ENGLISH cricket is on the back foot after billionaire Allen Stanford proved a false messiah, writes Dani Garavelli
THE warning signs weren't just there; they were lit up in red neon. From the moment brash Texan billionaire Allen Stanford flew into Lord's in his private helicopter, with a Perspex box containing what looked like $20m of folding money last July, it
should have been clear to all that English cricket was being prostituted to a rich man's ego.
Traditionalists looked on aghast as Giles Clarke, chairman of the England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB), and its chief executive, David Collier, fawned over the tycoon who flashed his wad and promised the earth. And they felt vindicated when the $1m-per-winning-player Stanford Super Series he bankrolled in Antigua was reduced to a tacky pantomime from which the English players walked away empty-handed.
The way Stanford lorded it over the event in November – flirting with the Wags and waltzing in and out of the players' dressing rooms – left a bad taste in the mouths of almost everyone involved. But not even his most vociferous critics could have predicted that within the space of a few months, the impresario – who has hob-nobbed with the likes of Prince Charles and Barack Obama – would be charged with an $8bn fraud and linked to a Mexican drug cartel in a scam that has left investors across the globe facing ruin, a large part of the Caribbean in economic crisis and English cricket in tatters.
Last week, as the FBI finally closed in on the missing 58-year-old in Virginia, the nature of the con he allegedly perpetrated on customers of the Caribbean-based Stanford International Bank and the Houston-based Stanford Financial Group became apparent.
The larger-than-life character, who spent large chunks of his personal fortune (estimated at $2.2bn by Forbes magazine) on public works, sports and donations to the Democratic Party, offered investors unrealistic returns on certificates of deposit, lying about the bank's financial performance to gain their trust.
As Rose Romero, regional director of the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC), which filed the civil charges, branded the case a "fraud of shocking magnitude that has spread its tentacles throughout the world," rumours circulated that the FBI was also investigating claims Stanford was laundering money for the notorious Gulf cartel.
After the news broke, confusion reigned as SIB investors poured into Antigua, many of them in chartered jets, to try to withdraw their money, only to find their accounts had been frozen. The Venezuelan government took control of the local Stanford Bank as panicked investors swamped branches there, and in Mexico, Columbia, Ecuador and Peru.
Now – with no idea how much they're likely to lose – they're starting to ask serious questions. Why didn't the SEC move more quickly, particularly since there seem to have been plenty of clues that Stanford's empire was founded on quicksand? And why did it take ad hoc analysis conducted by Venezuelan financial adviser Alex Dalmaddy as a favour to a friend to finally bring everything out into the open?
Back in the UK, questions are also being asked of the ECB. Why did Clarke and Collier throw in their lot with a man whose overtures had already been rejected by two other countries? Will they resign as a result of their misjudgment? And can English cricket – put up for sale for a fistful of dollars – ever regain its international credibility?
That Stanford – the antithesis of the blazerati – was welcomed with open arms by the ECB last year, is an indication of how desperate those at the helm of the sport had grown.
The board's reluctance to get involved with the Indian Premier League (IPL) – fuelled by resentment of the sub-continent's growing domination and a fear the bite-sized Twenty20 version of the game it has popularised would spell the end of Test cricket – had left it weak and isolated.
It was into this tense atmosphere that Stanford arrived, his open wallet extended like a calling card. The fifth generation Texan who has several homes in the Caribbean, became a citizen of Antigua and Barbuda a decade ago, and was the first American to be knighted in that Commonwealth nation. Driven by a desire to revitalise West Indian cricket, he had poured millions into creating a Stanford Twenty20 tournament for West Indian teams, building his own ground in Antigua specially for the event.
By 2008, he was looking to expand the tournament by involving international teams. Spurned by India and Australia – which were already involved with the IPL and were reluctant to deal with the flamboyant maverick – he pinned his hopes on buying up the English team's participation.
