Daisy Cutter 002

Contributors Charlie Anderson................................................................................................................................3 & 8 is an actor and barista. He can be found in Brighton, checking the score of Norway vs Guernsey on Cricinfo. He's very quiet and enjoys puzzles.

David Windram..............................................................................................................................................5 is a part-time cricket writer based between Stirling and Edinburgh who also occasionally writes on the murky world of Scottish football. He can be followed on Twitter @davewindram and sporadically writes on his substack https://fearandloathingatmidwicket.substack.com.

Benedict Jones..............................................................................................................................................8 is a Gloucestershire cricket fan based in Cheltenham. In his spare time he enjoys painting cricketers in his unique style. He recently had his Jimmy Anderson painting bought by Tailenders' Mattchin for Jimmy's 40th Birthday. Ben also takes requests for paintings: @benedictjones_ on Twitter and Instagram.

Daisy Coombs.............................................................................................................................................13 is a Welsh illustrator with a psychic link to Charlotte Brontë.

Kim Fulton........................................................................................................................................................14 is a writer and cricketer from Auckland, New Zealand. Her writing has appeared in literary journals in New Zealand and overseas. Her first book of poems, I kind of thought the alpacas were a metaphor until we got there, is out now. Kim has played cricket for more than 25 years at a range of levels throughout the country. She’s previously worked as a journalist and is now a communications lead in the tertiary education sector.

Shafaan Jafri...............................................................................................................................................15 is a British-Pakistani postgraduate research student. When he's not watching Babar Azam's cover drives or Shaheen Afridi's first overs on loop, he's designing illustrations of them and sharing them at @SJD_Design.

Katya Whitney.............................................................................................................................................16 is a freelance sports writer and post-grad journalism student. Southerner up North and can probably be found somewhere on the M1 most weekends. Big fan of dogs (and cricket).

Est Rosenberg.............................................................................................................................................18 is an artist and cricket fan from the UK. They've never met an animal they didn't like.

Billy Pratt.........................................................................................................................................................21 is a mere bystander caught up in the raging fire of English cricket's culture war. He believes Sophie Ecclestone's six-hitting ability is under-utilised, loves Moeen Ali and finds himself enjoying white ball cricket more now that he's got a proper job. Likes to draw on MS Paint sometimes.

2 Daisy 2 Cutter: Dangerously in Print Rhiannon Blake is Headingley's top-rated false prophet/Box frequenter

Ildikó Connell has a butt that won't quit

Char Purdham is a part-time artist, full-time LOST enthusiast

The summer of 2022 has been the summer of heroes. From Jonny Bairstow to Mick Lynch, BazBall to collective bargaining, change has been brewing in England's green and pleasant land and we hope both can prevail. Realistically, however, it will probably only be one: there is power in a union, but not so much in the England cricket team.

Things are changing around here, too.

We're now in print! Coming to you later than expected because life gets in the way, but better late than never. We're super excited to share with you some amazing art and writing from returning and first-time contributors alike, alongside some editorial pieces and a very special interview.

Thank you to everyone who submitted their work for this issue, whether it made the final cut or not. Your engagement and enthusiasm has kept us from falling at the first hurdle and allowed us to make it all the way to issue number two. We love you and hope this provides the perfect sign-off for your summer.

Abbie Rhodes has created men from clay

Abi Slade is a bad bitch (non-committal)

Enjoy!

The Daisy Team

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in memoriam

REMEMBERING

HUNK On the evening of March 25th 2022, Gloucestershire and Namibia legend Hunk Frunkus died at the age of 24 at his parents’ cattle ranch in Namibia. Hunk left this world surrounded by friends and well-wishersecqeicqe during his much-lauded annual sex party, when his generous full-body coating of lubricant caused him to slip and fall down a flight of stairs.

Born in the Oshikoto region of northern Namibia, Hunk made headlines from birth as the largest baby in regional history. Hunk was born to the Belgian entrepreneuse Callista Bof and Bart Frunkus, a South African import-export consultant for US mining companies.

The couple emigrated to their 4000-hectare Namibian cattle ranch in 1994, describing themselves as “politically homeless”.

