establishment of the Australian Cricket Academy in Brisbane in 1988. The academy, as well as being the first of its kind, represented the acknowledgement that professional cricket was worthy of rigorous training and scientific preparation. Australia, who lorded over Test and one-day international cricket from 1995 to 2007, belatedly became the first team to hire a specialist fielding coach – the American Mike Young, who transported techniques learned in baseball, which was far ahead of cricket in this area. In the 2003 World Cup, which took place three months before T20 launched, Young was the only fielding coach used by any of the teams.

  Before T20 the focus of fitness in cricket had generally been defined by the first-class game, where stamina, endurance and injury prevention were the priority. But the emphasis on boundary hitting in the 20-over game saw attention shift towards muscular power and strength. Within half a decade of T20’s arrival, cricketers from the 21st century were unrecognisable to those that came before. Players spent as much time in the gym as they did in the nets – not on treadmills or exercise bikes but lifting weights – transforming themselves from lean and athletic to muscular and powerful. ‘T20’s been the thing that turned the corner,’ said Mike Young, who started working with Australia, in 2000. ‘The athletes now are so much better. Seriously it’s not even close. It’s a different game.’

  The most destructive batsmen in T20’s earliest years – the likes of Andrew Symonds who bludgeoned a 34-ball hundred for Kent in 2004 or Graham Napier who scored 152 not out off 58 balls for Essex in 2008 – were big, brawny men.

  At 5 feet 6 inches McCullum was short but he was immensely strong. Broad-shouldered, barrel-chested and with bulging forearms he cut an imposing figure. As a schoolboy McCullum played rugby for New Zealand’s South Island – briefly selected at fly-half ahead of Dan Carter who would become an All Blacks legend.

  It was not only the naturally powerful who could clear the ropes; as the players got stronger so too did their equipment. Significant advancements in the quality of cricket bats, made possible by the commercialisation of the industry in the 1990s, empowered even those of a slender build. Mechanisation enabled bat makers to produce far bigger bats that only weighed fractionally more than older models; from 1980 to 2016, the average size of bat edges more than doubled, from 18mm to 40mm. Modern bats performed as if they were turbocharged. It was indicative of their quality that even mishits and edges would sometimes fly for six and when the ball hit anywhere near the middle of the bat, six hitting looked almost effortless.

  T20 batsmen would look down in their stance and see a weaponised chunk of wood, often emblazoned with stickers designed to fill the batsman with confidence. Towards the end of McCullum’s career he launched his own equipment brand, named after his bloodstock company Vermair Racing. Their logo adorned his bats above the tagline ‘never fear the air’, because as he explained, ‘There are no fielders up there’.

  The bat company Mongoose went a step further and produced a bat specifically designed for six hitting. The Mongoose redesigned the traditional shape of the bat with the blade reduced by a third in length but twice as thick. The design ultimately proved impractical but that it ever existed at all was instructive of an age fuelled by power.

  Arguably more important than increased strength or bigger bats was simply better attacking batting. Power hitting had traditionally been considered more a product of strength than ability. T20 drove batsmen to think about hitting in a systematic way, giving birth to the specialist hitting coach.

  The former first-class batsman Julian Wood worked closely with Gloucestershire and England by focusing on hand speed and maximising good contact. Wood distanced himself from traditional batting coaching by downplaying the role of footwork and instead took learnings from baseball that emphasised the importance of head position and hip drive. His sole focus was helping batsmen hit the ball harder and further.

  Wood was not alone in his pioneering approach. The Australian Trent Woodhill, who worked in the IPL and Big Bash League (BBL), also placed maximising good contact at the heart of his methods. Woodhill described himself as an ‘organic batting coach’ – someone who would enhance natural styles and tendencies rather than teach from a manual. Whatever it was that produced good contact was to be encouraged.

  Such methods were augmented by a training routine which encapsulated the T20 era: range hitting. Traditionally cricket training was focused on net practice. But the emphasis on boundaries gave rise to a new training method which involved batsmen going to the middle of the ground, receiving throw-downs from a coach and looking to hit every ball as hard and as far as he could. The benefits to range hitting were twofold: not only did practising six hitting improve the techniques of players but the psychological benefits of batsmen watching the ball sail into the stands emboldened them to attempt similar shots in matches.

  T20 encouraged batsmen to hit the ball harder, further and more adventurously. ‘T20 has accelerated the process of playing 360 degrees,’ said McCullum. Shots such as the reverse sweep and ramp had origin
ated in 50-over cricket as a means of manoeuvring the field but T20 elevated them further still. ‘The ramp shot was brought in [in 50-over cricket] to put fine leg back and bring mid-off up so you have an easier shot down the ground. But now the ramp is there because guys think they can hit it for six.’

  In November 2018 the extent of batting’s revolution was laid bare in an astonishing innings in the T10 League in Sharjah – a ten overs per side tournament launched the year previously. Just as T20 led batsmen to be more aggressive than in ODIs, so T10 led them to be more aggressive than in T20s. Batting first, the Northern Warriors scored a mind-warping total of 183 for 2 from their ten overs against the Punjabi Legends – clubbing 19 sixes and 10 fours. Their run rate of 18.30 runs per over would have seen them score 366 across 20 overs. This was batting of a new age being played by batsmen with hitherto unforeseen range and unimaginable scope.

  Forty-three years previously in the opening match of the 1975 World Cup the Indian batsman Sunil Gavaskar essentially refused to attempt to chase England’s apparently unattainable total of 332 in 60 overs, preferring instead to use the innings as practice, finishing with an infamous score of 36 not out off 175 balls. Gavaskar’s innings at Lord’s to that played by the Northern Warriors in Sharjah mapped the arc of modern batting where the impossible had become the mundane and the truth was stranger than fiction.

  ***

  ‘That’s 100 miles per hour!’ exclaimed the commentator James Brayshaw. ‘A cricket ball does not get bowled faster than that.’

  The Australian Shaun Tait was one of the fastest bowlers cricket has ever known. Tait – nicknamed ‘Wild Thing’ because of his ability to bowl exceptionally fast but with little control – had a slow, lumbering run-up but a powerful, slingy action that hurled the ball towards the batsman at express pace. In a T20 against Pakistan at the Melbourne Cricket Ground in 2010, Tait bowled an over that ranked among the fastest of the modern era with an average speed of 97 mph, with one delivery recorded at 100 mph – only the second time in history a bowler had been recorded at such a speed.