SAM MORSHEAD: If this episode has taught us anything, it is that the boundary between acceptable and inappropriate is different for everyone
How do you police the unpoliceable?
On Friday, Kagiso Rabada was banned from the fourth Test against England, having accumulated a fourth demerit point in 24 months for his reaction to dismissing Joe Root in Port Elizabeth.
The clause within the ICC's code of conduct which Rabada was found to have breached is vague.
“Using language, actions or gestures which disparage or which could Provoke an aggressive reaction from a batter upon his/her dismissal during an international match,” reads article 2.5.
This includes, but is not limited to, verbal abuse of the batsman, pointing towards the pavilion and - and this was presumably the part which match referee Andy Pycroft felt applied to Rabada’s celebration on Thursday - “excessive celebration directed at and in close proximity to the dismissed batter”.
The “and” is critical, here. It is not “or”. While there is no doubt that Rabada was in Root’s “personal space”, he was clearly not shouting at the England captain - as was the case in his previous indiscretions against Shikhar Dhawan and David Warner. Nor did he make any physical contact, as he did with Steve Smith in March 2018.
So, the bowler’s offence was not outlined by any of the specifics. Instead, it fell under the much looser, considerably more subjective terms of article 2.5, relating to the potential to provoke - a somewhat Orwellian concept which asks match officials to assess events not by set criteria but by cross-referencing their own perceptions of what happened against how they might feel in the same scenario; a curious method of arbitration.
Kagiso Rabada will miss the fourth Test
“You might not have robbed that bank, sir, but it sure as hell looked as though you might have thought about it last week”.
The ICC documentation is at pains to state that the clause is not intended “to stop players celebrating, in an appropriate fashion, the dismissal of the opposing team’s batter”.
Yet “appropriate” - perhaps the most important word in the entire article - remains undefined.
It would not be entirely unreasonable, for example, if you viewed Sheldon Cottrell’s salute as “inappropriate”, or Shahid Afridi’s power pose, or Imran Tahir’s 100m sprint.
That ambiguity leaves this particular part of the code of conduct incredibly difficult to police fairly.
If this episode has taught us anything, it is that the boundary between acceptable and inappropriate is different for everyone, as an engrossing exchange between Michael Holding and Nasser Hussain on Sky Sports during the lunch break proved.
While Hussain criticised the punishment, decrying it as “sanitising” the game, Holding was more pragmatic.
Rabada, he argued, was the motorist with nine points on his licence who continues to test the elasticity of the speed limit. He had only himself to blame.
Is it not possible for both men to be right? Holding’s point is sensible and would absolutely be applicable if Rabada’s actions breached the specifics of the code of conduct as it is written, but the code is fundamentally flawed to the point of being detrimental to the sport - as noted by Hussain.
Rabada was indeed on a final warning, brought on by three previous offences which all fell within the limited wording of clause 2.5. And yes, as a result, he has developed a reputation as something of a loose cannon; a repeat offender; a man on his final warning. But none of those facts should have had any influence in the way this particular incident was assessed.
Which brings us on to another important question: what actually constitutes a “potential” provocation?
Rabada was cited for his celebration on Thursday
There is no universal answer. Every batsman has different motivations, sensitivities and triggers, all of which might be affected by mood, circumstance and timing; that is just human nature. The spectrum of actions which could conceivably lead to an aggressive reaction is so vast that for the ICC’s officials to fairly implement the governing body’s own code of conduct, they would need to punish a litany of possible infractions.
Rabada’s are more easily identifiable because he is a fiery and fierce fast bowler, who struggles to filter his emotions on the field - especially when he claims the wicket of England’s premier batsman at a vital juncture in a crucial Test match.
Yet a whole-hearted celebration such as his on Thursday is not necessarily more likely to incite a batsman than an under-the-breath remark or gentle gesture from yards away which, without context, might seem innocuous enough for the umpires to either discount or miss altogether.
Only Joe Root can tell us whether he felt like throttling Rabada - but because of the way the code is worded, it would not matter whether he was incandescent with rage or completely oblivious.
That can’t be right.
ARTICLE 2.5 OF THE ICC CODE OF CONDUCT
Article 2.5 includes any language, action or gesture used by a player and directed towards a batter upon his/her dismissal which has the potential to provoke an aggressive reaction from the dismissed batter, whether or not any reaction results, or which could be considered to disparage or demean the dismissed batter, regardless of whether the batter him/herself feels disparaged or demeaned (in other words, a ‘send-off’).
Without limitation, article 2.5 includes: (a) excessive celebration directed at and in close proximity to the dismissed batter; (b) verbally abusing the dismissed batter; and (c) pointing or gesturing towards the pavilion.
Nothing in this article 2.5 is, however, intended to stop players celebrating, in an appropriate fashion, the dismissal of the opposing team’s batter.
And besides, if we were being truly fair, there would be an equivalent item within the code of conduct for batsmen.
Should Virat Kohli, for example, be allowed to goad Kesrick Williams by mocking his wicket celebration or gawping at him in faux awe after hitting the West Indies seamer for six?
Kohli was widely celebrated for those actions in December, and understandably; moments like those bring character and colour into the sport, heighten entertainment levels, and draw eyeballs on social media.
But the argument that they did not amount to provocation is flimsy at best.
Article 2.5 is not the most ambiguous in in the code.
Article 2.20 relates to “all types of conduct that is contrary to the spirit of the game and which is not specifically and adequately covered by the specific offences set out elsewhere in this code of conduct,” which, quite frankly, reads like the final 10 paragraphs in the GCSE coursework of a history student who’s just got wind of a house party.
When it comes to governing behaviour, which can have knock-on effects for careers and reputations, specifics matter.
The code of conduct was introduced in the early 1990s, along with match referees, as part of then-ICC president Colin Cowdrey’s concerted effort to halt what he deemed to be a decline in player behaviour and establish boundaries for the “Spirit of Cricket”.
Its intentions are admirable but, like the players whose attitudes it seek to influence, it is not perfect.
The Rabada incident is a very stark example.
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