His early dreams of becoming a quantity surveyor were dashed due to what one school report described as “a room-temperature intellect”, but he shone in his second choice career: cricket. Hunk’s first taste of cricket came from a second-hand DVD of Monty’s Cricket Madness: a bumper collection of gaffes and goofs proudly picked by the Barmy Army, a 2007 film presented by the former England spinner Monty Panesar. The nine-year-old Frunkus was hooked for life. With a father who often travelled for work and no other children for miles, Hunk was his own cricket coach, making his own ball and wicket out of leather and calf bones from the ranch’s abattoir.

His cricketing and sexual prowess set Frunkus apart from his peers early on in his career, becoming a notorious presence across Bristol and the South West in his first summer with Gloucestershire, both on and off the pitch.

C ha Hu rli n eA pa k F nd ge run er 8, kus so n w ' O ith hum co nt ne a s no ble inu to th b e W er eg s t at ed inn o h ch it ing on . ion s ou of on r

Fitting to his life's legacy and the terms of his will, Hunk was buried completely shaved and oiled “like a bad guy from Street Fighter”. Pongo de Boffenschloeken (Durham, SA) gave a heartfelt tribute to his close friend Frunkus on his LinkedIn: "he died as he lived: incredibly wealthy and smooth."

Hunk is survived by his mother, Callista, his newborn son Archie (DNA test pending), and a first-class batting average of 83.

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"I'm a cricketer, not a politician..."

“Lady in reeeeeeeeeed….is dancing with me…cheek to cheek”. The driver smirked as the soft tones of Chris De Burgh took hold, and the Honda Accord pulled into the BBC Studio car park. He took the last few draws of his smoke and flicked it out the window. Peering into his rearview mirror, he ran his thumb and index finger across his moustache, gave his sandy locks a shake and winked to himself. It was only a bunch of jock students, this should be a piece of piss.

Before the lordships, the trade envoys, the twitter dick pic, the TV commentary, the Brexiteering and the wine, Ian Botham was a cricketer. A pretty good one at that.

With his swashbuckling batting and electric bowling, he revitalised English cricket in the eighties. By 1986, he was at the height of his fame, and a man in demand. Both on and off the field.

In Scotland, it was a decade of decimation.

Margaret Thatcher’s brutal de industrialisation policies were ripping the country apart.

There was strike after strike and job loss after job loss after job loss. With that came rich anti-establishment sentiment from across the country. There was strong political engagement from students, reflected in TV shows like BBC Scotland’s Open To Question.

The audience participation

show saw students posing topical questions to guest personalities, from Jimmy Reid and Tony Benn to Enoch Powell and freemason commander Michael Higham. And in 1986, England cricketer, Ian Botham.

As expected, Botham’s appearance was excruciating, toe-curling, ear bleedingly painful. A true must-watch.

Dressed like your flatmate’s boyfriend who thinks he is Hector Bellerin and spends too much time trawling depop, Botham is slumped in his seat, legs loosely crossed. He clearly feels above all this. He is used to being listened to.

He is used to a captive audience who will nod along in agreement. But here, he is instantly on the back foot.

“I think you’re missing the whole context love” is his retort when questioned on parenting. He explains a packed travel itinerary means his wife accepts she is expected to raise their children independently. “If you want her to send me the nappies through the post, I will wash them and send them back”.

Even this early, it is clear how this is going to go. The students pose questions, to which Botham will respond to in the most reductive, Brentien, Partrigian way.

Evidently, he has misjudged the tone of the evening. Now, it’s all about keeping his head above water.

“Is your wife satisfied with your attitude to child-rearing, or does she resent your apparent immersion in your own sport?”.

Bang. Here we go. No gentle easing in for

anyone. The question is asked with such clarity, and without apology, that Botham doesn’t have a fucking clue where to look. Taken aback, he smirks, turns away and returns like a wounded animal. He is clearly pissed off. “That sport is my living, to me, I’m an entertainer, so if you can entertain people and give them value for money, surely you're making a contribution to society”.

The stuttering response, and rolling of eyes, is one of a man trying to captain a sinking ship.

The questioning moves on to Botham’s criticism of anti-blood sport campaigners. It’s a red rag

consistently described in the English media and cricketing world as antiestablishment. Only in cricket could someone so clearly establishment, still be perceived as anti-establishment.

Next up is drug use. A thorny issue at the time and particularly topical, as Botham had just returned from a ban for admitting to smoking weed on a tour to New Zealand. No big deal. Until, that is, our man advocates for the death penalty.

