This Is Cricket

(Published in Banking Services Chronicle May 2003)

“Any news? And not that Gulf War, please.” That’s the difference between the top story these days and that before this — I mean the cricket World Cup. Today, we are sick of the top story. What can be the answer to “any news?” So many persons killed. And why? Because of a belligerent Bush and an obstinate Saddam.

Compare this to “any news?” during the World Cup days. Five wickets gone. Now, that may cheer you or disappoint you depending upon which team your sympathy lies with. But that can never shock you with the grisly scenes of battlefield brutality.
No wonder then most of us prefer war-like game to game-like war. Sometimes I even feel the Americans’ penchant for the battlefield would wither away if only they could discover the virtue of cricket. Aristotle would have suggested cricket to them as a means of catharsis.

There is no doubt the media has played a big role in popularising cricket. If I sound like a cricket buff, it is thanks to Sushil Doshi and Shivaji Dasgupta on the All India Radio. And ads like “This is Sunil Manohar Gavaskar hitting for a magnificent shot. I read Sportsweek; do you?” In today’s context, the suave team of Harsha Bhogle has made the game an integral part of life.

Next come the corporate sponsors. Whether it’s official or there’s “nothing official about it”, brands like Pepsi, Coke, Wills and Sahara have pumped enormous amounts into the game. And men like Mascarenhas have catapulted poor players into the kingdom of wealth. So much so that Sachin Tendulkar at around the age of thirty rubs shoulders with Amitabh Bachchan and the industrialists in the billionaire list.

Even the authorities seem to have a soft corner for cricket. To the extent that sportspersons from other disciplines often whine at the absence of a level playing field. Some even wonder why hockey is called the national game of India.

What the critics forget is that we are in an era of “survival of the fittest”. And cricket has established its supremacy over other games; that is why people run after it. It’s not the other way round.

That brings us to the question: Why is cricket not just another sport? Because it has the decency of billiards and the thrill of soccer both combined into one. In which other game can you find the power of Sehwag and the lethality of Lee juxtaposed with the relaxed smile of a roly-poly umpire? In fact, the game is like life. So when a catch is dropped by a fielder, we say the batsman has got a “life”. And the jubilation of the bowlers when a wicket falls is somewhat similar to what Thomas Hardy said, “Happiness is an occasional episode in the general drama of pain.”

Every innings is a new life. And the success of the batsman is measured by what he achieves in life — the runs he scores. Like a successful life, the innings has to be calibrated properly. A hurry to score runs may lead to premature peaking and people begin to doubt your prowess. As happened in Shahid Afridi’s case. On the other hand, the Australians led by Ricky Ponting are masters of the game. They know when to settle down and when to exhibit their strokes. And like all successful people, they have the power of resilience. Even if the top order fails, which rarely happens though, Bevan and Bichel bail them out.

Besides, cricket has become synonymous with culture. By “culture”, I mean the word when used in its British connotation. The Commonwealth countries still value the sophistication of the Victorian era.

True, times have changed. But the mindset hasn’t. People may have less time today but they aspire after similar cultural moorings. In order to reconcile this problem, a brilliant formula was struck: the one-day version of the game.

Changes may occur, but cricket is here to stay.