« March 2009 | | May 2009 »

April 30, 2009

The view from Old Blighty - 3

Posted by Cricinfo - on 04/30/2009 in IPL

From Andrew Hughes, United Kingdom

	Fans enjoy themselves at the IPL © Associated Press

I haven’t been feeling very English lately. I do my best to conform to expectations. I never cry in public, unless I’m drunk. I don’t complain about poor service in shops, unless I’m drunk. At the first sign of a sunny spring day, I rush out and buy ten pairs of ridiculous three-quarter length shorts. All the same, in recent days, I have the uncomfortable feeling that I am letting my people down.

You see, I’ve been watching an awful lot of the IPL, which in English cricket circles is a bit like admitting that you failed all your exams. People look at me with a mixture of horror and pity. “But what about Michael Vaughan,” they say, in an effort to lure me back to the straight and narrow with a nice, decent bit of cricket chat, “Do you think he’ll get back into the England side? And what about Ian Bell?”

But I have a confession to make. I don’t care about Michael Vaughan right now. Nor do I have any feelings one way or the other about Ian Bell. At the merest mention of Andrew Strauss, Alastair Cook, Stuart Broad and the rest, I feel a yawn rising deep within me and an overwhelming desire to drink a glass of warm milk and go to bed. It all seems so parochial, so narrow and well, so very very dull. When all the best cricketers in the world are gathered together in one place, why on earth would anyone want to talk about Ryan Sidebottom?

It was brought home to me how much the IPL is changing the shape of my cricket brain on Sunday. Whilst waiting for a strategy break to end, I was channel surfing and came across what looked very much like a game of cricket. There were players in coloured clothes. There was a bowler, a batsman and some fielders. Somewhere in the ether, Mike Atherton was talking. But something wasn’t right. It took me a while to figure it out. Then it dawned on me. THERE WAS NOBODY THERE.

Meanwhile, out in South Africa, large numbers of people have been turning out to see apparently made-up franchises with no history and no sense of tradition play a disgracefully vulgar version of the great game. And what’s worse, they appeared to be enjoying themselves. There was a lot of music, trumpets, fancy dress, drinking and dancing. Whisper it quietly, particularly if there is an English cricket journalist in the room, but these people were experiencing something almost unheard of in county cricket. They were being entertained.

Sadly, the commentary has continued to be more Bangalore than Deccan this week, though Harsha Bhogle did pull a master-stroke during Thursday’s play by asking Neil McKenzie whether he thought Kevin Pietersen was really a South African. Suddenly there was tension in the booth as McKenzie mumbled his way through a few syllables of feigned disinterest, whilst trying to choke back his urge to yell, “Traitor!” at the top of his voice. “If he thinks he’s an Englishman, then he must be,” said the temporarily unemployed opener, through gritted teeth.

But Bhogle aside, the broadcasters seem to be doing their best to minimise our viewing pleasure. During the first week, the camera would lazily pan over the jubilant crowd between overs, perhaps lingering on the cheerleaders before returning to the action. In week two, this relaxed scene-setting has been replaced by the scourge of sports coverage the world over: the player interview. A never-ending stream of non-combatants have been miked up and prodded wirelessly to read from the official IPL Cliché Manual, whilst being unsure which camera to look at.

And then there’s Jeremy Coney.

On Monday he blagged his way into the manual scoreboard.
“There are all sorts of things here,” he began, breathlessly, “Numbers and er…”
He could have added ‘letters’ but that would have been it really. He cornered the chief scoreboard operator, a serious-looking chap, who seemed slightly bemused that the broadcasters would want to go live from the inside of a score box.
“How long have you been working here?” asked Coney, a la Prince Charles
“Since 1979,” replied the number king.
Coney the Comedian spotted an opening;
“You don’t live up here do you?” he asked, with a chuckle.
“No, I do not live up here,” deadpanned the interviewee.
It turned out that the man watched the cricket through a small peep hole.
“I see, and what do you do then?” asked Coney.
“I tell this man who operates the scoreboard.”
“And what does he do?”
“He changes the score.”
It was gripping television.

And in between episodes of the Jeremy Coney Show, Setanta have redoubled their efforts to give us all a yellow-tinted headache. It isn’t just that their studio guests are awful. It’s the fact that every five minutes we are snatched away from the stadium and dragged kicking and screaming back into Setanta world, not because the man in the shirt and slacks has anything useful to contribute, but simply because, rather like Bangalore, they’ve paid out good money and they’re damn well going to use him.

Comments (32)

April 29, 2009

Why blame Australia?

Posted by Cricinfo - on 04/29/2009 in Extras

The problem stems from the recent trouble over suspect bowling actions, with Saeed Ajmal reported for problems with his 'doosra' and before that Johan Botha was called once again during the South African series over his 'doosra' and quicker ball. Now the suspicion in this case would not have come across in most cases, except that the team involved following both incidents was Australia. It takes only that sort of evidence for the narrow-minded to draw to the conclusion that Australia, who have struggled recently, are attempting to take bowlers who have had successes against them out of play. And to be honest, it is really easy to see the connection considering the history.

Muttiah Muralitharan was initially called for throwing in Australia in the early 90's by Darrell Hair, and that sparked a massive controversy. Ross Emerson did the same thing on Sri Lanka's next tour during an ODI, and that again sparked problems. When the '15-degree rule' was introduced, Murali no longer has any problems. Part of the problems is not with the Australian team as such, but as how the Australian team is viewed.

The Australian team that has dominated the greater part of the last decade has played superb cricket, but has come to be viewed as boorish, arrogant, overconfident and aggressive. That is true in quite a few respects; they were certainly no angels on the field. But there is no such thing as a saint on a cricket field. That issue was mostly developed under Steve Waugh's 'Mental Disintegration' ploy. It's not like Mark Taylor needed to sledge so intensely to win.

The Australian team has been viewed, primarily in the media, as bad losers and even worse winners and thus a lot of teams have their opinion switched firmly on the dislike. This has not been helped by the controversies that seem to follow them around, some of which they cause and some of which they are unfortunately drawn into. It wasn't the Australian team that called Murali, and in the two recent cases the spinners were called by neutral umpires, one of which was from the home country. Saeed Ajmal claimed that Shane Watson spoke to the umpires about it, but I'm sceptical about that claim as there isn't really any evidence of it and it wouldn't make any sense for the Australians to do it. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The last Indian series was one of the bitterest series in recent memory. Indian fans were baying for blood following the Sydney fiasco (Many STILL go on about it), and the attitude among the newer elements of the Indian team was to match the aggression of the Australian team. Australia was never going to win that series, but the many on-field and off-field incidents left a bad taste in the mouth. Australia has become a great scapegoat for problems due to the fact that they are most unpopular team in world cricket. Hell, they are liked less than George W Bush.

Comments (24)

April 26, 2009

Let's take a 'tactical break'

Posted by Cricinfo - on 04/26/2009 in IPL

Powerplays 2 and 3 - farcical from a bowler's point of view - 40% off all overs bowled in ODI's now have a limit on the number of fielders outside the circle. One bouncer per batsman per over - this rule has single handedly prolonged the careers of Ganguly and Yuvraj to name but two, as their main weakness (by law) cannot be exploited. Modern bats are far more effective in destructive hitting - more a natural progression of the game, but certainly not one designed to help bowlers sleep at night.