Doubling down with the proclamation that heroin dealers should be shot, while those caught smuggling drugs shouldn’t simply be put in jail, but be hanged.

Things are getting very dark.

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to a bull. “Most anti-blood people are townies, they live in cities”. Obviously, the problem is with everyone else. If only we could all open our eyes, we would see that what he was saying was the only rational position. At which point he utters the immortal line “What people don’t realise is… deer in this country…there are more deer in this country than there were in the days of the King Henry the Eighth, fact”. Fact. Fact? Fact!

Attempting to justify shooting for sport, shooting syndicates and landed estates to this particular audience, and in this part of the world, shows just how out of touch Botham really was. Bizarrely, he was

“Yeah, I’m a Thatcher supporter, and I believe in a lot of Tory policy.

I do believe in free enterprise, and if a guy gets off his backside and wants to make something of his life, he should have that opportunity. I feel under the Labour Party it would be too easy for people to sit on their backsides and get paid for it”. There’s yer original Molly Mae. There is one very small chink in the Thatcher extolling. On the subject of Britain’s refusal to adopt sanctions against apartheid, Botham is in disagreement with the prime minister. It’s not all that difficult

True, Ian; but there are not many people who are just quite that evil.

Presenter, and now SNP MP, John Nicholson, challenges Botham to make his voice louder on the adoption of antiapartheid sanctions.“I’m a cricketer, not a politician”. Finally, some sense from the man slumped in his chair. Those words only increase in prescience as the years go by.

The discussion is brought to a conclusion as one audience member calls out Botham for his hypocrisy.

On one hand, he proclaims himself anti-apartheid, while then describing Pakistan as “the type of place you send your mother-in-law for four weeks, all expenses paid”. He was fined for the comments but evidently resents the punishment. There is an attempt to justify the comments by saying it’s nothing worse than what Les Dawson says every weekend on TV. Talk about telling on yourself. Yet, it’s a further depressing moment, in an already depressing insight into one of England’s greatest ever sportsmen.

Botham’s staggering performance is brought to a conclusion as he turns to the audience member who posed the question…” Excuse me, you must have a sense of humour somewhere in there love”.

For a bunch of Scottish students in the eighties, an English cricketer represented the embodiment of an establishment Thatcherite man.

It was cable knits, old boys clubs, ties and blazers. It was God, country, and Queen. The pursuit of capitalism and all its perceived

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virtues. It was Tory politicians clumsily using some cricketing metaphor to explain a political point.

What Botham had done on the field was irrelevant to them. The Ashes were completely insignificant. They didn’t care about whether Gatting should have taken over from Gower.

The ‘Somerset Three’ were a complete irrelevance to them.

Clearly, Botham was too selfinvolved to appreciate that.

Completely immersed in his own world.

Teammates and opposition continue to talk about mysterious magic that their mate ‘Beefy’ seemed to have. About how he would pull something from nowhere to change the course of a match.

Of how effortlessly he appeared to harness his will to win into a victory. But on this day he lost, and he lost badly. This is one opposition he was never going to bend to his will, regardless of how forcefully he tried.

The radio crackled as the driver adjusted the dial, before setting down and pulling out of the studio car park.

“There's nobody here, it's just you and me, it's where I want to be. But I hardly know this beauty by my side, I'll never forget…the way you look tonight” He balanced a can of Kestrel between his legs and smirked. Just as he thought, a piece of piss.

David Windram

Ones Ones To To Watch: Watch: EDITION

THE HUNDRED

By the time this goes to print, we will likely know the name of the brave and glorious crisp brand who may lay claim to the title of Hundred Champions 2022. Nevertheless, it's the taking part that counts, so we've compiled a list of all the players who have caught our eye this season, through their righteous dedication to the destruction of Real Cricket once and for all.

Bort Kloempers

George

Yarg

Birmingham Phoenix

Oval Invincibles

Finn Ogden-Wistanley

Jolyon 'Jo' Chippenham

Oval Invincibles

Southern Brave

Byron Cromwell

Jorp Duishuisers

Northern Superchargers

London Spirit

Tim 'Mitch' Honk

Rory Wethersby

Trent Rockets

Birmingham Phoenix

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The two Ab(b)i(e)s caught up with England Women's Communications Manager, Hen Cowen.

Abi: In November you came out as non-binary. Working in a sporting environment, have you experienced any changes since you came out?

