Angry Kohli

From the perspective of the Indian fan, the second session of the third day's play in Adelaide, when India lost only one wicket and that too at the very end, was probably the most satisfying couple of hours in the India-Australia series so far. I certainly enjoyed it. Not very much happened: no blistering strokeplay unleashed, no mountain climbed, no dominance established, just survival and a semblance of grit. That tells you something about how we've had to revise our expectations.

After tea, Virat Kohli got his hundred, and a very good hundred it was too, even if it came in hot weather on a fine batting wicket on which Ponting and Clarke had just hit double centuries. But Kohli celebrated like he had just reached 300, and appeared to call somebody (probably nobody in particular) a bhainchod. Frankly, it was embarrassing. Earlier, upon reaching fifty, he had acted like he had scored a century. A fifty used to be worth a nod and a little jab with the bat; now Indian batting has fallen so low that Kohli did a full pirouette. Bradman cometh, mofo.

I have nothing against a certain amount of emotional release on the field. (I liked the fact that Ganguly did a strip-tease at Lords.) Kohli seems to be a promising batsman, he has a personality, and a bit of fist-pumping and swearing is just fine. But there has to be some perspective. When your team has performed like a bunch of lost club cricketers for a full series (actually, two full series) and there is every indication that you are going to lose the last Test as well, the excited-Tarzan act at a personal milestone only makes you look like Sreesanth: a little unhinged and laughable. We're done laughing at this team and I wish they would just, you know, go away and lick their IPL contracts where nobody can see them.

The horrible thing about this series is that it's still not over. The T20 and ODI segments remain to be played, more celebrations are in store every time somebody takes a wicket or scores a fifty. These guys are very lucky that the farce will not be played out before Indian crowds. Australians are likely to be more forgiving.

Satadru Sen

No More Whisky

There was a time, not very long ago, when following an Indian innings in a Test match on a foreign tour came with highly pleasurable rituals: you made time, poured yourself a drink or a cup of tea, gathered plates of snacks together, and put your feet up. You knew you were watching a brittle line-up and that the chances of victory were slender, but you also expected a measure of brilliance and four or five sessions of batting. Sometimes what you got was epic: Tendulkar in Perth in 1992, Azharuddin and Tendulkar in Cape Town in 1997, Ganguly, Tendulkar and Dravid in Headingley in 2002, Sehwag in Melbourne in 2003 and in Multan in 2004. No more. Those rituals are no longer viable. Half the team is back in the pavilion by the time the first drink is finished, which forces you to either forego or hurry the second drink. If there is any drama, it is farce, not tragedy. A combination of disbelief and disgust sets in. Surely it can’t, won’t, happen again, the fan thinks, pouring his whisky faithfully for the next match. But it can and does.

When the Indian cricket team returns from Australia in a few weeks, the Customs and Immigration officers at Delhi or Bombay or wherever their plane lands should give the players, along with Duncan Fletcher, a good public beating. Then Srikkanth should be summoned to the airport to receive his own thrashing, for screwing up the bowling attack. What is the source of his bizarre attachment to Vinay Kumar, who was selected for the tour ahead of Irfan Pathan (who had an excellent domestic season, can bat, and is familiar with Australian conditions to boot)? Why did Srikkanth, Fletcher and Dhoni pick Vinay for the Perth Test ahead of Ashok Dinda (who is close at hand, reasonably fast, and also coming off a very successful domestic season)? Did Vinay’s father make a phone call to the PMO? Why were Rohit Sharma and Dinda taken on the tour if they were going to be held back even as the others fail repeatedly? Why does Vinay wear zinc cream? Does he not understand that zinc cream is Antipodean war-paint, not make-up for posturing tourists? Not that playing Irfan or Dinda would have made a difference in a situation where the wheels have come off so abjectly. I am picking on poor Vinay Kumar only because he is a symptom of something bigger: a sign that the money-addled people who run Indian cricket have now, incredibly, begun to see the T20 arena as a recruiting base for Test cricket.