Change of ball in 34th over - The ball is no longer shiny, white and hard, spinners and exponents of reverse swing, having waited thirty four overs for their time to shine, get their main weapon removed. Boundary ropes have not exactly been pushed out either, have they? At some stadiums, especially in the subcontinent, they are brought in a full fifteen or twenty yards from the stadium's natural extremities.

Batsmen getting runners if injured during the game - what absolute poppycock! A batsman should be out in the middle as long as he is fit to do his job. Geoffrey Boycott will tell you that running between the wickets is part of his job. When a bowler gets injured, he limps off and often has his overs completed by a part timer (surprise, surprise - that suits the batsmen). These points raised do not pretend to be all encompassing. They are the few that I could think of off the top of my head. Batsmen being allowed to call on runners certainly isn't a modern development, but its development in the batsmen's favour.

Can anyone think of a development where the bowlers' interests were preserved or (god forbid) enhanced? I can, and its not a direct advantage as much as I think it is a by-product of the rules' amendments. It's called a 'tactical break'.

Lalit Modi is loving life, having generated millions in extra advertising revenue, but the small number of games in the IPL so far have shown that momentum for a batting side once lost, is very hard to regain. The overall averages for overs eleven and twelve directly after the break, do not paint the most convincing picture in the world. We are looking only at the two overs bowled directly after the 10 over 'tactical break'. To date, the 40 overs bowled in the tournament fitting the above description have yielded 18 wickets at a cost of 16.5 and a run rate of 7.4. But if you look at just the first five games, those numbers drop to 123 runs in 18 overs at a cost of 6.8 per over and 13 wickets at a cost of 9.5 each. Does this suggest that teams took a while to get used to it? Perhaps. Overall numbers have improved, but are still below tournament averages. I think we have the slightest suggestion of a slight advantage to bowlers, and that's a step in the right direction.

To lose absolutely no wickets in overs eleven and twelve clearly helps team results. It has happened seven times and only once did the team concerned lose the match, Chennai in Game 1. Four teams have done it once each. Deccan Chargers have managed it in all three of their games and guess what? They won all three and sit atop the league table. A new challenge has emerged for batsmen - and even though it will only be in the IPL for the time being, in due course one should not be amazed to see it drafted into other forms and competitions.

Going forward, I would not be surprised to see bowlers volunteering for an over directly after the break. An obvious disclaimer would have to state that this analysis does not claim to be gospel. Cricket is like that, and often the numbers can be made to show whatever one needs them to show. But I reckon its food for thought. "Statistics are like bikinis .... What they reveal is suggestive, what they hide is essential" said Navjot Sidhu. If all of this is merely suggestive, I suggest batsmen start concentrating on the two overs directly after the 'tactical break'.

Comments (24)

April 25, 2009

The view from Old Blighty - 2

Posted by Cricinfo - on 04/25/2009 in IPL

From Andrew Hughes, United Kingdom

	Freddie Buckethands latches on to a catch © Getty Images

Yesterday was a traumatic day for me, the first on which I have been unable to watch any IPL action. It happens to all of us, of course. However much we commit to a sporting event, sooner or later, we are always unfaithful, even if it’s only to nip into the kitchen to make a cup of tea (which is how I missed the very first ball of the opening game). But having tried life without Shilpa, Shane and Sunny, I didn’t like it.

Because, after a little coy toe-dipping and nervous anticipation, the IPL has finally plunged, carefree as a love-struck hippo, into the televisual waters of fate. (This is a metaphor. More accurately, it is a bad metaphor, of which more later). Week one has brought us balls bouncing from skulls, foul-mouthed Bollywood goddesses, fugitive dogs and lots of dancing. On occasions, a cricket match has broken out.

And in order to do justice to this spectacle, the commentators have clearly been told to up their game. There has been a marked increase in punnery; a run on similies and a veritable boom in witty badinage. Jeremy Coney led the way. A Hayden lob to mid-on was described as, “a chip shot...but not a blue chip shot.” In the background, Mark Nicholas and Harsha Bogle spontaneously combusted with mirth.

And though obliged to grasp the corporate nettle with both greasy palms, they have at least tried to minimise the pain with some brain-numbing grammatical gymnastics. Thus we have had DLF as a unit of measurement (“That didn’t register on the DLF scale,”) an abstract noun expressing a quality (“That had DLF written all over it!”), a verb in the past tense (“That’s the first time that Kumble’s been DLFed!”) and as an interjected synonym for a six, (That’s a DLFer!”).

There are some cricket matters though, that continue to stump the imaginations of Gavaskar and Co. In particular, the booth-dwellers seem unable to get past their fascination with Andrew Flintoff’s hands. It appears that he doesn’t have normal hands, like you or I. He has buckets. His hands are like buckets. He has bucket hands. So often is the word bucket used in conjunction with pictures of Freddie that I am unable to think of the one without the other. Last night I dreamt of a film called ‘Freddie Buckethands’ in which the England allrounder, unable to reintegrate into society after his stint in the IPL, exists as a lonely outcast until he finds his true calling as a sandcastle builder at the Sir Vivian Richards Stadium, Antigua.

Of course, dear reader, Freddie doesn’t really have big red plastic containers attached to his wrists. It’s a metaphor, see. Tricky blighters though, metaphors. They tire easily. And rather like Praveen Kumar, they aren’t at their best when bashed repeatedly over the head. I understand that social workers concerned for the health and well-being of this particular figure of speech are flying out to South Africa this weekend to interview Robin Jackman.

But with the endless whirl of thrills and spills comes a certain amount of disorientation. I am struggling particularly to come to terms with the dumbing-down of Jeremy Coney. Once a be-suited, occasionally sardonic but always compelling studio guest on Sky, his transfer to the IPL seems to have necessitated the fitting of a brain implant, via which he can be transformed into a performing clown at the flip of a switch.

The nadir was reached on Thursday. There was Coney, pitchside. Three Chennai cheerleaders stood in front of him. You couldn’t look. Like David Lloyd being asked to review Les Folies Bergere, you knew there was no way this could end well. A little light banter to start with. “How long have you been dancing?” he asked the stationary blondes, who to their credit resisted the temptation to say, “We’re not dancing, we’re talking to you.” With that, the conversational well dried up. There was only one place for the interview to go. Don’t dance, Jeremy, we screamed. To no avail. The camera lingered on the twitching, gurning Coney for just long enough to frame his humiliation. Somewhere across the Tasman Sea, a nation covered its eyes.

But he wasn’t done yet. He popped up again in a control room somewhere high in the stands, to tell us about a camera. This was no ordinary camera. Oh well, alright, it was, but still, it took two men to operate it. Jeremy, adrenalin still pumping, squeezed between the two understandably alarmed men. “Can you make it go blurry?” he asked, jumping up and down like a five year old full of fizzy pop. “Yes we can,” replied the Obama of camera operatives. The screen blurred, mercifully.

This disorientation extended beyond the electronic frontiers of the IPL. At one point last weekend, I found myself watching county cricket. I forget the teams involved. Come to think of it, I can’t recall which competition it was or where the game was taking place. I do remember a sleepy, droning Nasser Hussain; the low hum of distant traffic echoing across rows of empty seats and the sound of someone snoring.

