WHEN LIV Golf emerged this time last year it was tempting to view the situation as similar to the schism that split cricket in the 1970s. In that case, Kerry Packer wanted to show test cricket on his television station, the Australian Cricket Board spurned him, and Packer took advantage of long-term dissatisfaction among the players to lure them into joining his new venture World Series Cricket.
As with LIV Golf, WSC rocked the foundations of its sport and prompted significant angst among traditionalists. There are other similarities: both utilised new formats, a wilder vibe and flattered the athletes involved with bundles of money and abundant hospitality. Both even had controversial Australians with a grudge at the helm (Packer and Greg Norman).
As with all comparisons, it is also vital to remind ourselves of the differences. A key contrast, in these cases, being the financial state of the two sets of sportsmen. Test cricketers in the 1970s were paid appallingly and were subsequently ripe for being seduced by Packer’s cheque book. LIV golfers, on the other hand and despite Norman’s determination to portray them as being cruelly denied their due, were always rich and are now considerably richer.
There might, however, be a connection between LIV and WSC which we have so far overlooked, one which is being revealed on the PGA Tour rather than on the renegade circuit. Because it is rarely discussed in the common narrative of WSC but, after two years of the world’s finest cricketers playing each other over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again, they were both knackered and – frankly – bored.