This is not an essay about what ails Indian cricket. The Internet is awash with those at the moment, and rightly so. It is a brief rumination about sport, fandom, expectations and anger. Cricketers at the highest level of the game are, after all, entertainers, engaged in exhibiting extraordinary skills to a paying public. In that sense, they are not unlike circus performers, musicians and actors. We might appreciate a Laxman-and-Dravid special or an Imran Khan spell much as we appreciate seeing Mallika Sarabhai dance, hearing Bismillah Khan play the shehnai, or watching Nasiruddin Shah act. In fact, that is the ideal of cricket: the ‘true fan’ is a fan of the sport as much as he is a fan of a particular team, and he is expected to enjoy the display of skill regardless of which player or team it comes from. The failure of a great player on either team is ideally to be met with disappointment even when it brings satisfaction. This is not an empty ideal: I know Australians who are sorry when Tendulkar gets out cheaply, and fans in Bangalore and Chennai still applaud the opposition, even Pakistan.

Anger has no place in circus performances. Nobody would have become angry if Amitabh Bachchan had put in a sub-par performance in a particular movie. If there was a succession of poor performances (like there was towards the end), fans might have stopped buying tickets, but it would not have occured to anybody to become furious with AB. Yet here I am, wanting to see M.S. Dhoni and company lathi-charged on the tarmac by the CISF. It’s all very irrational and boorish. But it is, of course, an inescapable part of the experience of modern sport.

We get angry at athletes because unlike with actors and trapeze artists, we cannot not buy tickets. By virtue of being members of modern communities – nationalities, student bodies, city dwellers, immigrants – we have already bought our tickets. We live in atomized social fragments, yet are compelled to wander constantly in ever wider worlds of strangers and impersonal agencies of humiliation: bureaucracies, police forces, transit lounges, international finance. In our loneliness and insecurity, we clutch at proxies who will represent us with greater power and glory than we can muster. As entertainers who are also our representatives, athletes are our entertaining, fantastic selves. And they reveal to us that we are not alone. Even an angry community is a community of solidarity. So in spite of its spectacular collapse over the past year, the Indian team has been doing its job.

But those other expectations – excellence, artistry – cannot be banished. Even the banal expectation of entertainment cannot be dismissed. And with representation comes the expectation of dignity, which is after all the source of the anger: the otherwise absurd feeling that we have been ‘betrayed’ by a bunch of traveling performers. When all of these expectations come to nothing more or less simultaneously, it is a sign of something quite rare. It signals the imminent collapse of a cultural institution.

Tickets, even season tickets, can be returned, and for the past year we have been approaching the point when Indian fans will return the ticket they have collectively bought over many years. The case of Indian hockey – internationally triumphant between the 1930s and the 1960s, and endowed with players of near-magical ability and reputation – comes readily to mind. India still has a hockey team, they still play international matches, but they mostly lose, and nobody cares or even notices. Give or take a Dhanraj Pillay, the players are anonymous. Indian cricket is a bigger cultural phenomenon than hockey ever was in the days of Dhyand Chand and Roop Singh: followed by a much larger demographic, infused with incomparable wealth, and carried on an enormously powerful and pervasive media structure. Within Indian sport, it has a hegemonic status that has no counterpart in Britain, the US or Australia. As such, the edifice of Indian cricket is less vulnerable to collapse than hockey was when the Astroturf revolution hit and the Olympic medals dried up.  But it is not invulnerable. It will merely die more painfully and slowly. And because the edifice is financial and political as well as emotional, the death will reverberate, affecting not only ordinary fans with their poignant/pathetic need for artistry and dignity, but the BCCI bosses, the corporate advertisers, and even the regional aspirants and foreign stars who feed at the IPL trough. (What drives the IPL is the presence of Indian stars, not foreign players, and without Test cricket there will no Indian stars.)

It is difficult to imagine anybody pouring a drink and putting their feet up, grinning with anticipation, when Virat Kohli or Rohit Sharma walk out to bat in a Test match five years from now. Even I will stop, or become sporadic in my stubborn attachment to such atavistic rituals, when Tendulkar, Dravid and Laxman are gone. Elvis has left the building, and I am about to throw away my season ticket.