Next thing I knew, it was Monday afternoon and I was waking up on my sofa. I only had myself to blame. Last year, my doctor had advised me against watching county cricket whilst operating a laptop and I had foolishly ignored his advice. So remember, kids, if someone sidles up to you in the playground and offers you free tickets to Northamptonshire versus Gloucestershire in the Sleepy-Time No-One-Gives-A-Toss Charity Knock Out Shield, just say no.

Comments (26)

April 22, 2009

IPL - The view from Old Blighty

Posted by Cricinfo - on 04/22/2009 in IPL

And we learnt many things on that first day. We discovered, for instance, that Kevin Pietersen and Shane Warne have something of a rivalry. Yes it’s true and apparently that meant that both of them were really keen to win their first game. We also learnt that playing in the IPL is a great opportunity; that Tendulkar is a really good batsman and that Freddie will be a bit disappointed with his opening day performance.

All too soon, our Irani time was over. I was keen to be further enlightened and so when I discovered that Sunday’s studio guest was to be one Darren Gough, my cup ranneth over. A fine bowler, a belligerent blade swinger and a nifty mover in the ballroom, he was sure to embroider the fine cloth of the day’s entertainment with the golden thread of insight.

It is difficult to sum up the full effect of an afternoon with Goughie, but I will give you just a flavour. Early on, he ruffled a few feathers by tipping everyone’s favourite losers the Kings XI Punjab. Hello, I thought, this is more like it. Controversy. A maverick opinion. Excited, the studio presenter pressed him further. What was it about the Kings XI that made him pick them out as tournament winners? Turned out that Goughie liked Brett Lee, he liked the boy Sreesanth and he was enamoured of Marsh and Hopes.

It matters not that one of them will miss the whole tournament and the other three will be unavailable until the second half. Their influence will be felt strongly in their absence. Unfortunately, on this occasion, the phantom Lee, the invisible Sreesanth and the cardboard cut-outs of Hopes and Marsh proved unable to overcome the Delhi Daredevils and Punjab received a predictable and not entirely unenjoyable spanking.

Of course, Yuvraj had other players available, such as the talented young Indian batsman Kamran Goel who blazed away so effectively at the top of the order. What, the studio presenter wondered, did Goughie think of him? “To be honest,” opined the Dazzler, “I’ve never heard of him.” Eat your heart out, Nasser Hussain.

Now you may be thinking that this is just a cheap shot at the expense of a great player. And you’d be right. But I would offer one mitigating plea in my defence. If the only requirement for obtaining a seat in a Setanta studio is the capacity to state the bleeding obvious, or to look down a list of names and spot the good players, then I’m sure there are many cricket fans out there who would happily do the job for a fraction of the fee earned by Mr Irani or Mr Gough. Heck, I’d do it for nothing.

Of course, the task facing the studio analyser is as nothing compared to the job of match commentator, for whom the IPL represents the ultimate challenge. In a Test match, they are allowed to wax lyrical, to speculate, to fall asleep, even to snore occasionally. There is no such respite for the average IPL microphone jockey. They have a script to stick to and at regular intervals, prodded by the muzzles of the rifles wielded by the Lalit Modi Revenue Maximisation Squad, must correctly acknowledge certain benevolent corporate bodies.

This coercion has taken its toll on the minds of those held captive in the commentary booth. Sunil Gavaskar is no longer able to screw in a light bulb without declaring it a Citi moment of success. Mark Nicholas involuntarily greets the popping of his toaster with the words, “DLF Maximum!” And Ravi Shastri wakes up screaming in the middle of the night from a dream in which he forgot to read out the list of tournament sponsors.

Perhaps the cruellest ordeal of all for these prisoners is that they are not allowed to tell the truth about a particularly hideous piece of merchandise that regularly appears on our screens. No, not Kevin Pietersen; I’m referring to the IPL Trophy.

When I first saw it, I assumed it was a homage to the IPL prepared by some Cape Town schoolchildren using plastic cups, pipe cleaners and glitter pens. But no, it is the reward for winning the richest tournament in cricket. Apparently it is covered in diamonds. Rarely can so much money have been spent to such little effect (and I include Surrey’s signing of Shoaib Akhtar).

And yet, presented with an image of this monstrosity, Robin Jackman is not allowed to point out that it is the tackiest piece of decoration you are likely to see outside of David Beckham’s third living room. Nor can Greg Blewett politely suggest that it might have been better if they’d simply piled the diamonds up on a silver plate. Instead, they must show due deference and declare it a stunning piece of trophyware.

Truly, we should feel their pain and give thanks that they have sacrificed their commentating careers for the good of the IPL.

Comments (32)

April 14, 2009

The sublime left-hand batsmen

Posted by Cricinfo - on 04/14/2009 in Extras

The argument as usual may be over a couple of names. Should Mike Hussey and Stephen Fleming not come in? Was Fredericks not a uniquely thrilling batsman? Should Gambhir be included merely because he has been so effulgent over the past few months? Surely Saeed Anwar of Pakistan has given viewers more than enough pleasure to be counted. And just because Hayden smote the ball powerfully does it make him less sublime? Readers may express their opinion of who they think ought to be in this pantheon of twelve.

Ranking these batsmen is something we do not want to do – it would be meaningless and insulting to their genius. Mount Everest has enough space for all of them.

What makes the left hander so special? For one the rarity because we still get to see only two or at best three in a team. Among batsmen who have scored over 2000 runs in Test cricket there is only one left hander for every three right hand batsmen. And then there are these advantages:

- Bowlers find it difficult to switch their line and the left hander is given opportunities on the leg stump and outside to score from.
- The normal incoming ball from outside a right hander’s off stump cannot get the leftie LBW since it pitches outside leg-stump of the left hander.
- Wicket keepers find the left side difficult and are prone to be clumsy keeping to left handers.
- Since the field has to change and the bowler has to switch line every time a single is taken - when batting with a right hander – the leftie irritates and disturbs their rhythm by his very presence. If there are enough left handers in the team, it makes sense to keep the batting order flexible to ensure a left-right combination at the crease as far as possible.
- Bowlers find it difficult to bowl from round the wicket even though it is an important option against the leftie. Spinners tend to bowl from wide of the crease while faster bowlers are always conscious of not running on to the pitch on their follow through.

Just as the right hander’s on drive is the touchstone of his prowess, so is the cover drive for the left hander. Does it have anything to do with the batsman’s stance? Neil Harvey was a hero to many when he burst on the scene and such was his footwork, grace and artistry that even 50 years later there are many who swear that he cannot be surpassed.

Of Sobers and his unlimited magic so much has been told that we just share one incident – when Benaud in the 1960-61 Test in Australia thought he had beaten Sobers with the googly, that magician changed stroke even as the ball was sneaking past him and whipped it back to the sight screen. Till date no one has remotely matched the insouciant grace and lissomness that Sobers brought to the ground.

Following Harvey and Sobers, was Graeme Pollock who perhaps could have ended up as the best of them all. Could he have sustained his initial tempo? Would he have been equally good when confronted by the best spinners from India and Pakistan? The jury will forever be out on that. Meanwhile West Indies unleashed a line of great left handers. From the 1960s till 2000 they produced a string of pearls – Lloyd, Kallicharan, Fredericks, Lara and Gayle. Lara did enough in a magnificent career to keep the debate going permanently as to who is the best batsman after Bradman. Has there been anyone with as much magic in the high backlift as Lara? Has there been a batsman who played as late as Lara – so much so that to mere mortals he looked supernatural as he seemed to have a choice of three shots for every ball. No one has ever faced Murali better than Lara and remember that for much of his career he carried a limp West Indian batting line up on his colossus like shoulders.

