The Baggy Green is sacred. So why aren't we protecting it?
Sam Langston | July 15, 2025
A shrinking Shield, scattergun coaching and no county pathway mean Australia’s next Test side might be unrecognisable — and nowhere near as good. Keep ignoring it, and we’ll pay for it.
We’re kidding ourselves if we think Australian cricket is safe. For years we’ve floated along, content with highlight reels of Smith dancing down the track, Cummins charging in, Lyon working miracles, Hazlewood and Starc pounding away. It felt endless. It’s not. They’re all closer to the finish than the start, and we’ve done far too little to make sure what comes next is remotely ready.
Yes, there’s talent. There always is. Hunt, Kellaway, Konstas. Bartlett, Sutherland, Murphy, Kuhnemann. But we’re just hoping, aren’t we? Hoping that raw ability and a few nice Shield scores will somehow transform into day-five grit at Eden Gardens. Hoping muscle memory built on T20 short bursts will stretch into thirty-over spells when it matters. That’s not a plan. That’s blind faith.
“The Shield used to forge players who could survive six hours or bowl three spells in a session. Now it’s cut to fit around TV windows.”
The Sheffield Shield was once our greatest weapon. Ten or twelve rounds of bruising cricket, long campaigns that broke some players and toughened others. It’s why we could churn out batting line-ups that didn’t flinch at 3 for 20 and pace attacks that could bowl until their backs gave out. Now? We’ve hacked it back to fit the Big Bash circus. We’ve turned the furnace into a warm-up.
Then we throw them the BBL and pretend it’s enough. It’s brilliant fun. Big crowds, big money, big sixes. But try telling a young batter who’s made a living slog-sweeping that they need to survive 250 balls when it’s spitting and seaming. Try asking a bowler who’s only ever had to bowl four overs to keep grinding on day four. It’s not the same game. We’ve confused entertainment with preparation.
So what do we actually do? We start by paying for county placements. Cover everything — contracts, insurance, living costs. Embed six or eight of our best young red-ball players every northern summer under Dukes balls and under dark skies. Let them learn the hard way. And we send our own coach to follow them, to keep technique and workloads aligned, to stop five different people tearing their game apart.
Because right now, it’s chaos. Look at Sam Konstas. Talented, no question. But he’s juggling a private coach, a state batting coach, a state head coach, plus national batting and head coaches. Who’s fixing his flaws when it’s 3 for 15 under lights in Manchester? Nobody. That’s how bright prospects drift.
“If the Baggy Green still matters like we all claim, it’s time to prove it with action — not nostalgia.”
And what about the grassroots? Women’s football didn’t have pathways for years. Only after the last World Cup did serious money start flowing into local clubs, academies, scouting — all so we’d unearth the next Sam Kerr or Mackenzie Arnold. It’s already paying off. Cricket hasn’t even started that rebuild. The country nets that gave us Hazlewood? Barely there now. Outside the capitals, we’re hoping kids just stumble into the game. That’s how you wake up with no fast bowlers at all.
“When Smith, Labuschagne, Lyon and Cummins are gone, we may finally see just how empty the cupboard really is.”
This won’t sort itself out. Keep trimming the Shield, keep chasing sixes over stamina, keep letting future Test cricketers drift without a single plan — and we’ll get exactly what we deserve. If the Baggy Green truly means what we all love to say it does, then it’s time to protect it with real systems, real investment, and real backbone. Because when Smith, Labuschagne, Lyon, Cummins, Starc and Hazlewood finally hang them up, we’ll see what’s left. And chances are, it won’t be pretty.
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