By now, the freak incident is moot. M.S. Dhoni, bowing to good decency, excellent tea, a crowd baying for Indian blood, and Andy Flower and Andy Strauss’ knocking on his door, decided to withdraw an appeal for Ian Bell’s run out. When Bell finally did get out, India were already well on their way to losing the match and this game will not be remembered (one hopes) as the Sydney Test is.
But let’s talk about it just a little bit. Technically — that is, according to the rules of the game — Ian Bell should have been given out. He left his crease before the umpire declared dead ball and he was out of his crease when his bails were taken off. In his defense, people say: a) the spirit of the game should take precedent; Bell obviously wasn’t running for a fourth run and shouldn’t be penalized for being under the wrong impression; b) Bell may have seriously thought the ball was dead because Praveen Kumar sat on his ass for a good three seconds at the boundary rope, implying a ’4′ had just been hit; and c) even the umpires were looking like they were headed off for a nice cuppa.
In India’s defense, people say: a) Don’t ever leave your crease until you’re absolutely certain you should, a lesson every schoolchild knows; b) at a crucial moment, Eoin Morgan can be seen, rooted in his crease, say something to Bell who then, already halfway down the pitch, suddenly stops, looks to his right in a bit of shock, before ambling on his way. That suggests that Morgan knew what was on, and tried to warn Bell, who chose to neglect his plea; and c) Bell’s intent — or, rather, lack of it — doesn’t really matter. When a batsman is out ‘backing up’ — that is, when a bowler touches a ball on its way to the stumps — no one has any issue with the dismissal. It’s just accepted.
So where does this leave us? Cricket is an exceptionally complex game, and it’s made all the more complicated by an expectation of fairness not apparent in the law’s letters. Moreover, no matter how specific the rules, there are always exceptions, which can’t be fairly adjudicated in the heat of the moment. I just finished a scratch game over the weekend wherein a fielder caught a ball, stayed in control, then turned around and touched a 15-foot tall fence (around the park) to steady himself. Is that out? Is that six? Is that six-and-out? The fielder said — and quite rightly, I think — that the dismissal was fair, since in real life, only the location of his feet would have mattered. The other side countered that he could take real life and shove it up…well, you get the drift.
So how was the Trent Bridge conflict decided? The Golden Rule, it seems: Indian team members asked themselves how they would have reacted if Laxman or Dravid had suffered a similar fate, and they concluded they didn’t like it one bit. It’s interesting that when Bell was asked the same question — what would you guys have done if you were in the Indians’ shoes — he said it was difficult to say. All in all, what we have seen is a resounding endorsement of the concept of ‘tea’: a time to take a little break, reflect on your actions, place yourself in another person’s shoes and know wisdom.
(For the record, my cricket game dispute was resolved this way: the batsman was given ‘not-out,’ but he did not get to claim a ‘six.’ Win-win.)