A Farewell to Cricket

If I were to look back and identify the defining series that gave me my cricketing mojo it will have to be India's tour of Australia in 1991-92. I was eleven at that time and even though the tour itself was a complete disaster in which we won next to nothing, my memories of it are more vivid than almost any other Cricket I have witnessed since.

Srikanth in the one dayers, a nerve wracking tie with a first innings score of 126, inconsistently immense seam and swing bowling by Prabhakar, Kapil and Srinath, Azhar's century in Adelaide, Kapil's four hundreth wicket and of course, the coming of Tendulkar. Though he had played a few tests before and even made a century, that summer was when the age of Tendulkar began for me.

It has been coming for some time now but the current series with the Aussies has finally decided it for me. My days as an avid, nervous, fidgety, cynical, heartbroken, mildly jingoistic, rapturous - sometimes all at the same time - Indian cricket fan have finally drawn to an end. The Indian cricket fan mostly plays out games in his/her dreams. Dreams of perfectly played matches or innings or spells or even a single delivery or a shot. Dreams of future matches in which Tendulkar scores a double in a come from behind win against the Aussies at the MCG, or a Sehwag double hundred in a single session or VVS playing to leg (and then to off) to the same delivery. But the present is seldom agreeable. For every well played win there are at least two inept defeats, for every moment of genius there are at least five instances of apathetic nothingness. For every display of steel there several balls of cotton.

It is defintely not a job for the impatient this, following Indian cricket and its players. People who do, and there are a lot of them, need an avenue to isolate themselves whenever an adverse event occurs. There are those that turn to sarcasm and humour, there are those who will blame either or all of Tendulkar, Dravid, Laxman and Ganguly. Some stop talking about it until the series tides over, some turn to F1 or the Premier League, and a significant number takes solace in trolling Rediff message boards. But these attempts seldom help. The pain lives on in our collective memories. And the dreams become more bizzare. How about a Tendulkar triple on a seaming Durban wicket in which no other batsman crosses ten? That would help ease the pain would'nt it.

But I shall not complain, at least not today. There have been moments, I must say, when it has almost been worth it. And there have been moments when the defeats have been personal. But some of these men who in all probability played their last test in Australia, are childhood heroes. A breed that is forgiven everything. I have never cared for the hundredth hundred if you ask me. The man has already done enough and more. And so have the others.

So what exactly is the legacy that my generation of cricket fans can hold on to? Some say this has been the greatest generation of India's Cricket. If that is the case, then it has been an underwhelming one purely in terms of results. In terms of skill, maybe the greatest, but only by a whisker. Their predecessors were no rabbits. Names like Gavaskar, Viswanath, Wadekar, Mankad, Bedi, Kapil Dev, Amarnath are not easily bettered. What will I tell my daughters about Cricket when they grow up, especially if we are still living in distant Switzerland then? They will probably have a thing for Ice Hockey or god forbid cross-country skiiing or worse still curling. Will they ever be able to appreciate the feeling that grabbed their father when Tendulkar would hit McGrath down the ground, when Laxman drove Warne inside out almost for an entire day at the Eden, when Kumble had that look in his eye with his jaw sticking out or everytime that Sehwag walked out to bat? Probably not.

I find it hard to relate to the Dhonis, Kohlis and Gambhirs of this world. Fine cricketers no doubt but they have never influenced how my day pans out if they were to get out cheaply. Tendulkar's wicket (and Sehwag's, Laxman's and Dravid's to an extent) but Tendulkar's above all, has the tendency to send a few million people into a mildly depressed stupor for the rest of the their day in which they do what they are supposed to do but bereft of all joy and vigour. Does Rohit Sharma do that to you?

My favourite Indian Test Cricketers who made their debuts in the 20 years since I woke up to Cricket, in no particular order are: Tendulkar, Laxman, Dravid, Azhar, Ganguly, Kumble, Srinath, Kambli, Raju, Sehwag, Munaf Patel, Akash Chopra and L Balaji.

Is Bikini mein Jaan Hai and Other Assorted Rants!

JK Cements must surely get the Golden Lion or the Mauve Monkey or whatever accolades they hand out at the Cannes Ad awards this year. The whole babe in Bikini thing reminds me of an old joke back when I was in Lucknow, featuring the line -

Kuku Naadey wale kacchey. Aapki izzat ka buri tarah se rakhwala.