Hen: Yes is the short answer, but in a brilliant and positive way. It's funny working with the England Women's team everybody more or less knew that my experience of gender wasn't traditional. They didn't all necessarily know what that meant or what words to use, but I would present in ways that weren't traditionally masculine.

Women's sport in general is a very accepting space; there are a number of individuals in the group who understood not conforming to stereotypes and pushing boundaries.

Even before I came out, some people specifically knew, some people generally knew, so I don't think it was really a surprise to my colleagues players and staff. They are without a doubt the most inclusive, welcoming, kind, lovely and loving human beings to a person. So, the changes I've experienced have just been seeing that in other places a bit more than I had previously. It's very hard to explain the kind of self-loathing and readiness for rejection you have when you have gender dysmorphia and

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HEN body dysmorphia, and what I was amazed at was the outpouring of love and support from lots of people on cricket Twitter. From my own point of view, to live as myself a bit more honestly since November, has been immensely positive - that's the big change. It has been frightening at times but it's been nice to see that cricket can be a welcoming and inclusive space.

"As young girls, the women were already accustomed to doing things that society said they shouldn't be doing or at least weren't encouraging them to do.

They were already hearing what society wanted them to do and saying no. They broke boundaries all the time."

Abbie: There is definitely an unconventional attitude towards gender in the England Women's

N PARTY team. How has that developed during your time with the team?

Hen: I often wonder what it is about women's sport that means that so many of the individuals in it are so welcoming, and I think that part of it comes from the fact that, as young girls, they were already accustomed to doing things that society said they shouldn't be doing - or at least weren't encouraging them to do.

Think of any number of the team Heather, Katherine, Nat, whoever - at age 5, 6, 7 they were already hearing what society wanted them to do and saying no. Every time they moved up an age bracket, every time they told someone 'I play cricket', and then became professional cricketers, they broke boundaries all the time.

Hopefully, that doesn't need to be the case going forward for girls in cricket. I think that's part of it - the fact that they were at cricket clubs when they were little and playing with boys and having to hear whatever nonsense they would have had to hear when they were young - I think it means that they're naturally more inclusive. They're in a space where they've had to defy things to get within, and then carried on excelling

at it. There's also a higher degree of open homosexuality in women's sport, which I think plays a part in it. When I started in the role, Katherine and Natalie weren't publicly out, which was something we talked about a lot and helped each other. That's been a privilege to have those conversations.

I think women's sport is a welcoming space for a number of reasons, but I think it's because these women are trailblazers.

Abi: I don't think it's any secret that women in cricket face a lot of online backlash, and you have a very interesting role as their communications manager. How do you manage to respond to the backlash in a professional manner?

Hen: I find it super hard. There are 1000 tweets in my drafts that I've never sent, because I think 'Should I really do that?', and the answer, 99% of the time, is no. I love Twitter, but it can be awful, so when you see something horrible I have to think 'Am I going to help the situation by getting involved?' - probably not. Is the person typing this an absolute idiot? Yes. Am I going to change their opinion? No. I mean, sexists on Twitter - is there a

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less inspiring group of people? To feel the need to carry on spouting that kind of stuff publicly is so sad. They must be so broken inside to feel the need to belittle and diminish and criticise; it's incredible. If it's just 'women's cricket is rubbish' then it's got to a point now where it's just an eyeroll, because I know they're wrong and that they've closed themselves off to something that is fantastic, and that they'd really enjoy if they weren't a moron. The more difficult stuff is when it becomes personal about the players, which is increasing.

It's a funny one; the more women's cricket grows, the bigger profile it gets, the more difficult it becomes to be a women's cricketer online. A lot of our players aren't really on Twitter, and I think part of that is because being a female athlete is tragically difficult. It's not worth the grief. But it is very difficult - you see something and it hurts, and you don't want that to be seen by a younger person and put them off playing cricket or pursuing life within cricket.

"If you're a girl turning up for All Stars and walk into the clubhouse, there's pictures of men all around and that's it, and it's a blokey pub why would you want to go back and play cricket?"

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Abi: You've obviously noticed changes in the reception of women's cricket during your time at the ECB. Do you think there would ever be an initiative of fighting back against the trolls?

