Posted in February 2010

A Partial Defense of Laxman Sivaramakrishnan

I’ve said before — again and again, in fact — that I don’t like Siva.

My animus boils down to one big thing: Siva comes across as a person impersonating a commentator, rather than an actual commentator. He knows the textbook things to say, and he dutifully says it, but that doesn’t necessarily make for good television. Ravi Shastri, for instance, understands the dynamics of drama — “Now this should be interesting!” — and he knows how to manipulate his voice and tone appropriately.

But I must say I appreciate Siva in certain aspects: first, the guy knows spin. I didn’t know he coached spinners until the recent series against South Africa, when he also simply and quickly demystified the googly (“As a batsman, if you see the bowler’s back of the hand, you know it’s a googly.”). That might be common knowledge to others, but it wasn’t to me. (And it isn’t to A.B. DeVilliers either, apparently.)

Second, Siva is unmistakably a dork. That too an Indian dork: he has oil in his hair, he’s kind of demure and wears big glasses. But I realized the other day how rare that is to see on television, where only the perfectly made-up people, or cricket legends, are allowed access. The thing is, while Siva may not banter easily or show much hints of originality, he still seems more sincere than, say, Sunil Gavaskar, whose jet black-dyed hair and perfectly accented English occasionally annoys me (especially when he harshly scolds onfield cricketers for some cricket foible or the other).

Also, I think my dislike stemmed from a post-colonial insecurity. Siva’s accent used to make me cringe; the way he can’t say words like “aggression” without tripping over it. That relates to my own insecurity as an Indian in America, where I learned the difference between the ‘v’ and ‘w’ and had to deal with the Apu jokes. I wonder: why do I find Geoff Boycott’s Yorkshire accent charming, but Siva’s own embarrassing?

So, keep your job, Siva. I still prefer Ravi over you, but, really, I’m not that impressed with the rest of Neo Cricket’s crew.

Lalit Modi’s IPL Security Risk

I’m starting to sound obsessed with Samir Chopra, but I can’t help responding to yet another of his posts. This one has to do with Lalit Modi’s haughty response to those foreign players who worry about the tournament’s securty.

Now, Chopra and I share a particular distaste for Modi, but he gives him a pass on this issue. I won’t. Look, I agree that we need to live with the ever-persistent threat of terror these days. And, as I’ve said before, it annoys me that players are willing to play in England — where the threats are as real as anywhere else — without a fuss, but not South Asia.

But I have two qualms: first, Modi has been profoundly undiplomatic during this entire episode (and calling him ‘undiplomatic’ is a very diplomatic way of putting it). Take this little bit from Cricinfo:

So far the IPL has rejected dealing with players’ associations, a move which forced unions from Australia, England, New Zealand and South Africa to commission their own safety report on the situation in India. Reg Dickason, who has worked as a security advisor for the England and Australia teams, delivered his findings to the associations at the weekend and Marsh outlined the details to most of the 22 Australian players signed up for the tournament.

Why reject dealing with players’ associations? And then, why simply offer an ultimatum to foreign players, which essentially boils down to, Your money or your life? Again, I realize Indian — and especially Bombay — residents will say they live with terror every day, but that’s hardly a comfort to an Australian, or even a Sri Lankan, who recalls the very real threat faced in Pakistan when a cricket team was attacked.

That brings me to my second qualm: Modi’s cocksure attitude leaves him absolutely no wiggle room if — and this is a horrible if — something awful happens during the IPL. Again, God forbid and all that, but if a single incident breaks out and a cricketer is injured during the tournament, that could deal a serious blow. (Because foreign players will then turn around and say, ‘See! We told you!’ Had Modi been a little under the radar about this, and said, ‘We’ll do what we can to accommodate their concerns, etc. etc.’ that may have tempered tensions.)

The Better Narratives Of A Test Match

I’d like to offer the Eden Gardens Test Match as Exhibit A in the case, Tests v. Twenty20.

