Passion? Really?

A friend questioned my definition of passion vis-a-vis cricket in India. I’d been put off writing about this simply because it is a challenging topic. How do you define passion? In a cricketing context – when is a fan passionate? Is he passionate if he likes watching cricket, irrespective of the teams involved? Is he passionate if he watches only the team he supports? Is he passionate if he applauds good cricket as long as it is played by his own countrymen? Is he passionate if he rejoices only when his team wins? Is he passionate if he loves to play the game but does not like watching it or vice versa?

Passion, like other abstract qualities often finds it definition not in the collective but in the individual. Frequently though, it is used to describe a group, a club and at times an entire populace. Therefore, Brazil is passionate about football, New Zealand is passionate about rugby and India, of course, is passionate about cricket. The potential pitfall with applying a quality to an entire population is that the definition becomes rigid and subsequently, stereotypical. With that safeguard in place, if I were to apply my definition of passion, I would say we are not really passionate about our cricket. My definition of a passionate cricket follower, make that a passionate sports enthusiast, is someone who is gracious enough to applaud the opponent. Someone who rejoices in victory and introspects in defeat. Someone who is unendingly curious about ‘his’ sport and therefore able to appreciate the finer nuances of the game. Someone who can make concessions for the occasional bad performance. Someone who is saddened if his sport is in a dilapidated state, beset by corruption and indolence.

Too Utopian? Didn’t I mention that it is a treacherous path we are on – this attempt to apply one definition to all and sundry? Anyway, I too fail several yardsticks which this definition sets down. Michael Clarke made a sublime century in the first ODI against India in Bangalore and we, as a nation (if you consider the spectators on the ground representative of the entire nation) were stunned into silence, not the kind of silence which gives way to appreciative applause as the crowd recognizes a magnificent sporting feat. This silence was the silence of diffidence, even disapproval and spoke volumes about us as a cricketing nation. Thus we fail at the very first obstacle posed by my definition of passion. A nation which boasts of hundreds of millions of armchair experts cannot recognize good cricket? That is not possible. We were not unaware of Clarke’s excellence, simply reluctant to acknowledge it, because the excellence did not stem from an Indian blade. Contrast this to the crescendo that greets an Indian player when he reaches a milestone. This is not passion; this is jingoism wearing respectable clothes.

Am I being unfair? Isn’t every nation partisan to its own? True, but every nation which calls itself passionate about a certain sport is sporting enough to applaud an opponent. In this sense, I would go so far as to suggest that England is more passionate about cricket than India. On the recent tour, every good Indian performance was appreciated, maybe a little less enthusiastically than an English performance, but it was still tangible. Cynics might say that it is easier to be gracious in victory than in defeat, but that was the beauty of the English crowds. A desire for an England victory was juxtaposed with a desire to see good cricket – even if that was at the expense of their team. I never thought I would say this, but the stiffs at Lords are definitely more appreciative of quality cricket than the free spirits at Chinnaswamy Stadium.

Delving further, there is a marked contrast in the turnout for domestic matches in England and India. Undoubtedly there are mitigating factors. The facilities are better at English grounds, spectators are considered stakeholders too – maybe not as much as they should be but definitely more so than in India, where officials sit in their ivory towers counting their pots of money, blissfully unconcerned about the people who enable them to rake in the money in the first place. The oppressive heat in the sub-continent is also a deterrent, but don’t we hear perpetual groaning about the miserable English weather? The English domestic circuit employs several high profile players from other countries and they undoubtedly play a part in drawing the crowds. Assuming all these reasons are infallible (and they are not), it still does not justify the eeriness that pervades through Indian stadia hosting domestic matches. It’s incredible that there is absolutely no interest in fringe players who might soon be representing the country, or in youngsters who will replace the current superstars in a few years. This is tantamount to sacrilege in a country which proclaims cricket to be its biggest religion.

Cricket is often hailed as the single largest unifying factor, transcending language, religion, caste in a nation that frequently threatens to implode along these lines. Cricket also serves to soothe the collective ego of a nation struggling to decide where its place lies in the world’s pecking order. Unfortunately, that is all it is. We are not appreciative of the art of cricket, we are concerned with the currency (read perceived respect) it gains us in others’ eyes. This is also the reason why we cannot stand any criticism of Sachin Tendulkar. When we defend him against the critics, we are not only defending an outstanding cricketer, we are also defending our egos. This is a phenomenon not limited to the common Indian fan. Every Indian commentator, every ex-player sprouts armor when faced with a criticism of Tendulkar. Even a sound cricketing argument is met with an incredulous expression and an acid reply. This is not a country passionate about its cricket! This is a country obsessed with preserving the modicum of respect that it earns through cricket.

Critics who turn into worshippers at the first signs of a decent performance, worshippers who start chomping at the bits after a bad patch, a rabid media and the fact that we tolerate the most rotten cricket board in existence are all indicators, irrespective of what we might proclaim, that cricket is not a passion, it’s simply an assumed identity.