Steve Smith and a portrait of a broken man
‘‘To see the way my old man’s been ... and my mum, it hurts.’’
As Steve Smith, consoled by his father, fought back tears in his press conference at Sydney airport, it rather had the feel of a sporting tragedy for our times. A dashing icon of Australian sport, the national captain and the best test batsman in the world, brought down by a combination of naivety, lying to match officials and the press during a ham-fisted coverup, and the opprobrium of social media.
It was part of an emotional 24 hours in Australian cricket, with under-fire coach Darren Lehmann resigning and Smith’s coconspirators Cameron Bancroft and David Warner also returning home to massive media attention.
A week earlier, Smith had been enthroned as not just Australia’s test captain and the No 1 batsman in the world but someone so good that at the end of last year he reached second place in the International Cricket Council’s historic test batting rankings, trailing only Donald Bradman. He was the face of the nation’s most popular cereal.
For now, all of this has been lost. Smith will not play for Australia for another 12 months; he cannot captain them for another two years - and even that is ‘‘conditional on acceptance by fans and the public’’. His image with the public, who have come to look to their national test captain for solidity and moral leadership that their prime ministers cannot provide, has been shattered. The champion has become a cheat.
Yet athletes have cheated, and been called out for doing so, since the ancient Greeks.
Think of WG Grace, the greatest cricketer of his age and simultaneously a cheat so brazen that, when he was bowled first ball, he once calmly returned the bails to the top of the stumps, told the bowler: ‘‘They have come to watch me bat, not you bowl,’’ and carried on. Think of Thierry Henry and Diego Maradona, remembered for their wizardry with their feet more than illicitly using their hands. Or think of Shane Warne, whose yearlong drugs ban is considered more a characteristic, almost endearing, misdemeanour than a stain on his name or the game.
For Smith, Warne’s example may be particularly inspiring: not just because it shows how the Australian public can forgive their cricketers, but also because it shows how elite sportsmen cannot only endure breaks, but be reinvigorated by them. After returning from his ban, Warne played international cricket - and brilliantly - for another three years, until he was 37. When he returns, Smith will not yet be 30.
Smith’s tears will not dry readily. The months ahead will be ones of contrition and regret, disbelief that he has squandered what he loves. If the events of the last week will always be an inextricable part of Smith’s story, they may yet be the prelude to a classic redemption tale.