Hen: I'd like to think that there wouldn't need to be a concerted campaign. In the same way that the game has had to face up to systemic issues such as racism and classism, the game has to be able to deal with the fact that cricket is structurally sexist and chauvinistic. That isn't the fault of the ECB - it runs a lot deeper than that. The ECB have a role to play, but we all do as individuals, and for men that comes down to speaking to and calling out their friends, watching and understanding women's cricket, and for clubs and counties to create environments in which women and girls feel welcomed. From a recreational point of view, we often talk about the clubhouse: if you're a girl turning up for All Stars and walk into the clubhouse, there's pictures of men all around and that's it, and it's a blokey pub - why would you want to go back and play cricket? What would entice you to be in that environment?

Things like that need to change. The facilities at cricket clubs need to change. The kit that can be worn, does it need to be whites? All those things need to change. Maybe it's a matter of time for women's cricket, but I do think we are moving forward.

Women and girls need to feel welcome and encouraged; it's a fantastic sport and beautiful thing

and it's so sad that it traditionally caters for just men.

Abbie: It's interesting to think of how much the acceptance of homosexuality in cricket has come forward in the last few years. How much is it a matter of laying the foundations that enable people to come forward, or is it a matter of getting queer people into the sport in the first place?

Hen: As in all walks of life, these things are a combination of a number of things. Speaking specifically as the ECB, we have a responsibility to make our game as inclusive and welcoming as possible, and despite what people might think, it is not for the want of trying. Often the intentions are there to do just that - it's not always easily achieved, but the intention is there.

The structural bodies in cricket definitely have a responsibility to be actively welcoming. Last year when the Unicorns played Graces, in what we think was the first every LGBT cricket match, we worked with the two teams and supported and promoted them. There's an element of the ECB helping and facilitating to make the game more welcoming, so that in turn people come into the game and change can be driven from the grassroots up. It can't just be the boardrooms driving change, because inclusivity and diversity are all realworld things. It's ultimately how we all live our lives, and speak to each other.

You can have really great plans, but if no one cares or listens, then things

will carry on as they are. So, it's a little bit of both. The people in power need to drive change, but you need everyone in the sport to continue driving that change.

Abi: A nice question to end on. What has been the highlight of your career so far?

Hen: Oh, so many. The easy answer is the 2017 World Cup final at Lord's, but I was incredibly new at the job, so I don't think I enjoyed it as much as if we won now. As media manager, you have to go into work mode when you win a world cup, so I didn't really drink it in. I wish I could live the day again and remember the highs and lows of it. Aside from that, and this is a really corny answer, but all the times travelling with people who are now really good friends of mine. That's the great thing about working in sport; you get the opportunity to do so many things. It's the times in the back of the hotel, or the team room, or finding a new coffee shop in whatever city you find yourselves in.

It's the laughter away from the pitch.

Equally, though - and this is less corny - seeing people achieve things that you know are incredibly special to them. Seeing Sophia Dunkley get 70+ on her test debut after knowing her as a person; seeing Sophie Ecclestone getting her first fivefer in a world cup. When you know the individuals behind those achievements and know how hard they've worked, you know how special it is and I am so lucky to witness that.

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Illustration: Benedict Jones

10 1

to sing d n la g n e r o f s song

anthem l a n io t a n e h t instead of lem) sa le (that aren't jeru

take that - never forget

3

boney m

2

- rasput

4

in

the player who does the best dance (as judged against the just dance 2 scoring system) gets a kiss on the forehead from the opposition captain

6

tea

rs f

or f

ear

s-e

ver

8

n - ro

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co hues

tio pora

to r

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will remind people that they'd much rather be at an irish wedding than the cricket

dj sammy - heaven

because the men's team seem to love it for some reason. there are two baz's in control of england's ongoing success

ybo

dy w ant s

oat

eb ck th

7

5

ing by someth

elvis

lana del rey - the national anthem

seal - kiss from a rose

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i will the glee version of survive/survivor specfically the glee version. england's revised management and style of play will surely take them in new directions

8

9

the

int ern

ati

which version depends on which side of the billy bragg cool/cringe debate you're on.

ona

le

Char Purdham

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Daisy Coombs

Square leg boundary, Melville Park Our first drop and second slip smoked cigarettes behind the bathrooms during drinks.

I carried Emily Brontë in my gear bag when it rained.

I don’t know what you’ve been told, but the game is more about marking time than it is about anything more consequential.

I’d whistle on the square leg boundary in the early overs while opening batsmen played cautious straight drives.

