The instant Sir Allen Stanford touched down on the hallowed turf at Lord’s in June in that black helicopter with his name emblazoned on the side, revealed his treasure chest filled with US$20 million in bank notes and condemned Test matches as “boring”, the British media saw it as its patriotic duty to wreck any association between him and their cricket.
Already wary of the impact of 20/20, a form initially professionalized and popularised by England in England, they didn’t like the idea of an American billionaire splurging his wealth on one, solitary such match, no matter how much their players and their board would get out of it.
They didn’t like the man for his denigration of the most revered form of the game. They loathed the self-promotion that had ‘Stanford’ affixed to his every endeavour.
Most of all, they didn’t appreciate the official England team engaged for the richest contest in cricket history against opponents who went to great lengths to ensure that they were not the West Indies but the Stanford Super Stars.
So the writers and broadcasters descended en masse on Antigua for the Stanford Super Series, with its US$20 million climax between the Stanford Super Stars and England at the Stanford Cricket Ground, prepared to bury Stanford, certainly not to praise him.
Fully conscious of their collective power to shape public opinion – power that has brought down governments, high-ranking politicians, worthy England captains and assorted sporting icons – they set about their task with an expertise in negativity perfected over generations.
It is a perverse talent characterised by the term “whingeing Poms”. Created by Australians, their oldest and fiercest sporting rivals, it denotes the Poms’ (British) habit of moaning about any and everything for the sake of moaning about any and everything.
This has been concerted whingeing with a purpose, to wreck the Stanford deal.
Their job might have been done for them by the West Indies Cricket Board even before they could get here. Unwittingly (as it usually is), it created a conflict between Stanford and their main sponsor, Digicel, that placed the Super Series in jeopardy up until a week before the scheduled first ball.
Settled by a late agreement between the two, the trip from the chill of a late northern autumn for 10 days in the Caribbean sunshine was saved and the British media could get on with the mission at hand.
They did not have to dig deep to satisfy their requirements.
As catch after catch was spilled by fielders of England and Middlesex (the county team invited out to take on Trinidad and Tobago in the first ever match between England and West Indies champions) the lights were censured as too low and too dim.
As batsmen and the boundary count were restricted by ordinary spin bowlers, the pitch was deemed unsatisfactory and the outfield too slow.
They were realistic concerns yet two matches yielded tense finishes and organisers responded positively to the criticism on both counts in time for last night’s grand finale. Although a stomach virus that temporarily struck down four England players was beyond even Stanford’s control it was a handy piece to add to the jigsaw.
Yet the picture they aimed for would not be complete without a few smudges on Stanford’s character, already queried by affronted traditionalists after the Lord’s launch.
His penchant for encircling his ground during play, TV cameraman at the ready, meeting and greeting spectators and having access to the dressing rooms, as he did through the two preceding regional tournaments, provided the type of opportunity the papers thrive on.
On the second night, the image on the two big screens on either side of the ground showed the man himself, surrounded by four attractive ladies, one on his knee.
They just happened to be players’ wives and girlfriends (WAGSs in media speak) and the one on his knee was the pregnant wife of Matt Prior, the wicket-keeper who was doing duty for England on the field at the time. A team mate described him as “gob-smacked” when he saw it.
None of the WAGs appeared in any way uncomfortable (indeed, they were all having a good laugh) but, while Stanford declared he had no idea who they were and subsequently apologised to Prior and England captain, Kevin Pietersen, the damage was done. Predictably, the press milked it for all it was worth.
(Ironically, a few days earlier The Sun had quoted Prior as saying that his wife was so excited about the chance of winning the million she had banned the word Stanford in their house).
When that topic began to lose steam, prominence was given to Stanford’s appearance in England’s dressing room, an area described by some players, past and present, as sacrosanct.
It was never previously an issue. Stanford went into the dressing rooms before every match in the regional tournaments to wish each team good luck and afterwards to congratulate and commiserate.
That seemed harmful enough and, indeed, was generally appreciated. If England saw it as an unwanted intrusion, surely they could have explained their position to him.
There was an interesting take on Stanford’s walkabouts the other evening from a British Airways chief pilot at our hotel that also houses their crew.
English and an authentic cricket fan, he related that as he and some of the colleagues sat on the grass bank in one of the matches, Stanford appeared, introduced himself, welcomed them and hoped they were enjoying the cricket and Antigua.
It was a gesture repeated in his area several times over. He declared himself genuinely impressed.
If bold enough, those close to Stanford might advise that it is the omnipresent TV camera that opens him to the repeated charge that the Super Series is not so much about the cricket as about him, even if it is his staggering wealth that is financing it.
By the time last night’s match got underway, there was media-fuelled talk of an “urgent” review by the England Cricket Board (ECB) of its five-year agreement, charges that the “soul of English cricket” had been sold to an American billionaire as his play thing, description of the tournament as “a bit of a garden party”, and much else besides, by Sean Morris, the chief executive of the English Professional Cricketers’ Association (PCA) and influential calls for the resignation of ECB officials and for the scrapping of the whole thing.
Against such a background, it is impossible to know what lies ahead for Stanford’s relationship with the ECB. It not only involves four more annual Super Series but also an annual quadrangular 20/20 at Lord’s from next season and participation of the Super Stars in the planned English Premier League.
Stanford is adamant he won’t go away, indeed that he foresees an eventual profit.
In the meantime, the ECB has to deal with the pressure built up by the media.
Short of withdrawing, they could transform England into a Super Stars combination, like Stanford’s, chosen by separate selectors, under different coaches and from which players uncomfortable with participating in a “garden party” can withdraw without compromising their principles.
