Cricket World Cup organisers must exercise caution to avoid sullying the reputation of the sport they are trying to promote.
Presumably scientific evidence exists to suggest fans are best bombarded by "entertainment" during breaks in play at the tournament to counter diminishing attention spans.
How about this alternative?
Give patrons the chance to pause amid the occasion's chitter-chatter ambience to discuss its ebb and flow rather than gib-stopping them with an avalanche of gimmicks.
Such distractions reached a tipping point during the Australia-England match at Lord's.
Yes, the Marylebone Cricket Club can be stuffy with the likes of dress codes in The Pavilion, but their love for the game and desire to nourish it is undisputed.
However, this shrine to the cricketing world was denigrated by breathless marketing and jingoistic analysis under the auspices of the International Cricket Council.
Fortunately a seat at the Ashes entrée was harder to find than a gap on a plate at the Michelin-star media lunch buffet.
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Advertise with NZME.Unfortunately that same captive audience was force-fed a Malcolm Marshall-like barrage of gags, presumably to meet financial imperatives.
Can't we just return to sponsors being seen and not heard on boundary hoardings?
That's not to deride sponsors' value – they play a vital role as a conduit for cricket's traditions - but more respect must be afforded to what happens on the field rather than any parallel commercial aims.
Perhaps these eyes are seeing the spectacle through a snobby and archaic purism but when you've been to packed test matches at the self-proclaimed Home Of Cricket, the crowd absorbs the action and the game has no finer advertisement. Surely a tournament like this should prioritise bat and ball above all else… even sponsors.
Cricket's not about an axeman butchering legendary riffs by the likes of Eric Clapton, Mark Knopfler and Jimi Hendrix on a hybrid Gray-Nicolls "air guitar"; cricket's not about people attempting to velcro fluffy balls onto a partner burdened by an oversized helmet; and cricket's not about talking heads blathering patriotic nonsense about England's chances and how much beer they will drink.
At least Lord's offers a reprieve with its Nursery End acreage. Groups can shelter among a host of food stalls before dragging themselves back for more blaring punishment. Other grounds aren't so lucky, unless you spend games traipsing through a concrete jungle below the stands. This writer, looking to experience Lord's customary open air vibrancy, got pinned below a PA speaker in the Compton Stand.
Every time the DJ blasted a song, the dialogue with the person next to you sailed into an amplified abyss. The only solutions were to ignore them, or invade their personal space in a 3am-nightclub-type fashion to catch a whisper.
Let's cease this marketing candyfloss before the tournament is stained. Can't we just watch and enjoy the cricket?
