Chris Rattue: Forget Cathedral Cove, let's save cricket

As everyone knows, our traditional way of life is under threat from all sides, but you can't fight this good fight on all fronts and the time has come to be strategic.

In other words, the allied forces of conservation and preservation may need to give up the battle of Cathedral Cove - where a lone vendor has placed this country's future in grave danger - and take up the cudgels where they are needed most: at our nation's cricket grounds.

Yes, we shall return! And one day that return journey will be to that pivotal Coromandel beach where the infidel, his chilly bin and landing craft will be driven back into the sea. Make no mistake about that.

There are few scarier prospects than the one involving citizens carrying three scoops of cookies and cream, with precariously placed toppings, while walking without a care in the world along a pretty beach.

We are facing the horrendous prospect that when the tides rise to dangerous levels, as the meteorological mob are predicting, the world's cameras will record that the waters were met by a light sprinkling of chopped nuts in the Coromandel.

How embarrassing.

For now, it is high time to point the multi-coloured house truck with the bald tyre and frilly curtains towards the Bay Oval, the Basin Reserve, to Colin Maiden Park and all points in between and beyond, with the intention of beating back Twenty20 cricket. The Cathedral Cove beachhead must be given up for now because, with all due respect to the liberators of their private beach, ooops, I meant unspoilt cove, you are hogging the much-needed limelight.

Cricket, our summer game, is under siege from the very people who are supposed to be playing it properly and if Twenty20 succeeds, who knows what will happen in other sports ...

So what on earth has happened to the wonderful summer game?

Cricket has gone so barmy that the unusual umpiring of Billy Bowden is getting lost in the crowd.

Making crooked-finger decisions looks tired compared with Australian test broadcasters who hook the players up to heart-rate monitors, which reveal - amazingly - that different players have different heart rates.

Wow.

This has been such a success that there are rumours randomly selected players are going to have their cholesterol readings revealed before and after lunch.

Billy needs a new hook. He will fight back and this column predicts that Bowden will be the first umpire to volunteer for heart-monitor duty.

What a summer of cricket.

During a test in Australia, a poll enabled the public to decide which TV commentator would look best dressed in Speedos. (I can't remember the result but presumably Shane Warne won because there isn't an Australian cricket poll invented which Shane Warne doesn't win.)

This poll ruined the test because the joys of watching Doug Bollinger steaming into bowl were completely overshadowed by the thought of Richie Benaud in skimpy togs.

Leaving the test match, let's return to Twenty20 cricket.

At Mt Maunganui on Saturday evening, Northern Districts and Auckland could just about be spotted slogging it out when the cameras weren't following Black Caps all-rounder Grant Elliott in his new roving-reporter role around the boundary.

Elliott had difficult assignments, including carting a microphone and two pots of chips at the same time. One hates to tempt fate, but they could have jazzed this up by having Elliott wearing bikini briefs and a heart monitor.

Elliott also happened upon a Northern Districts batsman's Mongoose cricket bat which, while based loosely on the traditional shape, looked more like something a caveman would find useful during the bison season.

Put it this way: Tiger Woods is very fortunate that Elin Nordegren didn't have a Mongoose bat handy on that fateful night.

The day someone calling himself a cricketer walks to the crease armed with a Mongoose is the day to head for the hills or even, despite its tawdry image, Cathedral Cove.

What to say about the Twenty20 spectacular from the Bay Oval?

Did anyone else feel that the opposing players were just a bit too chummy for a national championship arena?

The mood caught on, because when Tim Southee bowled what was effectively the winning delivery in a superb final over, and with a ball to spare, the crowd hardly seemed to notice. Still, at least there was a crowd, and talk about commercial activity ruining a beauty spot.

If this clamour to deconstruct our competitive sport and activity is allowed to run rampant, by 2020 we'll have "netless" table tennis, or even "tableless" table tennis; chess without all those damned pawns; soccer without goalkeepers (who are all raving loonies anyway); twos rugby; golf with really big holes; Scrbl with txt splng; and point-blank rifle shooting.

On a totally frivolous and unimportant note, the Mt Maunganui match proved yet again what an amazing cricketer Daniel Vettori is. New Zealand's captain, selector, best bowler, best batter and all-round good egg happens to be an artful slogger.

The day may be close at hand when Vettori is able to smack the ball around with a Fred Flintstone-signature club while dressed like Tarzan and with a carton of chips in one hand.

This sounds a lot like beach cricket, which come to think of it is another evil threat to Cathedral Cove.

WEEKEND WINNER
A tough question.

WHAT TO WATCH
Top-class women's tennis, right here in Auckland.