A fresh perspective is needed on the number-crunching in cricket © HKCA

What with the Acronym War in full flight, the game’s governance in disarray, umpire referrals being trialled, the Kolpak Era showing encouraging signs of drawing to an unlamented close and Mohammed Asif being a very silly boy indeed, it hasn’t been easy of late to focus on what really matters – runs and, um … oh yes, wickets. Unfortunately, even in the safe, profoundly apolitical arena of Stats Island, I can’t seem to get much, if any, satisfaction.

While watching Wednesday’s Pro40 game between Durham and Somerset, the thrilling sight of Steve Harmison and Liam Plunkett adding 81 for the last wicket - and only just in vain - set me wondering about the highest such stand to win a senior match. Not exactly a left-field query, one would have thought. Certainly not an unnatural one for a fully-qualified anorak.

Infuriatingly, my determined scouring of various Wisdens, Frindalls and Webbers, not to mention sundry reputable databases, all came to naught. Which merely strengthened what has long been a personal bugbear: cricket is not well-served by its statisticians. Or not as well as it might be. And definitely nowhere near as well as the Elias Sports Bureau, Bill James and other likeminded souls serve baseball, the only sport that matches cricket when it comes to being fatally smitten by numbers.

The big difference is situational statistics, which baseball uses for public consumption and cricket does not, though several counties and state sides are currently building up the sort of databases that will render that possible. Does Batsman A consistently fare differently according to the score when he takes guard? Is his temperament such that 80-5 is likely to bring more from him than 280-5? Does Bowler B perform more fruitfully according to ego, ie. whether he is given the new ball or comes on first-change? Is a string of maidens more likely to beget a wicket (a popular theory recently rubbished by hard facts)? The answer to these questions could be extremely revealing and helpful in terms of team selection, batting and bowling order, and tactical approach; they would also be fascinating for spectators and students of the game.

But, again, it is the straightforward stuff where the void gapes widest. Which Test keeper has conceded the most byes in a career? More pertinently, which one has the lowest average of byes per Test? No internet database I know of can satisfy that poser. When Graeme Smith and Neil McKenzie were threatening to bat all day against England at Lord’s earlier this month, a friend texted from the pavilion: what’s the record for the fewest runs to have been scored in a wicketless day? I rummaged and number-crunched the latest Wisden as well as a few databases for an hour and got precisely nowhere, other than to report that, had the openers remained intact until stumps, they would have set a record for Tests in England.

It is not that progress hasn’t been made. Strike-rates, for batsmen as well as bowlers, are now accorded an importance that would have been barely credible to statisticians of 30 years ago - and, given the recession in over-rates, with eminent justification. Yet something niggles: why must the denomination for batsmen be runs per 100 balls? Not least because, in the average ODI or even Test innings, 50 balls constitutes a decent sojourn. The results, 178.53 and the like, strike me as far too big and unwieldy. Why not simply make it runs per ball? A rate of 1.78 would be altogether more digestible.

There have also been some worthwhile if ultimately flawed attempts lately to rank current wicketkeepers in such a manner as to take into account the runs they contributed and those they have given away. By including dropped catches, sadly, subjectivity pollutes. One man’s miss is another’s brave try. Ugliness is firmly in the eyes of the beholder.

Only in time will these shortcomings be addressed and redressed, but the will must be there, and I don’t detect enough of that. Of more immediate concern is the need to find a way of properly measuring the effectiveness of batsmen and bowlers in 50- and 20-over cricket.

Averages have long held sway in the first-class fray, but the right and proper accent on economy and strike-rates means that runs per innings and wicket are no longer sufficient as arbiters of quality (and don’t get me started on the ludicrous homage paid to not-outs). May I therefore propose two new, reasonably comprehensible and complexity-free categories: ESR and SA - Economic Strike Rate and Strike Average.

