​The T20 Blast: Cricket Behind a Plethora of Gimmicks

This article originally appeared on VICE Sport UK.

Wiley plays over the speakers; bursts of fire light up a gloomy sky and a dim buzz of excitement emanates from the crowd. But a rapper hasn't just walked on stage; this is the start of a domestic Twenty-20 cricket match in England's T20 Blast.

The English excel in half-arsed presentation of many things, and the shortest format of cricket is no exception. The Indian Premier League and Australian Big Bash League lead the way in Twenty-20, with a clear brand of brash, unashamed razzmatazz. Everything is super sized, with cheerleaders, fireworks and abundant advertising all packed into giant stadiums. By contrast the T20 Blast seems awkward; a half-baked compromise on a smaller scale, a mishmash of the now-familiar, seemingly necessary corporate bollocks mixed with a naff, forced atmosphere.

One mark of T20 cricket the world over is silly team names, but even here England has managed to avoid going all-in. Some sides simply retained their traditional names, while others fiercely contested new nicknames. In particular, the decision to change the 131-year-old name of Warwickshire to Birmingham Bears courted criticism from their fans. So whereas many English fans have been uniformly put off by fairly plain marketing, India didn't bat an eyelid at a 1980s David Hasselhoff TV series-inspired team name, or another naming themselves after a brand of whisky. Contrasting viewpoints, but it is clear which is succeeding.

Uh…

I went along to Edgbaston, one of England's most recognisable and famous grounds, to see the Birmingham Bears (or Warwickshire if you're so inclined) take on the Yorkshire Vikings. The aim: to immerse myself in the product, see where it was going wrong and try not to be too cynical.

I failed.

I was joined by a healthy crowd of just under 9,000 people on Father's Day. They came equipped with picnics and binoculars, picked up their free branded tat on the way in and settled in to watch the most accessible format of the sport.

T20 is designed to bring in the uninitiated, entertain children and provide some light relief from the traditional four-day goings-on. In an era when participation in recreational cricket is declining, T20 is the great hope for the future. It is the most easily marketable and possesses the greatest potential for growth, so you would think the ECB would be keen to get it right.

The three hours of sugar-coated cricket was certainly accompanied by plenty of gimmicks. Flamethrowers appeared to welcome four leg-byes. A jaunty, nauseating trumpet, a key fixture in the IPL and intended to engage the crowd, heralded a quick single. A time capsule of noughties pop tunes and generic house music greeted every ball that reached the NatWest-clad boundary rope. Any thought of appreciation for the shot that got it there soon faded when Eiffel 65's 'I'm Blue' dusted itself off and made its way from the speakers. An umpire review for a run-out – a mundane necessity – was soundtracked by the Chemical Brothers' 'Galvanise'. Next, an almost apologetic announcer put on his best corny voice-over tone to whip the crowd up ahead of the 'NatWest Scatterblast' – a round of free T-shirt throwing.

And before you knew it, it was half-time. A chance to treat yourself to a £4.50 pint? No, don't get out of your seat. If you stay you can see your very own hashtagged tweets on the big screen, enjoy football freestylers – who aren't doing keep-ups, but are balancing cricket bats on their heads – and watch the 'Little Batter's parade'. But the real entertainment, and surely the highlight of the entire day out, was a man attempting to name as many types of fruit as humanly possible in 30 seconds. A true spectator sport; you wouldn't see that in the famous Super Bowl half-time show, would you?

Anyone fancy taking the Bin Challenge? No? Nobody?

But not to worry: the T20 Blast is doomed anyway. We are only half-way through its elongated season and the competition's fate has already been decided. New ECB head honcho Colin Graves has promised changes. The question of franchises has been looming for a while now, and whether or not they go ahead, the English domestic season will undoubtedly look different next year. This eclectic mix of entertainment, designed to accompany the cricket, keep children from boredom and appease sponsors, was so arbitrary that it soon overtook the on-field events. Watching an IPL game, you may well be annoyed by the endless advertising opportunities, but at least it is whole-hearted; the commentators aren't embarrassed to shoe-horn in sponsored strategic time-outs, mentions of the 'Vodafone Super Fan' or the 'Pepsi VIP Box'. In contrast the T20 Blast is almost apologetic in its style. It feels like the worst bits have been taken from the more successful tournaments and diluted to create a strange hybrid form. Instead of Super Fans and VIP Boxes, NatWest current account holders get shout-outs and the crowd are constantly reminded of the merchandise on offer.

It is hardly surprising. The confused maelstrom of match-day oddities is far from the biggest problem with the Blast.

Just about everyone has voiced criticism. Retired England international Craig Kieswetter recently labelled the T20 Blast "a complete shambles". Chief among the complaints is the schedule: the competition stretches throughout the domestic season, from May to the end of July, rather than being condensed into a short timeframe. This has meant a lack of consistency: the big overseas names are only playing once a week, but are expected to maintain form. With the exception of Somerset's Chris Gayle, who came and went in a flash of six-hitting and social media frivolities, many haven't lived up to their star billing. Others have only been available for short periods due to commitments with other T20 sides, mainly in the unsurprisingly more attractive prospect of the Caribbean Premier League.

The problems don't end there either. When an easy comparison is available, the pitfalls are blatantly obvious. In 2014 the Blast attracted 17,767 spectators fewer, on average, than the Big Bash, no matter what spin the ECB put on it. It asks fans to follow a glut of teams (over double the Australian equivalent). Its coverage is also hidden behind Sky's pay wall, while Australia give their competition prime billing on a terrestrial channel. This all screams of unfulfilled potential.

A similar theme was surfacing beyond the forced spectacle in Birmingham. With New Zealand captain Brendon McCullum yet to arrive to play for the Bears, Australian Glenn Maxwell was the main attraction. 'The Big Show' came and went in two balls. A top-edge looped into the air and straight into the hands of the boundary fielder. The home crowd clapped. The tannoy emitted a mocking quack. The disconsolate batsman trudged off past the advertising hoardings and pyrotechnics.

The Bears eventually mauled the Vikings to death on a slow wicket hardly conducive to entertainment. They had achieved a comfortable, if unspectacular win. But it all seemed inconsequential. Families made their way out of Edgbaston with the contents of 'Now That's What I Call Music! 58' circling in their heads, lumbered with branded foam fingers, boundary cards, hats and T-shirts. With my cynicism emboldened, I followed suit. It was clear who the real winner was.

England invented Twenty-20 cricket in 2003, and if you strain your neck to peer beyond the added sideshows, the actual sport remains intact. But instead of appearing modern, engaging a new generation of customers and revitalising the domestic game, the ECB have succeeded in creating a confused mongrel undermined by inherent faults and overburdened with endless titbits.

The T20 Blast is doomed to failure. Expect a remodelled format and new novelties next year.

@felixkeith