Grace – the most often used expression to describe left handers sits most aptly on Gower. None better than this worthy could conjure up the most sumptuous fare with the lightest of brush strokes - he would wave the ball away from him between point and cover and if you put a fielder to plug that gap then between them as well.

Aha, we are getting into hot water here – we are talking of batsmen splitting the offside and we have not said a word about Ganguly? But everything about his ethereal timing through the offside has been said by Dravid in his famous offside and God quote. However no less awesome was the shimmy to the left arm spinner to hoist him over long on and long off. Ganguly like many modern cricketers used a heavy bat but we guess he would have played those gorgeous square drives even with grand pa’s walking stick.

The first great left hander to grace cricket was Frank Woolley of Kent and England. Clem Hill was an effective but ungainly left hander in those early days. There were few left handed batsmen those days. All the great batsmen - Trumper, Hobbs, Sutcliffe, McCartney, Jackson, Foster, Mclaren, Fry and Ranji were right-handers. Till 1950 and the advent of Harvey, while one could reel of names of prolific right handers the left handers’ club could hardly conjure the odd name or two. England had only Chapman, Paynter and Leyland against big names like Hobbs, Sutcliffe, Hammond, Hutton and others. Down under against names like Bradman, Ponsford, McCartney and McCabe we have to dig deep to come up with merely Warren Bardsley - a dour slow accumulator.

India was even more bereft of left handers. Imagine, till the fifties - C K Nayudu, Lala Amarnath, Merchant, Mushtaq, Pataudi, Hazare, Umrigar, Manjrekar, Roy and not a single left hander amongst them. The first left hander who broke through was Deepak Shodhan who scored a hundred on debut against Pakistan in 1952 and immediately sank without trace thereafter. Nari Contractor, a determined and not inelegant left hander could have played longer for India but his Test career was cruelly finished by a near fatal bouncer from Griffith in West Indies. The most graceful of the Indians was undoubtedly Salim Durrani - a genius who could be wonderful when in the mood, had so much time to play the ball and such silken grace in everything he did. Many years after the languid but enigmatic Wadekar and the wasted talent of Surinder Amarnath, there was Vinod Kambli who made two double hundreds and a chockfull of runs in a couple of home series before fading away. The jinx on left hand batsmen in India was only broken by Ganguly, the most enduring and graceful of them all.

Was batting the other way round discouraged for some reason in those days? It certainly seems to have been discouraged in India. After all, the right hand is the one used for eating, writing, greeting and benediction while the lowly left hand was for well ... other less dignified tasks. In fact India contributes just three names to the list of 68 left handed batsmen who have scored over 2000 Test runs – Ganguly, Gambhir and Wadekar.

But the changes sweeping society can be felt - parents these days do not discourage children using their left hand for various tasks from writing to batting if they are naturally left handed. And India in fact has Yuvraj, Raina, Gambhir, and Irfan Pathan all in the ODI team.

One Day Cricket has its own strong contribution. No example could be more powerful than that of Sanath Jayasuriya. For five years after making his Test debut Jayasuriya was just an innocuous journeyman - till he was asked to open in ODI in 1195-96 by his captain Ranatunga. And the genius that had been bottled up announced itself to the world and then strode it like a colossus. Gambhir is another example. Adam Gilchrist made the No. 7 batting position the most feared one in Test cricket because he turned matches on their heads from this position. India’s Yuvraj Singh gets his chances in Tests because he is such a brilliant one day cricketer. Test cricket is seeing changes – run rates are increasing, fewer Tests are ending up as draws and there is place for the aggressive genius and therefore for the maverick leftie too.

By worshipping these dozen artists we are not in anyway being disrespectful to the others. If we wanted a left hander to bat us safely through two days of tsunami we would always want Allan Border and Shiv Chanderpaul in our middle order; or Andy Flower who for Zimbabwe was like Horatio on the bridge; if we wanted to take a tilt at the most daunting of targets we would want the pugnacious Smith to open the batting for us; to put fear into the opposition we want the oak like Hayden up front and the towering presence of Lloyd in the middle of our line up. All these stalwarts have averages that are superior to some of the players in our sublime list. But because they give the ball a mighty thump with the bat as opposed to the satin like touch of the sublime artists they perhaps qualify for a separate article that could be titled the “Mighty Left Handers”!

Comments (59)

Hello, I'm Dirk Wellham

Posted by Cricinfo - on 04/14/2009 in Australian Cricket

Through my research (i.e. reading of his book, old articles and internet sites such as wikipedia and Cricinfo) and in gathering statistics for this defense, he strikes me as somewhat of a controversial, enigmatic personality that didn't always fit in with the hierarchy of the team, the board, the selectors, the fans or the media. By his own admission he wasn't "gregarious or one of the boys". That didn't stop him being an above average State cricketer (he is only one of two batsmen in history to score a century on debut for state and country) and a first rate state captain (where he won two Sheffield Shields in a row including the double of the shield and the one-day competition) and is the only player in history to captain three different state sides. He played six Tests between 1981 and 1987. He seems to have unfairly taken some flak for some of his supposed actions which may have reflected negatively on his standing with the selectors and the board.

On his Test debut in 1981 where he was approaching his century he was sent a message from the captain, Kim Hughes, who had seen the sky get dark, to take his time. He was tied down by Peter Parker and Ian Botham for 25 minutes before he could get to his century. He was subsequently dropped for the next Test that Australia played. He managed to play another three Tests in 1981-82 and again subsequently disappeared from the Test team.

He didn't exactly get an extended run throughout his career as the next time he was chosen was for the sixth and final test against England in 1985, a tour that seemed very unhappily divided because of the rebel tour to South Africa. Initially, he had signed onto the rebel tour and then pulled out thanks to Kerry Packer, which upset many, both on the inside, and the outside of the team, as well as the board. He and three others, Graeme Wood, Wayne Phillips and Murray Bennett who also were to have gone to South Africa, but like Wellham, pulled out at the last minute (Bennett months before). According to Wellham (in his book) the four were interrogated by the other members of the squad as to where their loyalties were, and later a unanimous vote was taken by the squad behind their backs that basically said that they weren't wanted in the squad.

He again disappeared from the Test team after the sixth test and stayed on the fringes of international cricket with intermittent appearances in the one day side until he was chosen in a dead rubber in the fifth Test against England at Sydney in 1987. He, according to reports was chosen to be Allan Border's deputy by the selectors, but this was rejected unanimously by the board for their own reasons. It is also reported not only in his book, but in "History of Australian Cricket" (by Chris Harte) that he was the one who lead the team on the field to their only win in that series. Was AB threatened by Wellham? Possibly, if you want to look at it from the perspective that the team was underperforming, due to retirements, and the rebel tours and whilst AB's captaincy was under serious pressure, Wellham was the most successful captain at that point in time.