They were batsmen then and would remain so for another two decades.

What is language worth anyway when weighed against whatever our souls are made of?

Melancholy sweeter than common joy, that’s Brontë’s take on the passage of time, the worn-down touch of cork and leather, pulling the stumps from the ground as the light fades.

Kim Fulton

WHY IS CRICKET OBSESSED WITH WEIGHT?

It’s heartbreaking reading: here is a woman who has the skills and fitness necessary to play cricket, but was turned away because society has deemed an athlete should look a certain way - and she’s not it. In her own words: “Personally, I know I don’t look like an athlete – it doesn’t mean I can’t do my job. I looked like this last year, and I had a brilliant year.”

In mid-2020, England opener Dom Sibley lost 2kg and was praised by some for this supposed show of “determination” and “commitment” to the sport. “ I recall trying to talk to a journalist on Twitter about why ascribing positive moral values to weight loss promotes disordered attitudes towards weight and eating, and getting repeatedly shot down because “it’s international sport.”

In July 2022 Lizelle Lee, fresh from being named The ICC’s ODI Player of the Year in 2021, announced her retirement from international cricket mid-tour. In an interview with the BBC’s Stump podcast she revealed that Cricket South Africa (CSA) had deemed her unfit to play due to her weight being over their requirement despite passing all fitness tests:

At the same time, I spoke to Adam, who in his teens was told point blank by his school's first team coach that he would need to lose weight to be considered for selection - despite topping his year's batting averages. He spent the best part of the next decade with an eating disorder:

“Basically, I’m fit to play….I told them ‘you’re dropping me because of the way I look and how much I weigh’ and they said ‘no, we’re dropping you because you failed the fitness battery’.

I said: ‘Yes, okay, but if you break the fitness battery down, what did I not make? I made the fitness, the running, but I didn’t make my weight.

So, you’re dropping me because of weight’.”

“Weight loss shouldn't be celebrated because it contributes to a culture in the game which says that 'fat' people have failed and need to lose weight to be considered successful, when what they actually need to do is to score runs.”

Not only are the circumstances demoralising, but Lee feels she was I essentially forced to retire to keep on earning money, as CSA could have pulled authorisation for her to play in domestic franchise leagues such as The Hundred and the Women’s Big Blast (CSA deny they would have done this).

We were supposed to believe that, not only did this weight loss signify a strong work ethic (I guess people who don’t lose weight are thus lazy and don’t care!), but that it would herald an improvement in form. The latter didn’t exactly materialise, with Sibley’s Test average in 2021 amounting to an unremarkable 19.7, down from 2020’s 40.7. Could it possibly be that weight loss isn’t the answer? Can the player do their job to the standard required irrespective of their weight? If not, is there evidence that their weight is actually the issue, or is it just an easy target?

There is nothing wrong with Lizelle Lee’s body: It does exactly what she needs it to do, and yet the focus on her weight has led to her unable to look in the mirror: “I don’t feel good about myself, I don’t even look at myself in the mirror anymore because I don’t like the way I look. That just comes about because every time I’m in camp it’s always about my weight. Emotionally it just breaks a person down,” she said.

“"I became known as a fat cricketer. That was horrible. That was when I started doing it. That

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was when I started being sick after meals. Then things started happening for me as a player.

Everyone was happy with me. My weight was coming down. It was like: 'I'm bossing this.' It just carried on and I was doing it all the time."

When I stopped doing all that exercise I inevitably gained weight and I panicked. I spent 2 years with full-blown binge/purge bulimia trying to keep the body that felt like my defining positive feature. I couldn't bring myself to ask for support - the shame attached to bulimia makes it so hard - but eventually managed to stop. I then became anorexic and spent most of university eating poorly. I have gone through phases ever since. I remember a few years ago going to the beach with a near-stranger who told me I had a lovely figure and I replied that, actually, I’d been anorexic and barely eating for the last year. No matter how much work I do internally to break free of the eating disorder mindset, it’s always around me.

In September 2020, a documentary about Andrew Flintoff’s struggle with bulimia was aired, and widely praised. Flintoff talked about how his career took off as he was in the midst of his eating disorder, thus intensifying the psychological link between keeping his weight down through purging, and his success - and how, ultimately, it probably cut his career short.

At the time, it felt like this documentary really made an impact in the cricketing community. Yet in January 2022, we read about accusations of fat-shaming in the England setup after one player refused to take part in the skinfold test’.

