Posted in July 2011

The Best Case Against Ian Bell

From A Cricketing View:

1. Praveen Kumar’s reaction suggested that he didn’t wasn’t sure about the 4.
2. Eoin Morgan’s reaction suggests that it was clear to him that the ball was still very much in play.
3. The Umpire did not hand Ishant his sweater until after the stumps were broken. They did not call Tea either.
4. The Umpire did not declare a boundary (this is the clincher in my view)

So nobody other than Bell thought the ball was dead. As such, it was the correct decision to rule him Out. As per the rules the ball is judged to be dead only when both sides appear to accept that it is dead. In this case, Eoin Morgan thought it was still in play – this is the one thing that multiple reports agree on.

A Tale Of Two Cricket Models

When India loses at Trent Bridge — and I don’t need to see the odds to be fairly certain they will — I want to see plenty of fingers pointed at the BCCI. I know Indian fans aren’t always a reasonable lot, and tend to either vilify or worship the players in the middle, who, to be sure, have a fair amount to do with the end result of a game. But, but, but!

What we are seeing in the middle isn’t just 22 players fighting for the spoils, but two very different models of sport administration working against each other. Close observers of the Flower regime regularly note two motifs: its ruthlessness — cherished players are cast aside if they are not performing — and its methodical approach to strategy. India has a different take on the game: first, it commits its players to outrageously demanding schedules that require athletes to jump around continents like they were a hopscotch board. And second, at the same time, its fans demand increasing returns. Won a T20 World Cup? What about the ODI? Won the ODI WC? What about No. 1 in Tests? Got that? Why not 2-0 against the West Indies? Drew for the first time in South Africa? Why not 2-1?

Look at this team: Praveen and Ishant have bowled their hearts out without a break; Gautam Gambhir is coming off an injury (that he and his IPL overlords should have checked way before hand); Zaheer Khan looked plump and unfit after a month-hangover from the WC; Dhoni — God bless him — has run from a WC to an IPL and a West Indies tour. Meanwhile, Sehwag remains injured (from this wonderful IPL thing) and the other batsmen were expected to cope and adapt to swinging bowling and colder weather in a jiff.

On the other hand, look at the English. Indian fans point to the Dominica Test as evidence that India is not ruthless enough; I look at the English team setup and say that’s what ruthless is. A single-minded pursuit of victory that begins well before the first ball is bowled. A well-rested team that knows what they are supposed to do and how they can do it together. A team that relies just as much on practice and strategy as they do on individual brilliance. Quit talking about that Tendulkar ton already and get down to business.

The Question Of Ian Bell’s Run Out

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.)

From W.G. Grace to S. Tendulkar

I’m in the middle of a quick read of C.L.R. James’ fantastic Beyond the Boundary, a part-memoir, part-post-colonial analysis and history of cricket. Even though I’ve owned the book for more than four years now, I confess this evening was the first instance I sat down to give it a good go — and I’m so impressed I promise to go back to it for more. For starters, take this excerpt about W.G. Grace on the eve of scoring 100 centuries in 1895, at the age of 47:

“Burly as [his] figure was, [Grace] was sustained and lifted higher than ever before by what has been and always will be the most potent of all forces in our universe — the spontaneous, unqualified, disinterested enthusiasm and goodwill of a whole community….Never since the days of the Olympic champions of Greece has the sporting world known such enthusiasm and never since. This is accepted and it is true and it is important — I am the last to question that. What I take leave to ask even at such a moment is this: On what other occasion, sporting or non-sporting, was there ever such enthusiasm, such an unforced sense of community, of the universal merged in an individual? At the end of a war? A victorious election? With its fears, its hatreds, its violent passions? I have heard of no other that approached this celebration of W.G.’s hundredth century.”

The universal merged in an individual. Wonderful, no? I imagine it’s difficult in our globalized and large world for people to feel the same way about sportsmen. Tendulkar’s superstar status makes him seem both near and distant; 21st-century celebrity can do that. But I hear echoes of Grace circa 1895 when little stadiums in England — if I can call Lord’s that — stand up for a stranger from a distant land with almost affectionate applause. The din is different from the one you hear in Indian stadiums — it’s not ecstasy or fervor, but a mark of recognition, praise, and intimacy. Tendulkar, so great, so brilliant, and yet somehow of us. We’ve known him since he was 16, don’t you know.