Personally I believe that Wellham would have made an excellent Australian captain. Despite him playing in most of the one-day matches the summer of 1986-87 and being a part of the winning fifth Test team, his international career was over after the tour of Sharjah in early 1987. It was in the same 1986-87 season when Allan Lamb took on Bruce Reid in ODI final over heroics and won by clobbering 18 of 5 balls to seal a famous, if not an improbable victory. Does anyone remember Wellham making 97 in that match? If you go to Youtube you can watch the demolition of Reid by Lamb. Try looking for Wellham's innings (or Australia's innings of the match) and it's nowhere to be found. I all too well remember sitting in the Bradman stand and feeling slightly miffed when Bill Athey took a low catch to deny Wellham a deserved century. Such was the life of a ten-year-old watch his hero trudge off without gaining what was rightfully his.

Granted cricket is about performance and his Test average is only 23.37 which is quite unremarkable compared to others who had longer to prove themselves, but given that his stop start Test career was stretched over six years I decide to compare how his average over his short six Test career stacks up against other (mostly) more established Australian Test cricketers averages (both current and former) in their first six Tests. The results are below:

1. Mike Hussey 80
2. Adam Gilchrist 69
3. Allan Border 70
4. Mark Taylor 63
5. Michael Clarke 60
5. Mark Waugh 51
6. Dean Jones/Graham Yallop 46
7. Geoff Marsh 38
8. Ricky Ponting/Greg Ritchie 33
9. David Hookes 32
10. Justin Langer 26
11. Matthew Hayden 25
12. Kim Hughes 24
13. Dirk Wellham 23
14. Mike Veletta 21
15. David Boon 18
16. Andrew Symonds 17
18. Steve Waugh 14

My conclusion, going by the statistics alone, he actually had a better average than Boon, Steve Waugh and Andrew Symonds after six Tests each and there was only 3 and 2 runs on average between himself and Hayden and Langer. Isn't that a surprise? Statistically at that point in their Test careers they were pretty much on par. But then again cricket isn't all about statistics, it's just as much about characters and personalities.

The impact that Wellham has had on Australian cricket is more than just his personal achievements but also how he influenced two of Australia's future captains, Mark Taylor and Steve Waugh. Both players have acknowledged that they gleaned insights and aspects of captaincy from his style of leadership. It is unfortunate Wellham just didn't seem to fit into the Aussie larrakin/ocker kind of player that has become synonymous with those who have played for Australia over the past 30 years. He seemed to be a generation or two too late, a product of a bygone era when it was alright to be quiet or unassuming. Those of us who appreciate that can only ponder what could have been.

Comments (28)

April 13, 2009

Left-Arm Fast bowlers

Posted by Cricinfo - on 04/13/2009 in Extras

From Brendan Layton, Australia

They are the mythical bunch that is a diamond dozen, but those who have made it to the top have shone as some of the finest bowlers of the game. Mitchell Johnson has blown his way to the top of Australia's bowling attack following a humble start, and Zaheer Khan has emerged from a long and difficult apprenticeship to be India's top bowler. But the main reason they cause excitement is that they are left-arm quicks, and can do things a right-arm bowler would dream about.

The history of left-arm quicks traces all the way back to the very first Test, where England fielded Tom Emmett, a bluff Yorkshire professional who could bowl very fast on his day. Australia's attack, missing Fred Spofforth, opened the bowling with John Hodges, a Victorian bookmaker who played the first two Tests and never played Test cricket again. On the return match in England, Fred Spofforth was supported by Frank Allen, once hailed 'the bowler of the century', and a man who was allegedly a gargantuan swinger of the ball. He took 4/80 in the match as Spofforth annihilated England.

England would tend to rely on left arm orthodox bowlers in its early history, but they did produce an all-rounder who could be dangerous on his day in the form of George Hirst, who achieved more with the bat than the ball in his few Test appearances. More successful was Jack Ferris, who teamed up with Charlie Turner to form one of the most lethal partnerships in Test cricket history. Ferris' career was blighted by the weakness of the Australian batting at the time, and eventually left to play in England as a professional.

When South Africa initially came into the Test arena, they struggled to match the strong Australian and English teams, but they did have Arthur 'Dave' Nourse, a left-arm swing bowler who was the 'Grand Old Man of South African Cricket'. In the late 1920's, England unearthed a young lad from Nottinghamshire who would make his mark a few years later as the accomplice of one Harold Larwood. Bill Voce, although yards slower than his older partner, was a key figure in Bodyline where he would set the leg trap and use his awkward angle and great height to create havoc and a long run of bruises. He would have sporadic success in his career, and his last tour with Wally Hammond's team in 1946/47 to Australia when he was long past his peak was a disaster.

After World War II Australia unearthed a candidate for one of the all-time left-armers in Bill Johnston, a droll Victorian who had been a spin bowler before he turned to swing. He took 16 wickets against India in his debut Test series and then in the next five took at least 20 wickets. Not bad, especially when you consider that he was competing with Ray Lindwall and Keith Miller for the new ball.

Frank Worrell, a much-underrated bowler due to his batting talent, was often called upon to open the bowling for the West Indies as the struggled to find the next Learie Constantine. He took a best of 7/70, but a younger all-rounder from Barbados would supersede him as an all-rounder and player. Garry Sobers, arguably the greatest all-rounder of them all, took 235 wickets bowling swing, genuinely fast, or any type of spin he felt like.

When Australia toured South Africa in 1957/58, a lot of their hopes were pinned on Alan Davidson, who was finally being given the new ball after having to wait behind the impenetrable Lindwall/Miller/Johnston combination. He was acknowledged as a master bowler, but had played 12 Tests and had taken an unremarkable 16 wickets at 34.06. In the next 32 Tests he took 170 wickets at under 20 to reduce that average to 20.53. Doing that he established himself as the finest left-arm quick of that time, and he is only challenged as the greatest of them all by one man.

South Africa had developed Trevor Goddard as a useful all-rounder who at times opened the batting and the bowling for his country. When the arrival of some genuinely fast men gave him better support, the ferocious South African team of the 60's was born. The generation gap between the next gifted lefties was bridged by Richard Collinge, a gigantic but gentle swing bowler whose best was overshadowed by Richard Hadlee, but always gave his best for New Zealand.

Lefties struggled to make an impact in the 70's. Bernard Julien was spoken of as another Sobers but failed to have an impact. John Lever played 21 tests as a classy swing bowler, but had to shake rumours he used slave or something similar to get swing. Australia produced two with vastly different careers. Gary Gilmour was a spectacular swing bowler and hard hitting batsman who produced his best in the one day game. He struggled later in his career as the increasing professionalism left players of his ilk in the cold. Geoff Dymock, a maths teacher who struggled with remote postings for many years, was a determined, hard-working bowler who improved to such a state in his early 30's that he was considered good enough to partner Dennis Lillee during the Post-WSC reunion. He was the first person to dismiss all 11 batsmen in a team at Green Park in India in a match his batsmen still managed to lose.

In the 80's there was little to be seen of the left-arm quick, and it was thought they had gone out of fashion as quick as the Malcolm Marshall bouncer. Then suddenly out of Pakistan came a young man with a whippy action that could bowl fast and swing the ball both ways alarmingly late. Wasim Akram took 5/56 in his second Test and showed signs of greatness. At the turn of the decade, he was acknowledged the finest fast bowler in the world, even better than Windies beanpoles Curtley Ambrose and Courtney Walsh. Australian captain Mark Taylor, a man who managed a century against Akram hailed him as the most difficult bowler he had ever faced, and much better than any West Indian of the time. His record is formidable: 414 wickets at 23.62. He suffered during his career from a myriad of scandals, and late in his career he lost a lot of the zip that made him the most feared bowler in the world. That said, in my opinion Wasim Akram is the greatest leftie of them all.