Satadru Sen

January 13, 2012

Book Project Update

As I announced on this blog in October 2010, I have been working on a book on the changing face of modern cricket (contracted to Harper-Collins). Last year, in September, I sent the draft manuscript for editorial comments. I've received those comments now, and have started revisions. The comments are, I'm happy to say, quite positive: VK Karthika , my editor, quite likes the book's analysis but (almost inevitably) wants me to revisit my (in her words) "academic" language in Chapter 1. This is a hard one to take on board, especially as I had worked pretty hard to make sure I didn't sound too academic. But I'm happy that that remark wasn't directed at the rest of the book. A greater challenge for me, quite honestly, is keeping the book's analysis up to date. I feel like a great deal has changed just since September (India's continued decline in test cricket, the termination of an IPL franchise, poor crowds at Indian venues etc), that has the potential to affect my analysis, and I'd like to do justice to all of it. I also have comments to work through from Russell Degnan, Rohan Mascarenhas, John Sutton, Satadru Sen and Sankara Krishna - thanks again guys!

In any case, revisions are underway, and I expect to send the draft back in four weeks or so. If all goes well, the book will be scheduled for a June/July release.

Should Have Stayed on Vacation

Last year, while traveling through India, I was able to sporadically follow India's Boxing Day triumph over South Africa (I bought a newspaper, at Cochin's airport, detailing India's win at Durban). This year, I was traveling again over the Christmas/New Year's break; and again, I was able to remotely track India test cricket in the holiday season. This time, of course, it featured a defeat at Melbourne (I sent text messages, from Puerto Rico's Culebra Island to a bunch of friends asking for scores and details; the responses, even if not the scores, were gratifying).

On my way back from Puerto Rico, I noted (to my mysteriously less-than-enthusiastic wife) that even if I missed the first two days of the Sydney test, I would be able to watch the rest of the action once I got home. Well, the Sydney test is over; one day of cricket action has not been used; and really, when I come to think of it all, it might just have been best if I'd stayed on vacation and ignored the cricket altogether.

Two more heavy losses overseas, and for many who will not have paid sufficient attention to the home series against the West Indies, it will seem like the 4-0 thumping of the summer has now been transformed into a running 6-0 scoreline (and perhaps one equally deserving of a response consisting of equal parts hilarity and grief). I will conduct my best impression of the mature, sage, experienced, reasonable, long-suffering Indian cricket fan soon enough, and urge patience, forbearance, and sympathy. Soon, but not just right now. For now, I'd like to just indulge in a bit of chest-beating and wailing (if you have speakers, turn them down now; the terrible keening sound I'm emitting is truly ghastly.).

What makes this all so terribly embarrassing is just how old-fashioned it all is. Imagine that India had lost to a pair of off-spinners on a New Zealand green-top, or perhaps they had conceded a 230-run victory target to a pair of Bangladeshi or Zimbabwean openers. Then, we'd all be chuckling about the novelty of it all, about how the Indian cricket team had somehow contrived to pull off a unique loss, one unprecedented in its cricketing history.

But the problem is that even that minor comfort of disastrous novelty is not present in the current circumstances. For the Indian loss at SCG was made singlularly rank by the utter familiarity of it all: India are playing overseas; when their batsmen bat, the pitch turns green and hilly; when the opposition bats, a squad of alert groundsmen runs out, flattens the pitch and mows the grass; when India bat again, the gremlins take up their usual positions underneath the pitch. The batting line-ups crumble; the fielders (when they are not giving the crowd the bird), stare blankly into space; the chief traffic-policeman (sorry, fielding captain) is a flurry of brisk arm direction; and finally, at the end, there are the bromides of the post-match ceremonies. And the wait, equal parts horrified anticipation of the remaining games, and resigned acceptance of the inevitable home-series triumphs that will make the memories of the overseas disasters a little more palatable.

Plenty is going wrong right now, plenty to be picked through and dissected. Who could sift through the debris of this latest disaster adequately? Only those who have recovered from the grinding weariness of similar efforts conducted through the summer. A brave, if not very numerous, bunch.

Chronicle of a disaster foretold ....

