Of Bhogle, Chappell and ARUN LAL!

At the end of every bilateral series, Cricinfo comes up with scores out of 10 for each player based on his performances in the entire series. I thought I would conduct a similar exercise for commentators. The only difference is that unlike players, commentators are not subject to the vagaries of form and hence these ratings reflect my opinion of how good or bad a particular commentator is in general.

Harsha Bhogle 9

A contradiction to the popular notion that only ex-players are qualified to comment on the game, Bhogle is a breath of fresh air in a usually staid commentary box. In fact, the average user can relate more to him simply because he has not donned international colours for his country. Consequently nothing he says is tainted with the overbearing authority or arrogance of an ex-player, thus allowing the viewer a chance to disagree with him. Armed with a marvellous vocabulary, Bhogle is eloquent and always fair in his assessment of a player/ team. A point deducted for a tendency of getting a tad over-excited at times.

Barry Richards 8.5

I have not had the privilege of listening to Barry Richards very often. In fact, the recent India-Australia was the first time I heard him for a significant period. What comes across effortlessly is his ability to read the game and an uncanny knack of predicting what the bowler or batsman is going to try next. I believe he leaves his co-commentator as impressed as the audience with his sharp cricket brain. Coupled with this is his fearlessness in disagreeing with his colleagues while on air. Diplomacy at the best of times is, well, boring. Difference of opinion entertains, sometimes almost as much as the action in the field. Deduction in points because of his voice which can be grating at times and his reading of the Indian pitches is as good as my ability to code in BASIC.

David Lloyd 8.5

‘Bumble’ Lloyd is turning out to be the heir apparent to Henry Blofield and is taking over Boycott’s mantle of India’s favourite English commentator. With a strong Lancastrian accent, he matches Boycott in the accent stakes and has people in splits without having to refer to his grandmother on air. Anyone who heard his modernized rendition of the legend of Robin Hood during India’s test in Nottingham will testify. To top it all off, his favourite football club is Accrington Stanley which sounds like a Quidditch team Harry Potter would support. Oh by the way, when he talks about cricket, he shows why he was coach of England once.

Geoffrey Boycott 8

Another one from the old school. Boycott is so full of brazen opinions that he makes Ian Chappell look like a boy scout. A legend in India for his honesty (and his Yorkshire accent no doubt), he is never shy of taking the mickey out of his colleagues. The ego is all too apparent even when he is talking and sometimes tends to detract from the action. There is never a dull moment though, when he is in the hot seat. It’s either anecdotes from his playing days or hilarious comparisons between players he doesn’t like and his “moom”. His verbal duels with ESPN’s (ex) resident jester Navjot Singh Sidhu made for some great moments.

Ian Chappell 7

Chappell is the epitome of the “ugly” Australian. He usually has a controversial and loud opinion on all things cricket, and everything else too, I would imagine. He makes it plain that only ex international players are qualified to comment on anything that goes on within the field which means there is a hint of the dismissive in his voice when he is paired with Harsha Bhogle or Alan Wilkins. He is considered one of the shrewdest captains of his time and the reason can be understood from his razor sharp insights into the game. Lately though, he has developed a couple of not-so-endearing traits. One is his proclivity to delivering judgments on a new player immediately and then refusing to back down, even in the face of evidence which goes against what he thinks. An example would be Matt Prior during the English summer. The second is frequent sentences which begin with “when I was playing”. Invariably things were better when he was playing and cricket is going to the dogs now – a la Bishan Singh Bedi.

Tony Greig 6.5

Greig, surprisingly comes off as very different from what he was portrayed as a player. The genial, friendly attitude is in sharp contrast to his confrontational antics during his playing days (“We’ll make ‘em grovel” probably being one of the most offensive and definitely the dumbest statement ever made). It would not be a surprising if he has high blood pressure – so excited does he get by things that would seem mundane to most. A sharply run couple is akin to a stick of dynamite placed beneath his chair, while a six, well, it would seem that horses have to be summoned to prevent him from jumping right into the field on such a momentous occasion. Given this habit, he occasionally comes across as a male version of the dumb blonde, but the same habit also enlivens a soporific match and keeps the adrenalin flowing during an exciting one.