I first really got into cricket in 2005, the year after my injury, and one of the things I liked about the sport was seeing a wider range of body types on offer than just “athletic” (ironic that I was unknowingly watching Flintoff at the height of his eating disorder). As such, it has been particularly depressing to read recent reports of the culture towards weight within the sport.

The skinfold test is a common test where callipers are used to pinch the skin and take measurements on various parts of the body, and then these numbers, along with your age, are put into an equation to calculate your body fat. The test has large margins of error and can be pretty humiliating to go through if you have body worries. In 2022, there are certainly more accurate and less embarrassing ways to do this - it’s hard to believe that such an unnecessary process is not being used at least in part as a way to make sure that players know their place.

A sportsperson’s body is served up for public consumption.

I’m sure nobody enters professional sport not knowing that their bodies will be scrutinised, but if it’s getting to the point, as Lizelle Lee indicates, that the number on the scale is taking precedence over actual fitness, then there’s a problem. This attitude hasn’t helped anyone - Lee isn’t playing for her country and she gets to feel shit about her body on top of it. Viewers lose a player on screen who represents a normal and relatable body type and plays excellent cricket.

Like Flintoff, I was bulimic. My eating disorder started after I had a back injury at 15. I was a sporty girl who took part in any sport on offer and was a very good sprinter and triple jumper. I had always been very slim, which I'd always been told was a good thing. I had a “runner’s physique” (thin) and PE teachers were unpleasantly surprised that I was crap at longer distances because they equated thinness with fitness and I wasn’t that fit.

It’s not good enough to say, “well, that’s just international sport for you”. We can do better than sticking with the status quo. Lizelle Lee says she knows she doesn't look like an athlete. Last year Lizelle Lee had an ODI average of 90.28.

That looks like an athlete to me.

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I remember seeing other girls being told to lose weight in front of everyone - girls who were dominant on the hockey pitch, strong girls who were off competing in throwing events for their county being told that they’re too fat. The message that you must be thin and always be working to remain thin was impossible not to internalise.

IGG'S PIECE, ALONG WITH OTHER POSTS AND INTERVIEWS BY DAISY'S EDITORIAL TEAM, CAN BE FOUND ON THE ZINE BLOG.

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Shafaan Jafri

Women's IPL: If Not Now, When?

The establishment of a women’s IPL, set to be held in 2023, is not just vital for the continued growth of the global women’s game but is essential for the Indian national team.

Despite having some highly skilled legends of the game amongst their ranks, the lack of support from the BCCI and the establishment of franchise leagues in other countries has taken its toll on the Indian team. If they are to keep up and continue to play a competitive role in international cricket, they must be aided by a women’s IPL.

A plethora of excuses have been given by the BCCI over the last five years as to why a women’s tournament is not in existence, but the declining performance of the national side should be the decisive factor in turning the tide.

Such a league will offer a level of development and investment which will not only aid the growth of professionalism among young cricketers progressing into the international arena but also further the confidence of senior internationals. The benefit of a top-level tournament on home soil cannot be overstated.

Since India’s infamous role in the World Cup Final of 2017, the landscape and dynamics of women’s international cricket have changed beyond recognition. The establishment of the Hundred, growth of the Big Bash and expansion of professionalism have made for a faster-paced and highly skilled game which as a unit the Indian side has struggled to keep up with.

On purely a business level, it is exasperating that the BCCI cannot seem to grasp the financial opportunities of making a success of such a tournament, not only based on other franchise women’s leagues but also on the success of the men’s tournament. This week the broadcasting rights to the IPL sold for more than £5 billion. Even if a women’s tournament is fractionally as successful it’s surely worth the investment.

This was never more noticeable than in the World Cup earlier this year. As the Indian side failed to make it through to the semi-finals, it was clear to see a new world order had emerged. Australia has left everyone behind them in a cloud of dust, but India are rapidly falling off the back of the chasing pack.

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These benefits will only be seen however if the tournament is set up to succeed. The details of what the tournament may look like if it runs in 2023 have been frustratingly vague beyond the potential for six teams.

Nevertheless, the BCCI must avoid some damaging pitfalls in order to reap the benefits of their endeavour.

Most importantly, the BCCI, the teams and the players themselves, and broadcasters must shout from the rooftops that the tournament is happening. Too often tournaments and matches have happened where fan bases have had limited knowledge of their existence. This must change.

