“For every complex problem there is an answer that is clear, simple, and wrong.” – H. L. Mencken
Selecting cricket teams is a difficult and thankless task. When the team performs well, the players get the credit, when it performs badly, the selectors get the blame. And in the case of a national team, selection is a matter on which even the most casual observer can hold strident views. But only the selectors themselves are ever held to account for their choices.
Talkback radio and social media give voice to anyone and everyone who wants to express an opinion. These formats lend themselves to simplistic perspectives, while they shun nuance. Whether it’s politics, social issues, or sport, there is a seemingly endless queue of mostly male contributors who know exactly how to fix any problem, if only those idiots in charge would actually listen to them and heed their common sense.
And so it is with the vexed and ongoing question about who should open the batting for Australia. Granted, this might not be the most important issue facing the nation, but it seems to invite and incite amateur expertise at an intensity rivalled only by youth crime, the guilt or otherwise of mushroom cooks, and the future of Michael Voss.
Such strident opinions are not just limited to the anonymous masses – there is no shortage of people who work professionally in the media who are just as inclined to claim certain knowledge about what must be done. Mainstream sports coverage increasingly resembles shock jock journalism, as the relentless, real-time feedback provided by the counting of clicks drives the discourse towards simplicity and outrage, and away from nuance and complexity. Perhaps the most difficult and courageous thing for a media pundit to do in this climate is to admit that they don’t have a readymade solution to a problem.
The causes of Australia’s opening woes are not new. Arguably, they can be traced back to the indulgences afforded to David Warner when he was clearly in decline. Australia’s selectors have always been reluctant to rush their decisions, erring on the side of stability over renewal. It is often said that selection is simply a matter of picking the best XI at any given time, but the history of Australian cricket shows that this has never been how it’s done. In any given era, there are examples of the selectors sticking with experienced, respected, but out of form players while others have been overlooked, despite overwhelming statistical success at Shield level. Other nations have been less conservative. In Australia it is a big story when an established player is dropped from the team. In other places it’s more like an interchange system, in which moving players in and out of the team is normal and unremarkable.
All the metrics show that in recent years runs have been harder to get, both at Shield level and internationally. Usman Khawaja himself discussed this, and put it down to changes to the ball, and to pitches. He argued that we need to lower our expectations about the quantities of runs that a batter can realistically achieve.
This has led some to adopt Bazballesque approach, in which it is better to score quick runs before the inevitable unplayable ball takes you down. Such attitudes might well grate with test cricket purists, but there is a statistical logic to this approach.
It is something of a mystery that Australia’s batting malaise seems confined to the top order, while at the same time the middle order are thriving. It seems there is a glut of middle order talent, and the problem there is more who to leave out rather than who to include. Perhaps the explanation here is simply that it is objectively harder to bat at the top. Openers face the opposition bowlers when they are fresh and the ball is new, and these advantages fade as the game goes on. Perhaps then it was a fool’s errand to send an out of form Labuschagne to the top of the order to try to get back to his best. Even the great Steve Smith struggled during his brief experiment at the top, and has returned to his best at four.
Khawaja and Konstas seem afflicted by the perils associated with their relative proximity to the cricketing age spectrum. At 38 years old, Khawaja increasingly struggles to keep out the fastest deliveries – particularly when they are delivered from around the wicket. Meanwhile Konstas looks lost and out of his depth, like the teenager he is, desperately trying but falling short against experienced bowlers who have quickly identified his vulnerability to the one that comes back in towards the stumps. He has all the requisite talent no doubt, but perhaps understandably, he doesn’t seem to have have the tenacity and resilience that can only come with experience.
A case can be made for each of Renshaw, Bancroft, and Harris. Indeed those cases have been made for each in turn, but the timing or the execution has never been quite right. Not yet anyway. And there are a handful of others headed by McSweeney, who might also be in the frame.
So it seems that the best plan now might be to effectively declare both opening positions open. With maybe three rounds of Sheffield Shield before the Ashes, they can clear the decks, and set up an old fashioned bat-off. A fight to the death from which two will prevail. The selectors would certainly hope this is how it plays out, but what if it doesn’t? What if this remains a problem for which there is no obvious solution? What if rather than anyone banging down the proverbial door, the best we get are a few meek taps, barely loud enough to rouse the occupants. If the conditions and the Kookaburras continue to favour the bowlers, then this is a very real possibility.
Maybe it will continue to be matter of choosing the least bad option, or muddling through with an arrangement that is temporary or merely adequate. Maybe the selectors will just have to go on instinct, concoct an argument to justify their decisions, and hope for the best. If it comes off, great. And if it doesn’t, the Cam from Carrum Downs on line 2 can call in and explain why they’ve got it all wrong. Maybe we just need to accept that other options might have worked equally well, but we can never know. This isn’t science. There is no control group. We cannot run a million simulations with different models to determine with empirical certainty which combination of players would produce the best results.
Players are human, and while statistics can be helpful, they will never provide certainty. And it is the uncertainty and unpredictability of human performance that creates the jeopardy that is the essence of sport. It’s what makes it compelling, and sometimes maddening.
Cricket Described 