The first time I read the phrase “Clicky Ponting”, I genuinely laughed. It sounds like something from a sitcom — a bloke at second slip, bored, decides to do a bit of theatre and clicks his fingers to mimic the sound of the ball grazing the edge. Cute. Funny. Then I read the actual punishment, and the smile went away.
Brian Devine, playing for Saltburn’s second XI in a North Yorkshire and South Durham Cricket League Division Two match against Norton back in July, was filmed doing exactly that. Fielding at slip, he clicked his fingers the instant the ball passed the bat, trying to convince the umpire that the ball had taken an edge. It didn’t. The batsman was out — wrongly, on a sound that never happened.
A penalty that hit the whole club
This week the England and Wales Cricket Board dropped the hammer. Devine has been banned from all cricket under the ECB’s jurisdiction until 29 September 2028 — a full two years. And that’s just the start. Saltburn’s second XI have been relegated from Division Two and will start the 2027 season in Division Three with a 60-point deduction. The club has also been fined £300.
Let me be clear about what that means in the real world. A 60-point deduction in a league season is essentially a death sentence. You don’t recover from that. The second XI will be playing Division Three cricket next summer knowing their season was torpedoed before a single ball was bowled. All because one player — one moment of stupid showmanship — got caught on camera.
In a statement, the NYSD confirmed it has received complaints relating to the conduct of Devine and Saltburn in multiple matches. That’s the part that changes the story for me. This wasn’t a one-off bit of silliness. There’s a suggestion of a pattern, and the league was clearly not amused.
The ‘Clicky Ponting’ nickname makes sense
The nickname is a nod to Ricky Ponting, whose on-field chatter and sharp, unmissable presence made him one of the most identifiable fielders in world cricket. But the click itself is pure amateur-league mischief — the kind of thing that used to happen in village games and get laughed off over a pint.
Those days are gone. Every league game now has phones in pockets, and someone is always filming. The Saltburn game was filmed, the clip got out, the league acted. That’s the real lesson here: in 2026, you cannot cheat the umpire and expect it to stay private.
Why this matters beyond one club
I’ve played and covered enough amateur cricket to know the game runs on trust. Umpires in league cricket are often volunteers — a bloke in a white coat doing his best, trying to get a day’s play in for forty quid and a sandwich. When a fielder fakes an edge, he’s not cheating the batsman. He’s cheating the umpire. He’s saying, “I don’t trust you to get it right, so I’ll make the decision for you.”
That’s corrosive. It’s the kind of thing that makes good umpires quit and young players think the game is a joke. Which is exactly why the ECB came down this hard.
There’s a line in the ECB’s disciplinary handbook about conduct that brings the game into disrepute. The click falls firmly on the wrong side of it. And the message is now unambiguous: do it, get caught, and you’re not just out of cricket for two years — you take your whole club down with you.
What Saltburn need to do now
From where I sit, the club’s best move is to own it. Publicly. A short statement, no excuses, no “it was a misunderstanding” hedging. Accept the fine, accept the relegation, and make it clear the second XI’s culture is being rebuilt. Clubs that try to fight these things on the basis of “it was just banter” always come off worse — the footage exists, and everyone has seen it.
The players left behind, meanwhile, have a genuinely miserable summer ahead. Division Three, minus 60, with a reputation to repair. If they can claw their way back and make a point of playing clean, hard cricket, there’s a story in that worth telling.
The bigger picture: cheating doesn’t pay
Across the last few seasons we’ve seen ball-tampering scandals at the top level, match-fixing investigations, and now a fake-edge click in a Division Two game in North Yorkshire. The common thread is that technology and social media have shrunk the distance between the crime and the punishment. It used to be a bloke’s word against the umpire’s. Now it’s a phone in the crowd and a tribunal.
Devine’s ban ends in September 2028. When he comes back — if he comes back — he’ll be 40-odd and playing in a league that remembers. The click lasted a fraction of a second. The cost was two years, plus a club’s season.