On the infamous day at Lord's he secured a deal for five Super Series tournaments, each of which would culminate in a winner-takes-all match – between England and the West Indies all-star XI, the Stanford Superstars. The carrot was a staggering $1m prize for every player on the winning team – and £50,000 sweeteners for each of the 18 first-class county clubs.
For some Stanford seemed to be the answer to English cricket's prayers, giving players a chance to earn the cash they craved without any loss of face. But for others the deal sounded a death knell for the sport.
By the time the first Super Series took place in November, even those who had backed Stanford found their enthusiasm was beginning to wane.
Not only was the ground below standard, but Stanford offended the players by being overly friendly with the Wags, lifting wicket-keeper Matt Prior's wife Emma on to his knee for a cheesy photograph. Setting the seal on the team's humiliation was the result: England were routed by 10 wickets.
As a result, Clarke's judgment had been called into question long before news of the fraud broke and future Stanford-sponsored tournaments were already in doubt. Ironically, the chairman seemed to have consolidated his position last week, when he was re-elected to his position unopposed. But the SEC's charges have seen the sport split by bitter infighting, with Clarke's opponents calling once again for him to quit.
"I think Giles was at the forefront of this deal which has not served English cricket well," said Neil Davidson, chairman of the Leicestershire County Cricket Club. "The image of the game has been damaged, irrespective of whether Stanford is guilty of these charges or not."
At the heart of the debate over Clarke and Collier's competence is the question of whether or not the ECB – which has now severed all links with Stanford –did adequate checks before signing the deal. Their supporters claim the board can scarcely be blamed for failing to uncover his dodgy dealings when it took the SEC more than three years to charge him. But others believe it would not have been too hard to discover criminal agencies had the company in their sights. "When you are talking about a deal worth a total of $100m, it doesn't seem unreasonable to pay an agency £150,000 to do a proper check; to get in touch with their ex-FBI, ex-CIA contacts and see if any investigations are being carried out," says Iain Fletcher, Scotland on Sunday's cricket correspondent. "If Clarke doesn't resign over this incident – which has brought English cricket into disrepute – then what on earth would he resign over?"
In the Caribbean, the potential fallout from the alleged fraud is incalculable. On Antigua alone, Stanford owns an aviation company, a publishing company, an athletics club and an upmarket restaurant as well as the bank. He is the second largest employer after the government.
Then there is the impact on sport in general. On top of the collapse of the events he bankrolls, a succession of sportsmen have personally lost out. Footballer Michael Owen and golfer Vijay Singh, who have sponsorships deals, and members of the Stanford Superstars who reinvested some of their Super Series winnings with the company, are among the better-known victims.
But other Stanford investors, a large proportion of whom are Latin American, also face an uncertain future. In a region synonymous with currency crashes and bank collapses, some said they saw investing with Stanford as a way to safeguard their savings in dollar-denominated accounts. "Everyone said devaluation was coming, so you don't trust your country and you don't trust your banks," said Mary Guevara, 56, who lined up to try to withdraw $56,000 – her life savings – in Caracas.
Back in Britain, the ECB is also facing up to the fall-out of its dalliance with Stanford. Already struggling to keep hold of sponsors for its main tournaments (Vodafone recently announced it would end its sponsorship in 2010) it seems unlikely to find fresh backers for the proposed quadrangular or the English Premier League tournament, which will probably fall by the wayside.
Instead, Fletcher believes it ought to concentrate on rebuilding bridges with the IPL. It has already brokered something of a compromise, allowing a 21-day window for players, such as Freddie Flintoff and Kevin Pietersen, to play.
"The ECB needs to show a bit of humility and recognise that India is now the powerhouse as far as cricket is concerned," says Fletcher.
That may be the end game, but it is likely to be a long time before English cricket finishes licking its wounds and puts the past behind it. Like his bank's many investors, the ECB was dazzled by the glitter of Stanford's empty promises. It has been left with nothing but a bunch of bad memories and a salutary lesson in what is and isn't cricket.