Ravi Shastri 6.5

A trier, much like during his playing days. Shastri is well spoken and can elucidate when the mood takes him. Suffers from a lack of original input and his incessant use of clichés – “jyest what the doctor ordered” being his favourite – is designed to draw tears of frustration from a piece of cardboard. Despite these shortcomings, he is fair in his assessment and doesn’t shy away from airing his opinions. ‘The Shaz and Waz show’ during India’s tour of Australia in 2003 highlighted the man’s earthy side and endeared him to the audiences. Arguably the best Indian ex-cricketer in the commentary box.

Nasser Hussain 6

Nasser Hussain started off as one of the most irritating commentators on air; opinionated and extremely biased, basically an English Gavaskar. However, he is emerging to be one of the better speakers on evidence of the India England series. Wearing his English heart under his shirt rather than on his sleeve, Nas’ insightful remarks added significantly to the pleasure of watching the India England series. It did help that almost every time Hussain found a flaw in Rahul Dravid’s field placing, Dravid changed the field to exactly what he was advocating. On present form, his ratings will only rise with each passing series.

Sunil Gavaskar 3

Gavaskar clearly suffers from a big hangover of his playing days. Always on the defensive and always on the lookout for any perceived slight to India or an Indian player, he can be an embarrassment at times. A Tendulkar inside edge is talked about for the purity of its technique for 5 minutes, so God forbid Sachin hits a six when Gavaskar is on air! People go for a fifteen minute walk and return to find him still talking about the straightness of the bat, the placement of the feet and the determination (for God’s sake!)in the eye. Jokes which would struggle to elicit a smile from one of those ‘laughter clubs’ and a flatness of voice which would put an elephant in a coma, Gavaskar is best listened to with the mute option activated. Great player though.

Rameez Raja 3

Raja suffers from a paradoxical malady. An inability to communicate clearly coupled with the constant need to say something. His sentences are usually garbled and grammatically horrific – a sure passport to multiple dates with the cane when he was studying in convent school. He tries too hard to prove a point, and on the few occasions when he is right, repeats it enough number of times to convince the audience that the time has come to end it all and jump off a high rise.

Laxman Sivaramakrishnan 3

Siva reminds me of a ventriloquist’s dummy – in that he serves as a mouth piece for the “main man” (read co-commentator) -“Stand and Deliver” being the sole concession to “originality”. Suffers from Tendulkar-mania much like his Indian counterparts and is usually found sitting on the fence over any other issue – ready to tumble whichever way his colleague goes. Zero voice modulation, which is unlikely to earn him any public-speaking awards.

Arun Lal 1

Mr. Lal earns a point because he can listen to himself and yet not consume 700 sleeping pills. If we ever get the news that he uses ear plugs, he’ll get a zero. I am sure it was an unfortunate encounter with Lal that led Goscinny and Underzo to create Cacophonix. Few people were as unsuited for a job as Lal is for commentary in English. He can compete with Raja in the garbled stakes, cross swords with Gavaskar over who worships Tendulkar more and is in a league of his own when it comes to non-stop drivel that necessitates copious consumption of Prozac.

Special Mention

Sreenivasan Radhakrishnan (Neo Sports Anchor) 0

I honestly have nothing to say.

Sepia tints and the ICL

This piece contributed by Gokul

I realise nostalgia afflicts you young. At 25, I reminisce. About my childhood, about my first experiences, about times gone by when all was good and the skies were blue. At bloody 25. One can only imagine how much worse this affliction shall become as time goes by.

