THE other night, a black cricket bat became the latest innovation in the T20 form of the game. Essex’s Ashar Zaidai wielded it to smash five sixes that took his side to victory over Middlesex beneath the lights at Lord’s, cricket’s hallowed home.

A routine fixture, the match nevertheless drew a full house – 27,000 spectators. There were flame throwers, music and fancy hats for the kids present. The MCC, which owns Lord’s, was delighted. This is the way ahead, it believes.

There’s only one problem. It isn’t cricket.

For a start, there’s the coloured clothing. Garish outfits diminish cricket of any kind. How? Because – even if by accident rather than design – cricket played in whites is a beautiful spectacle regardless of the state of play. In the best of settings, say Scarborough, it is therapy. Colour was introduced to heighten cricket’s competitive element, but since many games now feature teams in similar colours, often dark, it’s hard to understand why it’s persisted with, sacrificing loveliness.

But full one-day games in coloured clothing can be, and often are, real cricket. Real because the game can ebb and flow. A loss of early wickets can be followed by a period, albeit brief, of attrition before attack is re-attempted. The full range of cricket skills can be displayed in miniature. Character among the players can reveal itself.

T20 attempts to make cricket a game of instant non-stop thrills. It is closer to baseball than cricket. That full house at Lord’s might suggest success. But such sell-outs are exceptions, and whether those attracted are a cricket crowd – or a crowd that cricket wants – are moot points. One cricket correspondent claims that the MCC and Surrey, based at the Oval, accept that on T20 nights they are “running the biggest pub garden in London”.

Of course, almost since the sport was invented there have been calls for “brighter cricket”. The celebrated cricket writer Neville Cardus once considered that proposition only to conclude: “Why then, seek to brighten the good old sun.” But with T20 encompassed by the words “bash” and “blast” – titles of the leagues in Australia and England – the very idea of merely “brighter” cricket seems genteel.

And these are early days. We can no longer assume that those running first class cricket actually love the game. The same correspondent I quoted above records a county chairman, unnamed, saying he would sooner pull in hardened drinkers than families because they spend more at the bar. Thirty staff manned the pumps at a recent Gloucester game, where 23,000 pints were consumed, bringing in £100,000.

But to return to the setting. As I write I have before me a picture of arguably the most glorious of all English settings for the first class game – the Worcester ground overlooked by the great cathedral. I once went there hoping to enjoy this only to find it reserved for members and guests. At T20 games that wouldn’t now matter. For smack in the centre of that magnificent view my picture shows a huge black screen emblazoned with the legend: “NatWest T20 BLAST”. A black-clad batsman drives the ball towards a black-clad fielder. But at least his bat is willow white – a small sliver of hope, perhaps.