When was the last time you heard a half-way interesting interview with a sportsperson? And no, not including managers – so anything Jose Mourinho says doesn’t count; nor Kevin Keegan’s infamous “I’d love it if we beat them” rant. Struggling to think of any, right? This is meant as no slight on sportspeople. Actions speak louder than words. Take cricket: when a player can say so much with a ball or a bat in hand, why do we expect them to be as eloquent when a microphone is thrust in his or her face. Which brings me to Alastair Cook.

While Cook was scoring stacks of runs, and while England were winning, it was funny that his accent differed in every interview, veering from plummy private school boy to Essex lad to, more inexplicably, South African and Australian. It was funny that he sometimes got a bit tongue-tied. But when the runs and the wins dried up in such spectacular fashion in Australia, it didn’t seem quite so amusing. Cook himself looked like he was struggling to see the funny side, often looking haunted, and it was easy to suppose that the stress of having to undertake so many interviews was undermining his confidence and form. Perhaps it was, we will never know.

What we do know, however, is that cricketers, regardless of their aptitude as interviewees, are obliged to serve a media that quite frankly should know better. Nowhere is this more apparent than at the toss at a Test match. Commentary boxes are filled with ex-players who know full well that players are trained to say nothing, and that captains, particularly those like Cook who also open the batting, would be better served preparing for battle.  Essentially, the viewer needs to know three things: who has won the toss, who is batting first, and who is in the team. Further illumination is not required in the form of an interview with the captains. A captain will say that he has selected the team and chosen to bat or bowl first because he thinks that is the best way to win the match. Simple as that. A captain shouldn’t have to justify further, the proof will be in the actions of his team. Any further analysis should be done in the commentary box – it is their job after all.

Am I really in the minority here? Do viewers really want to hear yet another anodyne interview about “hitting the right areas”? Do broadcasters think we do? Do sponsors think that we are more likely to buy the products branded onto a man making a meal of saying nothing? Sadly, they probably do – there is no such thing as bad publicity, after all. Don’t forget, these are the same people who, during the excruciating final morning of the 2005 Edgbaston Test, thought the viewers might be interested in car insurance. I wasn’t. Even if I could drive. In fact I didn’t want to buy anything – all I wanted was a wicket, and I’d like to think they can’t be bought. The relief when it came certainly could not.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all bad. Cricket coverage – and, arguably, the game itself – has advanced greatly in this age of private commerce and global television audiences. Test matches have grown infinitely more watchable in my lifetime, and it is easy to tolerate a few adverts as necessary evils. But I draw the line at the pre-match interview. Firstly, because they appear to me to be far from necessary. Secondly, when it is supposed that these very interviews are undermining performance, they are not only pointless but downright self-defeating.

Let the players play. Let the commentators comment. The product (placement) will take care of itself.