I know its a bizarre line but the gist of it all was that the underwear featured a 'naada' called 'Kuku' for which no force was too strong. It would just not tear. Is JK cement a metaphor for Kuku Naada? If yes then it has to be the most awesomest wicked ad ever.

Also, on the WTF continuum, is NEO sports for real? Terry Pratchett laid down the definition of the shortest unit of time as the New York second which is essentially the time between the signal turning green and the chap behind you honking. Well, compared to the time between an over ending and NEO switching to the ad feed, the New York second is like a frickin' epoch of a million years. I am sure the person who mans the transition lever is tied to some sort of an electric torture device which penalizes him based on time taken to make the switch. Nothing else can explain the lightning reflex.

On Ordinariness

Virender Sehwag's comments on Bangladesh's lack of ability at Test Cricket has, predictably, led to a lot of wailing and gnashing of the teeth. People have accused Sehwag's attitude to be bordering on arrogance and utterly lacking in political correctness, but then, that's the way Sehwag is. He has never refered to a spade as a digging device and probably does not know how to do it.

It is also hard to spot the flaw in Sehwag's argument. Bangladesh most definitely are not an extraordinary side. And their record, since being allowed to play test cricket is ordinary at best. Bangladesh are a guerrilla side. Successful with the odd ambush against giant teams but not having the artillery for a direct confrontation. Runs against Bangladesh and Zimbabwe are still considered cheap amongst the international cricket cognoscenti. And its actually refreshing to see someone like Sehwag calling them out for what they really are.

This will obviously anger them. But it should push them to work harder, not start complaining about lack of respect. Respect has to be earned on the field.

On Dravid

A superb article on Rahul Dravid by Suresh Menon in Tehelka. This line sums up Dravid's ethos quite beautifully.

"While Tendulkar dominates through attack, Dravid lets his domination remain a secret between the bowler and himself"

On Joseph O'Neill's Netherland

A ringing endorsement of Netherland on the cover of the book says, " ...The story is hard to put down, for its characters are so real and their preoccupations so urgently of the now, that the book has the vividness of breaking news." I am not sure if I agree with this analysis. Most characters in Joseph O'Neill's Netherland are so fantastic and their preoccupations so laid back and meandering that its hard to imagine it as any kind of news.

That however is just a rebuttal of the blurb on the cover and not a criticism of the novel itself. For Netherland is a spectacularly written novel stitched together with sentences that at once evoke awe, nostalgia and admiration for their preciseness and lucidity. It is a complicated yarn which dabbles in philosophical musings on the nature of love, marriage, friendships and cricket and paints a vivid picture of the three cities that its protagonist inhabits - New York, The Hague and London.

Netherland is a first person narrative by the excessively brooding and given to digressions, Hans Van Der Broek, a Dutch investment analyst with an English Lawyer wife and a tragic love for the game of cricket.

"...I was once again confronted by the seemingly irresolvable conflict between, on the one hand , my sense of an innings as a chanceless progression of unorthodox shots - impossible under local conditions - and, on the other hand, the indigenous notion of batting as a gamble of hitting out. There are hornier dilemmas a man can face: but there was more to batting than the issue of scoring runs. There was the issue of self measurement. For what was an innings if not a singular opportunity to face down, by dint of effort and skill and self-mastery, the variable world?"

and elsewhere

"...There was nothing, in principle, to stop me from changing my game, from taking up the cow shots and lofted bashes in which many of my team mates specialized... I could not, more accurately I would not change...I would stubbornly continue to bat as I always had, even if it meant the end of making runs"

Cricket in New York is at best an amusing diversion and the sole preserve of a motley bunch of Asians and Caribbeans. Hans is the only "white" cricketer in the entire group and yet finds himself completely at ease in this diverse group. A bunch of ordinary people attracted by the lure of the great game in a foreign land.

Chuck Ramkissoon, a character who looms over the novel's landscape is, to define him in cricketing terms, a genuine all rounder. He speaks with authority on topics eclectic and exotic. He is a charming rogue - go-getting, mysterious and impulsive. A calypso Huckleberry Finn who has managed to age gracefully. His dream is to bring to America, the unalloyed joys of playing and watching cricket. Hans' and Chuck's is a friendship that is rooted in the reality of mutual expectation. Chuck needs Hans' credible exterior and patient audience for his shady dealings and grandiose pronouncements while Hans looks forward to his meetings with Chuck as a means of getting away from the lonesome reality of his post 9/11 New York life and troubled marriage.

The most striking feature of the novel is the freshness of its prose and its aptness. That itself makes the novel a definite must read. It does help though, that the characters and the narrative are first rate too.