Yes, there were the centuries and the wickets and the close finish at the end. But the match also highlighted Test cricket’s biggest attraction: its seemingly endless duration, simply unimagined in other modern sports (and I include the shorter versions of cricket). The best thing that time allows is the sheer range of narratives, replete with the requisite twists and turns and the great characters.

Take that last bit first: in the shorter formats, there’s not much time for men to reveal their nature. As a Twenty20 batsman, you have one goal, and there’s nothing subtle about hitting DLF Maximums. There’s more room to grow in ODIs — you have the pinch-hitter, for instance, or the middle-order consolidators — but you need Tests for a true reflection of human variety. There’s the ‘nightwatchman,’ (a lovely moniker) or — my favorite — the Anchor-Savior (exemplified by S. Chanderpaul, H. Amla and G. Gambhir at Napier). Think about the forces that led to Amla’s mammoth innings: he needed to become a Wall; blot out all emotion or impulse, and all for a draw.

And just as in a long novel, where authors foreshadow major events with strategically planted seeds, Test cricket has its own dramatic devices. Take Ishant Sharma’s burst on Day 1, which many commentators said partially explained the collapse that later occurred in the post-Tea session. Or take the marks left on a pitch as bowlers complete their run-up. Those habits of routine become potentially explosive on Day 5, when balls land in their place and explode.

Now, think about Twenty20, which produces only one plot, really: one side hits, and the other tries to out-hit. Batsmen have only one character: the hero persona who hits X number of boundaries in a given time period. I’m not knocking Twenty20, because pulp fiction has its place too (and I love too many bad television shows to be judgmental). But one reason I feel more satisfied and fuller — almost more learned, really — after a good Test match is a better story line.

India’s Younger Generation

Give them time, I say. M. Vijay threw away good starts, as did S. Badrinath, but they both looked solid enough to merit places in the squad. I’m still unsure how the team will accommodate them as time goes on; I’d rather not have a situation where Dravid and Laxman are missing again at the same time.

Perhaps if Laxman moves up to No. 3 when Dravid eventually retires (he’s 37 now), that will give the younger ‘uns space to breathe in the middle order, nuzzled among the likes of Tendulkar and Dhoni. But these newbies will have to answer a generational challenge that few have matched before. Across the world, we will soon see the end of Kallis, Ponting, Dravid, Tendulkar. Is this the end of the batting wave? Will bowlers finally have their time on the pitch?

Shake Hands First, Harbhajan

I agree with Samir Chopra’s take on Harbhajan’s needlessly exaggerated celebrations after taking Morkel’s wicket. Watching the highlights, I got the feeling Sunil Gavaskar did as well — he kept urging the Indians (and, by extension, us) to “spare a thought” for Hashim Amla, the real hero of the day.

The cameras didn’t catch any handshakes with him specifically. That’s sad, because we remember 2005 Edgbaston as much for the game’s drama as for Andrew Flintoff comforting a distraught Kasprowicz Lee. And, just in case you don’t, here it is:

Hashim Amla Goes Zen

I loved his post-match quotes, highlighted on Cricinfo:

“I have learnt, after passing that stage of thirst and mental fatigue, that the limits we put on the body and mind can, and at times must, be challenged,” Amla had once said while talking on the gains he derives from fasting in the Muslim holy month of Ramadan.

“Our emotions when myself and Morne were out there were enjoying it more than anything,” Amla said. “I took a lot of confidence from Morne and Parnell who told (me) they were more comfortable at certain ends so that made my job easier to farm the strike. It just was a lovely experience.”

Amla’s talking about cricket as if it’s a meditative session, a wonderful analogy to behold in the modern, fast-paced world. Perhaps it’s easy to mock — yoga, anyone? — but not if you witnessed his resolute calmness.