Australia managed to produce a tall, gangling WA quick that could make the ball swing and lift from a good length. Bruce Reid suffered from back problems his entire career, but managed 113 wickets at 24.63, he was no mug when he got it right. Sri Lanka, after initial struggles, unearthed an invulnerable warrior who to this day carries their pace attack. Chaminda Vaas was never lightning fast, but he learned progressively as he went. He forsook pace to become a crafty swing and seam bowler, capable of blowing away teams on helpful pitches and containing batsmen with his accuracy.

Nathan Bracken had been earmarked as the next Bruce Reid when he came through the ranks, but it took a long time to make his mark. And now at 31, and having not played a Test since 2005, a classy swing bowler seems to have cruelly been cast as a limited overs bowler, despite being widely admitted as one of the finest swing bowlers in the world.

But the leftie rides again. Johnson and Zaheer are at the pinnacle of this class at the moment, but South Africa has Wayne Parnell waiting to take the fight. Pakistan's Sohail Tanvair is a wrong-footed and unpredictable quick with strong potential. And there is definitely one out there who could be the next Alan Davidson. The next Wasim Akram. Now that would be a treat.

Comments (41)

Karachi symphony

Posted by Cricinfo - on 04/13/2009 in Pakistan cricket

The dejected feeling of happiness and distress when you visit a precious place where you grew up with innocence and faith in a future that only promised peace. My heart broke by just glancing at the pitch that lay there in the centre. Brown and rolled; often criticized; often cherished. A center of attraction where hearts broke; and love won. Where there was a time when the silence in the park was overwhelmed by a roar of thirty thousand passionate spectators, adding another hundred and sixty million set of eyes that glared at this stadium through the lens.

The day India visited Pakistan for their friendship tour; some people may not know this ... but an official holiday was announced at Karachi, and I had never seen it so empty. No cars moved, no men walked out side. It was like everyone was smothered by the event of watching Shoaib Akhtar bowl to Sachin Tendulkar. No one cared about victory because cricket was back. India would smash a glaring 346 and Pakistan dauntingly replied with a total of 6 runs short.

This was a place where Mohammed Asif was introduced to world cricket as a leading swinger. It was Shahid Afridi's home ground. It was a place where Sir Vivian Richards whispered 'Murghi-Murghi-Murghi' (Chicken-Chicken-Chicken) to a Pakistani wicket keeper after he extensively appealed in vain. It was a place where Sir Vivian Richards smashed 181 runs in a world cup match: An event my father witnessed being there, and he often tells me stories about it. It was a place where Mohammed Yousuf completed his 9th century in a calendar year, piling up the world record of scoring the most runs in a calendar year; something Sir Vivian Richards embraced previously. It was a place where England battled it out even in the dark; just to ensure a victory. And they did. And who could forget Kamran Akmal's outstanding century, taking Pakistan from 39/6 to an Innings defeat.

There is a history piled up in that lawn of grass. A history of facts I can't even state in an article; because I'd need a book. And then I came back to the emptiness, staring at the blank screen switched off. And I felt low because the terrorists had won and I wondered why, because the instability was influenced by a war we weren't involved in. And I sometimes wondered, looking at that park ... about roses that bloomed in deserts and died through thirst. I would think about the oceans of pain and vengeance that stormed through hearts we never knew. The victims of terrorism and wars. Cricket was destroyed, and hate grew further. And by just looking at that park I wondered if I could just discover a part that might understand human depression as a whole. If only I could know why people commit wrong deeds for the right reasons.

If I could hold a magic wand and fill in the stadium with thirty thousand peace loving souls, I would. And then reality bit me. I recalled the firing Team Sri Lanka must have heard. The eight policemen who died protecting them. It was almost dark, as I closed my laptop and walked down to the stands. My Uncle, who is a PCB official was done with his work. We drove out of the ground; and I looked into the sky which had transformed into an emerald made of sapphires; a sky bleached with a tinge of darkness that surrounded my dead stadium: A place I proudly called 'my' home ground. The towers of floodlights beamed out hazards of red lights, reminding me that the soul of The National stadium still exists; like its heart still beats with the flickering of those bright red lights ... telling me it will live again.

Comments (56)

April 7, 2009

Some ùbúntù

Posted by Cricinfo - on 04/07/2009 in Extras

These are words that are guaranteed to bring to a halt whatever you may have been thinking about and force you to take notice. It is not possible to ignore the fundamental humanity of these pearls strung together and not feel about as big as a microbe in the grand scheme of things our lives are embedded in.

And before you begin to wonder, no, it is not a preamble to an attempt by me to proceed and espouse (in a futile and doomed attempt to try and sound just as eloquent) my own brand of homegrown philosophy on unsuspecting readers. The word ùbúntù (and what a beautiful word and philosophy it is) should be a dead giveaway though and should lead you towards at least a confirmation of the geographical source of these prescient thoughts.

This is an excerpt (quoted verbatim) from the 2008 edition of the MCC Spirit of Cricket Cowdrey Lecture, delivered by The Most Reverend Dr. Desmond Tutu last summer. The lecture was instituted in 2001 following the adoption of the Spirit of Cricket Preamble to the Laws by the M.C.C, the custodians of the laws of the game of cricket. The Preamble to the Laws which was officially added in 2000 is meant to enshrine the founding tenets of the Spirit of Cricket: fairness, honesty and respect. It states that "Cricket is a game that owes much of its unique appeal to the fact that it should be played not only within its Laws but also within the Spirit of the Game. Any action which is seen to abuse this Spirit causes injury to the game itself".

The lecture is now an anticipated event in the summer cricket calendar, giving the stage to an invited guest to elaborate on a topic of their choice related the game. Rev. Tutu joined a line of illustrious cricketing personalities who have graced Lord’s to deliver the annual lecture, starting with the thoughtful elegance of Richie Benaud in 2001. Subsequent years have been equally rewarding, with speeches by Barry Richards, Sunil Gavaskar, Clive Lloyd, Geoffrey Boycott, Martin Crowe and Christopher Martin-Jenkins. Rev. Tutu was an interesting, inspired, albeit quirky choice, if I may say so. But the 1984 Nobel Peace Prize winner’s heartfelt and at the same time, funny and delightful speech last year was quite memorable.

Rev. Tutu concluded his lecture last year with the words:

And so cricket reminds us that we are made for togetherness. We are made as those who are going to have to turn this world and make it something that is more compassionate, more caring, more loving, more gentle, and you here are part of God’s team plan, collaborators to help God bring about a realization of God’s dream. Could we have any higher aspiration, not only for cricket but for the whole of life as we humans experience it in community, that we live our lives in the Spirit of Cricket?

Michael Colin Cowdrey (1932-2000) was the initiator and the brains behind the Spirit of Cricket initiative along with another England great, Ted Dexter. Sporting the apt initials of his name M.C.C, which were carefully and calculatedly given to him by his father for obvious reasons, he was responsible for relentlessly championing the formalization of the concept that the spirit in which the game was played was just as important as the rules and laws that governed the play on the field.

