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This article titled “World Cup needs classic moments – not Bryan Adams – to be a hit” was written by Rob Bagchi, for The Guardian on Wednesday 16th February 2011 00.06 UTC

Long before the 10th football World Cup kicked off in 1974 its immediate predecessor’s place in the hearts of the public suggested it was going to be a tough act to follow. The vibrant colours from Mexico, the trebly resonance of the commentary beamed for the first time via satellite and Brazil’s stylishly sadistic attacking football whose scintillating use of speed, grace and space exhausted then annihilated most of their opponents and gave it a lustre. That sheen made the West Germany tournament, for all the breathtaking brilliance of Total Football and the hosts’ dash and resilience, seem second-rate.

The 10th cricket World Cup, to be heralded by Bryan Adams fawning over Maid Marian at the opening ceremony in Dhaka, has no similar peak to overshadow it. Indeed the last two in 2003 and 2007 were such gruellingly tedious one-sided affairs, littered with meaningless “Super” stage matches and spineless collapses by the few teams who could potentially test Australia, that this year’s event has to have only three close games to make it seem like a classic by comparison.

This is supposed to be the tournament that puts all those moribund moneyspinning seven-game series into some sort of context beyond the purely financial. But it has been so badly served by administrators’ bloating the itinerary and so thoroughly eclipsed by a flashier, even more ephemerally enjoyable format that a failure to excite this time will just about render it redundant. It may endure a living death in the future as a made-for-television marathon devoid of emotion and substance, as an upmarket version of the Champions Trophy, but it needs a jolt to save its soul and significance.

When the inaugural World Cup began in 1975 it seemed such a bold and radical idea given that West Indies and India had played only two one-day internationals each before it, Pakistan one more, Australia and New Zealand seven apiece while England were by far the most experienced with 13. That lack of practice was apparent in India’s case, Sunil Gavaskar perversely taking 174 balls to make 36 not out when he deemed the target of 335 set by England as too high to chase.

West Indies, however, with a smattering of thirtysomethings making their last hurrahs – Roy Fredericks, Rohan Kanhai, Vanburn Holder and Keith Boyce – tackled the new game with the peacock strut of Vivian Richards at cover point and the languid buccaneering of Clive Lloyd at the crease. They played with an exuberance that was matched by the boisterous crowds they drew to The Oval and Lord’s, none more so than the one at the final whose premature celebrations almost allowed Jeff Thomson and Dennis Lillee to steal victory by running 20 when the field was overrun.

Four years later they triumphed again after England’s mastery with the ball through Mike Hendrick’s fiendish swing and Geoffrey Boycott’s surprisingly difficult to hit induckers deserted them in the final once Collis King came out to bat and inspired Richards back to his devastating best.

It took India in 1983, who had given no hint up to that point that they understood how to play the one-day game, to pounce once West Indies’ expectation of dominance turned into hubris. I’ll never forget Madan Lal’s prodigious leap in his delivery stride, the ball wobbling under dense, oyster clouds and Kapil Dev gambolling in the deep to catch Richards. At that moment cricket was turned upside down and India’s talent finally began to win out over perceptions of timidity.

The next three tournaments were studded with iconic moments from Eddie Hemmings spinning out India in the semi-final and the punchy innings of Mike Veletta that pushed Australia’s totals from stolid to stiff in 1987, to the last knockings of Ian Botham’s ability to send Australian minds haywire and Pakistan’s late verve in 1992 to West Indies’ twitch-on-the-thread victory over Australia at Jaipur, Sri Lanka’s electrifying onslaughts and Neil Smith’s vomiting at the crease that condensed England’s 1996 campaign into an unimprovable visual metaphor.

Even 1999 when England troughed too early at their own party saw two memorably titanic battles between South Africa and Australia when first Steve Waugh and then Shane Warne emphasised the gulf between promise and attainment. That tournament at 37 days was long enough compared to the fortnight span of 1975 and 1979 but by 2003 it lasted six days more and in 2007 it was stretched beyond everyone’s patience to seven full weeks.

Mercifully the 2011 World Cup has lopped off seven days and the stagnant, superfluous round robin but it still needs a spark to ignite, a beautifully crafted Aravinda da Silva knock, a Mushtaq Ahmed googly utterly bamboozling Graeme Hick, Richards stepping to leg and firing Bob Willis over extra cover or even Boycott turning his cap back to front and confounding everyone. There is still time left to save the 50-over format but if this World Cup falls as short of excitement as the last two we might as well give up. If there is no pinnacle, there is no point.

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