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domestic cricket
Do we need counties?
By Jonathan Liew 2 years ago, mid-April, 22 Comments »
There are 18 counties playing first-class cricket. That’s quite a lot. There are more domestic teams in England than in any other country. Yet they’re not evenly spread around – London and its environs has an embarrassment of teams, while parts such as the south west, the far north and most of Eastern England have none at all.
Now partly, that’s due to population: cricket teams are concentrated around the biggest cities. And yet, we persist in clinging to the county apparatus, a hotchpotch of hazily-defined localities that has very little relevance to the social geography of today. Counties don’t really exist in any meaningful sense any more; in fact, for four of the 18 counties, that’s literally true. The county system is rooted in a long gone past, and it hasn’t changed, even though everything around it has. Does the idea of ‘Warwickshire’ mean anything to anyone any more? Certainly not for someone like Ian Bell, who was born in Coventry – which since 1974 has been part of the West Midlands.
If it were only a quibble about names and boundaries, we could probably let it go. But this archaic system has a more serious effect on the domestic game. With large shifts in population and wealth away from rural England and towards the towns, some counties clearly have an inherent advantage over others. A county like Lancashire, with a catchment area of Liverpool and Manchester, the surrounding towns, Cheshire and Cumbria, have far more resource to draw on than the likes of Leicestershire, which has one medium sized town and four rival cricketing counties on its borders. It may always have been this way to an extent – pre-reform Yorkshire was bloody huge – but that doesn’t necessarily make it fair.
As a result, prosperity – and thus success – is distorted by the fact that some counties will always be struggling to prosper, regardless of cricketing merit, and some will always be comfortable. Test grounds – a major source of potential revenue – are concentrated almost exclusively around big cities. Look at the list of county champions: the top four are Yorkshire, Surrey, Middlesex and Lancashire – areas with high populations and a Test ground. Then look at who has come bottom most often: Derbyshire, Somerset, Northamptonshire, Glamorgan. When Leicestershire can’t hang on to a player like Stuart Broad, who was born in the county and has played all his cricket there, it’s clear the playing field is not level. The influx of Kolpak players have counteracted population factors to an extent – but they still need to be paid, and the biggest counties will always jostle their way to the front in this respect.
It’s possible teams like Leicestershire and Derbyshire will never again reach the pinnacle of English cricket. The best they can hope for is the odd promotion or a dart at a one-day trophy here and there, but it’s equally likely they’ll wane and recede slowly into the background. That is, unless something is done about it.
If domestic cricket is ever to make proper money – and, who knows, provide a higher standard? – it needs to brand itself in more familiar terms. In short, we need fewer teams, more fairly distributed. The quickest way of doing this would be to merge counties; in short, persuading them to vote themselves out of business. That’s not going to happen. Instead, reorganisation of domestic cricket could be craftily disguised as a PR exercise.
Ironically, the IPL might be able to teach English cricket a thing or two in this respect. Moneyed franchises they may be, but the teams in the League are based in – and upon – very real localities. The players may not be sourced locally, but that will come in time. What’s important is that a bond is being forged betwen a cricket team and a town. In England, those bonds already exist in large part: Gloucestershire is by and large a Bristol team, Hampshire a Southampton-based club, Warwickshire is a Birmingham team, and so on. Towns have a far greater emotional and economic pull than counties these days, and are far more relevant in today’s society.
The idea, then, is this, although the details are less important than the diagnosis behind them. Cut the number of teams to, say, 12, and base each one around a large town. Let’s call them, for sake of argument: Newcastle, Leeds, Manchester, Bristol, Southampton, Birmingham, Nottingham, North London, South London, East London, Cardiff and Brighton. The South East has a quarter of England’s population, so it should have a quarter of the teams. The names, as I say, are largely irrelevant.
What English cricket would then have, essentially, is the Australian system in all but name. Teams would be able to draw on the emotional and financial clout of the major town, but talent-wise the spread would be far wider – and far fairer. It provides the best balance between levelling the playing field and preserving some semblance of geographical integrity. And the standard would improve.
Anyway, well done for getting through all that – any thoughts?
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