Ashes diary: wig-gate

Every villain eventually returns to the scene of his crime. And in the case of cricket’s arch recidivist, so it has come to pass. David Warner today – while at the crease only briefly – made his re-appearance in Birmingham.

Only two years have elapsed since the city bore witness to Ashes cricket’s most notorious bout of fisticuffs since Ian Botham and Ian Chappell exchanged punches in Adelaide in 1977

I need only scarcely reacquaint you with the bald facts. In June 2013 a group of England players, including Joe Root, Stuart Broad, and Steve Finn, were at the Walkabout bar in central Birmingham,  celebrating their victory over Australia in that day’s ODI. Also there was David Warner, who became so enraged at the sight of Root’s comedy wig that he punched him in the face.

Many questions about that fateful night remain unanswered to this day. How did Root – who at the time looked about fourteen years old – gain admittance to the Walkabout? And why did players from both camps – with their money and connections – choose, of all places, the Walkabout, for their post-match revelries? It’s interesting in a way to see how the cricketers were brought together, despite their rivalry and enmity, by a shared love of Snakebite, sticky floors, and singing along to Hi Ho Silver Lining.

But why was Joe Root wearing a green-and-gold spangly wig in the first place? Early reports centred on the intelligence that not just Root but as many as three other England representatives, including Broad, were all rendered comedically hirsute by a range of such items. Which in itself begged questions. Do England players routinely carry jovial hairpieces with them on their travels, just in case necessity arises? Or did the group deliberately make a detour to a late-night fancy dress shop to specifically purchase them?

Then comes the issue of Warner’s reaction. What exactly was it about the wig which incited him to violence? Does he possess an instinctive and deep-seated aversion to garish, multi-coloured fake hair? Does Warner see it as such an affront to natural tonsorial justice that he was driven to vigilante action? Or was it something about the particular style or design of the wig, or the angle at which Root was wearing it, which made him see red?

But the truth will always out. And at this point we are indebted to the tireless investigative work of Her Majesty’s Press, who in a rare cricketing example of tenacious journalism, drilled down into the heart of the matter.

By these means was it revealed that Root did not enter the Walkabout wearing the wig. Nor was the item even his own property. We now know that Root peremptorily appropriated the hairpiece from one of Warner’s companions.

As reported by the Guardian, the Australian opener revealed:

Warner said: “A mate of mine was actually wearing it on top of his head like a [Lasith] Malinga wig, that’s what it was. He was wearing it on his head and [Root] decided to come in and take it off my mate’s head and start acting the way he did.

“When people are drunk that’s what they do but I thought it was a bit inappropriate the way he went about that stuff so I went over and tried to take it off him.“I just think in today’s society you shouldn’t be fooling around with that kind of stuff. And he probably didn’t mean anything by it at all but I just thought … actually I can’t say I thought … I probably let my aggression and alcohol take over there and probably made an excuse for me to go over there and actually take it off him.”

So far, so straightforward. Which of us would not act similarly in such a situation? You can strongly empathise with Warner’s natural wish to return the wig to its proper owner.

But aside from the question of why Birmingham party stores stock Lalith Malinga wigs – is the Sri Lankan paceman a popular theme for Black Country hen nights? – one other issue remains. Why did Warner view Root’s actions as “inappropriate” in “today’s society”? Should impudent wig-borrowing be filed under the same category as the kind of behaviour from a bygone age once deemed harmless fun but now firmly politically-incorrect, along with comedy Sikh accents or sliding your hand up the typist’s skirt?

The truth was more complex. As the Daily Mail reported,

Root grabbed a green and gold wig off the head of a friend of Warner’s and placed it on his chin, which the Australian claimed was mocking South African player Hashim Amla.

That crucial new detail – the transposition of wig from head to Root’s own chin – provides the final piece of this sorry jigsaw. And to be fair to Warner, what other reasonable conclusion could he have drawn? Root may not necessarily bear an especially strong resemblance to South Africa’s devout Muslim captain, but to Warner’s eyes both the imputation and implication were as clear as day.

The firebrand Ocker has already been the subject of sustained criticism for his often reckless words and actions, and in particular for his conduct on that night at the Walkabout. But we can now only hope for a certain degree of revisionism. Beneath his rambunctious and abrasive exterior, Warner is in truth a fearless campaigner for multi-culturalism and religious equality. While others in his position may not have responded to Root’s provocation in quite the same way, we must admire the ardent sincerity of Warner’s moral code and his robust refusal to allow trangressions to go unchallenged.

Whatever else happens at Edgbaston these next five days, I’m sure you’ll join me in hoping lessons will be learned and wounds salved. Perhaps Joe Root may think twice in future about the connotations of placing a green and gold wig on his chin within today’s climate of ethnic sensitivities. And maybe David Warner will move towards a more orthodox approach to combating Islamophobia.

What could be more fitting than for Warner and Root to use their stay in Birmingham to meet, talk through their differences, and find common ground. Perhaps they could meet for a drink – Snakebite, maybe – at a hostelry which draws on the ties of culture and heritage which bind England and Australia together. With South African barmaids and The Killers on the jukebox. I’m sure they’ll think of somewhere appropriate. It is time for them to talk. It is  a time for truth and reconciliation.