We will be hard pressed to find anyone who can even contemplate debating over whether there can be a better example of a cricketer who personified the spirit of cricket more than Colin Cowdrey. In a long and illustrious career as an England cricketer and captain (114 tests, 7624 runs, 22 centuries), he was the very personification of grace and skill every single moment on and off the cricket field. Unfailingly friendly, courteous and polite to a fault to anyone he came in contact with, he lived the principle that even while going for your opponents’ jugular in a cricket match, it could be done with fairness and integrity along with equanimity of thought, language and demeanor. His courteousness and politeness somehow even extended to the legendary silken coverdrives of his. Quite large is the fraternity of fielders who over his long career, have run to the boundary to retrieve the ball Colin Cowdrey had deposited there, caressing it through the covers with supreme style. All the time wondering, as they picked up the ball from the ropes, if the shot would ever be played any more elegantly.

Colin Cowdrey had a firmly held belief that there was absolutely no reason why the game of cricket could not be played while adhering to the principles of fairness, honesty and respect. In fact, to him, why would you ever want to play it any other way? Concerned about the declining standards of behavior and conduct of players that he observed at all levels of the game around the world, he proposed and championed the idea of the Spirit of Cricket being made explicit in the Laws of the game. On his own volition, and expecting nothing in return for his efforts, he crisscrossed the English countryside, speaking at schools, cricket clubs and sports associations, passionately explaining to children, young athletes and sportsmen why it was equally important to cherish and hold those values as closely as they did their success in their chosen sport. And he unfailingly gave his time and attention to anyone who came in contact with him and expressed an interest in discussing his views on the subject. He wanted everyone associated with cricket to believe in and live these principles and took great pains to keep them at the forefront of their consciousness. I find it very hard to imagine the anguish he endured during the dark days of the match-fixing scandals in the late 90’s ("It's a new world, I don't understand it now."-M.C. Cowdrey) to see the game he cherished so much ravaged that way.

I share one thing in common, at least, with Michael Colin Cowdrey and that is the city of our births - Bangalore.

Growing up in Bangalore, my grade school days were the usual gleeful mix of friends, school, homework, comic books, ice candies and street cricket (of course!), memories of a mix I share fondly with millions like me all across India. Parents, millions of them like mine, while indulging and managing typical kids like my friends and I, worried about our education and sometimes, conscientiously tried to stuff some sense and respect for the culture and classicism of the land in us. In this way, my brother and I were sent off to study Sanskrit, the language of the classics, in the morning before school, along with a merry band of other similarly coerced kids.

Our walk to the center where we were to be all cultured up, took us through the quiet, tree-lined middle class neighborhood of Jayanagar, many roads of which were narrow enough that in furiously contested evening cricket matches, either the fielder at extra cover or the one at square-leg was inevitably stationed strategically in the “gutter” or storm drains that lined the streets. As we walked down a quiet street like this, a stone’s throw away from our classroom was a nondescript and typical suburban residence that used to bring a hush over the gaggle of kids as they passed by. Footsteps would slow down, conversation would cease and faces would look up with wonder and fervent anticipation. Anticipation of catching even a tiny glimpse of him in one of the windows. For this, as our reliable sources had informed us, was the home of Bhagwat Subramanya Chandrashekhar.

It is not easy to describe the wonder and affection that Chandra conjured up in the minds of children growing up in India during his heyday. Why just children, here was a cricketer adored and admired right across the country for his exploits, his gentle and genial nature and more importantly, for the thrilling spectacle and anticipation he provided with that uncharacteristic bowling action, spitting leg-breaks and disorienting power of his googlies. The memories of that coiled-spring run-up, the bounding steps to the crease with 75,000 roaring spectators keeping rhythm with their clapping, the whipping blur of his right arm, wrist cocked in a position dictated by a mind of its own, and Farooq Engineer or Syed Kirmani, standing right up to the stumps intercepting a fizzing leg break sometimes over their heads as the groping batsman looked back in confused horror….unforgettable.

After months of walking by the two-storey house, and questioning the validity of our sources’ insistence that Chandra indeed lived there, the suspense became too unbearable for us and we decided to settle the matter for ourselves. So one chilly, misty Bangalore morning, three kids walked up boldly to the front door of the house and rang the doorbell. They then stood there, legs quivering, all the boldness spent now, expecting a yelling at from maybe an accountant or physicist who lived there, and not Chandra. Or Chandra himself, asking us to bugger off and not bother him that early in the morning. The door opened and we were greeted with the smiling face of a lady who seemed genuinely puzzled and amused to see three kids shaking with excitement at her doorstep. “What do you want and who are you kids anyway?” she asked. I guess the bravest one among us finally mustered up the chutzpah to look her in the eye and say, “We would like to meet Chandra and get his autograph”.

Now, two things were possible at this instant. She could have developed a furrow in her brow, glared at us and said “Chandra? Who? Don’t you kids have anything better to do than bother strangers this early in the morning? Don’t you have school to attend?” The second possibility was the one that did occur. She smiled at us, turned around and called out ”Chandraaaaaaaaa...” While we held on to each other in a state of ecstasy and nervousness for what seemed like an eternity, bounding down the steps from the second floor came the legendary leg spinner, clad in shorts and a T-shirt. Bounding down, I would like to think, with the same number of steps as his famed run-up to the crease. He towered over us, looking down with that very familiar calm and open look on his face. “These kids want your autograph”, she said to him. As he looked at us and that hand that had turned many a game for the country started to reach out towards us, we were suddenly aroused from the paralyzed state we were now in and three notebooks meant for the Sanskrit class shot out in unison and miraculously appeared under his nose. Three scrawls later, he smiled at us and was gone, bounding back upstairs, to the top of his run-up. The lady (his mother?) smiled at our incredulous faces one last time and gently closed the front door. I remember absolutely nothing else about what happened next. I assume we did make it to our Sanskrit class that day.

Years passed. School was just a fond memory now and sadly, my Sanskrit notebook was nowhere to be found. Then one day, right across Bangalore and the rest of India spread the news of a horrific accident in south Bangalore. A really bad one, we were told. Chandra, our Chandra, had been involved in a smashup on the street riding his two-wheeler. He was badly injured and in intensive care. Both legs, they said. Could he ever walk again, they asked. Bedridden…wheelchair bound. What kind of nightmare was this? Would he ever come bounding down those steps again?

“Why did it have to be him?” we asked, trying to reason quite unreasonably with I am not sure who or what. Why Chandra? Why the quiet, gentle, private, goateed, Mukesh loving wizard with the goofy-looking round arm return from the boundary? Why the unpredictable, dangerous, lightning fast Chandra (“Maaan, his fast one is faster than Thommo’s!” - Viv Richards) who could terrorize batsmen when he was on song? We wrestled with the combination of worry and sadness about his physical health. We had internal conversations with ourselves about how much the country owed him. Owed him for everything, starting with the Oval in 1971. While reading about cash donations being made for his hospital expenses in calculated moves by governments at the state and national level and the statements of cricketers empathizing with his unfortunate accident, we hoped that our Chandra was being emotionally supported too. By his friends and colleagues being by his bedside. By just being there for him during these trying times. We wanted to him to get back on his feet quickly and stand again, with friendly hands around his shoulder. We didn’t want him to just recover. We wanted him to recover with a smile on his face. With the peace, comfort and contentment that comes with the company of caring friends.