"Some people have no difficulty in identifying with their younger incarnations...I, however, seem given to self-estrangement. I find it hard it muster oneness with those former selves whose accidents and endeavours have shaped who I am now...
I still think, and I fear will always think, of myself as the young man who got a hundred runs in Amstelveen with a flurry of cuts, who took that diving catch at second slip in Rotterdam, who lucked into a hat trick at the Haagse Cricket Club. These and other moments of cricket are scorched in my mind like sexual memories, forever available to me and capable, during those long nights alone in the hotel when I sought refuge from the sorriest of feelings, of keeping me awake as I relived them in bed and powerlessly mourned the mysterious promise they held."

Brightly Fade the Dons

The four horsemen are finally riding together, and what a ride its turning out to be. After all the bickering, showing off one day and not turning up at all the next, displaying flashes of their ability to mass destruct without any consistent threat, some general smiting of the meek and a lot of wailing and gnashing of the teeth, I think they have finally decided that their last few rides ought to count.

And made it count they have. Dravid has lost confidence but has reversed that with sheer bloody mindedness, Tendulkar's no longer a genetic algorithm but a linear program, Ganguly's batting has aged like Sean Connery's bond and VVS is still incapable of ugliness on a cricket pitch.

I am not sure when the planets will align themselves next to produce an Indian middle order touched by such genius, so lets savour their presence now and analyze later. A test match side without Tendulkar, Dravid, Ganguly and Laxman will be hard to digest, so lets count our blessings now and criticize later.

Oggie Oggie Oggie, Oi Oi Oi

Two words that take a substantial amount of cheer out of my life are "Transit" and "Airport". You might as well have said Arun Lal and Rameez Raja. What is it about airports that is so depressing? Douglas Adams usually had a few things to say about the inherent moribundness of airports the world over. Its difficult to put a finger on what exactly it is that is so off-putting.I personally think its the damn carpet. It tends to loom. And the Duty Free shops would be a close second. Which particular duty these shops are bereft of, I am not sure.

And if you put Air India into this mix, it becomes a deadly concoction. For all the bravado about Best West bound airline (so they say), new generation aircraft and lowest fares (THEY LIE), Air India still is a relic of an outmoded belief system alongwith peers like the Premier Padmini taxis in Mumbai, Vikrams in UP and Ambassador cars in the parliament. Will probably do a detailed post on them later. A lot of bile is waiting to be spewed. But today's not that day.


Spent the better part of a day last week in transit in airports and flights en route to Australia. It was a terribly hectic trip, but I must say Melbourne impressed me no end. It is exactly what Mumbai isnt. Sprawling sidewalks, acres and acres open spaces, a clean and picturesque river and lots of parking. They say that the best cities are those which are friendly to pedestrians. Melbourne scores very highly in this regard.

Had a fantastic time doing a guided tour of the MCG. A charming host, quite elderly, erudite and witty, was our guide and took us around the stadium, its various rooms (including the long room), museum. After the latest reconstruction in 2004, the ground presents a stunning picture.

I have been to a watch a few test matches at the Wankhede and compared to the MCG experience, its about as enjoyable as the war on Iraq. I think there is just one reason for that. Cricket Australia respects the spectator where as BCCI does not. For BCCI the word spectator equals Idiot. Also spent some time by myself on the W H Ponsford stand watching the game that was on between New South Wales and Victoria (Nathan Brancken and Stewart Clark on display). What would'nt I give to be back for the Boxing Day test.

Also walked around the Rod Laver Centre (Aussie Open Venue) and Albert Park (Grand Prix track). All in all a day well spent.

MCG as seen from Hotel

Lillee

Grandstand View

Cinemascope View (Bracken Bowling)

Lara Goes - Confessions of an Irrational Tendulkar Fan

I too was, like Tendulkar, a bit of a child prodigy. Only my art was that of the armchair cricketer. I was an absolute master of sitting in front of the telly and drooling over the cricket, of imagining strokes that Tendulkar could have played if he had'nt gotten out, of defending him from his prejudiced critics, of making it clear to the supporters of Lara and Waugh(elder) that the best batsman debate started and ended with SRT.

Tendulkar captured my cricketing universe like no other player. He was the harbinger of gooseflesh, of the jaw-dropping moment, of extreme dejection (when he got out cheap), of unalloyed joy and vexing irritation, sometimes all of them at the same time.