The first of these excludes averages altogether, and instead marries bowlers' economy- and strike-rates by multiplying them. Since both economy-rate and strike-rate need to be minimised, as the following table testifies, Joel Garner’s ESR in ODIs is superior to those of Wasim Akram and Muttiah Muralitharan, the two highest wicket-takers:

ER SR ESR
Joel Garner 3.09 36.5 112.79
Muttiah Muralitharan 3.87 35.4 137.00
Wasim Akram 3.89 36.2 140.82

There is a case for dividing that final figure by the number of overs or games, the better to bring opportunity into the mix - which would only enhance Garner’s standing. That, however, would lead to a preponderance of fractions: never a good idea in terms of punter-friendliness. Baseball’s mathematical appeal doesn’t appear to have suffered unduly for the value it places on numbers to the right of the decimal point, but I still find a batting average of 0.333, for all that broadcasters enunciate it as “three-thirty-three”, a little too diminutive for complete respect.

The second category is more complex. Although I would contend that, in the context of the abbreviated formats, runs per innings is of greater significance than runs per wicket, they should form part of the equation. As, equally so, should strike-rate. The following table reflects this calculation, confining the sample to the highest ODI achievers: those with 2000 runs, who average 35 and whose acquisitions come at 70 runs per 100 balls. The results do no justice, above all, to Shahid Afridi, but then speed is nothing without direction.

Average (A) Strike Rate (SR) SA (A x SR/100)

Michael Hussey 54.92 85.63 47.03
MS Dhoni 48.00 92.18 44.25
Viv Richards 47.00 90.20 42.39
Kevin Pietersen 47.14 86.62 40.83
Zaheer Abbas 47.63 84.80 40.39
Michael Bevan 53.58 74.16 39.73
Lance Klusener 41.10 89.92 38.96
Sachin Tendulkar 44.33 85.49 37.90
Andrew Symonds 40.37 92.78 37.46
Michael Clarke 43.40 80.48 34.93

Again, you could divide the SA by the number of innings, or multiply it by the number of runs. Again, and either way, this would not be a sight for sore or even fresh eyes, much less the brain.

These figures, of course, are anything but flawless. The Economic Strike Rate does not take into account that “Big Bird” Garner was at his beak-dipping peak when there were no Powerplays, scores of 300 were immune and only a gifted/mad few dared attempt a reverse-sweep or over-the-shoulder flip, much less a switch-hit. Similarly, the Strike Average conveniently ignores the fact that batsmen score so much more rapidly now. Of the 12 men who have scored more than 1000 ODI runs at more than 90 per 100 balls, only Ian Smith, Kapil Dev and Viv Richards have not plied their trade within the past three years.

But hey, what the hell. All the evidence insists that it was easier for Don Bradman to pile up runs on 1930s pitches against 1930s fast bowling than for Victor Trumper on turn-of-the-century tracks with flimsy pads and SF Barnes to contend with. A century against the West Indies between 1976 and 1991 was worth a double against virtually any other attack ever assembled. Statistics, particularly those used to analyse sporting achievement, have always been two-dimensional at best. Nothing wrong, though, with throwing down a gauntlet.

	Paul Collingwood's own self-image, as a tough but fair competitor, has taken a pounding. © Getty Images

Two years ago, Mohammad Asif was on a roll, whipping out 29 Indians, Sri Lankans and Englishmen in four Tests to confirm himself as Pakistan’s next planet-conquering fast bowler. In Adelaide a few months later, Paul Collingwood became the first Pom to score a double-century in Australia for nearly 70 years, matching the matchless Wally Hammond. Now, for both, the doldrums beckon. In neither case is sympathy unconfined. But neither is it negligible.

By failing sundry drugs tests, Asif was the one who actually broke some written rules, rather than merely ignored the urgings of a spiritual manifesto. So it is curious, yet entirely typical of cricket, that there appears to be more compassion for him. As Kamran Abassi wisely points out in his blog, the Pakistan Cricket Board, in failing to provide a proper lead on drug education and then indulging him, convincing him he was fire-proof, have hardly been blameless.

There is even talk of Indian espionage. Was it merely coincidence, wondered one poster, that, the day after the PCB decided to bar its players from next year’s IPL dollar-fest in the event of it coinciding with Australia's rescheduled tour, IPL released Asif's positive results? “Not to mention that he was previously found guilty in India. And, also at Dubai Airport where 95% of the working staff is Indian!” It’s all too easy to see where this one is heading!