One of these past days, during a conversation over dinner, I was trying to recall my early memories of watching cricket. I could vaguely remember being 5 or 6 watching Chetan Sharma bowl on our gold framed Sanyo. I can also remember my sister, who grudgingly I must admit knew more about cricket then than I did, saying something about a hat trick, so I deduce it must be the 1987 World Cup match against the Kiwis. Chetan Sharma in particular stuck out in my memories. My sister and I used to spend hours together in the sweltering heat during the annual summer holidays trying to mimic his bowling action. Subroto Bannerjee with a delivery stride that I can best describe only as a scissors splice in mid air was another favourite to try and mimic.

As I lay in bed that night trying to rack my head for other early memories, I remembered watching a game on Doordarshan on the same sturdy Sanyo when I was 9 or 10. Rahul Dravid was captain of India. It was an under-19 game and it still surprises me that they actually telecast under-19 games back then. Three batsmen in that game instantly became my favourites. We all know how long a 10 year old’s favourites remain favourites, yet these three batsmen remain etched in my memory. Rahul Dravid was one, the second was S Sharath who if my memory serves me right scored a century that game and oddly the third batsman I remember from that game was Manoj Joglekar who played that game at no. 3 and even a 10 year old knew that only the best play at no.3.

Following that game, Dravid was forgotten for the next couple of years until 1994/95, when he, scoring runs by the truckload, came into reckoning for national colours. I remember following Joglekar’s career at Bombay for a while but then in those days everything in Bombay cricket was about Sachin Tendulkar and Vinod Kambli and when those two weren’t hogging all the news, Sanjay Manjerekar stepped into the void. Sharath, however, remained a favourite, maybe because his progress was easy to follow. The Hindu adequately covered his exploits in the intercollegiate tournaments for Vivekananda and his pillaging of runs in the TNCA leagues which soon translated to success in the Ranji.

Sharath was talked about as the next Tamil Nadu player to don India colours: a calm steely batsman who would be a worthy albeit different successor to Kris Shrikanth (WV Raman never really counted). Years rolled by as Sharath cemented his place as the bedrock of the TN middle order along with Robin Singh but the call from the national selectors never came. Once he came close and was selected for the Board President’s game against Sri Lanka. Had he scored then, a middle order spot in the premier XI might have beckoned but alas that was not to be. Slowly he drifted out of reckoning and the collective memory of the average cricket watcher.

S Sharath could do no wrong in my mind. He was the bulwark of the TN’s batting and was wronged. While people like Atul Bedade and Noel David came and went Sharath didn’t even smell a chance. I learnt to blame the non-selection of Sharath on the dirty politics that ailed Indian cricket. I learnt about zonal selectors, quotas and BCCI elections. To make sure I mastered these concepts, Sharath continued piling on the runs. My lasting memory of Sharath will be that of a headline that was run in the Hindu year after year for more than a decade when Sharath remained a bulwark of the state team: “Sharath’s ton propels TN to take first innings lead”. He even scored a century in his 100^th game and as he retired WV Raman, then coach of TN, compared him to Ajay Sharma, arguably the Graeme Hick of Indian cricket. As I write this, Sharath has made a comeback by signing up with Assam to play in the plate trophy.

As I continued viewing the Hindu’s sports page in my rose tinted mind’s eye, it finally struck me as to why the ICL and IPL were important. I am no fan of 20-20 cricket. The only time I ever got remotely excited through the entire non-World Cup 20-20 World Championship was when Misbah-Ul-Haq twice threatened to beat India single handedly and twice lost the plot. Yet it has excited millions and more importantly it has excited the corporates and the playboy millionaires.

The BCCI has done well marketing the Indian cricket team and ensuring that millions are made from our international matches. And whatever might be said against the BCCI, some of these millions are put to good use ensuring that the Indian domestic leagues are well financed in spite of board officials liberally creasing their own pockets and the pockets of our darling cricketers with spontaneous cash prizes. However, the next stage in cricket’s evolution in India is to move it towards a model that the European football leagues follow.

The European clubs rake in millions and are revered by legions of hardcore fans including folks who couldn’t point to the club’s city of origin on a map. This creates a large enough platform for the Ronaldos and the Michael Owens of the world to play alongside the Ryan Giggs and Nobby Solanos who make their mark entirely on the domestic scene. And everyone good enough to become professional makes good if not obscene amounts of money and is guaranteed to receive fierce support from at least his club’s fan base.