And this is how it had always been, until such time that Brian Lara, in an inconsequetial one-day match in Baroda got out in the cruelest of manners at the non-strikers end. Initially there was joy, then the thought that Tendulkar's hundred could well win this match- a much needed riposte to the SRT bashers, relief, and then suddenly utter dejection as one of the commentators mentioned that this was probably the last time Lara batted on Indian soil.

And as I tried to fight the slightest indication of a lump in my throat, the realization dawned that Lara deserved better from me. The loss of course is entirely mine.


But deep within the muddy recesses of my cricketing soul where there still remain a few strands of unbiasedness, I still bat like Lara in front of the mirror. And that is my tribute to the genius. Hope he has a smashing world cup (Tendulkar too!)

The Arun Lal School of Stating the Bleeding Obvious and Other minor Irritations

My cable operator removed the NEO feed after the first match and subsequent court ruling, and thrust DD National's 7 minute itch onto my television screen.

Now I will not stoop so low as to rant endlessly about the House of Horrors formerly known as DD, its pigheaded refusal to acknowledge that the world has moved on since Baigan Raja was the poster child for daytime television and its aesthetic sensibilities that are only slightly more ghastlier than a Mumbai local. I refuse to do that.

And all this is not say that NEO sports is India's answer to Channel 9. NEO's debut can at best be termed dodgy with an unimpressive and annoyingly large logo, a flying circus of commentators ( with the exception of Tony Cozier probably), appalling graphics and score cards (they expect us to keep track of the number of balls bowled every over as there is no mention of this on the score bar) and the fact that more than half of India can't access them.

Speaking of commentators, I have to put in a word here for the incurably politically correct and the incessently regurgitating Arun Lal. Why does'nt someone gag him please.

"Chanderpaul needs to stay till the end if West Indies harbour any ambitions of a win from here on"

He started off with this statement and repeated it after every ball of every over and probably still is, sitting in his hotel room dreaming of Chanderpaul hanging in there.

Paul Allott is the quintessential third party non-partisan Englishman who is generally expected to sing paeans to the "extraordinary" crowds, "marvellous" wristy batting, "superb" atmosphere, "mesmerising" spin bowling and generally stay clear of controversy by keeping his personal thoughts about all this to himself.

Tony Cozier is his usual articulate self and remains the true and concerned voice of West Indian cricket.Jeff Dujon and L Siva are the insignificant others.

The series has started off well for India but somehow it lacks a certain spark. Yuvraj, Pathan, Sehwag and Kumble are going to be back for the World Cup and rightly so. Wish they asked VVS to join in as well. He's got more pedigree than Jogi Sharma at least.

England's Golden Boys

I am finally very, very relieved to see England lose the Perth test rather emphatically and the Ashes trophy go back to into the Aussie fold. There is a certain annoying quality about your average English cricket fan, cricket writer and cricket commentator that makes you take a dim view of life. A report card of the Ashes and the hype that surrounds English cricket in general.

1. The Ashes Series 2005
Not, and I repeat, not the greatest series ever played, even on DVD.


2. Andrew "Freddie" Flintoff
He is the "immense" one. Amongst all the allrounders in the world today currently nursing an ankle injury he is easily the standout star. He is big, he is Northern, he is inpirational, and currently he does not have the foggiest. After helping England regain the Ashes with some memorable performances in 2005 he helped Australia win it back in a breathtaking manner in 2006. But Freddie Flintoff is considered beyond reproach in the English team. He averages 32 with the bat and 31 with the ball. Allrounder - yes, Greatest - no.

3. Andrew Strauss
The one with the smug expression. Would have made a slightly better captain than Freddie for the Ashes. As a batsman too he is only slightly overrated.

4. Kevin Peterson
KP is the man of the moment. Aggressive, often puts foot into mouth, scores lots of runs, and has already written an autobiography after his first year in international cricket. Lots of shock value, weird hairdo, a problematic sleeve. Still scores runs though.

5. Steve Harmison,
Tall, bouncy, fast, often homesick and extremely overrated. Bowls super balls and absolute shockers with a straight face. Consistently performs below par (not sure what the par for his course is though) and is often clueless in the face of adversity. Has the goodwill of selectors, fans and journalists. He too has a problematic sleeve.

6. Michael Vaughan
The world's best, most respected and good looking non-playing English captain. He will go down in folklore as the man who got the Ashes back. It is widely believed that he has been granted diplomatic immunity. Superb batsman whenever he finds form, he has an amazing custom designed knee that he can program to fail at critical junctures. Spends most of his time in rehab and providing material for journalists and mathematicians to mull on the probability of his return into the England side for the Ashes in 2017.

