Would Cardus survive 'sound bytes' era?

Namaste England

The media box at Old Trafford should afford inspiration to cricket hacks who believe they get little recognition for a lifetime's work. It is named after one of Lancashire's most famous cricketing sons, Neville Cardus, and was inaugurated in 1987 by the legendary broadcaster/writer, John Arlott, who was from Hampshire, but was a strong follower of the Cardus school of writing.

Neither of them was an accomplished cricketer, but few - including many who played at the highest level - have shown the same passion for the game. Through his superb imagery and delectable prose, Cardus spread the gospel of cricket like nobody before or after him.

Of Ranjitsinhji, for instance, Cardus was to write that ``he has never played a Christian shot in his life,'' and there has been no better description of the Indian prince's challenge to the canons of batting orthodoxy in the Golden Age of cricket.  Born out of wedlock, and mainly self-taught in considerable hardship, Cardus went on to become the cricket correspondent for the Manchester Guardian, and from thereon, his reputation grew rapidly.

A perfectionist, he despised anybody 'fiddling' with his work, and especially his grammar. He is once reported to have sent an acerbic message from Australia to the copy desk in the Guardian that they could do what they wanted with the words, but not with the commas and full stops in his report!

Would Cardus have survived in this age of 'sound byte' journalism and trivia-driven reportage, or would he have said to himself "Draw of stumps,'' and walked off into the sunset?

He was a romantic, true, but he was also a great survivor. I reckon he would have adapted and won over a New Age audience. He had a way with words, did Sir Neville, that would have fit any era.

Fine wine or music
Incidentally, both Cardus and Arlott led interesting `double lives', pursuing a second passion during to the off-season to supplement their love affair with cricket. Cardus was to become a renowned critic of classical western music, while Arlott earned considerable fame as a wine reviewer, both for the Guardian.

The story goes that Cardus once asked Arlott which of the two - reviewing music or wine - he considered better. "Obviously reviewing wine," said Arlott, "you get to quaff some of the best that grape can offer, and that too free of cost. What's your choice?"

"Between going to bed with a soprano or a drunkard after a long evening?" countered an incredulous Cardus.

Chelsea is expensive
The PR department of the Lancashire County Cricket Club informs that the one-day match at Old Trafford was sold out three months in advance.

"There's been a surge in interest in cricket after the 2005 Ashes win, and then the Indian team ensures a packed house in any case," says Rebecca Trbojevich, the communications manager of the county club.

Cricket is not cheap to watch in England, but not much more expensive than they are getting to be in major centres in India. Tickets for the fourth match were priced at 35 pounds and 45 pounds, which is approximately Rs 3000-4000. But the 'extras' can deal a fell blow to the wallet. With food, beer etc bought at the ground, a spectator may have to shell out as much as 100 pounds (Rs 8,000) for the day.

"But soccer can get more expensive," says Rebecca. "Tickets for Manchester United matches could start at 45 pounds and go up to 85 pounds. For Chelsea matches in London, it could well be double that."

Which tots up to a whopping Rs 15,000 for a 90-minutes experience. 'But football's England's major sport," says Rebecca. "We don't win the Ashes often enough to sustain that kind of interest, nor does India tour every year."

Food for thought for the BCCI and ECB?

Becks out of Galaxy
News from Galaxy football club in the US of A is not very encouraging, alas. Star recruit David Beckham, it is learnt, may have to miss the next 3-4 weeks because of an injured ankle/shin/toe/something.

"Those guys must be wondering what they have paid him so many millions for," wondered the itinerant sports scribe who, for some reason, prefers anonymity.

Still can't read my lips, I'm afraid.