Wanted: Someone To Smack The Ego Out Of The English Bowlers

I have been a fan of the English team since 2005, when I watched the team triumph over Australia (and also when I fell in love with Test cricket). I like the English crowds (even when they boo Ricky Ponting); I love English summer cricket (not so much when it rains), and I like the pitches and grounds and the bowlers’ swing.

But as I watched the fearsome threesome run through the (depleted) Indian batting line-up at Lord’s this week, I confess to feeling a fair amount of ill-will. Broad, Anderson, and Tremlett are all formidable bowlers, made all the more impressive by their contrasting styles and ability to hunt in a pack — a talent perhaps only the South African quicks currently possess. On the other hand, both Anderson and Broad display dubious personalities; if one’s not whining or wallowing in self-pity, the other one is bullying umpires and throwing balls at opposition members. And to see these upstarts — mere 20-somethings — humble the likes of Dravid, Tendulkar and Laxman…well, “ill-will” is merely a euphemism.

Why do some bowlers gain certain reputations and respect, and not others? Anderson and Broad (and Tremlett/Bresnan) are a more than capable lot, and watching them do their thing — especially Anderson’s swing — is a real treat. But you don’t think of either as you do Dale Steyn or Zaheer Khan, right? Maybe in a few years, their reputations will be more firmly established, but now, they still come across like entitled prep boys out to get their privileged due. Gosh, look at me — these are the same players I egg on against the Australians and South Africans! Team loyalty: it makes for strange ex-bedfellows.

The Lord’s Test Doesn’t Count

Do you remember when, as a child, you played games with friends and the “doesn’t count” argument incessantly came up? I seem to recall any number of great sporting moments challenged because “someone moved before they were supposed to” or “I wasn’t ready” or “You said this was the crease, not that.” Doesn’t count. Do it over.

Well, that’s basically what the Indians should take away from the Lord’s Test. When I read Sambit Bal’s column on the English performance, I was a bit stumped — a class apart? Were the English bowlers really that much better than Praveen Kumar’s five-fer, or Ishant Sharma’s fiery spell on Day 4? Apart from Harbhajan v. Swann, the only way the English bowlers came out on top of this dogfight was in the numbers. That is, they had one more than we. (And the one we didn’t have wouldn’t have allowed 400+ in the first innings.)

Now, it’s true that the Indian batsmen could have done better. Each one who made it to double-digits and failed to Trott-ify the opposition committed a crime, but I’m still amazed the Indians batted out more than 90 overs and came within two hours of reaching the draw. Given Gambhir’s elbow; given Tendulkar’s mysterious viral infection; given Zaheer’s hamstring, I’m inclined to agree with Dhoni when he says everything that could go wrong, did. Lay off.

This isn’t to say that I don’t want some criticism lobbied somewhere. In an ideal world, after this team won the World Cup, they would have rested, enjoyed their rewards for a month and a half, then headed back to England and roared back to form during two three-day matches and plenty of team exercises. Instead, they had a week of mayhem, then the IPL (during which time, one may recall, they lost Sehwag and Gambhir to injuries), then headed (mostly) to the West Indies (where nothing much of note occurred), only to arrive in a cold, foreign land a quick moment later.

So, considering what this English team did to the Australian opposition, take my word for it: this Test didn’t count. On to next one!

Why Aren’t Substitutes Allowed in Cricket?

India has had tremendously bad luck in the First Test at Lord’s, losing  Zaheer Khan, Gautam Gambhir and Sachin Tendulkar to injury at various intervals. If the Indians had to bowl another hour, I’m sure poor overworked Praveen Kumar would have joined the list.

Cricket is a cruel sport, and cruelest perhaps in its substitute rule, which basically reads: No team can have ‘em. If you feel sick, or need to go to the bathroom for a moment, someone from the pavilion can temporarily fill your place on the field. But if you have a more permanent problem, then either you rest and let your team play 1-down, or you allow yourself to play the greatest role reserved for a cricketer — the injured man, hobbling down the steps and to the crease, ready to face a bowler on one foot, one leg, with one arm, or one hand, or a broken jaw. Your call.