7. Simon Jones,
The "greatest" bowler of reverse swing using legal means and pure skill. After the skullduggery precipitated by people like Waqar, Wasim and Co, Jones comes as a breath of fresh air. He can swing it late and at good pace and that too without the use of bottle caps. This is primarily because pakis have a ten year patent on the caps. But all this takes a lot out of him. He is destined to play only three meaningful series without injury in a career spanning 14 years. He has already played two.

8. Ashley Giles,
As fine an example of mediocrity and media hype as you can ever wish to spot this side of the atlantic. He has been very seldom known to get it right, but still continues to be Fletcher's ultimate utility cricketer. Fletcher once said that if Giles were Zimbabwean he would easily walk into any of their international elevens after the year 2004 with no questions asked.

9. English Cricket Writers
A supremely gifted lot which practises its art in publications of some repute. Their favorite two letter phrase is "greatest ever" when it comes to describing anything related to the Ashes. For them International cricket with teams from the subcontinent is an exercise against their better natures for purposes of making a pot of money. England can suck at One Day cricket, get creamed by Sri Lanka in their own backyard, and lose everything else on offer as long as they retain the ashes and they get to use words like "immense" and "greatest ever". Unfortunately for them the ashes dream is over. But the buggers are still going to call it the "greatest ever" loss and an "immense" disappointment.

Indian Cricket's lesser talents

The generally held opinion amongst the cognoscenti in India is that Anil Kumble is the fastest leg spinner in its illustrious history. This opinion is a myth. The fastest leg spinner was infact Venkatesh Prasad whose stock delivery was the leg spinner bowled using his fingers and a longish runup. Some people called it a slow leg cutter, but they were wrong as usual. Venkatesh Prasad's change of pace delivery was the faster one that he sent down at approximately 115kmph. If we look at the
the effort/pace ratio for the figure that was V Prasad, it emerges as the highest ever in international cricket, though only marginally above that of one Abey Kuruvilla.

The 90s saw the arrival of brash young cricketers from Karnataka which coincided with the meteoric rise of Bangalore as India's silicon valley. And they were a bit like their software counterparts who were fresh out of college, brash, had the social grace of duckweed, could write code in Java, knew PL/SQl like the back of their hands and were put on mission critical onsite projects the day they joined.

Bursting onto the international scene were David Johson, Dodda Ganesh, Sujit Somsundar, and Venkatesh Prasad. Lanky, unathletic, uninspiring cricketers who would have gone onto achieve greater heights only if they had a spot of talent.

David Johsnon was renowned for consistent bowling in the corridor of absurdity. Little wonder that his first test wicket was Australia's Michale Slater aka Slasher. Dodda Ganesh looked menacing and was particularly adept at bowling balls that did
nothing off the pitch or though the air. He also had the knack of bowling a beatifully disguised no ball which would go for four byes. A wasted talent indeed.

But the most striking of these cricketers was Sujith Somsundar aka "Somu mere laal" as a friend of mine used to call him. Once facing Alan Donald in a one day international, he was so overcome with dread that he sidestepped all deliveries by
moving far away from the leg stump. He was not merely giving himself room to play a shot, he gave himself a 2BHK apartment and that too to avoid a shot.

Soon the software bubble burst and by extension these hard working cricketers were laid off. India continued to lose more mathces than it won. It lost most matches playing insipid, uninspiring, spineless cricket and the ones it managed to win it
played mesmeric, youthful awe-inspiring cricket. There was no middle path.

Selections were made based on a need basis. Apparently Atul Bedade was chosen specifically to hit sixes. After the Sharjah tounament he was dropped inspite of hitting a splendid 40 odd in the final. The reason - he did not hit enough sixes. Salil Ankola, Vivek Razdan, Raju Kulkarni, Gyanendra Pandey et al - they came, they saw and they whimpered.

As a cricket fan it was a frustrating period because on one hand there was Sachin Tendulkar being sublime and almost everyone else being subliminal. On other occasions even SRT flattered to deceive. You could predict a result in those days even before the first ball was bowled. Probably match fixing had something to do with it as well.

Nikhil Chopra, Ajay Sharma, Rajesh Chauhan, Gagan Khoda, Praveen Amre (scored a centry on debut too), the karnataka brigade, WV Raman....All men who made Indian cricket outrageously unattractive, inconsistent and cliched.