Cricket is often said to be a game of inches. An inch is the difference between a fatal edge to the slips and a safe play-and-miss; an inch is the difference between being clean bowled and a mere dot ball; only an inch separates a no-ball from a legitimate delivery that could take a wicket.
But for Mohammad Amir, just a few inches have taken on a far greater significance than the question of winning or losing. It is alleged that the 18-year-old Pakistani prodigy bowled deliberate no-balls so that illegal gamblers could manipulate ‘spot’ betting. Had Amir’s foot stayed behind the line, we would still regard him as the most exciting fast bowler in the world. Instead, a photograph of his boot looks set to cast a shadow over his whole career. Rarely, even in cricket, has a matter of inches separated so much hope from such despair.
If Amir is found guilty, he will be punished; his actions condemned. Yet he deserves sympathy, too. Look again at those photographs. Compare the picture of Amir’s no-ball with that of his colleague Mohammad Asif, also accused of spot-fixing. The 27-year-old Asif, who has already failed two drugs tests and faced recurrent bans, was able to creep just over the line, inducing the umpire to call no-ball without arousing suspicion. The 18-year-old Amir, in contrast, doesn’t seem to have taken any chances with delivering his side of the betting deal. His foot was about eight inches over, an unlikely degree of error for a bowler of his class.
Such unambiguous evidence works in Amir’s favour. Such cluelessness, such a lack of savvy, won’t help prove his innocence. But they are testimony to his naivety. The whole episode suggests he never weighed the risks. A brilliant teenager — who could look forward to a glittering career in the richest era in cricketing history — appears to have laid his future on the line for what was probably not a very large sum of money.
If he got any money at all. History shows that illegal gamblers can conveniently ignore their debts. When the Chicago White Sox agreed to throw the 1919 World Series, the players didn’t even get the cash. The White Sox conspirators had stumbled out of their depth. ‘Shoeless’ Joe Jackson could scarcely read or write. No wonder Jackson was first entrapped and then betrayed by a cartel of professional gamblers.
What about Mohammad Amir? How well did his education and background prepare him for the pressures of stardom, let alone illegal gambling? His parents were so poor that they sent him away from home, unable to provide even the bare essentials of food, clothing and education. At 11, Amir was spotted at a local cricket tournament and whisked away to a cricket academy. Sport is familiar with the story of rags to riches, but Amir is an extreme example even by Pakistani standards. Two years ago he was penniless; he is now the face of Pepsi in Pakistan.
Yet Amir is not some multimillionaire bad boy, a Pakistani Tiger Woods. At the awards ceremony following the Lord’s Test, Amir won Man of the Series and received a cheque for £4,000. That is three times more than his month’s wages from the Pakistan Cricket Board.
It would not be surprising, then, if — as alleged — he did accept a bribe from Mazhar Majeed, the man accused of engineering the spot-fixing. I don’t think I ever met Mr Majeed when I played cricket. But I met people very like him. Pakistani cricketers are often followed around by friends, associates and advisers. These men are not agents in the narrow English sense — they don’t just organise cricket bat sponsorship or negotiate county contracts. They have a broader, vaguer role. They navigate a course for their clients — a course that suits the agent. That is why a life ban for Mohammad Amir would do little to target the real villains.
Arguing that naive sportsmen are pressured into illegality sounds like a weary defence. But consider sport’s recent history. In Bloodgate, Tom Williams, then a 24-year-old Harlequins winger, was ordered by his manager Dean Richards to swallow a fake blood capsule so that Harlequins could make a tactical substitution. Williams was then told to cover up the fraud and take the punishment himself.
Nelson Piquet Jr, the Formula 1 racing driver, admitted that he deliberately crashed at the 2008 Singapore Grand Prix. Piquet confessed he was following Renault team instructions. He didn’t cheat to win, he cheated to lose, and is now unlikely ever to drive in Formula 1 again.
Both Williams and Piquet were blinded by ambition and fear of their superiors. And yet Piquet was born into a privileged life in Monaco, the son of a former Formula 1 champion. Williams was educated at Wellington College, one of England’s top public schools. Both had experienced almost every advantage birth can confer. Neither knew how to say no. What chance did Mohammad Amir have?
And what hope do thousands of other aspiring young cricketers in Pakistan now have? Pakistani cricket is quick to declare outrage at any moral slight, but slow to address corruption and reluctant to ostracise those who have been convicted. The culture of personal patronage and cover-ups runs very deep.
How often sentences like that are written about Pakistan the state, not just Pakistan the cricket team. While the cricketing world studies Mohammad Amir and his teammates, the wider world watches the whole of Pakistan. Is Pakistan more friend than foe? Is it a failed state? Will relief aid reach the people who need it, or merely fuel corruption and extremism? The world waits, poised for judgment.
That is why the timing of the scandal is so sad. As we watched the terrible footage of floods and devastation, many England fans hoped that Pakistan would play well this year. There has been a feeling that Pakistan is going through tough times. Perhaps their cricketers could lift their country?
Sadly, they have done the opposite. It shakes my faith in sport that Mohammad Amir — a boy touched by genius but betrayed by dreadful role models — could be corrupted. But I am convinced that the game is better with Pakistan than without it. And I would rather be disappointed again than close the door on that country.
Ed Smith is a Times leader writer and a former England Test cricketer. See Sport, page 55.