MAGICAL COMBINATION | July 22nd 2008

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Wandering round Lord's provides an excellent opportunity to watch the English middle-class male at leisure. This is not as awful as it might sound, writes business correspondent for Economist.com ...

The buzz of anticipation starts to build well before reaching Lord's. On the train into central London I see two young men in shorts and sun hats with large cool box. Surely they are on the same journey as me--to Lord's, the home of cricket. Nearer the ground the tube train begins to fill with more like-minded souls. I glimpse a flash of the distinctive “egg-and-bacon” yellow-and-pink tie of the Marylebone Cricket Club, the custodians of the laws of cricket, whose home is Lord's. Next Panama hat or two with a band in the same colours hoves into view. And finally on Wellington Rod, close to the ground, the few become a jovial throng heading for the Test match. The smattering of MCC colours is reinforced by more daring older members who sport dazzling MCC blazers, lurid beacons mid the more soberly attired cricket fans.

There is no finer way for a cricket-lover to spend a summer's day than at Lord's. Players are of much the same opinion. Professional cricketers round the world, when asked what grounds they like the best, dutifully name their home turf, before adding “...and, of course, Lord's”. It must be one of the world's most attractive sporting arenas. An Edwardian pavilion nestles comfortably between more modern stands. Facing it cross the gently sloping field of play is a space-age press box, often compared to a gigantic radio-alarm clock. The wacky design attracted controversy when it was first built but now is as much a part of the furniture as is “Old Father Time” on his weathervane.

Unlike most sporting venues, here the pitch and stands are surrounded by plant open spaces--the nursery cricket ground and cool shady gardens but a circular walkway round the outside of the stands. If a whole day of cricket is too much to take (and it can be), wandering round Lord's to the totaling and prping soundtrack of a traditional jazz band provides an excellent opportunity to watch the English middle-class male at leisure. This is not as awful as it might sound. Because a special spirit pervades--of bonhomie, great good cheer. A magical combination of sun, cricket and alcohol ensures that it is so.

Though women, children, and examples of many of Britain’s ethnic minorities mingle happily t Lord's, the bulk of the crowd is male and white. Perhaps cricket's great attraction for them is that it is one of the few occasions when otherwise respectable gentlemen, well past their teenage years, feel it reasonable, desirable, mandatory even, to begin drinking shortly after play commences t 11m. The only other venues where this sense of freedom, of a satisfyingly wicked abandonment of social mores, really takes hold is in airports, where a beer may be taken at any hour--though typically under the cover of an imminent switch of time zones.

And, unlike t most other sporting venues, bringing long a drink or two to cricket, while not exactly encouraged, is hardly frowned upon. Rules displayed prominently at the gates limit the amount one might bring into the ground. But more for the sake of the takings of in-house bars than from any fear that alcohol-fuelled violence will erupt among the middle-class men.

The worst result of excess boozing I have ever witnessed (and this was t London's less salubrious international cricket venue, the Oval) was a naked man treating those round him to a spirited and tuneful rendition of “Suspicious Minds”. By the time stewards had come to eject him he had put his clothes back on. “Who was it?” demanded the leader of the baffled forces of authority. “Was it you?” they demanded of the guilty party, who had assumed an air of wounded innocence. The stewards, still unsure of their quarry, surveyed the mass of cricket fans suspiciously until a distant voice piped up: “I m Spartacus”. Another voice, familiar with the famous scene in the epic film bout the slave revolt in ancient Rome, chimed in with the same line. Then another and another, until the scene of Spartacus's fellow rebels attempting to shield him from capture by the Romans was pleasingly recreated in the Peter May Stand at the Oval, south London. The nude baritone was eventually identified and thrown out anyway.

But this sys much bout the amiable nature of a cricket crowd and the camaraderie and instant friendships that can blossom through a shred love of the game. And that spirit is a reflection of what you see on the cricket pitch. But now there are great fears bout how long this spirit can endure in professional cricket. It is generally accepted that international and domestic cricket is on the cusp of great upheaval. Money is pouring in like never before and it's not clear how cricket will stand up to this onslaught. Change is not something that cricket takes on lightly. The preface to the MCC's laws of cricket states:

“The basic Laws of Cricket have stood remarkably well the test of well over 250 years of plying the game. It is thought the real reason for this is that cricketers have traditionally been prepared to play in the Spirit of the game as well as in accordance with the Laws.”

The spirit of the game, shred by players and fns like, is still in reasonable shape. It's a part of what makes a day at Lord's such a pleasant experience. But can the spirit of cricket withstand the battering that huge wads of cash are sure to deal it?

(This column is part of a week-long diary about Cricket at Lord's, published on Economist.com).