Some say that the IPL and ICL will never evolve into say an EPL or the Primera Liga because the Indian cricket fan will perceive no connections with the newly formed clubs. The European football clubs had geographical and historical fan bases. The new cricket clubs in India will have no such fan base. More importantly, the Indian cricket fan is spoilt rotten by the quality of cricket already on show. Why would an Indian cricket fan want to watch a couple of domestic clubs slugging it out rather than watch the “fearless youth” of India taking on the Australians?

Well I think that’s rubbish, for the average Indian cricket watcher is not spurred by the quality of cricket. Although I don’t discount, the thousands of connoisseurs of the game in India, rising consumerism (going with a loose Marxist definition) aided by the brilliant marketing of Indian cricket by the BCCI and the TV networks is the driving force of Indian cricket. Evidence that cricket’s growth is fuelled by viewers who are not necessarily avid watchers of the game can be seen from the trend that has televised cricket moving away from the sports networks in India towards the general entertainment channels. Gone are the days, when Dr Narottam Puti, with his boring baritone, used to take time off his thriving medical practice to double up as a Sports anchor on DD and AIR. While he let his excitement get the better of his professionalism on All India Radio when India finally won a test match on Australian soil, Mandira Bedi excites the average cricket watcher by bobbing up and down in her seat because some Indian batsman top edged a six to Cow Corner.

And the corporates and the playboy billionaires will take advantage of this. They will market, no hype, the domestic leagues like there is no tomorrow. If an India-Pakistan match can be hyped as a match to settle scores of the Kargil War, Tamil Nadu and Karnataka will play a cricket match to settle all disputes over the Kaveri.

Yet, the ICL or the IPL domestic leagues will not excite Indians initially to go watch their domestic teams play. The purists will deride it, the flippant will ignore it. However, the 20-20 Champions League will bring out the ‘patriots’ in full support of the Indian clubs that take on the best from Australia, England and South Africa. If the ICL and the IPL both survive and somehow evolve into the equivalent of the American League and the National League for baseball, a resulting World Series of 20-20 hopefully will excite Indians, a number of whom hold Mahendra Singh Dhoni’s batting above VVS Laxman’s.

At some point, peer pressure will take over as a driving force behind the IPL. The average 14 year old in school will watch the IPL and support a particular IPL because the cool guys in school do and how cool you are will be determined by whether you have a season ticket to watch every home game of your favourite IPL club. In short, Indians will watch the IPL for the same reason why scores of them stay up in the middle of the night to watch Manchester United take on Liverpool but can’t name the Indian Football league team in their own city. And of course, the IPL will be fun too, what with all the cheerleaders and the sixers and the carnival atmosphere at the stadia. When all this finally bears fruit, Mandira Bedi will continue to bob up and down, Charu Sharma will attempt to calm her down and Sivaramakrishnan will exclaim “Stand & Deliver” every time a left hander drives a ball to the boundary. Yet, I look forward to that day, for then a Manoj Joglekar might hold a 10 year old’s attention longer than Joglekar held mine. And cricket watchers other than me might remember a Shridharan Sharath slamming tons along side a Rahul Dravid.

This plane ain't landing soon

Like a drooling 2 year old opening his birthday present, I clicked on the ICC’s Future Tours Programme link on Cricinfo to check out the series India would be playing over the next two years. Going through the programme reminded me of the famous fairy tale about the child who OD’d on candy, ballooned up and finally rolled over with his fingers sticking to his face. Haven’t heard of it? It’s right there – next to Little Red Riding Hood and Cinderella.

The amount of cricket being played these days has been a long standing gripe of players and pundits alike. However, like Vincent Van Gogh, the BCCI seems to have one ear and that is lent solely to the tinkling sound of money pouring in. You might say that the programme has been developed by ICC , not the BCCI. But agreeing to ICC’s hare brained schemes is like going to watch a Salman Khan movie because the 4 year old next door said it’s good.

