Six years in, I am still unsure whether the Big Bash League is a genius-level cricket innovation, a sleight-of-hand trick of marketing flimflam, the perfect wallpaper for summer evenings, a fluke of Cricket Australia riding its own coat-tails, a competition more important than life or death, a complete waste of time, or all of the above. I don’t know if my instinctive fondness for the BBL proves that I am a renaissance man of catholic tastes and broad toleration, or a pea brain. What I want to know is why, when I had to consult the internet to jog my memory of who won it last year, I will watch it compulsively night after night even after days of Test cricket.
