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.

Over the top you say?

Quiet discussions and dignified celebrations are anathema to the Indian way of life. If it could emote and talk, the average Indian ear drum would first burst into tears, and then after composing itself, confess that it curls up into a foetal position every time a festival, a wedding, an ambassador (the car) or an Indian cricket victory approaches. For this reason and others, Andrew Symonds’ comments about the celebrations following India’s T20 triumph need to be examined. Why indeed did we go crazy with joy?

Will Luke in this excellent blog, The Corridor, has some snapshots of the absolute bedlam that greeted the open top bus ride undertaken by the cricketers in Mumbai on their return from South Africa. An ocean of humanity does not even begin to describe it and there’s plenty more where that came from! Indians, emotionally speaking, are masters of the extreme. From covering cricketers’ houses in items fit for the compost pit to placing the very same people on pedestals rarely afforded to the mortals, it’s all in a day’s work for us. We are a very vocal people who greet a Tendulkar boundary with firecrackers and homespun versions of the Bhangra. The polite claps (or so they seem like on the tele) that greet a Pietersen six in England would probably make the crowds go ballistic in India – if he were Indian of course. This is an endearing trait – the ability and the want to celebrate even the smallest happiness. If I were to pick a representative of India from the current cricket team, it would be Sreesanth. Now, before you show up at my door with a straitjacket, hear me out.

Sreesanth must be as eccentric a character as any other to have plied his wares in both white and coloured pyjamas. But as a spectator, each match with him is a spectacular roller coaster. Which Sreesanth will show up for a particular match has become a delightful mystery that unfolds with the first ball he bowls. The average Indian is only a slightly tempered version of him- idiosyncratic, unpredictable, struggling to keep his emotions from spilling out and brilliant on days when the little voices in his head are in tune with each other (I mean, have you looked at that seam position?! It’s a thing of beauty – ranked number two behind Eva Longoria in my ‘Things which make me go ga-ga’ list; in completely different ways of course). Anyway, the pre-digression point was that we, like Sreesanth, do tend to go overboard with our feelings, be it in sports, politics, or the latest episodes of soaps which would have us believe that the average Indian lifespan resembles that of the tortoise.

Mentioning soaps of course brings me to the Indian media, my favourite topic of discussion. Each time I go back to India, I observe the workings of the media with morbid fascination. It is like watching a horrifyingly spine chilling movie. You cover your eyes (well I do), but still see it through the gaps between your fingers. I mean, an industry which telecasts shows like ‘Match ka Mujrim’ (‘Culprit of the match’) should be bound, gagged, shot thrice, trussed up in a sack and then drowned – just to make sure. But it can’t - it’s not a person you see. So this gargantuan industry keeps churning out mind-numbing drivel the sorts which would make a shoe bang itself over its head with frustration, pack up its bags, depart for shores where the media treats people like they have an IQ greater than 3 and continue existing without any qualms.

What the Indian media does reflect though, albeit mostly in poor ways, is the passion for cricket in India. Let me take a break from media bashing to say that this passion is definitely a mitigating factor in the quality and quantity of cricket features shown every day. The media cannot be blamed for trying to provide the public with something they just cannot have enough of. Combine this furious passion with the psyche of a typical Indian, throw in a definite dearth of international achievement, and you get the perfect recipe for madcap celebrations when the team finally does win something of note. And thus the cascade of humanity in Mumbai on 26^th September.

Another reason which demands an extra mug of beer and a shakier shake of the leg is that Australia is not the top dog in all three formats of the game – not until 2009 at least. Frankly, if the West Indies were not dealing with issues of their own, South Africa and New Zealand were not trying to figure out where it went all wrong..again, Pakistan were not celebrating their own superb performance and good omens for the future, Sri Lanka were not soothing the wounds of that 10 wicket caning, England were not trying to figure out how to avoid a repeat of the 2006 Ashes and Bangladesh were not introspecting on their unfailing ability to implode, I think all their players would have thrown caution to the winds and joined into the festivities. I also think the above sentence was a massive one. Anyway, the cricket world did heave a collective sigh of relief when the supermen from Down Under were ousted in the semi-finals and Indians were given another reason to party.

This brings us to the identity of our opponents in the finals. Defeating Pakistan in the most trivial pursuits, even these days when the nature of the rivalry resembles England-Australia more than it does U.S-Iran, is greeted with cheers across the country. Cricket is not a trivial pursuit.

So there you have it. An expressive nation, a cricket crazy public, an eager media, a fallen (at least for now) conqueror and a vanquished arch rival. Mr. Symonds, need I say more?