I have still to be convinced that performance-enhancing drugs can do much to enhance performance in cricket [hence the apparent dearth of offenders], other than to ease recovery from injury - which doesn’t really seem that heinous a crime, other, of course, than to the player himself, whose body might suffer in the long run. Nonetheless, my sympathies lie more readily with Collingwood, if only because he appears to have paid a full-enough price for his crime against the cricketing state but seems unable to avoid placing himself in front of misfortune’s steamroller.

Many will contend that the only tears to be shed should be strictly those of a crocodilian persuasion. Collingwood, after all, shook sackloads of sensibilities with his ruthlessness in an ODI last month against New Zealand at The Oval, refusing to withdraw an appeal after Grant Elliott had accidentally been clattered, and injured, by Ryan Sidebottom. For all his subsequent apologies, for all that team-mates might have counselled him better, or at least helped him carry the can, it cost Collingwood a great deal more than his suspension for permitting a slow over-rate. And rightly so. There are even those who rejoiced when Billy Bowden gave him out so cheaply, and so wrongly, at Lord’s. Here was justice. Here was karma.

All the signs now are that he will be replaced by Andrew Flintoff for the second Test of the D’Oliveira Trophy series, starting at Headingley on Friday. Having served his country so splendidly and unstintingly, in all forms of the game, one trusts, feels almost completely certain, he will return, but he needs assistance to dig him out his trough.

I have never met Collingwood, but all the interviews and anecdotal evidence suggest he is an admirable man, a quietly passionate sportsman blessed with a rare and priceless brand of determination. He’s needed every ounce. A north-easterner, he had to scrap his way to the top of a pyramid run by north-westerners and southerners, overcoming prejudice and pigeon-holing. Durham’s first major contribution to the national cause since they became the 18th first-class county in 1992, he batted with a punchy responsibility, could outsmart the best with the ball, and consistently produced the sort of breath-snatching catches one never, ever, associates with an Englishman. Characterised - snottily, snobbishly - as a one-day specialist, he nailed that theory long ago.

Lord’s, though, was his first game for England since that Oval miscalculation. Was this really Colly we were watching? Kevin Pietersen and Ian Bell’s frolics meant that runs weren’t that crucial, rendering that single-figure score almost inevitable: here is a bloke who thrives on, lives for, the challenge; without a mountain to climb or a wall to be backed up against, he is a lesser player. Yet even in the field the colour appeared to have drained from his cheeks; a catch was dropped that, by his own admittedly celestial standards, was virtually undroppable. And, although he took a vital wicket in the first innings, there were no magic balls in the second, no flashes of sorcery to relieve the frustration, no “Goldenarm”.

It is hard not to sense that Collingwood is down on himself. Forget what the outsiders have said, outsiders who know nothing of him beyond boundaries and catches. Forget the number of hands that have been sheepishly raised when other players have been asked whether they would have acted, in the white-heat of battle, as he did. His own self-image, as a tough but fair competitor, has taken a pounding.

Whether he can recover will depend less, one suspects, on form alone than man-management. One of the main advantages of central contracts is that recipients no longer slink back to their counties after being dropped, tail between legs, confidence shot, sense of belonging evaporated. Yes, a few hundreds and wickets for Durham will help, but the phone calls and texts must continue, reassurance the theme.

The same should apply to Asif, who has fallen foul, like so many before him, of his own immaturity and short-sightedness, but has also been nobbled by immature bosses, by poor guidance. Not that long ago he was made vice-captain, suggesting a man of substance rather than substance-abuse. Pakistan cricket, and the art of fast bowling, are not so well-endowed with talent that we can afford to see him ditched to the wayside.