Let me outline what the Indian team has in store over the next two years (remember they have already been playing almost continuously since the Bangladesh tour in May). Pakistan arrive with November for 3 Tests and 5 ODIs. After playing them in the 4^th series in as many years, India depart for Antipodean shores to try and compete in four tests (which include Perth) followed by the usual inane matches that comprise the annual tri-series. This ODI glut takes us to end of February. Now, since neighbourly relations have to be nurtured, the team flies to Bangladesh for three ODI’s which will be as memorable as that match in 2004 between India and...which...won by...runs/wickets. Don’t remember? You can’t be serious! Moving on, these matches will serve as appetizers for a gloriously unending feast – the kind where the guests stuff themselves pink with tandoori chicken and proceed to spoil their lovely environs with projectile vomiting. What I mean is that the South Africans will be in town. The completion of three tests against Proteas will herald the unheralded (and rightly so) Asia Cup. I am really looking forward to that. I swear. After these festivities, the team flies to Zimbabwe. Aah Zimbabwe! God’s own country, shaped by man into a paradise on Earth. Maybe the players will get Robert Mugabe’s autograph to bring home to show the wife and kids. As a mark of solidarity to the Zimbabwean public, the team will play only two tests and three ODIs before returning home. Point well made.

So. July ’08 is upon us and it’s the perfect time to hop over to Sri Lanka for three (see how we punished Mugabe? That’ll show him!) tests and 5 ODIs. 20 match days take us to end of August. Time for a well earned rest? You must be crazy?! Bring out your best clothes and biggest trumpet (I know what you are thinking you dirty SOB), for the Champions Trophy is upon us! It’s been so long since a pointless tournament was conducted and we are all craving for some of that aren’t we? The excitement will barely have died down when Australia pay a visit for 4 tests. Normally this would be something to look forward to, but by this time India would probably have called upon the entire ESPN commentary team (Bhogle included) to stand in for the players who will be in various states of disrepair. The Holy Trinity will probably be witnessing this with harps in their hands and halos round their heads.

England will return this summer’s favour by coming down for 3 tests and 7 (a special treat) ODIs. After two months of inevitable whining the Poms will return and India will travel west for the series all of us used to look forward to. By the way, we are in Dec. ’08. Anyway, India and Pakistan will meet yet again in the Sub Continental version of the Ashes (I call them R-ASHES – because they are difficult to get rid of and become painful after a while. It’s very clever. I know). So Feb’09 passes us by and it’s up up and away to New Zealand for our supermen. After proving once again that New Zealand pitches need an invasion of sacred Indian cows, a tri series with Sri Lanka and South Africa beckons. Having seen that trifle off, the Defending Champions or at least what’s left of them, land in England in June ’09 for a defence of their T20 crown.

I am placing 100 quid on India retaining their title.

Finally, after playing continuously for more than 2 years, Team India gets a break of four months. Lazy Bastards! Lynch them all I say!

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?

Youth and the art of winning

Sporting history, much like any other, is dotted with ‘I was there’ moments. The final ball of the T20 World Cup was decidedly one of those. When Misbah-Ul-Haq scooped the third ball of the innings’ final over into the hands of a jubilant Sreesanth, millions of Indian cricket fans across the seven continents (I am absolutely positive that there was at least one Indian in Antarctica following the action) high fived, chest butted or indulged in other vile celebratory gestures.

This Indian team elicits comparisons with the football club Arsenal in the English Premier League. Both teams were fettered by prima donnas or a prima donna in Arsenal’s case, until recently. Players like Henry, Tendulkar, Ganguly and Dravid have earned their place amongst the legends of their respective games and even at the fag end of their shelf lives can turn insipid matches into memorable ones through moments of sheer genius. Unwittingly though, these megastars may have become detrimental to the teams’ performances by intimidating the younger players through their gargantuan reputations. The rest of the team looked to them for inspiration and when they failed, heads dropped. Experts had predicted that Arsenal would struggle miserably after the departure of their talismanic captain. They are currently top of the league. The brand of football they are playing makes other teams look like a bunch of uncoordinated, ungainly individuals who possess all the grace of drunken men attempting the ballet.

