Cricket, by some metrics the world’s second most popular sport, has a penchant for producing rather peculiar scandals. UK-Australian relations were put under significant strain over the way that Harold Larwood, a coal miner from Nottinghamshire who could hurl cricket balls at batters very quickly, bowled at Don Bradman and the rest of his team in the 1932-33 “Bodyline” series. The tactic even resulted in a severe fractured skull for wicket-keeper Bert Oldfield. Nearly a century has passed, but cricketing aficionados still argue over it today.
Then there were the three Pakistani cricketers who were convicted for arranging to bowl no-balls in a 2010 match between England and Pakistan. The overall effect on the outcome of the match itself was minimal, but the scandal received a significant amount of global press coverage.
Plus, and in no particular order, we have had “sandpapergate”, a ball-tampering scandal ending with Australia’s then-captain, Steve Smith, tearfully apologising on television; the 1979 Dennis Lillee-inspired furore of whether it was right to use an aluminium cricket bat rather than a traditional wooden one; and the then-England captain Mike Atherton’s 1994 “dirt in the pocket” scandal concerning alleged attempts to make a cricket ball swing. That’s not even touching on the many other betting scandals that cricket has suffered.
But the recent “Clicky Ponting” affair, set in the North Yorkshire and South Durham Cricket League, seems to be something else entirely. In July 2026, video footage emerged of Brian Devine, standing at first slip, apparently clicking his fingers to mimic the sound a cricket ball makes when hitting the edge of the bat.
Devine, it would appear, has allegedly been pulling off this trick (and duping umpires along the way) for quite some time. And Saltburn CC have been merrily getting batsmen out as a result. Devine has now been suspended by the club for the “foreseeable future”. Other punishments may follow.
No one has openly argued that the Saltburn players – you’d wonder whether at least some of Devine’s teammates must have been aware of this particular act – weren’t crossing a line. But it’s what this does (or doesn’t) say about cricket more broadly that’s the interesting part.
The spirit of cricket (in theory)
Cricket makes a real play of espousing something called the “spirit of cricket”. In the 1990s, two former international players, Ted Dexter and Colin Cowdrey, pushed for cricket to recognise that the game is always played within the correct “spirit”.
By 2000, a preamble to the laws (cricket is far too serious for there just to be rules) of the game argued that cricket should be played “not only within its Laws, but also within the Spirit of the Game”.
Cricket, in other words, sees itself as having a unique appeal. And that appeal rests firmly on the basis that the sport is somehow different to (read, better than) other sports. But the reality of how the game is actually played often doesn’t seem to mirror this.
Devine’s alleged behaviour is clearly not within the “spirit of the game”. But similar forms of cheating – punching the ball over a goalkeeper in a World Cup quarter-final, say, or pretending that you’ve been bloodied in a rugby union game to facilitate the use of a substitution you wouldn’t otherwise have been allowed to make – exist across all sports. I analyse these types of things in much more detail in my own work on the (lack of) integrity in modern football.
Yet those other sports don’t begin from the self-righteous starting position that their game is somehow different. The fact that cricketing umpires have no way of disciplining individuals on the field of play speaks to this. Umpires have neither yellow nor red cards (or any variant thereof) at their disposal. In a game where playing within the “spirit” is taken as a given, they just aren’t deemed necessary.
The spirit of cricket (in practice)
The one thing that debates around the spirit of cricket consistently reveal is a lack of consensus around what the “spirit” actually is. The principles are no doubt honourable, but legitimate practice on the field is shaped by the 42 laws of the game, which are interpreted by the umpires. They exercise judgement based on how they think the laws should apply in a given situation.
The only logical way of invoking something as nebulous as the spirit of cricket is to work out whether an act is taking place within the laws. If you don’t like the act in question, even though it’s deemed legal, you need to find a way of convincing those who oversee such things to change the laws. That doesn’t mean that there is no such thing as a spirit of cricket. But it cannot (and does not) exist independently of the laws of the game.
The thing that arguably irks most is that many within the cricketing community assume that cricket is unique in that regard. Sport is not played in a moral vacuum. Respect for your opponents and respect for the game is clearly evident across all sports. Take the badminton or tennis player who raises a hand in apology when a net cord goes their way. Or a rugby player who knocks their opponent flying, then offers a hand in getting them back on their feet. The playing of any sport requires – or should require – the combatants to treat each other with a bit of respect. That’s the basis of a better society all round.
Brian Devine’s alleged behaviour in Clickgate will be frowned upon by more or less everyone who follows sport. And rightly so. It also one more example of cricket players at all levels indulging in sharp practice and inappropriate behaviour. Yet cricket still seems to think it’s unique in being played differently. It isn’t. And it’s time cricket woke up and realised that.
Daniel Hough does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.