	Without quotas, would one of the most successful fast bowlers of all time have ever scaled such heights? © AFP

“That’s why it’s the best game in the world.” So texted my best pal after last Sunday’s Wimbledon epic between Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal, which had made me forget for the best part of five hours that tennis has left me cold ever since John McEnroe threw off his Superbrat cape a couple of decades ago. “Best individual game, yes,” I texted back, still dizzy at the rediscovery of a lost love but not so dazed that my faculties had fled in their limited entirety. Yesterday’s fare at Lord’s underlined why I still feel fully entitled to make the distinction.

This is supposed to be the moment in cricket history when virtually every conversation and headline concerns the Twenty20 golden goose. (If the ICC wasn’t supremely confident about the lasting impact of this particular revolution, why else would Haroon Lorgat’s first action as the new Malcolm Speed have been to announce that the best part of US$300 million will be lavished over the next seven years on spreading the gospel?) The quality of the first episode of the first five-day play for more than three weeks came, therefore, as a blessed relief. It was also a glowing reaffirmation of why team sports in general, and Test cricket in particular, beat all that selfish individualistic stuff.

Let’s, for the moment at least, dispense with nationalities and loyalties. Here was a day richly symphonic in form and content. Slow but fascinating overture as the hosts take 21 overs to reach 50, vaunted quicks mislay their radar on an unreceptive pitch and openers shift almost imperceptibly from wary strokelessness to quiet assertiveness; sudden and dramatic exposition as openers and home skipper are blown away in quick succession by vaunted quicks and over-anxious King Pantomimer does his level best to run himself out before being felled; wholly unexpected development as shy resident of Last-Chance Saloon throws caution to the afternoon breeze and imposes himself against a top-class attack as never before; riveting recapitulation as King Pantomimer relocates the undiluted arrogance he exuded when he first played against the men he allegedly betrayed; crescendo as King Pantomimer marches on to another century and hosts spurt from 200 to 300 in 24 overs. Bar some spin bowling [oh, was that what Mr Harris was serving up?], who could ask for anything more? Well, since you asked …

Last month, while stressing that the current "targets" should continue until at least 2010, the South African board recommended that the ultimate responsibility for selecting the national XI should lie with the coach and convenor of selectors, that the selectors should be solely responsible for squad selections, and that the board president should no longer be empowered to wield a veto. Many interpreted this as confirmation that the end of quotas was nigh. However misplaced, the applause was global, the mourning inaudible.

Yet to scan Thomas Lord’s patch was to see the fruits of that prickly, divisive policy, and remind oneself why it was necessary. Forty years ago, Basil D’Oliveira, another non-white cricketing child of that troubled land, the man in whose honour England and South Africa now compete, brought the iniquities and crimes of apartheid to the attention of the ignorant and the blinkered, courtesy, ironically, of the MCC mandarins who did their level best to keep his oppressors sweet by not selecting him to tour his homeland. Yet here, now, a triumphant triumvirate of coloured men was taking the field beneath the committee room where that selection meeting took place.

You had to pinch yourself pretty hard. Or, if you didn’t, it says a lot for society’s development over the past four decades because you probably didn’t even notice. There were Hashim Amla, Makhaya Ntini and Ashwell Prince clopping down those ancient pavilion steps, wearing those dark green, defiantly unbaggy caps, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Afrikaaners, 153 Tests between them already, 345 wickets, 17 five-fors, 4598 runs and 11 centuries safely deposited in their joint account. For a few moments, as this realisation dawned, the lump in my throat had all the makings of a second Gibraltar.

All of which posed a question to those who had long protested against the justice and worth of quotas: without them, would one of the most successful fast bowlers of all time have ever scaled such heights, paving the way for a Cape Coloured and a grandson of Indians to follow? To me there can only be one answer, and it does not contain the letters y, e or s. In seeking to help transform societies and correct despicable historical injustices based on gender, race and physical well-being, quotas in sport have their place, serving the same purpose as those in the wider world of work.

Yes, the time for quotas at the highest level has passed. But that’s only because they’ve fulfilled their prime function: to remove the obstacles of prejudice and inspire a generation. One might also argue - and heaven knows King Pantomimer himself has done so ad nauseam - that they have turned a disgruntled South African offspinner into England’s finest batsman for a couple of generations. But then that might sound suspiciously like the words of a smug Pom.