His innings also put me in mind of Albert Camus’ famous essay, The Myth of Sisyphus, a Greek tragic figure compelled to roll a rock up a hill for eternity. Camus sees him as a metaphor for human existence — we struggle for meaning without end — but still sees reason for happiness:

I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one’s burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

There’s No Such Thing As A Free Cricket Lunch

We just had a gripping first hour’s play on Day 4 after a rain delay in Kolkata. But rather than carry on and entertain the crowd, who waited through the first hour and a half for the field to dry, the players headed off to lunch.

Yes, everyone needs to eat. But for forty minutes? Count this among the many reasons Test cricket faces a tough time in the modern world. I just don’t understand, especially since the umpires think they can make up the overs by extending play time to 5 p.m. (play hasn’t gone past 4:30 p.m. in the past three days).

Absolutely silly. And don’t give me any nonsense that cutting lunch down to 20 minutes would be unfair to South Africa. You’re here to play the game, not eat Marie biscuits. (Delicious as they may be.)

Hearing The Results On The Radio

Samir Chopra and I have been writing about the joys of following the game without exactly following it (that is, with a delay — waiting for the next day’s newspaper or e-scorecard on Cricinfo). In the early days of this blog, I wrote about the zen art of ‘watching’ cricket through a live scorecard. I also  posted this radio memory as a comment on Chopra’s website, but I thought I’d share it here as well:

I only have one memory with cricket-on-the-radio, but it’s a good one. I was still a middle schooler in Bombay in the mid-1990s, and since I was stuck in class, I couldn’t follow the match between India and South Africa at Eden Gardens.

All the students in the class — and in those days, there were 40 stuck in one room — wanted the latest updates, but only one had the foresight (and courage) to smuggle in a small radio. In between classes, when we waited for teachers to arrive and start teaching the next subject, we’d crowd around the radio and hear the  faraway stadium in Calcutta burst with applause.

“Azhar’s gone crazy,” one student shouted. “Another 4!” (He went to hit a century off 72 balls.) That’s how the day unfolded: impatiently waiting for one teacher to finish his lesson (but never daring to appear bored, because the discipline could be harsh), and then trying to conjure the images we heard on the radio in our head — Azhar, making us proud.

After Afghanistan’s Rise, Charming Hubris

Karim Sadiq, one of Afghanistan’s players, had this to say after the team qualified for the World Twenty20 Cup:

“I will go to Afghanistan and practice on a 14-metre wicket against fast bowlers where the ball will be coming at 160-165 kmh,” he said. “Dale Steyn will be no problem. He bowls at 150 or 145 kmh – we have Hamid Hassan who bowls at 145 and Shapoor Zadran and we hit sixes in every over off them back in Afghanistan.”

Great stuff. One could point out the silliness of such self-delusion (and that ‘one’ could come from any member of the current Indian squad, post-Nagpur), but it’s much better to tout this kind of talk as charming self-belief. I’d hate to see Aghanistan fold embarrassingly against either South Africa or India (both in their group), but there’s no reason they should doubt themselves after their meteoric rise. What do they have to lose?

Waking Up To The Result On The East Coast

Samir Chopra adds the Eastern Standard Time to his list of woes about this side of the States (as well as the downright awful weather we’ve been having, I imagine?). Like him, I missed the dramatic post-Tea session on Day 1, when the South Africans lost their mind.

I wish I had seen it live — though the highlights on cricket-online.tv are excellent — but I also like waking up in the morning, scrambling over to the computer the first chance I get and firing up the Cricinfo scorecard to see what I missed. It’s a moment of absolute dread and excitement. This morning, for instance, I went to bed with India at 120/2 — seven hours later, they could have either collapsed in a heap or pummeled the South Africans into submission (as it turned out, they did a bit of both).

Reminds me of the times I went on vacation in other parts of India with the family, and without a television nearby, I’d beg my father to buy me a newspaper so I could read what happened on the tour. It’s not the greatest way to follow the game, but it has its perks too, Samir.

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