For everyone who’s ever been tempted to try something clever at the crease, this is the cautionary tale that should end the temptation. Play the game straight. The camera is always on.
The rules, and why the click was so clever — and so dumb
The rule that caught Devine is a specific one. The ball being played is the one thing you can’t fake. If you’re fielding at slip and the ball passes the bat without touching it, the only sound should be the bat cutting through air. Devine’s click was designed to replace that silence with the exact noise the umpire was listening for — the edge.
Here’s the thing that makes it so galling to umpires: it works. In the moment, a click at slip is almost indistinguishable from a genuine edge. The batsman looks up. The umpire hesitates. The finger goes up. And it’s only later — on the video, at the club, on a WhatsApp group — that everyone sees the ball never touched anything.
That’s why the punishment is so severe. The click isn’t a bit of theatre that happened to go wrong. It’s a deliberate attempt to deceive the official, and deception in a game built on honesty is the worst kind of cheating.
What the club got wrong, and what it got right
Saltburn have a choice to make. The 60-point deduction and relegation are done. They can’t be appealed away. But the club can still shape how this is remembered.
The best thing they can do is acknowledge it plainly. No “we’ll be looking into it” hedging, no “it was a misunderstanding.” Just: one of our players made a serious error, the league has punished us, and we accept it. The quicker they do that, the quicker the story moves on — and the quicker the second XI can start rebuilding for a Division Three season that, frankly, they don’t deserve.
There’s a real temptation for clubs in this position to circle the wagons and blame the league for being harsh. That would be a mistake. The footage is public. Everyone has seen it. Fighting it would only drag the club’s name through the mud for longer.
Why amateur cricket needs this
I want to say something slightly unfashionable: I think this is actually good for amateur cricket. Not the ban itself — but the message it sends.
Amateur cricket is the heartbeat of the game in England. It’s where kids learn to bowl, where weekend warriors relive their youth, where old men argue about LBW decisions over a pint. But it’s also a place where the “it’s just banter” culture has sometimes let people get away with things they’d never do at a higher level.
The Clicky Ponting case changes that. It says, loudly and clearly, that the same standards apply at Saltburn second XI as at Headingley. If you cheat, you’ll be caught — and the punishment will hurt. That’s a good thing for every amateur player who just wants to play the game properly.
What happens to Devine now
His ban runs until 29 September 2028. He can’t play cricket under ECB jurisdiction for two years. He can’t coach, umpire, or be involved in the game in any sanctioned capacity.
Two years is a long time in a life. He’ll be a different person when it’s over — and he’ll be returning to a game that will have moved on. The question isn’t whether he comes back, but whether he wants to. Some players, given a ban like this, quietly retire. Others come back and play out their careers, determined to be remembered for something else.
I genuinely don’t know which way Devine will go. But I do know this: whatever he chooses, he’ll never be able to escape the nickname. “Clicky Ponting” will follow him forever. That’s the thing about a moment like this — it defines you.
If you’re reading this and thinking “I could get away with it”
Here’s my warning to every player who’s ever considered something clever at the crease. You can’t. The camera is everywhere. The phone in the crowd, the club photographer, the streaming setup that some leagues now use — the game is more watched than it’s ever been.
And more importantly, the people who run the game now take it seriously. The ECB, the leagues, the county boards — they’ve all seen the headlines, and they’ve all decided that cheating at any level is unacceptable.
Play the game straight. Take the edge on your merit. Let the umpire do his job. Because if you try to fake it, you won’t just be caught — you’ll be punished in a way that hurts everyone around you.
The final word
The Clicky Ponting scandal is a small story in the grand scheme of world cricket. A Division Two game in North Yorkshire, a bloke clicking his fingers, a club fined three hundred quid. It doesn’t change the sport.
But it does change the standards. And that’s worth something.
Because the next time a young player thinks about doing something clever at the crease — the next time a veteran considers a quick click at slip — they’ll remember Saltburn, and they’ll stop. That’s how you protect the game. One precedent at a time.
