The Price of an Icon

The unveiling of the new Australian One Day cricket strip has caused much debate amongst the cricketing die-hards in this country. While the obvious clash in colour with other nations’ uniforms is clearly going to be a logistical nightmare in series beyond this summer’s One Day International calendar, my ire has been ignited over two slightly different issues that I think most true blooded Australians would agree with.

The first of these matters relates to the death of a much loved Australian shade of debate; an icon in itself which not only represents the dawning of a new era in cricket, but also has provided us collectively with moments of hilarity to help fill in the hours consumed with rain delays, drinks breaks and slow over rates.

I’m talking, of course, of the colour Canary Yellow.

Canary Yellow is, by and large, a derogatory term according to most cricket obsessives in Australia, most preferring the much more prestigious and royal idiom, Australian Gold. But while it’s not the most authoritative of colours going around, it is nonetheless immediately identifiable with our One Day wonders, dating right back to the days of World Series Cricket when DK would push off the long off fence at regular intervals as he attempted to knock some poor geezer’s block off. Back in the day, Pansy Pink was the preferred colour for the West Indies (perhaps as part of an endeavour of Packer’s to nullify their prowess in everything else they did on the cricket field), and Leprechaun Green the colour favoured by the Pakistanis.

These are images ingrained in the memories of all those who can remember the pyjama party that was Kerry Packer’s ingenious foresight, and images which have imbedded themselves in our culture’s, and indeed our sport’s, identity.

If nothing else, it provided just another of a string of triggers which allowed Bill Lawry and Tony Greig to get stuck into each other whilst trying to commentate a game that was either yet to accelerate or well past its climax.

In its own special way, Canary Yellow is every bit the icon that Baggy Green is. The difference, however, is that one is a colour, and the other is an idea, a concept, a notion.

Which brings me to my next point.

What makes Baggy Green Baggy Green is not the shade, depth or darkness of the tint, but more the texture of the felt, the shape of its peak, and the way the Australian emblem slowly melds into its surrounds the more it gets worn. It is all of these aspects combined with the pride which drapes itself over the wearer which makes Baggy Green what it is. You can’t consign something as symbolic as the Baggy Green to a mere colour for it is much more than this to those who possess it, and more so, those who desire it. If you ask any cricketer what their Baggy Green means to them, you could bet your country’s Ashes glory that they would do more than just shrug and say, “It’s quite a nice tinge of green, isn’t it?”

So to say that the Aussies’ new strip for home one dayers is Baggy Green in colour cheapens the whole concept that this icon has presented to cricket lovers across this vast land of ours. No longer is the Baggy Green the revered symbol that it used to be. Instead, it has now been watered down to include the garments one wears when playing the shortened version of this once traditionally-entrenched game.

Bring back the Canary Yellow, or at the very least, make the upgrade to Australian Gold. But don’t devalue an Australian institution for the sake of change itself. It has nothing to do with clashing with other countries, or even with being rigidly conservative. It’s got to do with national pride, and the honour that comes with it when the ultimate in international cricket is earned.