Deserting Games for cake runs and giant hot dogs

CRICKET is an orphan in England right now, a barely acknowledged sideshow that is distracting the country from what really matters.

And what really matters is the London Olympics. In fact, nothing else could possibly matter until the closing ceremony on August 12.

By then, SA might well have wrested Test cricket’s world No 1 ranking from Andrew Strauss’ team. Trouble is, not many here are likely to notice or care.

The London Games have relegated news, politics, business and even the great god of football to the lesser spotted sections of the newspapers.

Cricket has no choice but to take its place in the mediocre middle of a long queue of matters of peripheral interest. Anything Hashim Amla or James Anderson has or might accomplish doesn’t get anything near the same amount of airtime in public.

So much so that it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that you can have any sport you want in England as long as it’s an Olympic event.

The confirmation of that truth is the rudely wrought transformation of Lord’s into the archery arena for the Games. The odd sight of the grand old Pavilion doing its best to retain some dignity as it pokes out behind a carbon fibre forest of bows and arrows, not to mention a swirl of lurid purple branding, will not go down well with the denizens of the Marylebone Cricket Club.

What all those wannabe Robin Hoods and their merry minions will do to the outfield — and whether the scars will heal before the third Test 17 days from now — seems a treasonous question to ask, at least in this country.

None of which detracts from the truth that the Olympics really are the greatest show on earth and everything else should get the hell out of their way.

The England Cricket Board have taken that literally by removing the South African tour from the capital for the duration of the Games. This town isn’t big enough for the both of us, the board seems to have said.

So, employing foresight rare for the suits who run any sport, let alone a game that often seems to be in the grip of venture capitalists hooked on Viagra, between them the board and Cricket SA agreed to a schedule that saw the Proteas head north after the Oval Test, which ended last Monday.

They will return to London about August 12 — the same day that Londoners get their city back from the International Olympic Committee.

Not that the days have been dull since Graeme Smith’s team made cricket-minded Englishmen, women and children grateful that they had the Olympics to talk about instead of the utter thumping their team got in the first Test.

On the contrary, much has happened. For a start, another generation of touring South African journalists witnessed the famous tea-time ritual at New Road in Worcester. “Ladies and gentlemen, tea is served in the Ladies’ Pavilion,” said the man on the tannoy.

On Saturday, during SA’s tour match against Worcestershire, that announcement was followed by a most un-English dash up the stairs and towards the fabulous spread of cakes on sale inside.

That provoked enough alarm for the man on the tannoy to follow up with, “Women and children first.”

Whereupon all concerned came to their senses and formed a neat and orderly queue.

Once a slice of the cake concerned had been obtained, for research purposes, of course, the reason for the flustered fuss was not difficult to fathom.

On Wednesday, Smith became a father to Cadence, a daughter born to him and his wife, Morgan Deane.

The fact that the captain was with his family and not with his team at the time is a sign that cricket is changing for the better. His absence from the camp seemed to add to the sincerity his players expressed when they congratulated him through third parties such as the press.

Then, on Sunday night, another unprecedented event took place when the remaining Proteas met for an evening of improv theatre that involved fancy dress. Jacques Rudolph came as Flash Gordon. Lonwabo Tsotsobe took the mickey out of himself by wearing even more bling than he does daily. Amla was a baby and JP Duminy a nurse. But none of them could top Jacques Kallis, who was dressed as a hot dog.

There was, of course, a serious aim in there somewhere. But Kallis as a hot dog?

We always knew he was a class act.