As a basic rule on substitutes, I believe cricket is an exception in its severity. For a while, the one-day games allowed a ‘super-sub,’ but that was discontinued (for reasons I can’t fully recall). It’s been suggested that the larger reason cricket doesn’t allow substitutes relates to its larger emphasis on the role of fate and chance in games. Who can say what the weather will be like tomorrow? Who can say how the pitch will behave? Who can say if, in the course of playing at a routine position, one of your men will be hit on the elbow? Such is life.

A more practical person would also say that a substitute in cricket would be very difficult to police. What would happen if cricketers started to feign injuries so that a needed player — an extra bowler, or an extra batsman — could take his place? Say you restricted it so that each team could use one substitute per Test match, and that substitute had to be named before the game began. Well, that still wouldn’t solve the problem because a batsman substitute wouldn’t fill Zaheer Khan’s shoes, and Zaheer Khan wouldn’t fill Tendulkar’s. (Very few people would, in fairness.) But I don’t know much about cricket rules as I should: why aren’t substitutes allowed? And if we could allow them, what would the rule be?

DuckingBeamers on Reverse Swept Radio

The wonderful folks at Reverse Swept Radio kindly featured my blog on their weekly podcast. I recommend all of their work, but I like the part where all sorts of lavish praise is thrown my way the most. You can listen on Episode 15, just past the 30-minute mark. I’ve also noticed that more bloggers are talking to each other — The Cricket Couch is doing an excellent job on this front, as are the people at Test Match Sofa. More, more, more.

Cricket Amnesia

Listening to Test Match Sofa and other fans, I’m routinely struck by the gaps in my cricket memory. People often throw out famous Tests — Name of Place Where Test Occurred, Year Date Occurred — as evidence in analyses or narratives. And I envy that talent (skill?) because I almost never remember recent Tests, or for that matter, any Test that took place in the 1990s.

This could just be a problem limited to my neurological wiring, but I’d like to make a grand point: is this a function of the hectic modern Test schedule? I seem to recall a time when Test tours were a big deal, and India taking off to England for a few months was a journey to be savored. Now, India just hopscotched from the Caribbean to the English isles, with about a week (or two) between play. For its part, England just finished a Test series against Sri Lanka, and even though I followed the Tests, I can’t remember much of what actually happened.

Do older fans have a better grip on reality? Do young fans, like me, have a similar problem? Off the top of my head, I remember the Test match against Australia that Laxman and Ishant Sharma saved. I remember a little of the India-South Africa series. I sort of recall the recent Ashes, but that’s pushing things. What’s your list?

Sourav Ganguly and Harbhajan Singh

I’ve been known to praise Sourav Ganguly’s work as a commentator; I like him so much I’ll keep the volume up on my live stream when he’s talking, instead of turning to usually better crew at TestMatchSofa.com. What I like about Ganguly is the combination of a sedate, soft-spoken voice with a ruthless, all-seeing strategic mind.

He’s also clearly used to handling personalities the way they need to be. During Day 2, the subject of Harbhajan Singh — much maligned, and rightly so — came up. Ganguly’s partner asked him what he thought of Singh and his attitude and contribution to the team. Ganguly began by saying Harbhajan was a total and complete asset to any cricket captain, always willing to say ‘Yes’ and bring his A-game to the crease. Then, he said the crucial thing to know about Harbhajan is that if he doesn’t take a wicket early on in his spell, his confidence drops and he starts to go into a shell.

That’s a big contradiction. Either he is a big-hearted lion willing to shoulder the burdens for the team, or he is a fickle primadonna who throws a loser tantrum every time things don’t go his way. Ganguly didn’t seem to sense the contradiction — or maybe he did, and I was trying to make his case diplomatically — but most Indian fans haven’t either, even after a decade of watching the Harbhajan. On the one hand, we value his heroic efforts and pugnacious contributions (from a Test century to the few 5-wicket hauls), yet on the other, we bemoan his average average (above 30) and his often defensive bowling. The best I can say about Harbhajan is that he suffers from ‘superstar complex’ — unwilling to toil, but always ready to sense the big moment and seize the spotlight.

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