Here is what I wrote on my Facebook message just as the day's play was about to start at the MCG:

"I have this horrible feeling that all will go wrong. Hussey and tail will add another 50+ Sehwag will fall early. Dravid will potter and potter and get out. Sachin will flatter to deceive. VVS will fall and act as if it was the greatest delivery ever. Dhoni and Gauty will give slip catching practice and Virat will smack a full toss down mid-wicket's throat. I expect to be in deep despair in about three hours' time. So pray tell me: why do I watch????!"

Barring some trivial changes, the above could well be a report on the actual proceedings as they unfolded rather than a prediction. There's got to be something wrong with a team when an average fan can predict how the day will go with such accuracy.

Top Ten Reasons Why Empty Stands Are Bad for TV

Ten reasons why low attendance at cricket games (test, ODI, T20) makes for a poorer television spectacle:

1. Soundtrack for boundaries is missing
2. Soundtrack for falling wickets is missing
3. Soundtrack for bowler-plus-crowd appeal goes missing
4. Soundtrack for dramatic entries or exits is missing
5. Colorful backdrop for action shots of batsman turns into rows of seats
6. Backdrop of exuberant fans with arms raised as bowlers celebrate a wicket is missing
7. No witty banners, no outrageous costumes; in short, no carnival
8. Soundtrack for feats shown on large screen televisions at ground is missing
9. No standing ovations possible
10. Television spectator likely to wonder why he is wasting his time watching a game that one seems to care enough for to actually watch at stadium

The Kotla Test moves on

Yesterday on Twitter (@eyeonthepitch) I predicted India would win by four wickets on the fourth day. I'm still happy to stand by that: the West Indies were never likely to do well in the second innings against the spinners, and India were unlikely to bat as badly again. India are now 152-2 chasing 276, and with a well-set Dravid and Tendulkar at the crease you'd have to back them. But given that an out-of-form VVS and an always-shaky-against-spin Yuvraj are in the wings, things might get a little sticky if early wickets go down.

There is also the worry that MS Dhoni might offer a draw and even worse, Sammy might accept.

On India's bowlers: Both Ojha and Ashwin took five-fors in this test and strange as it might sound, it does my heart good to see Indian spinners dominant at home as they should be). Yadav's pace shows promise though his action is quite ungainly; he seems to derive little from his run-up and delivery stride and instead, gets all his pace from the upper body, a method that is unlikely to work over the long run. Coaching seems required, much as I hate to say it.

Meanwhile so much has been written about the incompetent ticket selling at this test that I can scarcely add more, but this neglect of common sense is no longer benign, it is positively malign as far as test cricket is concerned.

Chain novels and significant numbers

Forgot to make the usual updates here on Eye on Cricket which note posts that went up at The Pitch. First up, a post on writing a cricketing chain novel, and then, a post on Curiously Significant Numbers.

Spot-fixing and sentencing: The injustice of it all

Spot-fixing gets you sent to jail. That much has been established. The world of cricket has now paid witness to a historic trial, which has resulted in three Pakistani cricketers, Salman Butt, Mohammed Asif and Mohammed Aamer being sentenced for their roles in last year's no-ball scandal. This has, besides the usual grim humor, sparked some plaintive complaints who suggest the sentences were a) too harsh "jail time for no-balls?" or b) too unforgiving "Pakistani cricketers live such unimaginably hard lives, they practically had to fix a match or two in order to make it to the next day". Another theme is that this scandal shows cricket administration in a poor light (its hard to know whether to describe this as a theme or as the latest emanation from the We Like Shooting Fish in a Barrel Brigade). Lastly, there are some confused mutterings about cricket being hypocritical: we send fixers to jail but we don't crack down on all these other bad things: sledging or not walking, for instance.

Right. It might be useful to keep things straight. Fixing has long been a scandal in the game, and its continued presence has always threatened to render the game a joke. That this sorry mess went to trial was a relief; it afforded a break from the usual sequence of matchfixing scandal followed by board cover-up (usually carried out by the PCB). The accused had legal representation (some of it expensive and of high-quality); the trial was fair; the legal procedures for due process were followed and sentences have been announced. The three cricketers broke the law of the land (where the games were being staged) and have been punished by the law. There has been no suggestion of railroading, of a kangaroo court, or of any sort of legal impropriety.

So, I'd like to get clear on something: Where is the injustice? Are the laws unfair? Should Great Britain not have certain laws on its books? Should charges not have been filed? Or does the injustice lie in something rather more cosmic: Economic inequality in the world of cricket, which makes Pakistani cricketers do bad things? The unfairness of an incompetently run cricket world bearing witness to an efficient dispensation?

New Twitter Feed

I have a new Twitter handle, on an account (#EyeOnThePitch), on which I plan to track blog posts made here and on The Pitch. My motivation for the name should be apparent; at times it's seemed like all I was doing on Eye on Cricket was tracking posts on The Pitch. I'm not sure how busy I will be on Twitter but at the very least I will post links to my blog posts there.

Pakistani Fast Bowler Factory Still Functional

So I woke up this morning to find that a new Pakistani paceman is in town: Junaid Khan, who has taken five wickets against Sri Lanka (at Abu Dhabi; it's a long story, don't ask). Khan has an impressive action, decent pace, and from the little I managed to see, a very good short-pitched ball. Yet again, there is a fast bowler in Pakistani ranks who looks like he has undergone some pretty impressive finishing at fast-bowler-production facility. I have no idea of how it happens again and again, but it has. Make sure you catch some of the test match action that will now be available in this series; fast bowlers are always fun to watch.

Back in Business?

Things have been, shall we say, a tad slow here at Eye on Cricket. I notice that the last post went up more than a month ago, which is a bit shocking. But not really that surprising. The academic year started, classes kicked off, and I became more busy. But that's not all. I also finished my book manuscript then, and sent it off to the publishers. And at that stage, I realized that I was really, truly, sick and tired of writing about modern cricket and needed to take a break. Writing a book uses the brain cells as blogging, and I was saturated. (To be honest, I've become sick and tired of following modern cricket on the Internet; the endless bickering about the same old issues again and again is wearing me out).

I haven't entirely idle of course; I've been blogging at The Pitch at Cricinfo, and in the past few weeks have put up: a piece on how the modern cricketing archive enables the cross-checking of one's childhood memories; a celebration of discovering old cricket books on a trip back to India; a tribute to Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi; my tuppence on the recent Akhtar-Tendulkar imbroglio; and lastly, a note on a particularly obsessive manifestation of cricketing fandom.

I will still be blogging regularly at The Pitch, and with this post, hope to get back to more regular blogging. I'm recovering slowly from my sated feeling (I couldn't bring myself to write anything about the Champions T20 tourney for instance).

Conversation with Fake Indian Player (from Pitch Invasion)

A couple of days ago, Anupam Mukherji (formerly known as Fake Indian Player) of Pitch Invasion called me up and we chatted for a bit about all things cricket. The conversation is up at The Pitch Invasion - please check it out.

Little Beginnings at The Pitch

A new post on dramatic 'little beginnings' by openers is up at The Pitch.

Why I love my American friends

While discussing (over email) soccer's possible growth in India (and chatting about a wonderful documentary on the New York Cosmos, Once in a Lifetime), my good friend Tom Connell wrote to me:

I think I heard that India really took it on the chin in a recent test against England, although perhaps they came back since there was more to be played. Probably just a lull after their World Cup triumph. I'm sure they want to give the rest of the world the illusion that they can catch up!

Cricket sighting in administrative law ruling

From EPA vs. Universal Circuits, (Clean Water Act, Docket No. CWA-IV-88-001, April 11, 1990).

Administrative Law Judge Frank W Vanderheyden, as part of his ruling, notes:

Both the Act and penalty policy speak of economic savings as benefits resulting from the violations. In the context of the facts of this case, few wickets could be stickier.

What maakes this quote interesting is, a) it is found in an American legal dispute b) the judge, doesn't seem to be from a cricket playing country (he graduated from NYU in 1952). Perhaps a Dutch family member told him about the game? But "sticky wickets" aren't such common knowledge. Quite intriguing, I think.