Michael Colin Cowdrey, the President of the ICC, was in India for meetings and landed in Bangalore, his birthplace, a stop on his trip crisscrossing the country. After he picked up his bags at the airport, he walked out, met the party waiting to drive him to the Chinnaswamy Stadium or his hotel, and politely, I am certain, requested that he be driven to the house of Bhagwat Chandrashekhar. The hotel and the meetings at the Chinnaswamy Stadium for that matter could wait. More prominent in his mind were thoughts of meeting a respected compatriot, an old nemesis on the field, a valued member of the cricketing fraternity and most importantly, a small part of the jigsaw puzzle that made up the picture. A picture of a game that Colin Cowdrey so eloquently stood for in all his efforts since he entered it as a player and continued to embody. His colleague from the cricket pitch was ailing, and paramount in his mind was the need to meet him, sit with him, hold his hands and just say, “We are thinking about you, mate. And we will be with you as you recover from this.”

I have this vivid mental picture of a car driving down that very same street in the typical middle class neighbourhood in Bangalore, pulling up in front of the same nondescript residence, the car door opening and Michael Colin Cowdrey getting out. Walking up to the same front door and his finger pressing the same doorbell. Courteously introducing himself to whoever opened the door (Chandra’s mother again, maybe?) and requesting that he be permitted to call on Chandra. I can also imagine with a great deal of certainty what this visit would have meant to Chandra as he laid there, wheelchair and bed bound. An unexpected visit from a concerned colleague of the game and a face from the past that brought back a million memories and smiles to his face. If there ever was a reassuring, thoughtful and caring gesture being made to a man in dire need of one, here it was.

The M.C.C has just announced that Adam Gilchrist will be delivering the Spirit of Cricket Cowdrey Lecture this year at Lord’s on June 24. It will be at the height of the Ashes frenzy in England as the Aussies would be just starting their tour then. As far as the rest of the cricketing world goes, having exhausted our competitive, nationalistic and jingoistic juices in the months preceding this at the IPL and the T20 World Cup (which actually ends just three days before the lecture at Lord’s), it may behoove us to take a small break from the action on the field and see what this year’s lecture brings. And also say a silent thank you to the man the lecture is named after. It won’t hurt. It may even be rewarding.

I never had a chance to watch Colin Cowdrey bat, and can only imagine that silken coverdrive that people who were lucky to see him swear by. But I don’t think I need to use my imagination to understand the sentiments of John Woodcock, who penned the simple epitaph on Sir Michael Colin Cowdrey’s headstone:

"...some journey, some life, some coverdrive, some friend."

Comments (17)

April 3, 2009

Comment on commentary

Posted by Cricinfo - on 04/03/2009 in World cricket

There has been increasing discussion on several forums on the web, not least of which is the ever active rec.sport.cricket discussion board about the quality of some of the cricket commentators we seem to get on TV nowadays. The views expressed by most contributors are along expected lines with some commentators coming in for flak for reasons as varied as bias bordering on jingoism/hero worship/unbridled and mindless one-way praise, lack of clarity, sheer monotony of voice and pitch etc etc. And, in a way, it brings to mind the experience of watching India play Pakistan in the 1996 World Cup quarters at Bangalore.

India had run up a challenging enough target, and it helped that the rules then resulted in Pakistan having one less over to get them in, due to slow over rates. But it was a decent batting wicket - not one of those 435 ones, mind you, but decent enough - and in Sohail and Anwar, Pakistan had an opening pair who were every bit as destructive as the more celebrated pairing of that world cup, Jayasuriya and Kalu. So, when the local boys, Srinath and Prasad, opened India's bowling, it did not take Sohail and Anwar too long to have us, 40000 local boys/girls/men/women/children, watch in mute disbelief as the ball began disappearing faster than hot cakes. The image of a white ball disappearing into the crowd against the backdrop of a Bangalore night sky stands out - as does the memory that the intense internal tussle between a cricket fan, who would like to applaud good shots for what they were, and an Indian team supporter, who couldn't bear to watch the mayhem, was clearly being won by the latter. We found voice when Anwar and Sohail fell, the latter after the rather memorable moment of eyeball-to-eyeball confrontation between batsman and bowler, and things went downhill for Pakistan from there.

The point is that as fans, we probably have the luxury of harbouring biases and supporting our team, though I suspect that as self-proclaimed lovers of the sport, we have a duty to enjoy good cricket for what it is. However, it is not a uniquely Indian phenomenon, because I have watched - or listened with an ear cocked to find out - how Australian crowds reacted to India's performances in the 1985 "mini World Cup" (aka Ravi Shastri's tournament), in a match in which Australia were 37/5 even before we had shaken the sleep out of our eyes while watching it live on TV. And to my relief, the response was about as enthusiastic as ours was while Anwar and Sohail were on a rampage. I suspect, therefore, that unless you are faced with such glittering talents of the sport like Warne, Tendulkar, Lara, or from an earlier era Kapil Dev, Botham, Hadlee, Imran Khan, Richards, Sunil Gavaskar, to name a few, it would take a lot to get out of your supporter mind set and get into fan mode. But this is neither about fans nor mindsets, but about commentators.

When we first caught cricket on TV, it was amazing to be able to listen to the likes of Benaud, Chappell, Harvey, even Tony Greig, talk about the game as it unfolded. Here were people who you only saw on grainy black-and-white newspaper photos, or on the occasional newsreel. Unlike the radio commentators we were accustomed to, these people did not need to give us a blow-by-blow account of the game as it happened - they realised we could see that. But what was special was their ability to make an observation which captured the essence of the moment without being anywhere near as verbose as this piece. Sample, for instance, Chappell's "that could mean the match" when John Reid dropped a rampaging Kapil Dev off a well-disguised, well thought out Hadlee slower one, at a moment when New Zealand needed Kapil's wicket in the semi finals of the aforementioned Shastri's tournament - Kapil did eventually win India that match.

Unfortunately, those days seem to belong to an older, almost genteel era, when commentators knew how to appreciate the sport and the action, and all of its trappings. For all that, few Indian fans - self included - had heard of Henry Blofeld till he came along in a Sharjah tournament and went gaga over, of all things, earrings!! Most Indians probably remember him fondly for that, and that alone. Today, however, commentators are increasingly becoming as one-sided as the fans themselves. I was shocked, for instance, to hear that one Kiwi commentator, and ex-cricketer, thought that the home team should "crush India to dust" after running up 614 runs in the second test. And then there is this other commentator, who sounds English, and whose unbridled enthusiasm for all things Australian must be nauseating even to Aussie supporters. It is nearly as bad as listening to a current-day motorsports commentator and his eyes-only-for-the-current-world-champion-and-proud-of-it tendencies. Another once-eminent commentator, who we all loved listening to, has today descended to the level where all of what he does is tinged with an anti-BCCI flavour, though I am not sure he is alone, or without followers in that pursuit.

In conclusion, I think we all like our commentators to be observers of the game - people who can give us a view that almost shames us into appreciating the sport for what it is, and emerging from our "fan" cocoons. Unfortunately though, in this age of intolerance, these people have also become too intolerant to teach us how to enjoy the game. How is it relevant to my opening comment? I suspect that, like my email buddy and me, they too are over reacting to issues surrounding the sport, than to the action itself.

Comments (7)