Slut-shame his wife, but don’t brush a cricketer’s shoulder

Share this article: Share Tweet Share Share Share Email Share

If the ICC had been privy to my schoolboy cricket antics, I would’ve earned enough demerit points to be banned. For life. Like Hansie. I didn’t fix matches. Let’s just say my teammates didn’t appreciate my cricket skills as much as my ability to get under the skin of opponents. I was a reasonable wicketkeeper and a so-so batsman. But I probably made starting XIs on the strength of the psychological warfare I was able to inflict. It had to be done. In pre-1994 days I was part of a crew of misfit cricketers from different schools in Salt River. We were given the chance to play against the posh schools in the suburbs. The “white” schools. We marvelled at the facilities and the neat sandwiches and tea served during innings breaks. The kids we played had their moms or dads - or both - in the pavilion. Our parents were at work. Their equipment made it embarrassing for us to take out our borrowed or hand-me-down kit. But there we were, in cricket heaven. We learnt quickly we had to chirp our opponents to level the playing field. It’s called sledging, the good ol' verbals. Back then I called it “kak-praatjies”. Nothing was sacred. If you were a fat kid you’d hear about it. It wasn’t personal either, just a honing in on a potential weakness to get said fat kid off his game.

If that didn’t work it would be dialed up with a few choice Cape Flats phrases that would’ve made southern suburbs moms blush.

To this day, I jump at the chance to play social matches - not so match for the batting and bowling but for the banter. And the older you get, the more sophisticated and witty the remarks are.

Test players know the verbals are as much part of the repertoire as cover drives and bouncers.

A line was crossed when David Warner started saying things about Quinton de Kock’s sister, and De Kock hit back with things about Warner’s wife. It was just not cricket. There was no such shaming of any of the men involved in the said episodes the insults inspired.

Aussie captain Steve Smith heard De Kock get personal but somehow, mysteriously, didn’t hear Warner’s jibes.

But that has been less of the focus for match officials and the ICC. From there it got messy. The sanctions have made the message loud and clear: sexist and hate-filled words on the field will be tolerated. But handbags at dawn in a stairwell or rubbing shoulders will get you into big trouble.

Punishments for transgressions of cricket’s code of conduct are decided from this patriarchal perch.

The result is the series has been turned into a farce even though the cricket has been of the highest quality.

Warner should never have been allowed to take the heat of the battle into the dressing room. By pursuing De Kock up the stairs and spoiling for a fight, Warner asked the ICC to settle a matter that should have been settled on the field.

The Aussies are the masters of mind games and they’ve baited their hosts, who’ve taken the bait.

The difference this time is when the South Africans have given back, the Aussies have turned to the match officials to adjudicate. And the officials have gone mad.

Smith went straight to the umpire after his rubbing of shirt sleeves with Kagiso Rabada. He knew a hot-headed Rabada was a transgression away from suspension.

More evidence the officials had lost their minds was when they asked the PE band to be quieter. Yet, England’s Barmy Army can chant an entire humiliating verse dedicated to Warner’s wife in full cry and that is somehow okay. Imagine telling 100 000 screaming Indian fans at Eden Gardens to pipe down!

The ICC has reinforced the perception that special treatment is reserved for players from cricket’s big three - India, Australia and England.

Cricket South Africa hasn’t covered itself in glory either. Our cricket bosses are queuing up to apologise to the Australians at every turn. The Aussies even got us to agree to turn the stump mics down. SuperSport has allowed the Aussies - who can’t even pronounce Rabada’s name - to take over with their over-the-top bias, rooted firmly in cricket’s world order.

The net result of the madness is the world’s best bowler won’t be bowling at the world’s best batsman at Newlands.

The ICC keeps asking why the best format of the game is dying. It’s you, not us fans. You’ve lost the plot.

Oh, and I hope Smith’s shoulder is okay.

* Follow more of Abarder’s musings on Twitter - @GasantAbarder.

Read more from Gasant Abarder:











