Cricketing topics you must admit make for the best conversations. For seemingly no real reason you can keep talking about the game. Frequently, when you run out of topics of current interest, periods of nostalgia drift in. And then, your thoughts take totally different turns and the dialogue takes on a completely different tone. Topics merge into one another and everything appears to make complete, continuous sense. A sort of soothing, equal music.
A few days back, a friend and I were talking about how we learnt to play our cricket. The conversation gradually turned to players' mannerisms we'd picked up somewhere along the line during our so-called cricketing lives. He said, as a kid, he'd try imitating Gavaskar. On a hunch, I laughed and asked him whether it was the settling into his stance part that he would attempt copying. He said Yes. Curious parallels like these somehow increase the pace of the Cricketing Conversation. The mood is lightened, frequently, you are chuckling, the world appears a sunnier place, Bangalore suddenly feels like Kerala etc. And, this got me thinking.
It is remarkable how uncomfortable I used to feel when batting (as a kid or even sometimes I must admit as a teenager) if I did not get the time to do the Gavaskar-settling-into-his-stance bit. It partly explained why I could never bat in the Nets. There was simply no time for you to settle into your stance. But, actual matches were different. As the bowler shuffled back to his run, the left leg would already be in place, the right leg would soon swing compactly into place right behind it. The process seemed to give you some sort of presiding authority over bowlers. The bowler about to start off on his run, you sliding your right leg into place. You felt a proper batsman. Settled in your stance, the reference point to your strokes all nice and balanced. You viewed the slips with disdain. Your mind occupied a high plane where edges didn't exist.
That was before the bowler bowled. If the ball was full and on leg, you went smartly forward and drove. On-drove. Once the stroke was completed, the important bit remained. You lifted your back leg and struck a pose. Graham Gooch, driving Malcolm Marshall.
If the ball was short, you leaned back and cut. After the cut, you leaned forward a bit, body arched, bat completing triumphant arc, behind your left shoulder. David Gower, cutting McDermott, in the mirror (I am right-handed).
A spinner came along, and gave it flight. You went down the pitch, and lofted straight, remaining perfectly side-on. Feet finishing a light scissoring motion down the pitch, bat pointed straight up. A king in full flight. Kim Hughes, dismissing Emburey from his presence. Minus the baggy green.
Similarly, when bowling. Arms pumping rhythmically, left arm steadying the sprint in, right arm all the while getting ready for that final burst at the bowling crease. Face set in firm agressive intent. McDermott running into bowl to Martin Crowe.
I never used to hook much when playing with a proper cricket ball. Tennis ball hooking seemed a much more natural affair. But, life has changed since I went to Montreal and Ottawa. Now, I hook. I almost wait for the short ball. There's nothing quite like the thrill when you pirouette at the top end of a hook. You have put the fast bowler in his place. His primary weapon neutralised. But, equally, it is the pose you hold through and after the hook that makes it feel special. The short ball, full of intent, you squaring up, the hook in front of your face, and then the pirouette to take it away through square.
A lot of the time, in cricket, it is the form that persists. The tableau-like aspect of the bowler in his final leap, the batsman, through and after completing the stroke. It is this that excites the player. And, this special thrill returns every time you play a stroke or take a wicket. Nearly always anyway.
Most of this form is linked to the natural way a cricketer's basic athleticism causes him to move. A Laxman for instance, has wonderful wrists and his tall, arching posture aligns himself to the cover drive, the flick off his toes and the fine pirouette of the hook. A Sehwag has stiffer hips but possesses stunning batspeed and a kind of natural opening up of his shoulders in the arc from third man to mid off. And yes, I have finally worked myself around to the topic at hand.
Ganguly's problem with the short ball is not his mind, or anything to do with the basic batsman's instinct of running away from the short ball directed at his throat. He has been the unfortunate recipient of a very stiff set of hips. They just won't square up, nor will they snap to full attention at the sight of a short ball. He struggles to get them around to the hooking posture. It is like asking Nehra to run in without wiggling everything in sight. It is simply not possible. So, at this point, we must pause and think of all he did for Indian cricket, despite possessing a remarkably stubborn set of hips. Or perhaps, because of them. For, I suspect, those are the very same set, that made him such a superb lofter of the cricket ball. From that very strong base, he could afford to get under the ball and loft in all glory, unlike a certain VVS ... .
Comments
Wonderful!
Posted by: aNTi at December 16, 2005 2:44 PM
Beautifully written
Posted by: Chris Fogarty at December 16, 2005 8:48 PM
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