The cricket team entered a major event without the usual media hyperbole and more importantly without any superstars for the first time since that astonishing evening in June 1983. They have now been crowned world champions in the sport’s most recent avatar. Two conclusions can be derived from this victory. The performance of the Indian team has an inverse relationship with the ridiculous media rhetoric that accompanies their participation in any event, and absence of superstars can sometimes be a catalyst for some spectacular team performances. Tonnes of paper and terabytes of cyber-space have been consumed dissecting the former, but the latter was an eye opening phenomenon that needs to be explored and explained further.

An Indian team without Tendulkar, Ganguly and Dravid was given as much chance of winning a cricket match, let alone a world championship, as an ice cube’s chance of surviving in hell. Guess what, the ice cube not only survived but metamorphosed into an avalanche, dousing all cynicism in its wake. Much will be written about the refreshing attitude, the sense of purpose, the owning up to responsibility shown by players barely out of their teens but the primary reason behind these positives was the absence of the need to show deference to any other player in the team. Instead, we witnessed a team bound together by camaraderie under the leadership of a young yet astoundingly astute captain. MS Dhoni made up for the lack of grey hair through an abundance of grey cells, and under his stewardship a seemingly motley crew transformed into world beaters. Of all the players who contributed to the team’s victory, very few came with the baggage of stellar reputations. Yuvraj Singh and Dhoni were the only ones who entered the tournament riding on excellent performances in the preceding 12 months. Harbhajhan Singh, Virender Sehwag and Irfan Pathan were on comeback trails, with huge question marks hanging over their readiness to resume international duty. All others are still fledglings thrust into the limelight of international sport, nay a virtual religion in the subcontinent, with credentials that had yet to pass muster. However, free of the litany of megastars that are usually a part of the team, they produced electrifying cricket and passed through one trial by fire after another with with sparkling colours.

Replace ‘impossible’ with ‘pressure’ and that quote may well have come from Rohit Sharma instead of Napoleon. RP Singh bowled some sensational spells worthy of the great Wasim himself. Sreesanth swung between pedestrian and unplayable, but produced the goods at crucial junctures. Joginder Sharma trundled in at pace which can only be described as ponderous and yet exhibited marvellous temperament in two crunch encounters. Gautam Gambhir, who looks like a bantamweight boxer that has accidentally entered the heavyweight ring, emerged as the second highest run scorer of the tournament with heady concoctions of silken grace and surprisingly brute force. Robin Uthappa played a couple of crucial knocks, all the while giving the impression of a man who will react to an earthquake with a raised eyebrow and a leisurely sip of his favourite drink. The ‘comeback men’ came back resoundingly. Yuvraj played a couple of scintillating innings and giving us moments to cherish for a long long time. Dhoni displayed tactical nous which surprised all and sundry, ensuring that the selectors who made him captain will sleep soundly without the danger of their houses being rioted upon or their pets kidnapped. And to round it all up, the fielding made one blink at times, to make sure that the right match and the right team was being followed. Rohit Sharma’s run out of Justin Kemp was right out of the Jonty manual, and may there be many more!

The triumvirate of Tendulkar Ganguly and Dravid has rightfully earned its place in the pantheon of cricketing greats and we have been lucky enough to witness an era graced by three, four including Laxman, batting maestros. Undoubtedly a few more drops of manna are yet to fall from their bats but Indian cricket will soon be at crossroads and it is not these greying geniuses who will carry it forward. It is the young turks who have earned the right to be called world champions at such tender ages, that will herald the new age in Indian cricket. And based on the past two weeks , it promises much. A new dawn has arisen; let us hope it will not be a false one. For now though, it feels good to be an Indian supporter.