Interesting article by Chappellg on effect of fast food cricket in footwork

I talked batting with Bradman in 2000. What he told me explains Test cricket’s decline today
Greg Chappell
ByGreg Chappell
November 16, 2024 — 10.00am
The Age
“The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
- Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr

What should be a festival of bat and ball this summer may instead mark Test cricket’s slow and solemn march into irrelevance. Rather than the resounding triumph of Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus, we risk hearing Nimrod from Elgar’s Enigma Variations — the poignant strain of an era fading.


The steady decline in traditional batting skills since the advent of Twenty20 and the modern evolution of the bat has eroded Test cricket’s foundation more than many realise. The shift began in earnest at the dawn of this century, creating seismic ripples in how the game is played and perceived.

There is an old Irish joke where a tourist, lost in the west of Ireland, asks an elderly local for directions to Limerick. The man replies, “Well, if I were going to Limerick, I wouldn’t be starting from here!” That quip resonated with me while watching the recent ODI series against Pakistan. Batting, as I knew it, has transformed to such an extent that I sometimes risk sounding like a cranky old man to modern players. Yet, I am less cranky and more concerned — particularly about why today’s batsmen appear restricted in their footwork and are increasingly vulnerable to the moving ball.

The cricket bat itself has undergone a metamorphosis. In the days when I played, our bats held around 12 per cent moisture, which added weight and limited the volume of wood that could be used. Around the early 2000s, manufacturers began reducing the moisture content drastically. This simple change enabled them to use significantly more wood in the design, resulting in bats with far thicker bodies and edges. Once wielded like thin-edged swords, bats had become thick-edged Excaliburs with expanded sweet spots. A thick edge now carried as much weight as a perfectly middled shot did back in the day.

Such advances brought about a profound change. In the past, the fear of miscuing a shot – which wouldn’t get out of the infield let alone the arena – discouraged risky aerial shots. But as bats became more forgiving, mishits started producing reasonable results, fostering a culture where precision was less crucial. Simultaneously, health and safety regulations moved boundaries closer to the playing area, partly to protect fielders from injuring themselves on fixed barriers, but also to enhance the thrill of balls flying into the stands for broadcasters.

When even mishits are often rewarded with boundaries, precision becomes less crucial when batting, leading to poor technique.
When even mishits are often rewarded with boundaries, precision becomes less crucial when batting, leading to poor technique.Credit:Getty Images

This technological confidence has subtly altered batting philosophy. The need to move nimbly and align the body correctly to meet the ball is not discussed much or emphasised any more. Today’s batsmen often prioritise hitting over batting — an art that may bring quick runs but erodes the patience and technical prowess that Test cricket thrives on. Modern technique often involves a stance that places weight on the heels, partially a result of holding the bat high. This upright posture is less athletic, making it difficult for batsmen to adjust swiftly and position themselves close to the ball.

Contrast this with the classic stance, where batsmen would tap their bat on the ground, naturally shifting their weight to the balls of their feet — an agile, athletic starting position. This setup provided the quick adjustment needed to find the middle of the bat, the batsman’s most faithful ally for precise ground shots between fielders.

Advertisement

I recall one day in 2000 when I was working with the South Australian Cricket Association. Sir Donald Bradman would often visit the SACA offices to sign memorabilia, as requests poured in from every corner of the cricketing world. One afternoon, I saw Sir Donald walking across the car park toward his car as I returned to my office in the Bradman Stand. I greeted him, and he paused for a conversation. Usually, these chats were brief; he was often on his way to another appointment. But this time, he lingered.

Sensing an opportunity, I asked him a few questions that had long intrigued me. We spoke of footwork, the nuances of stance, and the importance of adapting one’s body position quickly to handle a moving ball. He noted that even with the simpler equipment of his era, those who mastered the fundamentals thrived.

Young cricketers and coaches need to acknowledge that while hitting makes highlights, batting builds legacies.

One question that I was keen to ask him was, did any bowler really worry him? I had thought that perhaps Larwood or Bedser might get a mention, but he said no. Was there anything that did concern you, I countered? He said yes, the full ball. Knowing the answer, I asked him why?

Bradman replied, “Because it could get me out in more ways than the short ball”. It explained why he was the best exponent of what I call the “active, neutral position” at the point of ball release, from which he could attack all but the very best deliveries.

The wisdom he imparted highlighted the importance of blending instinct with learned technique — a balance that seems to have tipped in favour of power over precision in today’s game. The modern batsman’s stance, forced back on the heels and designed for lofted drives, sacrifices agility. As a result, many contemporary players struggle against deliveries that deviate, a vulnerability starkly apparent in Test matches.

Related Article
A downcast Virat Kohli on the final day.
Analysis
Test cricket
Virat Kohli was once the king. He’s now in the company of journeymen
Not surprisingly, some of the best modern exponents of the “neutral, active position” at ball release have been Joe Root, Virat Kohli and Steve Smith. This allowed them to attack the less than good balls while putting them in the best position from which to defend the best balls.

Too many of the modern players, appear to be batting to not get out. This flawed mental state not only restricts the number of attacking shots that they can play, but makes them vulnerable to the best balls.

The shift towards power-hitting has dulled the old adage that cricket is as much a game of the mind as it is of muscle. Test cricket demands discipline, tactical thinking, and endurance – qualities less honed in the quick-strike arena of T20s. The consequences of these trends are visible in the modern game, where some of the finest talents can look average when facing a red ball that deviates under a cloudy sky – or pink ball under the night sky.

As Test cricket braces against dwindling attendance and competing formats, a return to its technical roots might be its lifeline. Young cricketers and coaches need to acknowledge that while hitting makes highlights, batting builds legacies. The art of positioning, timing, and an alert stance should be more than nostalgic echoes; they must be cornerstones of training.

The joke about the Irishman giving directions reminds us that progress without understanding is a blind march. If we are to steer Test cricket away from irrelevance and ensure it remains a true test of skill, we might need to look back at how batsmen once anchored themselves – both in technique and mentality. Only then can the game’s next generations truly evolve, not just with thicker bats but with the timeless poise of players who know when to play a Hallelujah and when to bow out to the deep, reflective notes of Nimrod.