Hey, Wisden. Get Big Mitch Starc’s Name Out Of Your Mouth
Musings on this year's Wisden from an anonymous former Australian Test cricketer
So the new edition of Wisden’s out, and they’ve named Big Mitch Starc as the Leading Men’s Cricketer in the World. On one level, fair enough. The big fella pretty much singlehandedly ensured the urn stayed where it belonged, taking wickets every time he picked up the new rock during the Ashes, dismantling the England top order like a trestle table after you’ve finished handing out the democracy sausages at a state by-election.
But on another level, I bloody hate it. I liked Wisden better in the old days when it stuck to its lane. The whole reason for Wisden’s existence is to have a long blank myopic stare at English cricket in the England summer. Not to get bogged down talking about how much better every other nation’s players are at cricket. We know that. We don’t need your stamp of fucken imprimatur.
The problem is that Wisden can’t decide what it is. It still selects its ‘Five Cricketers of the Year’ using all their traditional, ridiculous self-inflicted limitations. ‘Can’t win it more than once.’ ‘Only for shit that takes place on England soil in the England summer.’ ‘Selected entirely at the discretion of one tweed-clad bloke in an overpriced office in Hampshire.’ And I respect that. It’s your fucken book. Make up as many stupid rules as you like.
Wait, is that why they call it the bible of cricket? Because it’s all about making up rules that don’t make a lick of sense to anybody but which everybody has to live by regardless? Because if so, fair play to them. They’ve absolutely bloody nailed the analogy.
But that’s also why they don’t get to suddenly add new rules. The last time the God-botherers made a tweak to the actual bible was a couple of thousand years ago when they chucked in a new testament. The town vicar isn’t out there adjusting the commandments several times a decade. It’s not ‘here are the Ten Commandments, but also here’s the leading commandment in the world: Thou shalt not recline thy seat on a Jetstar flight’.
But that’s what Wisden’s done. They’ve kept their Cricketers of the Year like they’ve always done but have also started piling all these other awards on top. Leading Men’s Cricketer in the World. Leading Women’s Cricketer in the World. Leading Cap Accumulator in T20 Franchise Cricket. Most Improved Attitude Toward the DRS. Tallest All-Rounder with a Shithouse Moustache. Best Innings in a Match Nobody Watched. Grooviest Overall Vibes. Take a breath, lads.
It’s not as if they’re short of material for their book either. I mean, fuck me. I never order one for fear the postie would give me a gobful. It’s like getting a hot water system or a ride-on mower or a full-size snooker table delivered to your house. Technically possible. But impractical. Mate, the postage alone would have your banking app losing its mind with bullshit fraud notifications before you even finished searching on crickettragic.co.uk.
It’s the only book in the history of publishing that’s wider than it is tall. The David Boon of books. You require a building permit to add it to your bookshelf and a spotter standing by before you read it. You could stun a wombat with the bloody thing.
So the last thing they need is all these extra awards padding out this absolute weapon of a book. Stick to your ‘Five Cricketers of the Year’, where ‘cricketer’ is defined as ‘people who played the game during a handful of months in a country only notionally acquainted with sunshine and whose pitches play like a wet mattress’.
You’ll get no arguments from me. One per customer. Warnie got his. Pigeon got his. Even Boof got his. You earn your moment, and that’s it - no second helpings. That’s practically Australian in its egalitarianism.
Sure, it means every England player worth their salt eventually gets one. Although, weirdly, Phil Salt hasn’t. Which tells you something about the man. Or the condiment. Either way, not a great look.
But if Johnny or Janey Foreigner want to get recognised by Wisden (and, let’s be honest, that’s a courageous assumption), they should do it the old-fashioned way. By touring the country and beating the shit out of the Poms on their home soil.
Let’s scrap the feigned respect of handing out Leading Cricketers in the world to every IPL player and their dog. We know your heart’s not in it, Wisden. Not really.
Own your bloody biases. Take yours truly, for example. I’m biased as all fuck. I know it, you know it. Everybody knows it. Sure, my biases are based on something real - that Australia is better at cricket than any other nation. But the point is that I’m not embarrassed by that. And I’ve sure as shit never slapped a Leading Cricketer in the World award on top of my biases to make them look more respectable. I just have the biases. And I’m fucken proud of them. They’re good biases.
And this, BTW, is also why we never needed an Australian Wisden. Oh, sure. You tried it on for a while there. Don’t think we’ve forgotten. Half a dozen or so editions. Green cover. More pictures. Fewer polysyllabic words. But quietly dropped because Australians never needed Wisden’s permission to record our cricket. And we certainly didn’t want to waste two thousand pages doing it every year. “Oh, look. Junior’s taken some sublime catches in the slips. Again.” Mate. See last year.
So yes, Big Mitch Starc is the Leading Cricketer in the World. Of course he is. But we all knew that before you Wisden-come-lately editors deigned to give him the nod.
Find your own bloody heroes, Wisden. I know it’s challenging, but Starcy’s ours.