The tournament must be widely and properly advertised to generate excitement and ensure it hits the ground running.

Scheduling is one such area.

Hosting the tournament in a window which is attractive not only for match attendance but for viewership is essential. The T20 Challenge faced significant barriers to expansion because of its scheduling around the time of the men’s IPL play-offs. Allowing the tournament to exist with little viewing competition would give it the space to claim its own identity and establish itself as a major event of the cricketing calendar.

No one wants a half-committed cobbled-together tournament which has had lacklustre planning and investment. This must be the jewel in the crown of global domestic tournaments and regarded as such by its creators.

Women’s cricket can no longer be fed on a slimming world diet, it wants and deserves a feast.

Alongside this, there must be a focus on young, exciting Indian players coming through the ranks.

One of the greatest successes of other tournaments has been the discovery of unknown talents who have been turned into superstars almost overnight. Creating an environment where Indian domestic cricketers can carve their own narrative will create a powerful homegrown hero effect and reinforce the roots of the tournament amongst fans.

Katya Whitney

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Est Rosenberg

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Werner Herzog once said he was "fascinated" by reality TV: "Read everything. See everything. The poet must not avert his eyes". The same applies when watching and consuming sport because, ultimately, sport is reality TV. Or rather, great sport is reality TV. The second time I watched The Edge, I chased it with TikTok clips from Real Housewives, and the afterimage of the documentary superimposed on Bethenny Frankel so seamlessly I think I permanently replaced any impression of what conversations were had in the dressing room during that infamous era with "go back from the cabinet you came out of...witch". Ostensibly trivial premises - a bat-and-ball game, arguments among socialites - are given unusually high stakes: mental djfjsjdj health struggles, the end of people's careers, all cut with dramatic shots and suspenseful music. In front of our screens, we can't look away.

CLR James derived cricket's cultural value from its supposed structural similarities with drama on stage; the embodiment of an Apollo statue by a batter playing a smooth cover drive. It was not merely low efvervf

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culture, but elevated by of all its shared qualities with high culture.

In the modern day, we don’t have to strive to escape the realm of low culture attributed to sport but rather embrace it.

Cricket's value as culture is not derived solely from what happens on the field or during play. When McCullum and Stokes committed their being in the "entertainment business" first and foremost, it wasn't just alluding to showmanship on the field, but an unintentional hark back to a bygone era, when cricketers shared tabloid spreads with reality TV divas and WAGs. Bazball requires players to let go, to play with the spectacle rather than perfection in mind. Sport is entertainment, thus sportsmen must be entertainers – even at their own expense.

This bygone era, exemplified best by the 90s and 00s, saw cricket’s image in the popular mind caught between a clash of high and low culture. An all-oobrief, all-too-hesitant attempt at reconciling the traditionalist, conservative perceptions (and realities) of the sport with the celebrity landscape as it existed in the wake of Cool Britannia.

Players were snappy, bitchy fvefv

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messes. Dressing rooms were pressure cookers of colossal personalities. The last of these (because no, one street fight doesn’t make a Bitch), England’s very own Azealia Banks, arguably faced his downfall precisely because he found himself no longer surrounded by the flash of culture which had created him. Times had moved on.

By contrast, post-Textgate English cricket has been largely devoid of off-field messiness and drama in a pattern reminiscent of wider celebrity culture since around the same time. ‘Behind the scenes’ is now so acutely managed through the faux-transparency of social media that candid reaction no longer exists. The spectre of sponsorship deals and the ‘role model’ responsibility mean that the sporting reality star’s performance no longer embodies exaggerated feuds and shocking reveals, but branded Insta reel Q&As and NFTs. It’s taken cricket so little time to regress to this point because it had little confidence in its controversies in the first place. Any attempt at subversion was thwarted because they ultimately still subscribed to the authority of the archaic institution of English cricket – if not its current iteration, then nevertheless its history and various mythologies – even when they were desperately reeling against it.

Being a product of its time, it’s unlikely we’ll ever get another chance to fully exploit the ironic contrast of cricket and tabloid celebrity culture (in England, at least). We can only hope that the McCullum-Stokes five year plan gives it room to have fun again, if without the rampant toxicity – which is probably good for the players, just not for those of us who love the drama.

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by Billy Pratt

Cover by Char Purdham